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THE

•

CATHOLIC WORLD.

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE,

VOL. XXXV.
APRIL, 1882, TO SEPTEMBER, 1882.

NEW YORK :

THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY CO.,
9 Barclay Street.

: 1882.

>..-**»»»^

TilE NATION PRESS, 27 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

CONTENTS.

Bishop Lynch.— Hugh P. McElrone, . . 160
Bodies, The Essence of. — Thomas E. S/ier-

man,S.J. 45»

Caesar, The Irish Names in.— C. M. O'Keeffe, 118
Carlyle, Froude's Life of.— Jane Dickens, . 520
Catholic Scotch Settlement of P. E. I., The.

—A . M. Pope, 557

Catholic Code of Morals, Recent Attacks
on the. — The Most Rev. M. A . Corrigan,

D.D., I4S

Catholic Church and the Native Mexicans,

The.— Bryan J. Clinch, . . . .721
Chile, The Irish in.— C. M. CfKeeffe, . . 600
Church of England finds its Pastors, How

the. — William Francis Dennehy, . . 734
Cincinnati Pastoral' and its Critics, The. —

The Rev. J. F. Callaghan, D.D., . . 639
Comet, and Comets in General, The New. —

The Rev. George M. Searle, . . .408
Connemara, A Wake in.— Alfred M. Wil-
liams, 251

Cyril o.f Alexandria, St.— John J. A. Becket,

S.J. . . 324

Decay of Faith among Catholic Peoples. —

Arthur Featherstone Marshall, . . 203
Denis Florence MacCarthy.— T. F. Crane, . 659
Divorce, Dr. Woolsey on.— The Rev. A. F.

Heivit, ii

Donna Quixote. — Henrietta M. K. Brow-

nell, 695, 805

Essence of Bodies, The.— Thomas E. Sher-
man, S.J. , . . , . . . •. 458

Excerpta, 711

Fernan Caballero. — Ella J. McMahon, . . 746
French Country Family in the Seventeenth
Century, A.— Elizabeth Raymond-Bar-
ker, ........ 588

Froude's Life of Carlyle. — Jane Dickens, . 520
Hero- Worship, The Philosophy of. — Arthur

Featherstone Marshall, . . . .816

How the Church of England finds its Pastors.

— William Francis Denne hy, . . . 734
Influence of Faith on Art, The.—EUa F.

Mosby, ....... 133

Into the Silent Land. — Mary E. Meline, . 775
Ireland in the Future. — T. F. Galtuey, . . 433
Irish in Chile, The.— C. M. CPKeeffe, . . 600
Irish Names in Caesar, The.— C. M. CfKeeffe, 118
Irish " Outrages" in the Olden Time. — Wil-
liam Francis Dennehy, .... 417

Irish Parliament, One Session of the. — Wil-
liam Francis Dennehy, .... 242

Italian Letters in the Eighteenth Cen-
tury, The Revival of. — Hugh P.
McElrone, 683

John Bigelow on Molinos the Quietist. — The

Rev. Henry A. Brann, D.D., . . 483

Journal of Eve de la Tour d'Arraine, The. —

Agnes Refplier, 828

Liberty and Independence of the Pope, The. —

The Rev. I. T. Hecker, i

Life in the Country Missions. — The Rev. Ed-
ward McSweeny, D.D., . . . 169

Lourdes in Winter. ~~John R. G. Hassard, . 160

Lynch, Bishop. — Hugh P. McElrone, . . 229

MacCarthy, Denis Florence. — T. F. Crane, . 659

Methodist Missions in Heathen and Catholic

Lands. — John MacCarthy, . . . 289

Minnesinger (The) and the Meistersinger of

Germany. — R.M. Johnston, . . . 508

Molinos the Quietist, John Bigelow on. — The

Rev. Henry A. Brann, D.D., . . . 483

New Comet, and Comets in General, The. —

The Rev. George M. Searle, . . .408

One Session of the Irish Parliament. — Wil-
liam Francis Dennehy, .... 242

Opening of the Schools, The.— The Rev.

Henry A. Brann, D.D., .... 847

P. E. Island, The Catholic Scotch Settlement

of.— A. M. Pope, 557

Philosophy of Hero- Worship, The.— Ar-
thur Featherstone Marshall, , . . 819

Pilgrims of the Cross, The.— S. Hubert

Burke, . . . . . 63

Pilgrim's Progress. — J. Hunti-ngton, . . 791

Pope, The Liberty and Independence of the. —

The Rev. I. T. Hecker, I

Portraits of the First President. — A. J.

Faust, Ph.D., 371

Practical View of the School Question, A. —

the Rev. Walter Elliott, .... 53

Recent Attacks on the Catholic Code of
Morals.— The Most Rev. M.A. Corrigan,

'D.D 145

Revival of Italian Letters in the Eighteenth

Century, 1\iz.—Hugh P. McElrone, . 683
Roman Primacy in the Second Century, The.

— The Rev. A. F. He-wit, . . .105
Roman Primacy in the Third Century, The.

— The Rev. A. F. Hewit, . . . 216,359
School Question, A Practical View of the. —

The Rev. Walter Elliott, ... 53

Schools, The Opening of the.— The Rev. Hen-
ry A. Brann, D.D. , 847

St. Cyril of Alexandria.— John J. A. Becket,

S.J., 324

St. Monica among the Philosophers.— The

Rev. F. C. Kclbe, 577

St. Patrick and the Island of Lerins.— 7#*

Rev. Hugh P. Gallagher, . . . 4S

CONTENTS.

St. Peter's Chair in the First Two Centuries. Tornado and i*s Origin, The. — The Rev.

— TkeRev.A.F.Hewit, , . . 495,613 Martin S. Brennan, 73j

Stella's Discipline, ... 22, 179, 303, 534 Wake in Connemara, A. — Alfred M. Wil-

The Lady of the Lake. — John MacCarthy, Hams, 25i

441, 627, 762 Was St. Paul in Britain? — The Rev. Salv. M.

The Story of a Portionless Girl. — Mary H. A. Brandi, S.J., 677

Allies , 84,260,383 Woolsey (Dr.) on Divorce.— The Rev. A . P.

The Word Missa, Mass.— The Rev. Jos. E. He-wit lz

Keller, S.J.i 7°8

POETRY.

Before the Cross.— Richard Starrs Willis, 83

Dies Irae. — Joseph J. Marrin, ... 42
Hard Words from Holy Lips — Richard

Starrs Willis. . , . * . . ] 407

Meadow Hymn. — Richard Starrs Willis, . 440

Striving. — William Livingston, . . . 279

The Despondency of St. Paul.— Richard

Starrs Willis, 202

The Foray of Queen Meave.— A ubrey de Vere,

343. 47 3
The Gcraldine's Sleep. — Julia O^RyaM, . 567

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

All for Love, 280

An Apostolic Woman, . .... . 717

An Essay on " Our Indian Question," . . 574

A Picture of Pioneer Times in California, . 140

Bernadette, 860

Catechism made Easy, ..... 284

Catholic Controversy, 575

Christ's Earthly Sojourn as Chronology's

Normal Unit, 719

Clontarf, 575

Constitution and Proceedings of the Catho-
lic Young Men's National Union, . . 135
Contestacion a la Historia del Conflicto entre

la Religion y la Ciencia, .... 141

De 1' Education, 143

Du Present et de 1'Avenir des Populations
de Langue Francaise dans I'Ame'rique

du Nord, 142

Epitome ex Graduali Romano, . . . 288

Essays on Various Subjects, .... 409

Golden Sands „ 720

History of the World, ..... 856

Human Life in Shakspeare, .... 719

Idols, ........ 574

In the Harbor — Ultima Thule, . . . 859

Irish Essays and Others, by Matthew Arnold, 573
' Last Days of Knickerbocker Life in New

York, 576

Lectures and Discourses, by Bishop Spalding, 430

Le Museon, . 139

Life and Times of Frederick Douglass, , . 285

Life of the Good Thief, 574

Mary Queen of Scots and her Latest Histo-
rian 281

May Carols, 137

Memoir of Father Law, ..... 285

Mercy's Conquest, 575

Missale Romanum. 287

Officium Majoris Hebdomads, . • . . 137
Original, Short, and Practical Sermons for

every Feast of the Ecclesiastical Year, . 288

Pax, 280

Poems, by J. B. Tabb, 859

Poems, by Mary E. Blake, . . . .858

Ritnale Romanum, ...... 574

Rosmini's Philosophical System, . . . 852

Saints of 1881, 715

S. Alphonsi M. de Liguori de Curemoniis

Missae, 574

Society of St. Vincent de Paul, ... 860

South Sea Sketches, 141

S. ThomaE Aquinatis, ..... 571
The American Irish and their Influence on

Irish Politics, 572

The Burgomaster's Wife, .... 142

The Catechumen, 283

The Holy Man of Tours, . . . .570

The Irish Catholic Colonization Association

of the United States, .... 576

The Life of St. Philip Neri, Apostle of Rome, 851
The Philosophy of the Keal Presence, . . 718
The Spirituality and Immortality of the Hu-
man Soul, ....... 144

The Spoils of the Park, . . . . .143

The Stars and the Earth, .... 860

The Tragedies of JEschylos, . . . .144

The Tragedies of Sophocles, . . . .144

The Truths of Salvation, . . . .571

Thomas a Kempis and the Brothers of Com-
mon Life, 569

Tractatus de Actibus Humanis, . . . 718
Unknown to History, . . . . "*'. 572

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD,

VOL. XXXV. APRIL, 1882. No. 205.

THE LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE.

THERE was a time when it was open for argument, even
among Catholics, whether the temporalities of the Holy See
were necessary to secure to the pope the free exercise of the
spiritual functions of his high office.

But events of late years bearing on this point have succeeded
each other so rapidly and of such a serious character that now
there is hardly any room left for its further discussion or for
honest doubt. Long ago, when the chief pastor of the church,
Pius IX., with her bishops, gave expression to their convictions,
of its necessity, Catholics had pretty much made up their minds
on the subject. Whatever may have been the honest personal1
views of a few to the contrary, they, for prudential reasons, at
least kept silence. But the additional light which recent trans-
actions have shed on this question has made the conviction, one-
might say, unanimous among Catholics of the necessity of terri-
torial sovereignty to the Holy See for securing its normal and;
salutary action in the church of God.

Non-Catholics as a body were sincerely averse, or pretended"
to be, to seeing the head of a spiritual kingdom exercising tem-
poral authority. One of their standard objections against the-
Catholic Church has been her possession of temporal domain;
Let the pope, they were wont to say, give up his temporalities.
and confine himself to his religious duties, and the whole world
will be more willing to respect and recognize his spiritual pre-
rogatives. Now, for a decade of years or more he has been de-
prived of all of his territorial possessions, and what has been the.

2 LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE. [April,

result ? Result ! One would be puzzled to point out a time,
running back for several centuries, when the sacred rights and
liberties of the church have been more deliberately trampled
upon almost everywhere than precisely during these last ten or
twelve years. What have these champions of an exclusive spirit-
ual religion and universal religious toleration during this period
said or done ? Have they expressed their indignation against
the persecutors or oppressors of the Catholic Church ? Did they
condemn the infamous May Laws of Prussia when they were en-
acted? Has a word of sympathy escaped their lips when her
bishops in Prussia were banished for upholding her sacred rights
and liberties, or when her priests were imprisoned for adminis-
tering spiritual consolation to the sick and dying ? Not even a
whisper has been heard of condemnation. In France associa-
tions for the propagation of infidelity, secret organizations with
/political revolutionary aims and worse, are allowed to exist, are
fostered, and men holding high offices in the government exert
their influence in their behalf. Everybody is at liberty to asso-
•ciate for the defence and spread of his convictions, be they what
they may, under the republic in Catholic France, except Catho-
lics ! The political party now in power forcibly broke up Ca-
tholic religious communities, and, in several instances with ruth-
less violence, dispersed their helpless members from their homes.
For the moment we keep silence concerning the republics of
Switzerland and Equador, and the kingdom of Belgium ; further
• on we shall speak of Italy ; and we ask once more, Where was
there a voice raised among the pretended friends -of universal re-
ligious liberty in vindication of the rights and liberties of reli-
gion violated in the person of the Catholic Church, and that, too,
when the pope held not an inch of ground over which he exer-
cised territorial sovereignty? In every instance — we know of no
exception — the non-Catholic daily newspapers, magazines, and re-
views, secular and religious, took sides with the cruel persecu-
tors, the tyrannical oppressors, and the sacrilegious plunderers of
-the Catholic Church. The force of recent events compels us to
say, with unfeigned regret, that whatever credit for good faith
Catholics were disposed' to concede to those who differ from
them in their religious belief, that this has been dissipated, we
fear, for one generation at least, beyond the hope of recovery.

But this is not all. The spirit which animates the opponents
of the Catholic faith is further betrayed by their conduct in the
city of Rome. When the gates of that city were thrown open
by the Italian government to the exploitation of the countless

1 882.] LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE. 3

sects of Protestantism, they flocked from all quarters like birds
of prey to get possession. And why ? Was it to display their
Christian spirit by insulting" within his hearing the venerable
and enlightened pontiff who inhabits the Vatican, when they
knew it was no longer in his power to protect himself against
their impudent assaults? Or was it to indulge in the wretched
satisfaction

" To fool a crowd with glorious lies,
To cleave a creed in sects and cries " ?

Why, it may well be asked, should these folk spend their zeal
and bestow their money upon Rome when, according to their
showing, their own churches are by diminishing attendance be-
coming empty, their ministry for lack of candidates is failing,
and the danger is staring them in the face of impending extinc-
tion ? .'What pharisaical hypocrisy to encompass sea and land
to make one proselyte and neglect their own homes and coun-
trymen !

These sects have no excuse for their conduct, for they ac-
knowledge that one can save his soul and be a Catholic. Why
not, then, if they will not look to their homes, expend their fiery
zeal -and superfluous wealth on those who are in darkness and the
shadow of death ? Two-thirds of the inhabitants of this globe —
say, at a low estimate, eight hundred millions of human souls —
know not the Gospel, are not Christians. Judge, then, unbiassed
reader, what spirit animates these sects which display so great
interest in proselyting those whom they acknowledge to be
Christians, when there is open to the efforts of their uncontrol-
lable zeal such an immense field among the heathen ! To sup-
pose these evangelical preachers and their abettors are in good
faith is, with open eyes, to stultify one's self. Is the Protestant
portion of the people of the United States, we ask — for we are
jealous for our countrymen — so ignorant, or so easily gulled, or
so fanatical that they should above all others play so conspicu-
ous la. part in this disgraceful religious masquerade at Rome ?

How can those Protestants who invite Catholics to make
common cause with them in the defence of the great truths and
moral principles of Christianity against the attacks of rationalism,
pantheism, and agnosticism reasonably expect Catholics to be-
lieve in their good faith, unless they raise their voices in con-
demnation of these manoeuvres of their associates against the
Catholic religion ? It is the shameless conduct of the fanatics
among Protestants in Italy, and more especially in the city of

4 LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE. [April,

Rome, that has served to produce an unanimity of conviction
among Catholics of the necessity of the temporal sovereignty
of the Holy See for the welfare of the church.

To entertain the idea that the liberty and independence of the
pope, which are inseparable, are a matter to be left dependent on
the arbitrary will of an emperor, or a king, or a nation, is to
ignore the solid conviction of Catholics and to leave out of ac-
count the state of things in the practical world altogether.
There is no political power under heaven in which those who
hold the Catholic faith are willing to place such a trust. Let
Italy make a casus belli on this point, as the threat contained in
King Humbert's speech on his New Year's reception seemed to
throw out, and she will speedily learn that no government in
Europe or the continent of America would venture to express a
word of sympathy in her behalf or lend her the least aid in such
a warfare. The world would rally around the cry of liberty
and independence for the pope, and Italy's isolation would be
complete. It was a sad day for the pride of the Italian people
when King Humbert was made the mouth-piece of a Mancini.
The king was led by the prime minister into the false step of
placing himself in conflict with the convictions of the population
of his own kingdom, and in opposition to the common sense of
the nations of the world without exception.' For no political
government, whatever may be its form, or its creed, or its geo-
graphical position, will allow the consciences of a large portion
of its population to be seriously disturbed without a determined
effort to remove the cause of their trouble and restore to them
tranquillity. If, then, the settlement of the independence of the
Holy See is to be rendered satisfactory and stable, the interests
and welfare of the Catholic peoples throughout the world must
be considered. No portion of the Catholic body, in this age of
electricity and rapid transit, can be left out without danger in
any arrangement fixing the permanent conditions of the free ex-
ercise of the autonomy of the Holy See. .

As for the so-called guarantees offered by the Italian state to
the church of God, they are as pieces of pliable wax or ropes
of sand in the hands of the politicians who happen for the
time being to obtain control of its government. Guarantees !
Since when has Christ failed to keep his promise to be with his
church and be her protector? Guarantees ! Whence have these
upstarts received the authority to secure the independence
of the Holy See, consecrated by the blood of its martyrs and
the struggles of its popes for close on twenty centuries ? Gua-

i882.] LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE. 5

rantees ! Who imposed upon these mortals the protection of
that church whose divine Founder declared that the gates of
hell shall never prevail against her ? Guarantees from these
unscrupulous adventurers ! Well, the offer is at least cool. En-
tering by force with an army into the city of the popes, without
even the formality of a declaration of war, robbing the popes and
the whole Catholic world of their legitimate possessions, and then
to have the face to offer to their victims protection, guarantees!
O tempora, O mores ! The successor of St. Peter has too reten-
tive a memory and is too far-seeing to accept the promises of
Italian popular factions. The examples of his glorious prede-
cessors present to his mind quite another prospect and an issue
different from that offered by hypocritical promises.

When wolves approach clothed in the garb of shepherds, let
the she'ep look out !

Rome once entered, the rapacity, of these protectors of the
church knew no bounds. Such buildings as suited their pur-
poses, or for which they could feign a plausible pretext, were
sequestered for public uses. The next step was to abolish reli-
gious communities indiscriminately, whether devoted to charity,
education, or the service of God. But by what authority was
this done ? By that of force ! Then they plundered these com-
munities of their property by driving out their rightful owners
and transforming their peaceful homes into soldiers' barracks.
Those not converted to these and like purposes were sold,
and from the money received a small pittance was given to
their former inmates, now dispersed, for their scanty support ;
and what did not stick to the fingers of the government agents
was swept into the coffers of the state. But what right had the
state to this private property? Right? O holy simplicity ! to
suppose that these men stop to think of rights, public or private,
or of sacrileges, or of excommunication. Right? Why, ask them ;
perhaps they can, or will make the attempt to, inform you. If
not, then inquire of the wiseacres who edit our sectarian or
secular press ; they ought to know, for, if not all, we know not
how many applauded these official Italian banditti.

This violation of the rights of property, both personal and
ecclesiastical, by the Italian government would be none the less
unjust and an outrage were none but the rights of Italians con-
cerned ; but when you consider that these religious institutions
are in a great measure the fruits of the piety and industry of Ca-
tholics of almost every country under the sun, the injustice and
outrage becomes obviously much greater. After such a sad ex-

6 LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE. [April,

perience, to suppose that the perpetrators of these injuries would
hesitate a moment from scruples of conscience or sense of honor
to lay their hands upon the treasures of St. Peter or the Vatican,
and sell them at public auction, argues a credulity beyond all
bounds.

But it may be said in defence of the Italian government that in
its guarantees it had not in view the protection of the temporal-
ities of the Holy See, but only its spiritual independence. That
is, like her religious foes, the sects, they would strip the church of
her possessions as a preliminary step towards her destruction !

What the Catholic Church claims is not guarantees in either
or in any sense from Italy or any other nation ; what she de-
mands as her prerogative is respect for her divine rights and her
sacred liberties, and that from every nation, from Italy no less
than from all others. Pio Nono, of glorious memory, whose
mortal remains were allowed to be publicly. insulted recently by
miscreants in the city of Rome while on their way to their final
resting-place, is reported to have said when alive, apropos to the
sentence, "La ckiesa fara da se " — The church will take care of her-
self— " Yes," he replied, " and the church can take care of her-
self, and the church will take care of herself."

The Italian government, in its attempt to degrade the Ca-
tholic Church to an Italian sect, will fail. The Catholic Church,
in the sense of its being subjugated to the political control or
dictation of any nation, never was and never can be made a
national church. National churches have been made, and per-
haps can be made again, by political power. For instance, there
is the Anglican Church as established by law ; and there is the
Russian Church, with the czar as its head, and also the Evan-
gelical Church of Prussia as organized by William III., the
King of Prussia ; and there are several others, as those of Hol-
land, Sweden, Denmark, etc. But these were first sects be-
fore they became national churches, and bear the ineffaceable
brand of their nationality on their brow. The church founded
by Christ is one, and her unity no human power can break ;
she is holy, and suffers no dictation from the state or human
interference ; she is universal, and, in the nature of things, can
never be reduced to a sect or degraded to a fractional state
church. Let the powers of earth and below know that he who
delivers a blow against the Church of Christ strikes in vain.
The arm of man and the strength of Satan combined are power-
less to destroy what God has made.

Rome is not the capital of Italy, and the Italian government

1 882.] LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE. 7

will never make Rome its capital. Rome is the capital of the
universal Christian republic. Italy has no right to Rome, for
Italy did not make Rome. The Catholic Church, not Italy,
made Rome. Whatever remains in Rome that witnesses to the
genius, art, literature, jurisprudence, or grandeur of the old
Romans is due to the popes, the representatives of the Catholic
religion. They preserved Rome from the frequent incursions
of the barbarians into Italy ; and were it not for the popes Rome
to-day would be a heap of shapeless ruins and pestilence would
reign over the whole region.

Rome is not only due to the Catholic religion, but it is to
the same inspired source that the Italian people owe their dis-
tinction of being the pioneers of modern civilization. The fol-
lowing, are platitudes, but it may do some persons good to hear
them again : it is the Catholic religion which made both Rome
and the Italian people, and not the Italian people which has made
Rome, or Italy, or the Catholic religion. Were it not for the
popes at the head of the Christian republic who fought a battle,
continued for a thousand years, against Islamism, the people of
Italy and of Western Europe would be followers of the false
prophet ; their countries Turkish provinces under Mussulman
rulers. ; and this continent, undiscovered, would be to-day roam-
ed over by its savage inhabitants. Who knows, after so many
centuries of conflict and suffering, when human obstructions
shall be removed and the machinations of the enemy of souls re-
strained, that the Catholic Church will go forth unimpeded to
accomplish her divine mission for the entire world ?

But Prince Bismarck has effectually estopped King Hum-
bert's assertion by subsequently declaring that the question
of the independence of the pope is an international concern.
Whether this deliverance of the German chancellor was in ear-
nest or not does not alter the question in the least. It is not cer-
tainly flattery to credit a man of his political fame with the
sagacity to see the bearing of the point, and the ability to under-
stand, after his recent and not sweet experience, its full value.
Our non-Catholic readers can be sure of one thing, and that is :
the independence of the Papacy, upon which depends the liberty
of the popes, is a live question, and it will be found that the force
of its vitality is too great to be diplomatically buried.

And were King Humbert a docile and apt scholar, of which
there are reasons to doubt, and were he to cut loose from the
worthless politicians who environ him and give his attention for
a moment to the chancellor of the German Empire, he might

8 LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE. [April,

receive some profitable and salutary lessons — lessons drawn from
his vain efforts, made under most promising conditions, to trans-
form the Catholic Church in Prussia into a German national
church. He might learn the lesson which historical events have
not seldom demonstrated: that the spiritual kingdom of two hun-
dred millions of souls knit together by a divine bond in one body,
however widely dispersed, cannot be attacked or disturbed with-
out disarranging the affairs of the whole world. Without going
beyond the record of his own experience, he might say that
all Europe and the continent of America will suffer from a state
of febrile restlessness until the independence of the Holy See is
disposed of satisfactorily to the Vicar of Christ. The prince-
chancellor might whisper into the ear of his royal pupil that,
from lack of appreciation of these and similar truths on the part
of those who have controlled of late years the political affairs of
Italy, they have fallen into a series of egregious blunders in
their treatment of the Catholic Church, and unless their course
is radically altered, and that quickly, they will end in making a
conspicuous fiasco.

It is true that the prelate who occupies St. Peter's chair is
the Bishop of Rome, the Primate of Italy, and the Patriarch of
the West ; but it is well for political rulers to understand the
reason why the Bishop of Rome, and Primate of Italy, and Pa-
triarch of the West is named Leo XIII. , for none of these titles
gives the authority for the assumption of that name. Leo XIII.
is the successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Blessed Peter, the
chief pastor of the universal church by the appointment of
Christ, whose spiritual jurisdiction is not limited to Rome, or
Italy, or Western Europe. The successor of St. Peter may be
an Italian — not, however, necessarily so — but his primacy extends
equally over all the earth, Italy and Western Europe inclusive.
The chair of Blessed Peter and his successors — and never let it be
forgotten — was by divine appointment lifted above the region of
national and local influences or that of political partisanship.
And no practical statesman need be told that it is of primary
interest to the state that a man who, by his providential position,
wields a spiritual power like that of the pope in the guidance of
the consciences of so vast an empire as he does, should be secur-
ed as far as possible from the bias which environments of this
nature are wont to exert. It is plain common sense that the
pope must be free and independent, in order to exercise impar-
tially his primacy over the whole church and thus ensure the
welfare of all its members.

1 882.] LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE. 9

Hence no nation whose population is largely composed of
Catholics, such as the leading- nations in Europe and on this con-
tinent, are or can be indifferent to the treatment which the pope
receives from the hands of emperors, kings, presidents, or peoples.
A blow delivered at the head of the church vibrates throughout
her vast body, and, such is the divine solidarity which exists be-
tween her members, it is painfully felt by them wherever they
may dwell. And the time is speedily coming, if it has not al-
ready arrived, when, treating of questions in which the common
interests of Catholics are concerned, the controlling powers in
Europe will have to take into consideration that one-fifth — per-
haps nearer one-fourth — of the members of the Catholic Church
dwell on this western continent.

If the Italian government only knew when it was well off and
how to profit by its opportunities it would, while it is yet time,
respect the divine office of the Holy See and set about repair-
ing the grievous wrongs it has been led to commit against its
sacred rights and liberties. It is yet time for Italy to escape the
united moral force of two hundred millions of Catholics which is
now about moving against her — a world-wide moral force that
no secular government can withstand for any length of time,
none except bent on destruction would venture to encounter,
and which, if Italy persists in her present course of wrongdoing,
will sooner or later overwhelm her on all sides.

How long will Catholic Italians indulge in lethargy and
faint-heartedness, and leave their fair country in the hands of the
men who are either blind to the perils of its situation and the
menacing danger that is now hanging over it, or are surely be-
traying it ? Both true religion and genuine patriotism call upon
them to unite in defence of their highest and best interests !

There are no geographical or political reasons why Rome
should be the seat of the Italian government. Reasons of this
nature would have pointed out another locality as more favora-
ble. Any one of the principal Italian cities would have been
preferable to Rome for its political centre ; for instance, Flor-
ence, Milan, Turin, or Venice, Bologna, or Genoa. It was not
enlightened statesmanship, or genuine patriotism, or geographi-
cal position which determined the transferring of the seat of the
political government of united Italy from Florence to Rome.
What prevailed was the radical wing of the so-called National
Liberal party, with Garibaldi as its leader, aided by secret politi-
cal societies. These forced the government of Italy to transport
itself to Rome, and by their threats and menaces keep it there

io LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE OF THE POPE. [April,

in the vain and foolish fancy of turning the kingdom of Italy
into a red republic. These infatuated men openly avow their
designs, publish them in their newspapers, and unscrupulously
seek to undermine and overthrow everything, no matter how
sacred, which threatens to impede or they fancy will thwart their
fell purposes. If barking dogs were wont to bite there would
be some reason for fearing the threat of seeing Rome in ruins
and ashes rather than suffer the return of the authority of its
legitimate ruler.

Is it a delicate question to ask how long King Humbert will
occupy the seat of the throne of Italy between these two existing
and opposite forces ? Were he to follow the path marked out by
justice, patriotism, and the best interests of united Italy, he
would, relying on the enlightened views of the Sovereign Pontiff,
the loyalty of his Catholic subjects, and the obedience of his
army, make peace with the church and have a fair prospect of
maintaining an united Italy under the dynasty of the house of
Piedmont. By such a stroke of policy he would awaken in his
favor the sentiment of the greater and better portion of the Ita-
lian people, and achieve a victory much more to his renown and
credit than ever his father achieved.

If, on the contrary, the actual government continues its
license to the radical faction to propagate 'its revolutionary
schemes and to insult religion on all occasions, it will not be long
before King Humbert will hear the tocsin sounded for his own
downfall. The first stroke of his knell will be the departure of
the Holy Father from the doomed city.

It is not for us to proffer advice how matters might be adjust-
ed between the Holy See and the King of Italy. The successor
of St. Peter, Leo XIII. — may his reign be long. and prosperous !
— knows what are the. rights of the Catholic Church, and knows
how to maintain them, and with becoming dignity.

But we have the right as well as the duty, as one of the mem-
bers of the Catholic Church, to voice what we know to be the
unanimous conviction of our fellow-Catholics on this continent,
who are no idle spectators of passing events at Rome, who do not
listen with deaf ears to one whom they delight to call by the en-
dearing name of Father ; and when the government of the King
of Italy makes, or allows others to make, his position in the Eter-
nal City "intolerable," or the attempt is threatened to reduce
the Catholic Church in Italy to an Italian sect, then we have the
common right and the common duty to raise our voice and in
the unmistakable tones of sincerity to warn him — beware !

1 882.] DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE. 11

DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE.*

DR. WOOLSEY treats of three distinct topics, though not al-
together separately of each by itself — divine, ecclesiastical, and
civil legislation concerning total or partial divorcement of par-
ties once validly united in marriage, and incidentally of the na-
ture of marriage and the legal annulling of invalid matrimonial
contracts. The Hebrew, Greek, Roman, and Christian codes
of law are successively reviewed, and the later legislation of
several of the States in our republic is examined with par-
ticular minuteness. The doctrine of the New Testament, as
understood by the author, is set forth ; the doctrine of the Ca-
tholic Church, the opinions more commonly held among Pro-
testants, and the views of several ancient and modern writers
of eminence receive also an exposition, and the dreadful evils
resulting from a lax doctrine and practice concerning the per-
manence of the bond of wedlock are enlarged upon. The scope
of the work is eminently practical. Its bearing is on our own
time and country. Its immediate object is to propose and urge a
concurrence of all American citizens in a general and active pur-
suance of lawful efforts to reform public opinion and to amelio-
rate legislation in respect to marriage and divorce. Many sta-
tistical tables exhibiting the proportion of divorces to marriages
and population in several States and countries at different epochs,
and setting forth with especial and alarming clearness the fright-
ful frequency and increase of divorces in certain parts of the
United States, have been prepared with great care and accuracy.

A critical analysis and review of this learned treatise in all
its parts would require a series of at least three articles of the
length allowed by the rules of this magazine. Two articles on
the " Indissolubility of Marriage," which were suggested by
papers in the New-Englander written by Dr. Woolsey and in-
corporated afterwards into the first edition of his present es-
say, were published in the numbers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD
for July and August, 1867. They present sufficiently the one
point of difference between us respecting divorce a vinculo under
the Christian law. Passing over this and every other question

* Divorce and Divorce Legislation, especially in the United States. By Theodore D. Wool-
sey. Second Edition, revised. New York : Scribners. 1882.

12 DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE. [April,

of controversy, we aim now chiefly at finding the common terms
of agreement in religious and moral teaching, and the common
method and aim in reference to the reform of popular sentiment
and civil legislation, which our venerated author proposes.

We find, then, that Dr. Woolsey distinctly affirms that mar-
riage is not a mere civil contract. Criticising (on p. 205) the
language of the Civil Code of Louisiana, which defines marriage
to be a civil contract intended to endure until the death of the
contracting parties, he remarks :

" Whence can this indissolubility be derived but from moral and re-
ligious considerations ? The truth is that marriage is not a contract pro-
perly speaking, the terms of which can be settled at the pleasure of the
parties, but is a natural state or condition fixed by the God of nature, the
entrance into which must' be by the consent or contract of those who are
able to give their consent."

The author in this passage teaches that marriage is not a hu-
man institution but an ordinance of God, under the original and
universal law which precedes all human law and is supreme in
its authority and binding force. Its terms are fixed, i.e., es-
tablished and determined by God, and cannot be altered by
those who make the matrimonial contract, which implies that
the legislative power cannot alter them any more than the
private parties themselves. It is implied, and elsewhere clearly
stated, that marriage is by the divine law in itself indissoluble
by the voluntary act of the parties or by any merely human
authority.

" Looked at from the Christian standpoint, marriage is in its nature
and idea indissoluble " (p. 263).

It is the law of God implanted in human nature, but posi-
tively promulgated in divine revelation, and re-enacted with
supreme authority by Jesus Christ our Lord, which the author
sets forth as the governing moral rule to which all are bound to
conform, and according to which all legislation which is not
unchristian and heathenish or atheistical must be framed.

"Looked at from a heathenish or atheistical standpoint, marriage is a
contract which persons badly joined together ought to be able to break "
(ibid.)

"The modern divorce legislation of nearly all Protestant countries is
unchristian." "Would not a large part of the community say that they
have learned by experience the inefficiency of law without religion, and
desire to have religion protected by a new code of laws, so that, if possible,
the state might be saved from ruin ?" (p. 263).

1 882.] DR. WOOLSEY ON- DIVORCE. 13

The author maintains that divorce granted by the civil law
is never valid before a properly instructed Christian conscience
when it is contrary to the precept of Christ. If the Lord gives
no right to break the vinculum, no human power can break it.
If the civil law and the Christian law are in opposition, the
Christian law is supreme and must be obeyed. Consequently,
in conformity with his doctrine that there is only one exception
to the law of Christ which forbids all divorce a vinculo, he must
and does maintain that only those divorces can be recognized as
really undoing the bond of wedlock which are granted for this
one cause. All others, though they may, if the cause is suffi-
ciently grievous, justify separation a mcnsd et thoro, leave the
parties still incapable of contracting a new marriage which is
a true marriage according to the law of God. He even holds
that, in the case of divorce a vinculo under the one exception
which he admits, it is only the innocent party who is allowed by
the law of Christ the right of remarriage.

Here, then, is the term of agreement in religious and moral
doctrine with the teaching of the Catholic Church which Dr.
Woolsey proposes to Protestants. It comes short, of course,
but it suffices, if the great body of the Protestant clergy will
come up to it in word and action ; and especially if the laymen
of influence will come up to the same mark, even on purely
ethical grounds ; for a concurrence of all friends of Christian mo-
rality in efforts to place a breakwater against the tide of heathen-
ish and atheistical immorality which is rushing in upon us.

The measures which Dr. Woolsey proposes concern partly
only the Protestant ecclesiastical bodies and their clergy. The
most practical and efficient of these measures is the withholding
of all ecclesiastical sanction or tolerance from remarriages of
persons civilly divorced, and the parties to them, by refusing to
perform any religious ceremony at the wedding or to admit the
parties to communion. There can be no doubt that such a dis-
cipline, rigorously and generally carried out in the most nume-
rous and powerful denominations of our country, together with
the influence of sermons and publications, would go very far to
make divorce, and the connubial relation of divorced persons
with new partners, disreputable. Four times as many persons
would be reached by the influence of such a strict and whole-
some moral discipline, as the actual number of communicants.
And among these there would be so many persons of high so-
cial standing, and of influence in the legislative, professorial, and
literary circles which have great control over public opinion,

H DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE. [April,

that divorce might come to be relegated in all decent American
society into the same category with Mormon polygamy.

The immediate and direct efficiency of purely religious teach-
ing and of ecclesiastical discipline, however, supposing that
these come up to the mark required by Dr. Woolsey, is only felt
by those who hold both in reverence. The remainder are affect-
ed merely by the moral and social arguments and considerations
which affect the temporal well-being of the state, of society, and
of individuals. On this basis, prescinding from our purely eccle-
siastical relations and offices, the members of separate religious
societies can concur together, and with all other citizens of our
common country who agree in deploring the facility and fre-
quency of divorce, in endeavors to prevent legislation from be-
coming worse than it -now is, to make it better if possible, to
check the abuses of courts, and to counteract the influences which
demoralize the sentiments and practice of the people.

The efforts of Dr. Woolsey and other distinguished gentle-
men in Connecticut in this direction are most praiseworthy, and,
we are pleased to learn, have not been entirely unsuccessful.

We are informed (pp. 279, 280) that in Connecticut, in 1879,
committees were formed, composed of members of several reli-
gious societies, Catholics among the rest ; that these united com-
mittees continue to act together, and that a more general league
has since been formed. In Connecticut a small amelioration of
the divorce law was obtained through the efforts of these gentle-
men. We have not found any statement of the precise change al-
luded to, but in 1878 an amelioration which we consider to be a very
important one was effected. From 1849 to 1878 a Connecticut
statute allowed divorce for " any such misconduct as permanently
destroys the happiness of the petitioner and defeats the purposes
of the marriage union " (p. 214). It is stated (p. 227) that during
fifteen years after the passing of this statute four thousand di-
vorces were granted in that State, more than half of which were
secured by means of this general-misconduct clause. This clause
was repealed in 1878— certainly a very great change for the bet-
ter.

In discussing the question of the possibility of united effort
on the part of Catholics, Episcopalians, and other professing
Christians for the reformation of the divorce laws, and the pro-
bability of success, Dr. Woolsey does not express himself very
confidently, yet seems to hope that all may agree in this : that
many existing laws are bad and intolerable. He says : " We are
not Catholics, but we admire their firmness in standing by an ex-

j882.] DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE. 15

press precept of Christ which governs all the separated portions
of his church, and in seeking to change law rather than let things
go down the stream" (p. 281). He deprecates giving up the
contest and in despair letting things take their course. In the
end he expresses a conviction which we think is one worthy of
his great wisdom, and in which we fully concur : that if a change
for the better in public opinion and in civil legislation can be
effected, it must be through religious, moral, and patriotic senti-
ments, which are brought to bear upon laws and the practice of
courts at last and efficiently " by the enlightened convictions of
reforming and philanthropic statesmen" This is hitting the nail on
the head. In a somewhat foreboding tone, as of one who "at
an advanced age does not expect to live into a time of large
reform," Dr. Woolsey adds : " This is too good almost to be
hoped for." Finally, he proposes the system of divorce legisla-
tion existing in the State of New York as " worthy to be follow-
ed within our borders, unless something still better and wiser
and more accordant with the teaching of Christ and the dictates
of the purest morals be found out " (p. 299).

Chancellor Kent says that " for more than one hundred years
preceding the Revolution no divorce took place in the colony of
New York, and for many years after New York became an inde-
pendent State there was not any lawful mode of dissolving a mar-
riage in the lifetime of a person but by a special act of the Legis-
lature. At last the Legislature, in 1787, authorized the Court
of Chancery to pronounce divorces a vinculo in the single case
of adultery. This is now still the only offence for which divorce
a vinculo may be granted. It was forbidden, since 1813, to the
party guilty of adultery to marry again until the death of the in-
nocent party. But in 1879 special permission was given to the
court to grant such power of remarriage after five years from
the divorce, provided that proof of good conduct was furnished,
and that the defendant (the innocent party) had contracted mar-
riage." Mr. Murray Hoffman says that the law " is imperfect
and censurable .for not absolutely prohibiting the marriage after
as well as before the death of the innocent party." *

The effect of this law is to a certain extent nullified by the
opportunity of evading it which is afforded by the laxer laws of
other States. f If the same law existed everywhere it would be

* Quoted on pp. 204-5.

t There is besides a fraudulent administration of the law: •' Notwithstanding the impor-
tant reforms which have been made in our judicial system and methods of legal procedure in the
course of the last ten- years, the subject of fraudulent divorces still remains practically untouched.

1 6 Dx. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE.. [April,

a strong barrier against the worst evils following from divorce.
It is to be hoped that New York will not follow in the wake of
other States by changing her laws for worse ones, and that all
good citizens will be on the alert to prevent any attempts at such
alteration which may be made from being successful.

To return to the point, that our great reliance must be on
enlightened and philanthropic statesmen, and on the convic-
tions and moral sentiments of the better, sounder, and more
virtuous part of the community at large. It is vain to expect
that the body of legislators in our country will act on, the prin-
ciple of conforming their enactments to the law of Christ, for-
mally as such. Neither can public opinion or the moral stan-
dard of the multitude be efficiently controlled and regulated
by any such high and religious motive. The Christian law of
monogamy and the indissolubility of marriage, as a law of the
state and of society, to which obedience is enforced by civil
and social sanctions, must be maintained and defended as found-
ed in the law of nature, in reason, in the actual constitution of
the state and society under Christian civilization, and as neces-
sary to our temporal well-being, both political and social. Hence
it is that sound lawyers like Chancellor Kent, popular authors
like James Fenimore Cooper, eminent physicians, able publicists
and writers for the press, statesmen, and others, who teach and
advocate and disseminate wholesome ideas and pure moral senti-
ments, and resist the tendency to atheistical and .heathenish de-
moralization, are the most efficient auxiliaries of those whose
special office it is to teach religion and administer ecclesiastical
discipline. Hence also every person, old or young, as a mem-
ber of society and of the commonwealth, in view of the common
good, of the interests of his own family, of his • own happiness,
whether practically living for the sake of the future life as his
chief end or with little or no thought beyond the present, is
vitally concerned in the protection of marriage from the vitiating
influences which are corrupting its integrity. Those who are
insensible to such considerations deserve to be relegated among
barbarians or animals.

Our legislators, our press, our public opinion are awake to the
importance of opposing the inroad of simultaneous polygamy
through Mormonism. But successive polygamy is even worse
and more deadly in its results.

Fraud is as instrumental as ever in procuring a large proportion of the divorces which are grant-
ed in this State upon the failure of the defendant to appear or answer " (the New York Sun,
Feb. 7, 1882)

1 882.] DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE. 17

Dr. Woolsey's facts, statistical tables, and warning expostula-
tions ought to be enough to open the eyes of any one who will
pay attention to them to the mischief which has been wrought,
and the worse mischief which is threatened, by the divorce legis-
lation of the New England States and others which have imitat-
ed them, and by the moral depravity which was the source
whence this foul stream originated.

Dr. Woolsey, though calm and measured in his language and
manner, is very severe in his judgments, especially on the people
of his own State and the descendants of the Puritans generally.
No one is "'better qualified than he is to admonish them, or more
worthy to be listened to with deference and respect by those to
whom his earnest appeal is chiefl}r directed. Indeed, he is a man
who deserves and enjoys high consideration among all American
citizens, without respect to their religion or distinction of ori-
gin and residence. In New England, particularly, he is a high
authority. For the efforts which he and several other eminent
men in different professions have made and are making in behalf
of that essential part of morality which is connected with mar-
riage and cognate matters, they are all entitled to universal
gratitude, sympathy, and co-operation, and prominent among
them is the venerable ex-president of Yale University. He has
lived long enough to remember a better and purer age among his
own people and co-religionists of Connecticut and New England,,
and to have heard from the former generation their still earlier
remembrances. It is to be hoped that his serious and weighty
words will be listened to with deference and will have effect
in bringing about that reformation which he has so much at.
heart.

The question returns continually, when the necessity of such-
a reformation is made apparent by constantly increasing and:
cogent evidence : What can be done to bring it about? That the-
first and necessary means, from which all others depend, is re-
ligion— the Christian religion, pure and undefiled — we hold as an-
axiom. The amount of moral vital force which can be awakened
to expel disease and expand into vigorous health is identical
with the quantity of intellectual conviction in the common mind,
pure sentiment in the common heart, and virtuous determination
in the common will, which is either formally or virtually Chris-
tian. A number of those who have been even leaders in the
departure from formal Christianity have shown how much of its
virtual influence lay dormant in their souls by drawing back as
they became old, and turning, if not their faces, their, wistful;

VOL. XXXV.— 2

1 8 DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE. [April,

glances back toward the religion of their ancestors. The pros-
pect ahead is too dismal to be contemplated by those who have
not become hopelessly possessed by the spirit of cynical pessim-
ism. We have heard an early friend, an Unitarian minister, say
that he believed the followers of Theodore Parker, who was then
considered as the leader of what is called in Boston " advanced
thought," were moving on a re-entering curve. If this be so we
may hope for " a revival of religion," bringing with it a moral
reformation in New England. We do not mean a revival of
Puritanism precisely. This would scarcely be looked for or
desired at Yale any more than at Trinity or Harvard. The
descendants of the old colonists do, and we suppose always
will, respect their ancestors and give them credit for what they
were and what they have done, whether they agree with them in
religion or not. So also will citizens of another origin and a
more recent immigration. But the Puritan .type of religion,
whatever its excellences or defects may be, in the opinion of dif-
ferent minds, can never again become the type of religion which
is common to the whole population, or unite all in one common
profession of Christianity.

In order to regain, to preserve, and to increase its ascendency
over the whole people, religion must be suited to the multitude,
to young people, and to children ; who were segregated and
driven off by the working of the Puritan system in the long run.
By a general and violent reaction the modern generation have
rushed by a common impulse after the enjoyments which liberty
of thought and action held before them in alluring prospect.
Some have followed the pleasures of the mind and the aesthetic
taste, some have pursued wealth, elegance, and the more refined
luxury of living, some have gone after whatever amusements and
enjoyments of the senses were the most enticing to them and
were within their reach. The greater mass have become earth-
ly, animal, and indifferent to everything except their common-
place, every-day business and interests, and such sensible enjoy-
ment as they can extract out of their condition of living. Posi-
tive impiety or atheism, or a grossly vicious life, are not neces-
sarily involved in such a kind of un-religion. But from all these
unregulated impulses of mind and heart, these passions and de-
sires striving irregularly after temporal and sensible good, these
downward and animal tendencies, mental and moral deterioration
must follow, the common conscience and standard of right and
wrong become depraved, and thus the way be opened to the
worst errors, the most grievous sins, and even the most heinous

1 882.] DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE. 19

crimes. Facts prove that this has been the case. The only real
remedy is in means which directly affect the mind, and will, and
heart, by enlightening, convincing, persuading, attracting, purify-
ing, and elevating the individuals who compose the community.
The community will then give laws to its members which are up
to its moral level, and the}7 will be enforced by coercion and pen-
alties upon those individuals who will not observe them volunta-
rily. The social law and the law of public opinion will also ex-
ert their power in another manner than the civil law, but with
even greater efficacy.

The first among these means, from which the others depend,
we have said is religion. This implies that there are others.
Besides the church, the Sunday-school, sacraments, sermons,
and whatever else is strictly ecclesiastical or formally religious
in its nature, there are many potent agencies which can be
made auxiliary in their sphere. Education, literature, the press,
voluntary associations-it is not necessary to attempt an enu-
meration of all — if regulated by Christian principles, are effica-
cious means of promoting Christian morality. There is scarcely
need of inventing new measures. The spirit and genius of mod-
ern civilization spontaneously evolving organs suited to its pur-
poses, which are now working tentatively and partially, super-
sedes the need of calling on our private inventive faculties. Men
and women are more needed than means to work with : indi-
vidual minds and hearts, full of light and fire — light from heaven,
fire from the altar of God — to illuminate the minds and warm the
hearts which have become darkened and chilled by the approach
of a moral night. Great intellectual and moral reformations are
chiefly effected by the speech and writing of a few intellectually
and morally gifted and energetic persons. The mass of the peo-
ple of this country need to be converted to Christianity. We
do not call them positively anti-Christian, but negatively un-
Christian. The majority are even unbaptized. As a people we
are in need of regeneration. If the people of this commonwealth
are once thoroughly Christianized their common convictions and
conscience will bring laws and usages into conformity with the
law of Christ. That heritage of civilization which we have re-
ceived from the old Christendom will be preserved, restored,
augmented, and flourish in new developments. Science, litera-
ture, the arts, politics, social and domestic life, will be improved,
embellished, elevated, purified, and consecrated. This would be
a fulfilment of the ideal of a Christian republic — a much higher
ideal than that of Plato. A collection of nations governed by

20 DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE. [April,

such principles would be a new and restored Christendom,
much more in harmony with a reasonable interpretation of the
Divine Word than any dream of millenarians ; and a temporal
kingdom of Christ upon the earth which would be a genuine out-
come of the providence of God from the beginning of the world.
Christian civilization, as it has hitherto existed and still exists, is
a partial realization of this ideal. The indissoluble Christian
marriage is one of its fundamental institutions and supports, es-
tablished by Jesus Christ as the supreme legislator.

It is not necessary to remind our Catholic readers that we
receive the law of Christ from the apostles through their suc-
cessors, as promulgated and defined by the church. The abso-
lute indissolubility of Christian marriage, when it has received its
final clasp, results from its sacramental nature. The bond can-
not be broken either by the contracting parties, by the civil law,
or by any power in the church. It is only the death of one party
which releases the other. The Reformers, by their exceptions,
opened the door to the demoralizing divorce legislation which has
now gone to such ruinous lengths. It is evident, even from
experience and on grounds of reason and natural law, that this
door ought to be closed for the benefit of society and the state.
The laws permitting divorce which have been made in Catholic
countries, even when made by professed Catholics, have been
made in defiance of the doctrine and law of the Catholic Church,
at least, in so far as they give legal sanction to divorce a vinculo
in the case of subjects who are Catholics. The church has never
recognized and cannot recognize the validity of any divorce
a vinculo of baptized persons, for any cause, however grievous.

There are causes which render a temporary or permanent
separation a mensd et thoro justifiable, sometimes advisable, or
even necessary and obligatory. Dr. Woolsey justly advocates
some prudent and cautious legislation for the protection of the
innocent and aggrieved parties, by sanctioning imperfect divorces
of this kind, which give neither party the liberty of remarriage.
The evils which come from imprudent, unhappy marriages, from
infidelity, cruelty, drunkenness, idleness, desertion; the suffer-
ings which come from misfortunes which have no origin in
crime ; are, however, in their nature irremediable by any human
power. The law of marriage often bears hard upon individuals.
But so also does the law of maternity, and so do many laws
which compel subjects to sacrifice their private good, even life
itself, to the common good. The liability to incur evils and suf-
ferings which are so severe and irremediable ought to make

1 882.] DR. WOOLSEY ON DIVORCE. 21

those who enter into the state of marriage careful and con-
scientious, that they may not incur lifelong miseries through
their own fault and folly, and have to bear the reproaches of
their own conscience, when it is too late to rectify the error
which they have committed at the beginning.

The thousands upon thousands of divorces recorded in the
fatal statistics of Dr. Woolsey's volume give dismal intimation of
an amount of crime and domestic misery, and of an extent and
depth of immorality, lying beneath these figures which cannot
lie, which it is appalling to contemplate. The murders and sui-
cides, the disgrace and ruin of individuals and families, the de-
cay and corruption of society, connected with or springing out
of the violation of those laws of God which relate to marriage,
and to purity before and in the married state, make it only too
plain that a radical reformation is necessary. Dr. Woolsey has
done a great deal towards this reformation by bringing this ne-
cessity so clearly into view. Immoral doctrines and gross vices
cannot bear the light. Let them be constantly and unsparingly
exposed. If virtue is stronger than vice in the community,
shame and universal reprobation will make them hide themselves
out of sight, and they will no longer insult the daylight or infect
the open air.

22 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [April,

STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.

By F. X. L.

"WHAT! not ready yet?" said Mr. Southgate, in a tone of
disappointment, as his fiancee, Miss Gordon, entered the room
where he had been awaiting her appearance for more than an
hour. " Do you know how late it is ? "

" It is rather late, I fear ; but I am ready now," she answered,
coming forward with a cloud of snowy worsted web in her hand.
" Here, put this over my head," she continued, extending it to-
ward him ; " and pray be careful to place it lightly, so that my
hair may not be rumpled."

He took the fleecy drapery, but held it motionless and stood
looking at her doubtfully. She was in evening toilette for a mu-
sical soiree to which they were going, save that her hair was not
dressed at all, but flowed loosely over her shoulders and far down
her back, one rippling mass of gold. A magnificent chevelure
it was ; and nobody was more conscious of the fact than Mr.
Southgate, or admired it more enthusiastically.' But he ob-
jected to the style, then just coming into fashion, of loose tresses.

He had already protested on several occasions against Miss
Gordon's appearing even in her mother's drawing-room, when
guests were present, in this, which he considered, and hesitated
not to call, de mi-toilette ; he had implored her not to adopt a
fashion that was to him so obnoxious. And now to see that
his arguments and entreaties were alike disregarded not only
surprised but displeased him, as his countenance unmistak-
ably evinced.

" What is the matter?" the young lady asked, when he paus-
ed, glancing up into his face as innocently as if she had no sus-
picion of the cause of his hesitation.

" Your hair," he answered. " You surely do not intend to
wear it in that way, Stella, when you know how much I dislike
for you to do so? "

" But why should you dislike it?" she exclaimed impatiently.
" Really, Edward, it is too much for you to expect to dictate to

i882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLTNE. 23

me in an affair of this kind ! Surely I have a right to wear my
hair as I please."

"I am not attempting to dictate to you," said he. " I am
asking as a favor that you will not do a thing which seems to
me so — in such bad taste, and which is so offensive to my eyes."

" Offensive to your eyes ! " repeated she resentfully. " Then
your eyes see very differently from those of other people ! It
is fashionable, and everybody says is very becoming to me. I
never heard of anything so unreasonable as your undertaking
to interfere in the matter; and," she added, her color ris-
ing and her voice taking a sharp and emphatic tone, " I can-
not submit to such tyranny ! I like to wear my hair so, and I
intend to wear it so ! "

Mr. Southgate pressed the point no further. Lifting the lace-
like fabric he was holding, he enveloped her head carefully, as
she had requested, then, taking his hat, offered his arm.

Not a word was exchanged between them as they left the
room where this altercation occurred, passed through the hall,
out of the house, and along the walk which led to the gate, at
which a carriage was waiting.

They had been engaged about a fortnight, and in that time
each had learned several things about the other which they had
not known before.

Stella discovered that her lover could be stern and was (she
considered) inclined to be very arbitrary ; Southgate's romantic
dreams of angelic perfection in his betrothed, and ideal happiness
in the future, had been rudely and utterly dispelled.

Of the two he was most disappointed and dissatisfied.
Though not pleased to meet a master where she expected to find
a slave, the girl was at least as much attracted as repelled by
the very severity of a character so different from any she had
ever come in contact with before ; and, while resenting and re-
sisting Southgate's assumption of authority, she extravagantly
admired the man himself. Notwithstanding the jars and dis-
cords between them, she was more in love with him now than
when the engagement was entered into.

With Southgate it was the reverse. To find that she had
a very quick, unreasonable, and perfectly uncontrolled temper,
with a rather loud manner which often grated harshly on his fas-
tidious taste, was far from agreeable ; but, being sincerely de-
vout himself, the worst shock he had received was in the gra-
dual realization that, although nominally a Catholic, she was not
in the least degree practical in her religion. The child of a non-

24 STELLA" s DISCIPLINE. [April,

Catholic mother, and of a father who, while calling himself of the
faith and insisting upon his daughter's being baptized and edu-
cated in it, was virtually a materialist, Stella had grown up in a
purely worldly atmosphere, with nothing but the most con-
ventional moral teachings and — the inevitable result of such cir-
cumstances— with the most glaring defects of character.

Southgate was a sensible man and a man of calm tempera-
ment. He was also in love. Therefore, when the unwelcome
indications of imperfection obtruded themselves upon his notice,
he excused her on the ground both of her rearing and of the
fact that she was an only child and much spoiled. It would be
a labor of love as well as a work of charity to teach her to cor-
rect faults which, he was sure, were those of accident, not con-
stitution, he said to himself.

But the evil lay deeper than he was at first willing to believe.
Every day of more intimate acquaintance brought, it seemed
to him, some fresh revelation of the utter worldliness and selfish-
ness of her nature, her absolute incapacity, apparently, to ap-
preciate or even to comprehend the mysteries of our holy faith.
Not that she was entirely without good, and not that he could
accuse her of having deliberately deceived him in any way. She
had some natural virtues, and she was very much in love with
him ; and these circumstances, as he could see now in looking
back, had caused her to put an involuntary, possibly an uncon-
scious, restraint upon her irritability and wilfulness so long as
she was uncertain of his regard. When once he became her
declared lover all motive for restraint and concealment van-
ished. She treated him just as she treated every one else, and
especially her own family — well or ill as the whim of the mo-
ment prompted.

" And this is the woman whom I have selected to be the com-
panion of my life, the mother of my children ! " he had exclaim-
ed mentally many times already, with a constantly growing re-
gret that he had been so precipitate in engaging himself. But,
uncongenial as the tie proved, the thought of dissolving it had
never occurred to him until to-night. Now, however, a sudden
resolve took possession of his mind.

" Self-gratification is the only law of her being," he thought.
" We do not suit each other. I am sure she must feel this as
clearly as I do. If she gives me an opportunity to do so with
honor I will break the engagement."

This mental decision brought immediate relief to him ; and
perhaps it was reflected somewhat in his manner, for when he

i382.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 25

was about to hand Miss Gordon into her mother's carriage she
abruptly drew back.

" I would rather walk," she said quickly. " It is such a love-
ly night ! You need not come for me, Uncle Tim," glancing up
at the coachman, who received this order with great satisfaction ;
" I will walk home, too."

" I think you must forget how far it is to Mrs. Allen's," said
Southgate. " It is half a mile at least. Are you sure that the
walk will not- be too long for you ? "

" I shall like it," she answered.

" But your shoes, your dress," he felt bound in duty to sug-
gest— " are they fit for the street? "

"Oh! yes: the pavements are perfectly dry; they cannot
be hurt. This quiet starlight is so beautiful that I can't endure
the thought of exchanging it for the glare of gas without hav-
ing enjoyed it for a little while."

As she spoke she gathered up the folds of her train with one
hand, and, again placing the other on his arm, led the way down
the street.

The night was fine, though it was near the end of November.
The air was warm and very balmy, and the sky brilliant with
myriads of stars that are not visible when the moon's broad disc,
while illuminating the earth, dims the splendor of her sister-
lights in the heavens.

Love is quick in its perceptions. The tone of Southgate's
voice, in which there was a ring of cold courtesy unlike his
customary familiar ease, convinced Stella that he was seriously
offended. She had proposed walking on the impulse of the
moment, but now she was glad of the opportunity thus afforded
to soothe and appease him, not doubting her ability to do so.

Having the opportunity, she somehow found an unexpected
difficulty in speaking. She was feeling at once remorseful and
aggrieved, conscious that she had been wrong in showing such
entire disregard for his often-expressed wishes, and also in re-
fusing point-blank his earnest entreaty, yet indignant at what she
looked upon as an unreasonable demand on his part. After
all, she thought, he was most to blame in the dispute. If it was
to be renewed she would leave him to take the initiative and
would merely stand on the defensive.

He did not seem inclined to resume the subject under discus-
sion. Half a square, a whole square, was traversed in silence.
Then feminine patience could endure no more. Stella exclaimed
impulsively :

26 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [April,

" You are vexed with me ! "

" No, T am not vexed," he answered, " but I am sorry — indeed,
it alarms me — to see my wishes have so little weight with you
that you will not make the slightest sacrifice of van — of your
own inclination to please me."

" I think your request altogether unreasonable," she replied
warmly. " Suppose I wanted to dictate to you how your hair
should be worn, and asked you to shave all but a fringe of it off.
Would you do so?"

" No, because that would be to do the very thing I am ob-
jecting to your doing. It is not customary for men who live in
the world to shave their heads, and if I shaved mine I should be
making myself as conspicuously and undesirably singular as you
are making yourself with your dishevelled hair. But if you had
asked me to cut my hair longer or shorter than I usually wear
it, or to part it in the middle instead of at the side as I now do,
I should not have hesitated a moment in gratifying your taste,
however little it agreed with my own."

It required an effort, a very strong effort, on Miss Gordon's
part to control her temper as she listened to the foregoing
speech. She felt that it put her at a disadvantage, and an un-
just disadvantage. It was with forced composure that, after a
minute's hesitation, she said :

" You seem to forget, when you talk of my making myself
conspicuous and singular, that / did not set this fashion which
you dislike so much, and that I am not alone 'in adopting it.
The style is European."

" I suppose so, as I remember to have seen it stated that the
Queen of England and several other crowned heads have for-
bidden the presentation at court of any lady whose head is not
' properly coifed/ " he answered drily. " No doubt the style
was originated by some fast English girl-of-the-period, or per-
haps—"

If Stella had been his wife he would have concluded the sen-
tence in the words that were on his lips — " perhaps it comes from
the demi-monde of Paris." A sense of propriety restraining him
from relieving his mind by expressing himself thus forcibly, he
paused as above recorded, and was silent.

" Certainly, you do not spare epithets ! " cried Stella in an
accent of angry reproach. Then, with an effort at conciliation,
she added in a different tone: " I do think, Edward, that you are
very unjustly severe about what is, after all, only a trifle. But

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 27

since you have such a rooted prejudice against loose hair, I pro-
mise you I will never wear mine so again."

"Thank you," he said. "You may consider it a trifle; I do
not. A woman cannot be too careful in avoiding all peculiarity
of dress and manner, unless " — he spoke pointedly — " she wishes
to attract the admiration of men whose attentions are very unde-
sirable."

" Ah ! " exclaimed Stella to herself, and she almost laughed
aloud, " I understand now : Mr. Gartrell ! "

II.

MR. GARTRELL was just now very much talked of and very
much thought of in the social world to which Miss Gordon and

Southgate belonged — the town of M . He had lately come

to that place as a resident, his uncle, old Mr. Gartrell, having
died not long before, leaving him a large estate in the neighbor-
hood.

It was not his newly-acquired wealth, however, that made his
principal claim to attention. Of course it added to that claim
-added very much. But he had been a man of note long be-
fore his uncle was obliging enough to die. A lawyer of very de-
cided ability and rank in his profession, he was specially distin-
guished in social life. Most people, men as well as women,
thought him fascinating — when he chose to exert himself to
please, that is to say. By a few he was regarded with a senti-
ment approaching to disgust — perhaps because he took no trou-
ble to propitiate the good opinion of this small minority.

Up to the time of his accession of fortune he was notoriously
not a marrying man. He had managed to live by his profession,
and to live tolerably well ; but he had never manifested, nor been
suspected of entertaining, any disposition toward matrimony.
Now the case was different. It seemed the most natural thing
in the world, his wide circle of acquaintance thought, that he
should take a wife, so well able as he was to afford that luxury.
His crop of wild oats had been an unusually plentiful one ; but
the season for sowing was, or ought to be, over for him. He
was in age between thirty-five and forty — probably nearer the
last than the first.

All circumstances considered, consequently, the social world
of M was excited over Mr. Gartrell's advent and affairs.

" An excellent match for somebody, " Mrs. Allen, one of the

28 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [April,

principal society women of the town, remarked frankly. Having
neither daughters nor nieces to dispose of, she felt no hesitation
in saying aloud what some of her friends only said to themselves ;
and being both good-natured and of a match-making turn of
mind, she set herself seriously to consider who among all the
girls of her acquaintance would be the most suitable somebody.

To facilitate the solution of this question she determined to
give a series of informal musical parties ; and it was to the first
one of these parties that Miss Gordon and her lover were now
on their way.

Mr. Gartrell was not only, at times, a fascinating man ; he was
also a handsome man — undeniably a very handsome man. His
least friendly critics could not deny that. He had a fine figure
and a face which arrested attention at a glance. Aquiline fea-
tures, flashing eyes, abundant dark hair, rich coloring — that was
the first impression made on the eye of a stranger. A physiog-
nomist might observe, looking at the face deliberately, that the
eyes were a line's-breadth too near together, and, on close in-
spection, might perceive that the nostril and lip had some curves
about them that, when the face was at rest, gave a slightly sar-
donic expression of countenance. With the world in general
these indications of character passed unnoticed.

Miss Gordon, who had never met him before, was much
struck by his appearance when, shortly after her arrival, Mrs.
Allen presented him to her, and she was immensely flattered by
the marked attention he paid her. It was not at all his habit to
bestow much notice on young ladies. It having been heretofore
an understood fact that his attentions were never " serious," he
had always felt at liberty to devote himself to entertaining and
being entertained by married women and widows, whose society
was much more to his taste than that of unfledged girlhood.
The exception he now made to his general rule was, Stella felt, a
distinguished compliment, and as such she a little too obviously
received it.

That her lover resented this was natural, and that she secretly
enjoyed the situation was equally so, perhaps. She had no inten-
tion, no thought even, of exchanging his love for Mr. Gartrell's
admiration ; but she was in a glow of gratified vanity, and tri-
umphed secretly in the sense of being the principal object of in-
terest to both men. Of course she saw plainly that Southgate
was displeased. But what of that? she thought. After making
himself so odiously disagreeable as he had just been doing he
deserved to be tormented a little. And so the severe gravity of

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 29

his manner did not deter her from pursuing what, before the
evening was half over, became a decided flirtation with Mr. Gar-
trell.

Mrs. Allen looked on with some uneasiness. In wishing- to
provide Mr. Gartrell with a wife — or rather to afford him the op-
portunity of seeking one — she had by no means intended to in-
terfere with Southgate's rights. She read more correctly than
did the heedless girl who was trifling with her own and her
lover's happiness the signs on the face of the latter, and deter-
mined to interpose and prevent, if possible, a serious misunder-
standing.

Accordingly, she made an excuse to interrupt the tete-h-tete,
which had lasted too long already, she considered, between Miss
Gordon and Mr. Gartrell. Approaching the corner where they
sat, accompanied by a young gentleman, a stranger, she said :

" Let me introduce a young friend of mine to you, Stella.
Mr. Way land, Miss Gordon."

Then, before the formal acknowledgments of Mr. Wayland
and Miss Gordon were over, she turned to Mr. Gartreli with a
smile.

" Pray give me your arm," she said, " and come with me to
the dining-room. I think you have taken nothing this even-
ing."

She had chosen her time well when the dining-room was va-
cant, the music, which had ceased for a while, having just begun
again.

" Do you know," she asked, as they sat down to a table to
which her guests came unceremoniously, one, two, or more at a
time, as they needed refreshment — " do you know that you are
doing mischief ? "

" I was not aware of the fact," he answered.

" It is a fact, nevertheless," said she gravely. " Yes, John,"
to a servant who approached deferentially, " coffee and oysters.
The young lady with whom you have been flirting," she went
on, as the servant walked away, " is engaged."

" Ah ! "

" Yes, and her fianct is evidently becoming jealous of the at-
tention she has given you this evening."

A very slight, cynical smile played for an instant round the
well-cut mouth of Mr. Gartrell before he said :

" I am rather sorry to hear that the young lady is engaged.
She pleases me."

" I thought you did not admire young girls? "

30 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [April,

" Generally speaking, I do not ; but this one is exceptionally
pretty and attractive, I think."

" Quite pretty, certainly ; but now that you know she is en-
gaged, you will let her alone, I hope, and not run the risk of —

" Supplanting her lover ? " he said, as his companion hesitated
a moment.

" Causing a lovers' quarrel, I was going to say. I have no
idea that you could supplant her lover, for she is very much at-
tached to him. But she is vain and heedless, and inclined to be
a flirt, as you have seen to-night. If you persist in your atten-
tions you may produce trouble between them, I fear."

Mr. Gartrell smiled again, more cynically than before ; but he
did not gainsay the opinion of his hostess in words. When he
went back into the music-room, however, his eye at once sought
Stella's graceful form and glittering, tresses.

She was standing at the opposite end of the large apartment,
with her back toward .him, her wealth of golden hair floating
like a veil over her shoulders and far below her waist, quite con-
cealing the slender outline of her figure.

" What hair ! " Gartrell thought, while exchanging common-
places about the weather, the music, the company with a lady
who took possession of him at once. " I never saw any to equal
it in beauty."

At this moment she turned to speak to some one behind her,
thus presenting her face in turn to his critical examination.

It was not a beautiful face, abstractly speaking. He acknow-
ledged that. A low, smooth forehead and straight brows that
might have belonged to a Greek statue were joined to a nose
slightly but unequivocally retrousse" ; a mouth which, though well
shaped and not actually large, was proportionably a little too
large and much too mobile to be Greek in character ; and a some-
what square outline of constantly dimpling cheek and chin. It
was impossible at a first, glance for any artistically educated eye
not to wish that the nose were straight, and a little less expan-
sive at the nostrils, and that the face were oval to suit the beau-
tifully formed head.

But even an artist, if he looked long, could not but grow re-
conciled to the seeming incongruity of feature. The faintly pink
and pearl complexion, and the full, liquid eyes but a shade darker
than the hair, were very lovely — the tout ensemble, the gazer would
admit after a while, was bewitching.

Gartrell's gaze returned to it again and again with ever-in-
creasing admiration, and when he made his parting bow at the

1 8 82.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 31

close of the evening he said to himself : " That girl almost fasci-
nates me. I think I must marry her."

III.

JEALOUSY is not an agreeable emotion in any case, it is to be
supposed, though perhaps with one naturally disposed to it there
may be a certain sense of enjoyment in the indulgence of the pas-
sion with or without reason, just as a bad-tempered person finds
a morbid pleasure in giving way to fits of impatience and anger.
To a thoroughly reasonable mind, and when there is good and
sufficient cause for the suspicion and distrust which go to make
up the sentiment of jealousy in a reasonable mind, there is no-
thing but pain in the pangs it inflicts.

Assuredly there was nothing but pain and doubt to South-
gate in the feelings with which he watched Stella's conduct
during the month which followed the scenes above narrated.
He could not but believe that he had just cause for jealousy ; yet
whenever he was conscious of a twinge of it he shrank with
a sense of humiliation from what he had always regarded as a
most ignoble passion.

" What ought I to do?" was the question he was constantly
asking himself, and which he found it impossible for some time
to answer definitely. Again and again he would resolve- to
break the engagement. But it was much easier to make than
to keep such a resolution. With all Stella's faults — and latterly
he could see little but faults in her — she had managed to es-
tablish herself so firmly in his heart that he knew it would
require a terrible wrench to tear her thence. Still, he would
not have permitted this consideration alone to deter him from
acting decidedly and promptly. Two other reasons influenced
him also.

The first of these reasons was the belief that, notwithstand-
ing her persistent wilfulness, she really loved him, and, as she
often said herself, would, when once married to him, be a duti-
ful and devoted wife ; the second was partly a scruple of con-
science, partly a motive of charity. He entertained a hope that
if he kept his troth he might gradually win her from her inor-
dinate worship of the world to the service of God. If he left
her, and she should Ynarry (as she certainly would in that case)
a non-Catholic — most probably this man Gartrell, who was
worldly to the heart's core — she would, he was convinced, lose
even the semblance of faith she now possessed. Was it right,

32 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [April,

his conscience asked, to abandon the trust he had assumed, be-
cause labor and patience were demanded in its fulfilment? And
could he find a more excellent work of charity than to rescue a
soul from that dangerous state of indifferentism which is in the
spiritual order what coma is in the natural — the lethargy pre-
ceding death ?

He went with these difficulties to his confessor, and was
encouraged by the good father to be patient and hopeful, and
not to act hastily either one way or the other.

" Do not press for an early marriage, as you say you thought
of doing in order to bring matters to a crisis," said the priest ;
" and try to be indulgent to what is more the vanity and
thoughtlessness of extreme youth than anything else, I am
inclined to think. Remember that this poor child has had no
home-teachings. It is from the mother that the first knowledge
of faith and the first idea of duty is acquired. That the mother's
influence in this case has been only negative is the best we can
hope."

" It is not negative so far as I am concerned," said South-
gate. " I believe she is doing her utmost to induce her daugh-
ter to break her engagement. Yet until Gartrell came into the
field she was quite willing for Stella to marry me."

" Her change of sentiment is very natural under the cir-
cumstances," said Father Darcy, with a smile. " You were a
good parti, but Mr. Gartrell is a better in point of fortune,
and, I suspect, is very much more to Mrs. Gordon's taste from
the fact that, like herself, he is thoroughly worldly."

" In that respect he is more to Stella's taste, too," said South-
gate gloomily.

" Patience ! patience ! " said the priest cheerfully.

This conversation occurred about a week after Stella's first
meeting with her new admirer. Her professed admirer Mr.
Gartrell at once proclaimed himself, by deed if not word, and
from Mrs. Gordon, at least, received every possible encourage-
ment, in the face of the disadvantage of her daughter's being
already engaged.

The girl herself was inconceivably capricious and contra-
dictory in her conduct. One time she would be passionate and
haughty, either denying that she was flirting with Gartrell or
asserting her right to do as she pleased -and receive whose at-
tentions she pleased so long as she was unmarried ; at another
meek and penitent, acknowledging her faults so frankly, and
appealing so earnestly to her lover's forbearance, that he could

1 882;] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 33

not refuse the forgiveness she asked, though well knowing that
she obtained forgiveness one day only to commit *the very same
offence over again the next.

He had followed the priest's counsel, determined that he
would secure himself against all danger of after self-reproach.
But as the weeks rolled away it became apparent to his rival
and Mrs. Gordon -that his patience was not likely to bear much
longer the strain put upon it. Both these two were working
diligently to bring about the catastrophe which Stella was so
blind as not to see approaching, and Southgate felt must soon
come.

It came on Christmas eve.

By this time the young man was convinced that his love and
charity both together could not cover the multitude of sins
which he was called upon constantly to condone. His love was
fast changing to disgust, and his charity was, he felt, powerless
to effect any good in a nature' that seemed hopelessly shallow
and commonplace, if not evil. Having satisfied strictly the re-
quirements of both honor and conscience, he waited calmly the
opportunity to bring matters to an issue.

" Once for all, she must choose between that man and my-
self! " he said mentally ; and, with an unacknowledged sense of
relief, he anticipated that her choice would be in favor of his
rival.

The latter was equally anxious for a decisive test of strength,
and took his measures accordingly.

Early in the afternoon of Christmas eve Southgate went to
confession with peculiar dispositions of resignation and devo-
tion, and afterwards remained long in prayer and meditation be-
fore the Blessed Sacrament and at the altar of Our Lady.

Who ever asked help in vain from our divine Lord or his
Immaculate Mother ? When he left the church, and walked
slowly and thoughtfully toward Mrs. Gordon's house, the se-
renity of his face was reflected from a soul possessing that
peace which passeth the understanding of the worldly mind.

On entering Mrs. Gordon's drawing-room he found, to his
disappointment, that Stella was not alone. Her mother, several
young ladies, her friends, and Mr. Gartrell were present, and
were discussing with great animation a german which the latter
was proposing to give that night at his house in the country.

" I am sure there will be plenty of time to let everybody
know," Stella was saying eagerly, as Southgate paused an in-
stant on the threshold — no one having noticed the opening of the

VOL. XXXV. — 3

34 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [April,

door or being aware of his approach — " and, mamma, you must
consent to go. The roads are like glass, I assure you. Aren't
they, Mr. Gartrell ? "

" I am afraid to endorse that statement literally," answered
Mr. Gartrell, with a slight laugh. " But they really are excel-
lent for the time of year, Mrs. Gordon. Ah ! here comes a
recruit, I hope," he added when Southgate advanced.

Stella's face fell almost ludicrously as she met the gaze of
her fianct fastened on it, calm as that gaze was. A look of
mingled fright and confusion took the place of the pleasure it
had expressed the moment before. But by the time Southgate
had exchanged salutations generally, and been informed about
the party that was in contemplation, she had somewhat regain-
ed self-possession, though still evidently embarrassed and very
quiet in manner.

" It is quite an impromptu affair," said Gartrell in explana-
tion to Southgate. " I wish the idea had occurred to me sooner.
But I never thought of anything of the kind until Miss Gordon
suggested it last night. I call it her party, not mine," he went
on, with a smile and bow to her ; " and I only hope," he added,
" that she may not find it more Jike a picnic than a ball."

" Oh ! so much the better* for that," cried one of the other
young ladies. " Picnics are pleasanter than formal parties, al-
ways provided there is a floor to dance the german on."

" That I can promise you at Lauderdale," said Mr. Gartrell,
rising. "Now I must bid you all au revoir until — eight o'clock
shall I say, Mrs. Gordon ? "

" Better leave a margin," that lady replied, with a smile. " I
can't engage to be punctual with five miles to go by moonlight.
Some time between eight o'clock and ten."

There was a general laugh at this candidly vague appoint-
ment. Gartrell begged that the time might be nearer to eight
than to ten, if possible. Then, having bowed to the ladies, he
turned to Southgate. He was always markedly courteous to the
young man whose sweetheart he was trying to take from him,
and spoke even cordially now as he said : " You will come, of
course, Mr. Southgate?"

Before the latter could reply his mother-in-law elect added
blandly : " I can give you a seat in the carriage with Stella and
myself."

" Thank you both," said Southgate, smiling ; " but I shall
have to deny myself the double pleasure you offer. I must re-
main in town to attend Midnight Mass."

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 35

" Ah ! I am sorry," said Gartrell, shrugging his shoulders
slightly as he left the room.

His departure was followed immediately by that of the other
guests. ,

" O Edward! I am so sorry; but I entirely forgot Midnight
Mass when I promised to go to this party," cried Stella, coming
quickly back into the drawing-room after she had taken leave of
her friends at the door.

Her lover looked at her as she sank into a chair by the fire
and glanced up deprecatingly into his face, and from her his
eye turned to her mother, who, instead of leaving the room, as
he expected her to do, continued placidly clicking her knitting-
needles, apparently absorbed in counting a row of stitches. She
did not mean to give him an opportunity of speaking to Stella
alone, if she could help it.

He was determined to make the opportunity.

" Come and take a short walk with me, Stella, won't you ? "
he said gently. " The atmosphere is delightful."

" It is much too late to think of walking," said Mrs. Gordon
coldly. <l It is almost time to dress."

" I will not detain her long," the young man replied, and,
addressing Stella, added : " I wish very much that you would
come."

She half rose from her seat, but at a warning look from her
mother sank back again, saying, with ill-concealed embarrass-
ment :

" You really must excuse me, Edward, this evening."

" Then I must beg to see you for a moment in another room."

He spoke quietly but firmly. Stella turned pale ; the ex-
pression of his face alarmed her. How she would have answer-
ed this request remained a matter of doubt, as Mrs. Gordon in-
terfered a second time. A faint color rose to her cheek, and she
said in a tone of frigid hauteur :

" Anything that you have to say to my daughter may be
said in my presence, Mr. Southgate."

" Pardon me, madam, but your daughter has promised, with
the consent of her father and of yourself — at least I so under-
stood— to be my wife. I think this gives me the right to speak
to her alone," he replied coldly but respectfully.

" There is no reason why you should not say what you have
to say before mamma," said Stella half defiantly, half appealingly.

" Very well. Did I understand that you are thinking of go-
ing to the country to a party to-night ? "

36 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [April,

The tone of assured authority in which he spoke roused that
instinct of opposition which was so strong in Stella's nature.
Her mother saw this with a half-smile and went on with her
knitting ; while the girl answered with flashing eyes :

" I am going."

" Have you, then, forgotten that you had an engagement with
me, and, moreover, that I have told you more than once that I do
not wish you to receive Mr. Gartrell's attentions ? "

" Really, Mr. Southgate, the tone you take is intolerable ! "
exclaimed Mrs. Gordon indignantly. " Stella, you have no pride,
no self-respect, if you do not discard this man instantly ! "

But Stella was gazing wistfully, imploringly at her lover.
The glance of his- eye, the tone of his voice, told her that she
could no longer oppose or trifle with him, unless she wanted to
lose him. Without even an attempt at her usual fencing she
said meekly :

" If you insist I will not go, then."

At which ignominious surrender Mrs. Gordon uttered an ex-
clamation of anger, rose hastily from her seat, and, with a wither-
ing look of contempt for such spiritless submission, swept out of
the room.

IV.

IT was with mixed emotions that Southgate left the house an
hour later. Never in the first days of his wooing had Stella
been more winningly gentle, never in her most penitent moods
had she made more fervent promises of amendment or given him
more earnest assurances of love. But the distrust with which he
regarded her had been growing long and steadily, and was deep-
rooted. He was touched at the moment by her humility and
seeming sincerity ; so long as he held her hand in his, and looked
into the clear depths of her golden-brown eyes, he thought that
his love, which had waned almost to extinction, was revived.
When he left her, however, the impression produced by her pre-
sence faded, and his doubts returned in full force. And with
them came the disgust for her petulance of temper and vacilla-
tion of purpose, against which he had been struggling for weeks
past.

As he walked slowly homeward his face was very grave. He
admitted to himself that he was disappointed with the result of
the contest just ended. Instead of breaking it had riveted his
chains.

i882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 37

" I ought not to have been so hasty at first," he said, half
aloud, as he sat down before his solitary hearth that evening — he
lived alone — and gazed with a troubled air at the leaping flames
of a bright wood tire.

Many an evening, not long passed by, he had sat in the same
place with musings -different from the gloomy pictures of matri-
monial infelicity which presented themselves to his imagination
now. He remembered this after a while, and with a sudden re-
vulsion of feeling, or perhaps with an effort to produce a revul-
sion of feeling, rose and walked to a distant corner of the room,
and, laying his hand on a large chair which was set back stiffly
against the wall, rolled it forward to one corner of the fireplace —
a position from which it had been banished shortly before.

The room was furnished richly, but in dark colors ; this chair
was covered in pale blue satin.

Taking the two facts together, there was some excuse for the
shock which Southgate's friend, Mr. Brantford Townsley, re-
ceived when, coming in one day, he saw a beautiful blue throne
shimmering in the firelight in the midst of the dark-tinted furni-
ture around.

" Why ! " with a gasp as if his breath had been taken away,
" where did that thing come from ? " he exclaimed.

He was a man of culture, a man of hypercritically artistic
tastes. He started dramatically as his eye fell upon the chair,
and stood on the edge of the hearth-rug at the opposite side of
the fire, regarding it with an unaffected stare of horror.

" It came from Bowman's," replied his friend, laughing at the
expression of Mr. Townsley's face.

Bowman's was the most fashionable furniture emporium in
M .

" But what is it doing here ? " demanded Mr. Townsley, gaz-
ing at it now as though he was afraid of it.

" I happened to notice it in Bowman's show-room the other
day," answered Southgate, speaking gravely, but with a glitter
of humor in his eye. " It struck me that it would be ornamental,
so I bought it."

" Ornamental ! " almost shrieked Mr. Townsley in Ruskin-like
tone. " My dear Southgate, my poor fellow, are you color-
blind?"

" No."

" You must be, or you never could commit such an atrocity
in taste as to put dark-green and sky-blue in juxtaposition ! "
He shuddered. " It sets my teeth on edge to look at that color,"

38 STELLA" s DISCIPLINE. [April,

pointing his cane scornfully at the chair, " framed in such sur-
roundings ! "

" A little learning — in this case, culture — is a misleading
thing," said Southgate, with affected didacticism. " Now, when
you have studied the subject of harmony in contrast as exhaus-
tively as I have, Brant, you will be aware that the most effective
of all combinations are obtained by bringing together — judicious-
ly, of course judiciously — the most violent antipathies in color.
If you don't see how admirably these two opposite tints contrast
and relieve each other, why, I pity you. You are a Philistine in
art."

" And if you do see anything but the most nauseating antag-
onism between them, why, I pity you still more," retorted Mr.
Townsley, as he walked across the hearth-rug and established
himself in the chair which was the subject of dispute.

" Halt ! " exclaimed Southgate hastily. " Vacate there, if you
please, my good fellow ! That fauteuil, as I informed you, is for
ornament, not use."

" Excuse me, but this is the only way to get rid of such a
monstrous offence to the eye," answered his friend coolly, sink-
ing into the soft depths he had taken possession of with a sigh of
satisfaction. " It is comfortable," he remarked. " I suppose you
mean to have it covered with green to match the other chairs."

" No ; I don't want it to match the other chairs. I intend to
leave it as it is," Southgate answered, looking, as indeed he felt,
slightly annoyed.

He did not explain to Mr. Townsley that when he was alone
his fancy summoned a fair presence to fill it ; and that, in a cer-
tain sense, the very discordance between it and its surroundings
was made harmonious to him by the fact of his regarding it from
a moral instead of aesthetic point of view. It represented to him
the grafting of Stella's life upon his own. He could see her
graceful form reclining in the dainty satin nest, her superb
chevelure spread out in rolling waves of light over the tufted
sides. He recognized how exquisitely becoming to her delicate
loveliness was the silken sheen and soft blue tint to which Mr.
.Townsley so vehemently objected, and saw the flash of a dia-
mond on a white and dimpled hand as it was thrown forward
upon the arm of the chair.

The charming wraith came and sat with him every evening,
talked to him, smiled on him, enchanted him !

But all this had been in the first blush of his happiness as an
accepted lover. Day by day the enchantment diminished. Soon

1 882.] • STELLAS DISCIPLINE. 39

the words and glances ceased to delight, and finally they began
to displease him. When the handsome but cynical face of a man
appeared uninvited bending over the back of the chair, whisper-
ing inaudible flatteries that were received and responded to by
the very same blushes and dimples so lately his own, the chair
and its occupant'were thrust back into a corner out of sight and
as much as possible out of mind.

To-night, sitting and looking at it, he endeavored without suc-
cess to bring back the Stella of six weeks ago. The Stella of to-
day came readily enough, but did not come alone. The dark,
handsome face of his rival was persistently beside hers.

The young man rose and pushed the chair away again.

" What imbecility it has been from the first ! " he muttered,
returning to the fire and settling himself to read until it was time
for Midnight Mass, to which Stella had promised to go with
him.

The volume he picked up, almost at random, interested him
more than he had expected. It was with a little surprise that
he suddenly laid it down on the table at his side as a clock in an
adjoining room began to strike.

" Not twelve, surely ! " he thought with some apprehension,
taking out his watch.

No, it was only eleven o'clock. But he had told Miss Gor-
don, he remembered, that he would be with her early. And so
he started up at once.

To let the thoughts dwell on a harassing subject too con-
stantly is like keeping the gaze fixed too steadily and for too
great a length of time on a single object. In both cases the
vision becomes uncertain, the thing looked at grows blurred, in-
distinct, often exaggerated in proportions. Rest the mind and
the eye, and the power to see clearly returns.

The two hours during which Southgate had been absorbed
in his book had refreshed his faculties. He felt more cheerful
and more charitably disposed toward Stella when he left the
house than when he had entered it.

Yet some doubt still haunted him. " I shall not be surprised
if I find my bird flown after all ; nor very sorry ! " he thought, as
he walked along the silent streets in the starlight. The moon,
which was young, had gone down an hour before.

But he was surprised when this half-fear, half-hope was veri-
fied. Stella was gone to the german.

He did not know this until he was in the sitting-room, stand-
ing beside a low, clear fire, listening to hear her step descending

40 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [April,

the stair. There was a light in the hall when he entered, and
his ring had been answered at once by Stella's maid, who con-
ducted him into the sitting-room before she said :

" Miss Stella told me to be sure and ask you in, Mr. South-
gate, and give you this letter and these flowers," directing his
attention to the centre-table, on which was a vase of hot-house
flowers. Amid the leaves and blossoms a letter was standing
conspicuously up.

The young man looked at -it for an instant without touch-
ing it.

" Then Miss Gordon has gone to — into the country ? " he
said.

" Yes, sir," answered the girl, with the air of a culprit ; for she
understood very well the state of affairs, and was a firm partisan
of Southgate's. The light was shaded so that she could not see
his face distinctly, but the tone of his voice frightened her, it
sounded so stern. She hastened, therefore, to add apologeti-
cally :

" Miss Stella didn't want to go at all, but — you are leaving
these, Mr. Southgate ! " she interrupted her explanation to ex-
claim, in a startled manner, as that gentleman was moving to-
ward the door. She snatched up the vase and followed precipi-
tately. " Here is your letter, and the flowers,"

He turned and took the letter with undisguised reluctance,
unbuttoned his coat, and put it unopened into his pocket ; but
shook his head as the maid extended the flowers.

11 Thank you, no," he said. " I will not deprive Miss Gordon
of them."

But he walked back into the room, and she again followed
him, inquiring with evident uneasiness : " Won't you leave a mes-
sage for Miss Stella, sir — a note? "

He saw that there were writing materials on the table, placed
there, no doubt, for his use.

" I have no message," he answered ; and the girl now per-
ceived that he had come back to lay a piece of money on the
table, both her hands being occupied with the vase which she
was still holding entreatingly toward him.

" You have been sitting up waiting for me, I suppose, Louise,"
he said. " You must be tired."

He pointed to the silver he had just put down, with a kindly
smile wished her good-night, and the next moment the hall-door
had closed on his exit.

" Thank God, I am free ! " was the first definite thought in

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 41

his mind when he found himself out under the stars again, strid-
ing rapidly away from Stella Gordon's home. A wave of almost
fierce passion stirred his heart for a moment as a vision of the
girl he had regarded as his future wife rose before him, radiant
in beauty, dancing £he german.

But his wrath passed as quickly as it came. The last linger-
ing shade of respect for Stella was swept away in the bitter con-
tempt which followed his first feeling of anger ; and before he
reached the church — whither he had mechanically directed his
steps on leaving Mr. Gordon's house — indifference had taken the
place of contempt. He left the very recollection of her outside
the door. Only as he knelt before the altar, which was a blazing
pyramid of lights and flowers, there was something of individual
consciousness in the fervor with which his heart responded to
the canticles of joy and thanksgiving in which the church cele-
brates the anniversary dawn of salvation to the world.

" I am free ! " was his first waking thought the next morning,
and almost his first act after dressing was to write a note, which
he gave to his servant with strict orders that it was to be taken
to Mrs. Gordon's during the course of the morning. Then, with
the reflection, " I will conclude the affair to-morrow," he dis-
missed all recollection of his ill-fated engagement from his mind.

As he sat at breakfast the day after he took Stella's letter
from the pocket in which it had been reposing undisturbed ever
since he had thrust it there two nights before, and set himself to
read it, sighing impatiently as he drew the enclosure from the en-
velope and saw how long it was. There were two sheets of note-
paper, almost covered.

As a matter of form he compelled himself to wade, or rather
to stumble, through the pages ; but if Stella had seen the stern
brow and cold composure with which he performed this task she
would have known that she might have spared her excuses.

" Do not be very angry with me, dearest — pray do not ! " she wrote in
her huge, fashionable scrawl. " Indeed I would not go to this hateful af-
fair if I could help myself. But mamma was furious, absolutely furious,
with me after you left, and has commanded me to go. She says that, after
having proposed the party myself and promised to go, it would be shame-
fully inexcusable to stay away ; and she is sure when everything is ex-
plained to you that you will be reasonable enough to acknowledge that I
could not draw back. It will be no pleasure to me to go, I assure you, dar-
ling. I shall be thinking of you all the time, and I fully mean all that I
promised this afternoon. And I promise you solemnly that I will not dance
once to-night. O darling! if you knew how unhappy I am in being
obliged to pain you once more when I had so fully intended never to do so

42 DIES IR&. [April,

again, you would not be hard on me for what I can't help. Be generous
and once more forgive

" Your own -STELLA."

On the outside page of the last sheet were a few lines, which,
after some study, he conscientiously deciphered :

" I leave my flowers that Bessie Curtis gave me to wear this evening.
Take them, vase and all, dearest, and if you don't want them yourself put
them on Our Lady's altar. O Edward ! do write one line (I leave my port-
folio on the sitting-room table) just to say that you are not very angry."

Southgate smiled contemptuously at the last words.

" I am not angry at all," he said aloud. " But ' the spell is
broke, the charm is flown ' — this time for ever."

Folding the sheets, he replaced them in the envelope and
tossed them carelessly into the fire.

TO BE CONTINUED.

DIES

A LITERAL TRANSLATION.
I.

THE judgment day, that day of dread,
Shall see the world in ashes laid,
As David and the Sibyl said.

What qualms and tremblings shall arise
When all things, strict, before all eyes
The great Judge comes to scrutinize !

HI.

Weird shall resound the trumpet's tone
Among earth's tombs, from zone to zone,
And all compel before the throne.

IV.

All Nature, and e'en Death, shall quail
When, rising from the grave's dark vale,
Mankind pleads at the judgment rail.

1 882.] DIES IRJE. 43

Then shall the written book be brought,

Its record dire omitting nought

Whence this world's judgment may be wrought.

VI.

And when the Judge his seat shall take,
Whate'er is hid to light shall wake
And ev'ry guilt atonement make.

VII.

What then shall I, poor sinner, say,

Unto what patron shall I pray,

When e'en the just shall doubt their way ?

VIII.

O King of awful majesty !

Who savest all that saved would be,

Great fount of mercy, save thou me !

IX.

That day remember, Lord benign,
For me what dreary way was thine,
Nor me to endless woe consign.

Thou, seeking me, didst weary stray,
And, nailed on cross, my ransom pay ;
Let not such toil be thrown away.

XI.

0 righteous Judge of last award !
Remission now my sins accord,
Before that day's account be scored.

XII.

1 groan, I weep in conscious shame ;
My face is red with guilty flame.
Thy suppliant spare in mercy's name.

. ' ' •
44 DIES IRJE. [April,

•

XIII.

Who sinful Mary didst forgive,
And thief repentant didst reprieve,
In me, too, thou bidst hope still live.

XIV.

Although my prayers unworthy be,
Do thou, in thy benignity,
Not let me burn eternally.

XV.

Among thy sheep prepare my place,
Me sever from the goats' vile race ;
At thy right stand me, by thy grace.

XVI.

When thou the wicked shalt confound
And ardent flames shalt them surround,
Let me among the blest be crowned.

XVII.

My head in prayer is humbly bent,
With grief my contrite heart is rent ;
Shape thou my end ere life is spent.

XVIII.

Saddest of days shall be the day
When guilty man, from out the clay,
Shall rise to judgment at thy feet ;
Then let him, God ! thy mercy meet.

XIX.

O Jesus kind, most tender Lord,
Unto the faithful rest accord.

Amen.

1882.] ST. PATRICK ANjy^^JLmo^oF LEVINS. 45

ST. PATRICK AND THE ISLAND OF LERINS.

A PRIEST from the archdiocese of San Francisco, California,
sojourning, on account of health, on the shores of the Mediter-
ranean in the vicinity of Nice, had his attention directed to a
small island opposite Cannes, a most remarkable spot, presenting
in some historical phases a most striking resemblance to his
own native isle. The island, most illustrious in all that is cal-
culated to shed lustre, was nevertheless a terra incognita to him,
as it doubtless is to most of his fellow-countrymen. It is known
as the island of Lerins, where St. Vincent wrote his celebrated
and widely known Commonitorium, and which bestowed upon
him the title of St. Vincent of Lerins.

About 375 of the Christian era St. Honoratus, with his direc-
tor, St. Caprasius, and some companions, bearing the precious re-
mains of his brother Venantius, who had died on the voyage, ar-
rived at Lerins, a little spot almost unknown to Christian writers
at that time, but destined to become most illustrious and cele-
brated. The sterility of the soil and its being infested with huge
and venomous serpents would have repelled any other than the
servant of God. But He, by His sweet inspirations, gave courage
to ignore all difficulties and obstacles to His grand designs, des-
tined in time to bring forth such abundant spiritual fruits. St.
Honoratus, it is related, by his prayers banished the horrifying
monsters from the isle, and also caused to spring from the earth
a copious flow of sweet water, which is used by the monks at the
present day. This is the more remarkable in that hitherto no
water was found there, while in the adjoining island of St. Mar-
garet, much larger in extent and much nearer the mainland, fresh
water has never yet been found. This latter island is also still
infested with serpents and snakes. It is easy to conclude from
all this that St. Patrick, who was one of the first disciples of St.
Honoratus, having been some nine years, as stands the record,
his pupil, may have here imbibed his faith and the courage to
accomplish similar prodigies in his own Ireland.

Such was the brilliancy of spiritual light diverging to all
parts from the monastery of Lerins that saints and doctors were
attracted from every region to this terrestrial paradise of St.
Honoratus. Amongst these we may mention the youthful St.
Maximin from the East; St. Hilary of Aries, the historian

46 ST. PA TRICK AND THE ISLAND OF LERINS. [April,

of Lerins ; St. Patrick, St. James of Tarbes, St. Apollinaris of
Valence, St. Venan of Marseilles; Rusticus of Narbonne, and a
host of others, so that all the glory of the fifth centiiry seemed
to be enclosed in the little isle of Lerins. Such was the reputation
of this sacred spot, designated from its first introduction to
Christianity the Isle of Saints and Martyrs of the Mediterranean,
that almost every nation, down to the French Revolution, called
for their bishops from the monastery of St. Honoratus or Lerins.
It is noteworthy that Virgil of Aries, the consecrator of St.
Augustine of Canterbury, Gregory the Great's first missionary to
England, was a child of Lerins. While speaking of the connec-
tion between Lerins and England we may also mention that St.
Augustine, when on his way from Rome to England for the great
work of its conversion, was the bearer of a letter from St. Gre-
gory the Great to the abbot of Lerins, at which monastery he
called on his way. St. Bennet Biscop, a great founder of re-
ligious houses in the early history of the church in England, was
also a monk of Lerins, while the third abbot of this celebrated
monastery, Faustus, was likewise an Englishman.

This same Lerins being the home of the great apostle St.
Patrick for so many years, and where he performed the austeri-
ties and mortifications that rendered him worthy of the graces
poured out upon him in such profusion in his wonderful mission
in Ireland, an interest naturally arises to learn more accurately
something of the sacred spot. This interest is enhanced by the
fact that at Lerins are still preserved mementoes of him and his
successor, St. Malachy.

Lerins is about three-fourths of a mile long and a half-mile
wide. It may be reached in less than two hours' rowing from
Cannes, as it lies in the sea just opposite it. It has had a long
and, as said above, a checkered history. While the monks pur-
sued the even tenor of their way, consecrating day and night to
the service and praise of God, the powerful nations around were
contending for its temporal dominion. Spaniards, Germans,
Austrians, and French became in turns its temporal masters. Its
temples were overturned, its monuments destroyed, its shrines
and sepulchres violated and rifled ; harassed repeatedly through
the eighth, ninth, and tenth centuries by the fanatical Saracens,
their sainted abbot, Porcarius, with five hundred of his com-
munity, were slaughtered in one night by these brutalized fol-
lowers of Mohammed. The patience of these holy men, who
scarcely at times interrupted their devotions, was rewarded by
the charity of spiritual and temporal princes. Thus they were

1 882.] ST. PATRICK AND THE ISLAND OF LERINS. 47

enabled to repair their ruins and rebuild their church, which,
prior to the present basilica of St. Honoratus, was several times
reconsecrated — viz., in 1088, 1360, and subsequently. The un-
bridled license during the French Revolution paralyzed for a
time the energy of these servants of God. The father of an ac-
tress of Paris purchased of the usurping possessors the conse-
crated home of St. Honoratus, and presented it to his daughter
as a country residence. It subsequently fell into the hands of
an Anglican minister named Sims, who, impressed with admira-
tion for these sacred though much dilapidated monuments, de-
signed to restore them in a measure, but died before his gener-
ous intentions were accomplished.

About seventy years had passed since the dispersion of the
monks of Lerins. The Isle of Saints had become a general
ruin. But just when all hope seemed lost all difficulties and
impossibilities disappeared. The resolve to restore to the church
her ancient domain seemed to ring out. The then agent of the
property in the transaction was instructed to purchase it secret-
ly for Mgr. Jordany, Bishop of Frejus. The hour of Lerins'
resurrection suddenly and unexpectedly arrived. The news of
this event rejoiced the whole Catholic world. Mgr. Jordany
invited Mgr. Chalendon, Archbishop of Aix, Aries, and Em-
brun, to come and preside at this ceremony of reparation and
restitution, February 9, 1859.

The present basilica of St. Honoratus is built in the Roman-
esque style, similar to the one it replaces. It is also on the
former site and foundations. The principal external features
are the western facade, the picturesque and noble east end, and
the central belfry. The architecture of the whole edifice is
simple but severe, and of striking effect from the skilful arrange-
ment of its various parts and harmonious proportions. The
church measures ninety-five feet in length by forty-two in width,
while across the transept the width is one hundred and one feet.
The body consists of a nave and two side aisles, and is divided in
length into five bays, in the first of which, at the west end, is
erected the tribune or gallery. The church, as far as its orna-
mentation is completed, is perfect. There are nineteen altars in
the basilica, all richly furnished, but we will mention but a few
of them. Over the entrance of the church appears on a tablet
of white marble the inscription, " Indulgentia plenaria tarn pro
vivis quam pro defunctis," indicating that a plenary indulgence,
applicable to the living or dead, may be gained by visiting the
church any day of the year and complying with the usual condi-

48 Sr. PATRICK AND THE ISLAND OF LERINS. [April,

tions. Under the high altar is an enriched frame or reliquary
enclosing the noblest of treasures, the bones of a glorious athlete,
now radiant with immortality and adorned with the martyr's
palm. The saintly body is that of St. Justin, which, after repos-
ing for many centuries in the catacombs of Rome, has been re-
cently transported to Lerins.

Under the archway of the Gospel transept rises the abbot's
throne, which is only made use of by him when celebrating pon-
tifically. We may remark in passing that the abbot of this
monastery is a mitred abbot, enjoying many of the faculties of a
bishop. This throne is elaborately carved in oak, and is sur-
mounted by a corresponding crocketed canopy. The stall of the
right reverend abbot is decorated with the insignia of his office.
In it is also fixed his crosier or pastoral staff, reminding him of
his paternal vigilance and exhorting the community to confidence
in his solicitude for their welfare. Opposite his is the stall of
the reverend prior, displaying a book signifying the rule, and a
palm-branch as emblem of the victory resulting from its observ-
ance. In fourteen of the panels which form the ornament of the
upper part of the stall-work are elaborate floriated crosses in
bold relief, before which the community perform the Stations or
Way of the Cross on the first Friday of each month for the re-
pose of the souls in purgatory. In each of the fourteen crosses
is enclosed a portion of the true cross, as well as a little earth
from Jerusalem, gathered from the very spots where our Saviour
went through the icorresponding painful reality. Against the
twenty-four remaining panels of the stall-work are placed as
many carved statues of saints who from being monks of Lerins
became the bishops and ornaments of the following sees — viz.,
Paris, Armagh, Cimiez, Nice, Venice, Fr6jus, Draguignan, Riez,
Tarentaise, Aries, Narbonne, Saintes, Avignon, Vaison, Carpen-
tras, Valence, Lyons, Geneva, Vienne, Troyes, and Metz.

In one of the side aisles are the archways of the chapels of St.
Bruno, St. Anne, the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Holy Relics, and
the Sacred Heart of Mary, after which follows the chapel of St.
Joseph in the recess adjoining the vestibule. Under the altar of
the chapel of St. Bruno are the relics of St. Zeno and his com-
panions— soldiers to the number of ten thousand who were
slaughtered for the faith under the Emperor Diocletian. These
relics were translated from Rome, having previously rested in
one of the Churches of the Three Fountains, the scene of St.
Paul's martyrdom. The chapel of the Sacred Heart of Jesus is
the most elaborate and rich in decoration, and is appropriated to

i882.] ST. PATRICK AND THE ISLAND OF LERINS. 49

the association established at Lerins under the title of Our Lady
of Priests. In the chapel of Relics is a gorgeously stained win-
dow, given by the present Right Rev. Abbot Barnouin, repre-
senting his patrons. Those given to him in baptism were SS.
Patrick, Leo, and Luke, while in religion he has added Our Lady
and St. Bernard. The window, therefore, contains the Most
Blessed Virgin in the centre, surrounded by the four above-men-
tioned saints. Over the west door the central window repre-
sents the former Bishop of Frejus, Mgr. Jordany, who recovered
the island for the church, in the act of receiving it in gift from
the founder, St. Honoratus, who is represented as addressing him
in these words inscribed on the window : " Viae Sion lugent, eo
quod non sunt, qui veniant ad solemnitatem " — The ways of
Sion lament because no one comes to its solemnities.

In the chapter hall the frescoes deserve special mention.
The one in the background represents the patriarchs of the Cis-
tercian family, indicated by some text expressive of the part they
took in the foundation of the order — to St. Robert, the founder,
is attributed Egoplantavi ; to SS. Alberic and Stephen, Ego riga-
vi ; to St. Bernard, who extended the order, Incrementum dcdi.
Around these appear some of the more illustrious of their chil-
dren: St. Eugene III. holds the book De Consideration , written
for him by his spiritual father, St. Bernard, when Eugene
became pope ; Cardinal Baldovino, Archbishop of Pisa, and
one of the strongest upholders of the church during the twelfth
century ; St Malachy, Archbishop of Armagh, and intimate
friend of St. Bernard — his motto could be '•''Estate fortes in
fide "/ and St. William, Archbishop of Bourges. The front wall
furnishes a similar fresco, which is taken from the history of
Lerins itself. St. Honoratus, the founder of the monastery, is re-
presented surrounded by the most remarkable of his disciples —
viz., St. Maximin, second abbot of Lerins and Bishop of Riez; St.
Hilary of Aries ; St. Patrick, leaning on the very remarkable
crosier, called Staff of Jesus, which he had received at Lerins
from St. Just. Jocelin, in the one hundred and seventieth chap-
ter of his Life of St. Patrick, confirms this fact, and adds that
St. Patrick performed with this crosier the same miracle as his
brother and superior, St. Honoratus, had performed at Lerins.
Thus the ancient monk of Lerins chases in his turn all serpents
from his own green Erin, and since then they have never been
able to live on its soil. This venerable relic was deposited by
St. Patrick in his primatial see at Armagh, whence it was carried
by Miles de Cogan in 1180 to Christ Church in Dublin, at that

VOL. XXXV. — 4

SO ST. PA TRICK AND THE ISLAND OF LERINS. [April,

time called the priory of the Most Holy Trinity. In 1461 a
storm blew down one of the walls of this edifice, and a large por-
tion of the debris, falling inside, destroyed many chests and
coffers in which the treasures of the church — plate, vestments,
muniments, and holy relics — were kept. Amongst these this
most venerated crosier was miraculously preserved, the other
relics and treasures of the church being buried in the ruins.
But a sadder fate awaited this extraordinary staff; for in the
reign of Henry VIII. , in 1538, this crosier, to the great horror
of the people, was publicly broken and burnt, and the church
utterly despoiled, by an Englishman, an ex-Augustinian friar
named George Brown, who, as a reward for his apostasy, had
been appointed by the usurpers the first Protestant bishop of
Dublin. It may be mentioned in general that the stained win-
dows, the various altars, the bells, and all the beautiful orna-
mental work have been the gifts of distinguished benefactors.
The friends of religion and of the church, especially in France,
have vied with each other in their endeavors to rescue the sanc-
tuary of Lerins from its desecration and re-establish it in its
ancient glory.

While tracing the early footprints of St. Patrick in foreign
lands we found a most remarkable instance of providential inter-
ference in his movements. On his way from Ireland to Lerins
he rested at a place where there is still a village and church
bearing his name, near the convent of Marmoutrie, in the vicinity
of Tours. Here are found to grow, on a shrub which is called
Prunus spinosa, a well-known sloe thorn-bush, certain white
flowers whose history is to be found in the accompanying state-
ment. It is an extract from the Annals of Agriculture, Science,
etc., Department of Indre and Loire, vol. xxx. year 1850, page 70.
It will be sufficient, without further annotation, to say that this
document proceeds from neither Catholic nor Irish source :

" On the banks of the Loire, a few leagues from Tours, a remarkable
phenomenon is repeated year by year and from time immemorial — one con-
cerning which science as yet has given no satisfactory explanation. This
phenomenon, too little known, consists in the blossoming, in the midst of
the rigors of winter, of the blackthorn, Prunus spinosa, commonly called
the sloe. We have lately verified this circumstance with our own eyes,
and can vouch for its-truth without fear of contradiction. We can appeal
to the testimony of thousands who at the end of December in each year
are eye-witnesses to its repetition, and we have ourselves gathered these
extraordinary flowers. This remarkable shrub is to be found at St. Patrice
upon the slope of a hill not far from the Chateau de Rochette. The circu-
lation of the sap, which should be suspended in winter, is plainly revealed

1 882.] Sr. PATRICK AND THE ISLAND OF LERINS. 51

by the moist state of the bark, which easily separates from the wood which
it covers. The buds smell, the flowers expand as in the month of April,
and cover the boughs with odorous and snowlike flowers, while a few
leaves more timidly venture 'to expose their delicate verdure to the icy
north wind. Shall I venture to add ? — to the flowers succeed the fruit, and
at the beginning of January a small berry appears attached to a long pe-
duncle in the midst of the withered and discolored petals, which soon
shrivels and dries up.

"This singular growth of flowers is almost unknown, although it has
been repeated every year from time immemorial. The oldest inhabitants
of St. Patrice have always seen it take place at a fixed period of the year,
no matter how severe the season may be, and such has also been the an-
cient tradition of their forefathers, while the legend we are about to relate
appears to attribute a very remote origin to the fact; but as the shrub
itself appears quite young, it is probable that it is renewed from the roots.
However, this phenomenon is limited to the locality and to the shrub in
question. Cuttings transplanted elsewhere have blossomed in the spring
only, and the hawthorns which grow amid the sloes do not manifest any
circulation of sap.

"The incredulous will object that, after all, this circumstance is not
more extraordinary than the flowering of the lilac in November, when the
buds, by an unwary mistake, suppose that in the still mild temperature they
have found the soft breath of spring. Our readers must not be deceived :
the blackthorn of St. Patrick grows, develops, and bears fruit in the midst
4 of the rigors of winter, in the most icy temperature. This year (1850) the
flowers .were in bloom from Christmas until the first of January — that is,
at a time when the thermometer was almost always below freezing-point.
Although growing on the slope of a hill, this shrub is in no way sheltered
from the north wind, its branches being incrusted with hoarfrost ; the icy
northeast wind blows violently amongst them, and it often happens that
the shrub is loaded at one and the same time with the snow of winter and
the snow of its own flowers."

(The author refutes the hypothesis of the proximity of a thermal
spring; the ground, he observes, remains covered with snow, and the other
shrubs do not blossom.)

" The inhabitants of St. Patrice record an ancient tradition which in its
simplicity is full of freshness and poetry. St. Patrick, it is said, being on
his way from Ireland to join St. Martin in Gaul, attracted by the fame of
that saint's sanctity and miracles, and having arrived at the banks of the
Loire, near the spot where the church now bearing his name has been
built, rested under a shrub. It was Christmas-time, when the cold was in-
tense. In honor of the saint the shrub expanded its branches, and, shak-
ing off the snow which rested on them, by an unheard-of prodigy arrayed
itself in flowers white as the snow itself. St. Patrick crossed the Loire in
his cloak, and on reaching the opposite bank another blackthorn under
which he rested at once burst into flowers. Since that time, says the
chronicler, the two shrubs have never ceased to blossom at Christmas in
honor of St. Patrick."

Though the spirits of God are many, yet kindred saints have

52 ST. PATRICK AND THE ISLAND OF LERINS. [April,

often kindred spirits, for the very reason that the similarity of the
spirits they have been gifted with makes -them kindred. St. Ho-
noratus and St. Patrick seem to have enjoyed something of this
spiritual relationship, from the very remarkable fact that both
of them, after being guided to the same solitude to receive their
inspirations, have become illustrious by the miraculous freedom
of their scenes of labors, Lerins and Erin, from venomous beasts
and serpents. Nothing could have typified more significantly the
fall of Satan's predominance on their arrival. We may also no-
tice the coincidence that St. Honoratus made water spring from
the earth for the temporal necessities of himself and his children,
while St. Patrick is recorded to have done the same at his bap-
tism for his own spiritual necessity, and consequently for the
nation whose spiritual life depended on him (see Morris, Life of
St. Patrick, page 47). Lerins, too, where St. Honoratus founded
his nursery of saints, is celebrated in history as the Green Isle,
the Holy Island, the Isle of Saints and Martyrs, while the beautiful
land to which he dedicated his labors was long known as the
Island of Saints and rejoices still in its appellation of the Green
Isle. As the Rev. William B. Morris, of the Oratory, when
speaking of Ireland in his Life of St. Patrick, says, pages 38 and
39, " The ' Virgin Island ' has merited that fair name in faith as
well as in morals, and purity has multiplied the children of faith."
In our own times millions have gone forth from Ireland to plant
the faith in the New World or to revive it in the Old. We may
estimate the episcopal sees, apostolic delegations, vicariates and
prefectures of the Catholic Church at something over a thou-
sand, and at least two hundred of these are found in nations
using the English language. No hierarchy of any race or lan-
guage is so numerous, and no other increases with such prodi-
gious rapidity. " In the Vatican Council," writes Cardinal Man-
ning, " no saint had so many mitred sons as St. Patrick." When
his children were driven forth on their sorrowful exodus neither
the friends nor the enemies of the church could have anticipated
the result.

1 882.] A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. 53

A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION.

WHAT do we mean by a practical view of the* school ques-
tion? The view of a well-instructed Catholic parent conscien-
tiously deciding about the schooling of his children. The ques-
tion we propose to ask and answer in this article is just what is
the voice of conscience in an intelligent Catholic concerning the
education of his children. Our treatment of the subject will not
be of a controversial nature, yet we indulge the hope that we
may contribute something to that view also ; for we cannot ex-
pect an equitable consideration of our arguments until our oppo-
nents will honestly ask themselves : What if we were Catholic
parents, face to face with the duty of providing for our children's
schooling — how would we act ourselves ? At any rate this way
of looking at the subject is, it seems to us, the only one calcu-
lated to remove the honest difficulties of persons in our own
household ; and that has been our main purpose in adopting it.

We may compare the life of man to a building. We admire
a noble edifice ; its vast proportions, set together with perfect
symmetry, strike us with wonder ; and we enjoy, as we look up-
ward, its stately succession of colonnades and arches, the eye
ranging with delight from one carved adornment to another until
it rests upon its symbol, borne aloft above the throng of men.
But if our admiration is just we do not forget the men who con-
ceived and began the work ; who, perhaps years ago, drew it
all out upon parchment ; who delved deep into the earth till its
secret heart was laid bare, and then sank into its enduring em-
braces the foundations. They were the men who furnished an
essential condition of all the upper glory of the edifice. So an
essential condition of the success of any human life is the kind
of foundation on which it rests. Parents, fond as they are of
dreaming dreams of their children's future, should not forget
that it will depend for every kind of success very greatly on
their schooling : the child's education is the foundation of his
life. They should realize in how great a degree school-time,
where it is spent and in what company and under what influ-
ences, is going to mould the character of the boy or girl into that
of the man or woman. It cannot be otherwise. The amount
of time spent at school, the influences and tendencies felt there,
the moral atmosphere breathed in, the friendships contracted,

54 A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION; [April,

the struggles, victories, defeats, impulses, associations, all acting
constantly upon a soul in the tenderest 'processes of formation,
are amply sufficient to give bent to its whole career.

We do not mean to underrate the influence of home. It
should have the ascendency in every man's life. But, as a mat-
ter of fact, for nearly all who have been brought up in cities, and
for very many out of cities, the influence of school is greater than
that of home. If a child be of an intense temperament, studious,
ambitious, combative, school becomes another home, gradually
absorbing the earnest efforts of his nature. For most men it is
at school and not. at home that the curtain rises on the real
scenes of life's work. There, and not at home, the player first
steps on the stage, tremblingly faces his audience, and begins to
be swayed by the applause and disfavor of his fellows. And
what attraction for a bright child has a home where the parents
are boorish or vicious ? And if parents are all that they should
be, how often is home but an auxiliary of school, a place to pre-
pare school-tasks, the parents' means and their very lives being
spent in keeping their children properly at school ! School, says
Bishop Dupanloup, " is the beginning of societ}^, social life, its
duties and its rights ; noble emulation, force of example, sharing
of joys and sorrows, labors and successes, artless friendships, sup-
port and mutual assistance, fraternity even, for the schoolfellow
is the brother." To say that character is developed at school is
to say much ; but it may be added that natural dispositions often
undergo a complete transformation there. Dr. Johnson is of
opinion that diversities of character are as much owing to differ-
ences in education as to inherited qualities. Anything that can
influence the youth goes to form the man ; and there are few
powerful influences which may not have their greatest sway at
school. Instruction, example, correction, sympathy, earliest at-
tachments and aversions, collision of mind with mind, are as nec-
essary parts of school life as seats and desks are of school furni-
ture. The events of school life are often the most notable ones
of the youthful career ; the beginning and the end of each suc-
ceeding year of study, the last year and the last day of school,
are the very epochs of youth. There, too, the first and decisive
battles of life between the animal and rational forces of our
strangely mingled nature are often fought. Whether a man or
woman of mature years can do an heroic deed, forgive a deadly
wrong, rejoice at a rival's triumph, risk life and limb for love of
religion, friend, or country, has in most cases been settled years
before at school. School, then, takes the natural qualities of

1 882.] A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. 55

the child, develops them, and welds them together into man-
hood's form. It presides over the time of omens and forecasts
the future fate.

Now, it is concerning all this that we are going to ask a
momentous question*. This powerful appliance for good or evil —
shall it have a religious tendency given it, or shall it not? This
golden opportunity of grouping- and directing the forces of life
— shall it be consecrated to the purposes of eternity ? Mind, the
vital question is not how shall we best conform ourselves to the
usages of the country or opinions of the majority ; it is not what
will our neighbors say of us, nor how our children may be best
fitted to contend for the goods of this world. These are weighty
questions enough, worthy of serious thought, matters of con-
science, too ; we must be, and we are determ^icd to be, kindly
neighbors and good citizens, and, with the divine favor, thriving
ones too — true Americans in every sense. But the great ques-
tion after all is our eternal destiny. The vital question with Ca-
t'.iolic parents is this : Can I remain at friendship with Heaven
and wilfully disregard an opportunity to place my child's school-
ing under the influence of the true religion? The first problem
of Catholic parents has for its terms an immortal soul and the
means to fit it for eternity. The solution cannot be postponed.
He that builds begins with the foundation. When the walls
begin to crack and totter overhead it will be sorry work mend-
ing the foundations. In after-years the word of God will come
true : " Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he reap."

But before hearing the answer from Catholic parents let us
put the question to our non-Catholic friends ; we may learn
something by contrasting the different answers. And we find
that, allowing for exceptions — notable for ability and candor and
true foresight, but still exceptions — the main body of non-Ca-
tholics have agreed to act on the supposition that the schooling
of their children may safely be withdrawn from positive reli-
gious influence. Their reasons are various. Many, being by no
means certain of their own religious opinions, are too honest to
force them on their children. One set of doctrines, they think,
has about as good a chance of being true as another, and the
differences between them are often no more than pure abstrac-
tions. The decision rests with each rational being, God and the
open Bible. What right, then, they say, have we to predispose
the mind before it is fit to judge for itself? Wait till the boys
and girls are men and women, and then let them learn their doc-
trine and choose their religion for themselves.

56 A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. [April,

Furthermore, there is a very prevalent impression that the
only public school practicable is one excluding all positive re-
ligious influence. Many are haunted with the phantom of the
public money being diverted to purely sectarian purposes. If
the Catholic get a share for his schools will not the Episco-
palian demand his and the Methodist his ? And so the chorus
will/swell and the itching palms- will thicken about the public
coffers, until such will be the confusion that the common funds
will be withdrawn from educational purposes altogether.

Then there are infidels ; they esteem the unreligious schools
which they have as the next best thing to the anti-religious
schools which they cannot get. But perhaps the warmest
friends of the present unreligious system are those whose chief
article of faith is antagonism to the Catholic Church. For, good-
naturedly disposed as most non-Catholics are towards us. there
is a large enough party who regard us with positive animosity.
Some of these are no doubt sincere ; they labor under false im-
pressions regarding us ; but, sincere or not, they look upon us as
enemies of this country and its freedom. They are solid for the
present school system, because they think that it will help them
to destroy the Catholic Church. There can be no doubt that
this class of persons, having seen the failure of all attempts
against the steadfast faith of our Catholic people, now centre
their hopes mainly on various efforts to influence our children.
And many of these men are powerful. Some are occupants of
prominent Protestant pulpits ; they are leading editors, in some
cases owners, of public journals ; among politicians they are the
slyest ; they are on school committees, and sometimes even prin-
cipals of the very schools in which our Catholic children are
taught. They have the best reason to look upon a Catholic
school as the greatest obstacle to their schemes. They have
sense enough to know that a religion which sets men apart from
the commonest indulgences of perverted nature, and requires an
intelligent conviction of doctrines based on the deepest mys-
teries, can only flourish if its members have been subjected to a
careful training specially adapted to foster its beliefs and prac-
tices. So this class are heartily in favor of the public-school sys-
tem, not because they are unreligious but un-Catholic.

Nor can we forget that public opinion is influenced by the
teachers themselves. They are fast becoming a distinct class
among us — one of the very few classes in this republic main-
tained at the public expense. Does the reader know how many
there are of them ? Over three years ago the United States Com-

1 882.] A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. 57

missioner of Education reported 271,144 common-school teach-
ers in this country, whose annual salaries amounted to $52,941,-
697. Now, we know of places where you will find many public-
school teachers excellent Catholics in every respect ; such is es-
pecially the case where various hindrances have prevented the
establishment of Catholic schools. But in other parts obvious
causes have crystallized public-school teachers into organized and
powerful bodies actively hostile to religious education, and in
their own States and sections contributing in no small measure
to the present state of public opinion among non-Catholics.

Well, so stands the matter with our non-Catholic fellow-citi-
zens— Bible Christians and indifferentists, infidels and agnostics,
anti-Catholics and interested parties, all agreed that their chil-
dren's schooling shall be set apart from positive religious influ-
ence. Is it not enough to discourage us, this league of all un-
Catholic elements against us ? But, after all, the contest is with
a people whose greatest fault is their direst misfortune — mis-
appreciation of the destiny of the human soul. Our contest is
going to be a friendly one, fought out with the weapons of per-
suasion, on the battle-field of the public press, and the lecture-
room, and the intercourse of social life. In such a warfare when
was the truth ever worsted in the battle ? The muster-roll of
our own forces, the temper of our weapons, the victories written
on our standards in the intellectual warfare of the past, above all,
the fairness of the great mass of our opponents and our own con-
sciousness that we are right and can prove it, assure us of final
success.

But it is time that we gave our Catholic parent his turn to
answer our question. Let us ask it fairly : Shall the influence of
school-teachers and comrades, study and example, and correc-
tion and emulation be made to contribute its full share to the
true and eternal destiny of the child, or shall it all be left neu-
tral between God, and the world, the flesh, and the devil ?

And at the outset we remark that of the reasons inducing our
separated brethren to their decision not one can have place with
us. We dare not say that one religion is as good as another.
On the contrary, as we know but one God, we know of only one
true and sufficient way of serving him. We dare not say that
the child should be left untaught on doctrinal points, so as to
teach himself when he arrives at maturity. On the contrary, we
kn6w that we possess the truth just as God has revealed it, and
we know it with certitude ; and we maintain that parents are
bound to see to it that at manhood's years their children shall

58 A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. [April,

find themselves fully equipped with it. As to the public money,
we do not wish it for religious purposes. But w.e emphatically
protest against any one part of the American people, however
large a majority, assuming at public expense a monopoly of so
sacred a trust as that of training up children, and in such a man-
ner as to outrage the rights of conscience of the minority. As
to extending the war of sects into the domain of public education,
we say that silence is not peace, nor should conformity be the
citizen's dearest wish. We say that liberty of conscience, and
parental rights and fair play in education, are of greater worth
to free men than uniformity of systems. We say that diversity
need not be warfare, that even confusion is not always anarchy,
and that there are things beyond the grave which may be worse
than even warfare, confusion, or anarchy, or these all together,
this side the grave.

The fact is that we Catholics have so many matters of life-and-
death importance to teach our children that we cannot permit
them to be cramped or pushed aside by the overcrowding of
matters of confessedly less importance. To teach heavenly doc-
trine to his child is the first duty of the Christian parent ; and it
cannot be the least duty, much less no duty at all, of one who
enjoys so much of the parent's confidence and partakes so much
of his responsibility as the school-teacher.

Just consider what we hold Catholic doctrine to be. It is re-
vealed truth, every bit of it. Actual facts, not surmises or opin-
ions or inventions, are the Catholic's religious history. His pri-
mary principles are not hypotheses or caprices ; they are as true
as the rules of ciphering. And the firmest interior conviction
and the frankest outward profession of these facts and principles
he holds to be absolutely necessary to his rational happiness here
and his eternal happiness hereafter. To a well-instructed Catho-
lic, a man not penetrated with a large body of exact doctrine is
like one who tries to reckon the time of day by a clock whose
hour-hand has been broken off. It is better than no clock at all.
The minute-hand tells «how far the hour has progressed, but what
hour, how long since morning or how long till nightfall, the
clock has naught to say. So a partially-instructed Christian has
indeed more than the faint light of nature'; but the steady, con-
stant monitor of mind and conscience, marking morn or night or
high noon in his moral life, is absent or very dimly seen. For a
thinking, reasoning being to live a life whose days and nights are
unlinked with the lapse of the eternal ages is to be like a man
who cannot count money. Money is paid him for his labor, but

1 882.] A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. 59

whether dollars or cents he knows not. Money he pays out for
his bread and meat, but whether frugally or lavishly spent he
cannot tell. So a Catholic can no more say it makes no differ-
ence how much or what kind of doctrine a man believes as long
as he is sincere, than he can say that it makes no difference how
much or what kind of money a man is paid for his labor as long
as he earns it honestly, or that it makes no difference what hands
move on the clock's face as long as they keep going, or what
food a man eats as long as he has a good appetite.

The understanding of a renewed child thirsts for a knowledge
of divine things as the hart panteth after the fountains of living
waters ; the Catholic parent says that he shall have those waters,
and plenty of them, and in seasonable time. Is there anything
in secular science to compare with the deep questionings of the
religious spirit ? The origin of the human race, creation and
preservation of the world ; the good and evil, joy and sorrow of
this life ; God, his existence and attributes, his trinity, his becom-
ing man, his revelation ; the Scriptures, their inspiration and
office ; future punishment, its kind and its intensity and its endur-
ance ; heaven, its place and its joys — what man of sense can ever
be contented who has not had a thorough instruction on these
subjects? Now, we do not postpone a thorough instruction in
arithmetic till years of maturity, nor is it given by weekly les-
sons, nor by unprofessional teachers, nor to children crowded all
together into one big room with hundreds of others, nor out of a
poorly learned primer. No real science, even in its barest ele-
ments, is ever well taught under such conditions. And there-
fore Catholic parents can never rest till the average Sunday-
school and the catechism lesson have given place to a systematic
study of religious truth.

And the sublime truths I have just mentioned are no longer
relegated to the seminary and pulpit. Nowadays and right
among us they are the common talk of men. There is not a
workshop, nor a harvest-field, nor a steamboat, nor a railroad
train, nor a debating society, in which the powers of human rea-
son and the worth and truth of Scripture, the divinity of Christ,
eternal rewards and punishments, are not freely argued about.
Not a week passes but the daily papers furnish the whole
reading public some columns on such great topics. Thus it has
become an every-day duty for Catholics to defend the funda-.
mental truths of reason and revelation ; can one learn to do it
by receiving an occasional lesson in the Little Catechism ? To
enable their children to intelligently converse on such themes

60 A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. [April,

and argue for them, can parents provide any other preparation
adequate except systematic study of the daily school lesson ?
And as yet we have touched on only some of our doctrines.
We have not mentioned the church of our Lord, its marks, its
sacraments, its sacrifice, its hierarchy, its inner life, its outward
form, and its history. In a word, to rightly believe in the true
religion is to put God and his divine Son in their proper place in
man's intelligence and in the universe ; and to secure that, divine
things cannot be crowded out of the regular business and work-
ing days of mental training. The study of religious truth should
not be exiled to what is properly a day of prayer and rest, and
not of tasks. To attend promptly and devoutly at Mass and
Vespers, to hear a short, familiar instruction, and for the rest to
contribute his presence to that family reunion which in nearly all
cases is only possible on Sunday, is enough to occupy the child
for one day, to say nothing of such distractions as the best
suit of clothes, the trip to the country, or the new story-book.

But an upright assertion and defence of the truth is not the
only matter to be provided for. Some day or other the child
may find it hard to keep his own hold upon it. Alas ! in what
a multitude of cases the worst enemy of the true doctrine is in
the Christian's own bosom. The majesty of God, the nobility of
man and his godlike nature, eternal joy, the character and suffer-
ings of our Lord — doubtless such doctrines are wonders of won-
ders to children. But how will it be if innocent childhood be
followed by a manhood tainted and corrupted ? To believe in
God is to confess a terrible Judge, Christ is a deeply injured and
despised Redeemer, and eternity an impending woe without end.
Because the child is good it need not follow that the man will so
much as keep the faith. Wait till the child has become a man,
perhaps an eager, ambitious, or sensual man. He realizes that
the cardinal truth of the Christian faith is that this bright world's
wealth, its applause, its honors, and all human love, are to be held
in contempt if repugnant to the friendship of an unseen Being —
a Being who is accustomed to reward his friends with such bitter
things as poverty and the contempt of men. Oh ! how many give
up their faith because it requires them to control their lower ap-
petites. Oh ! how wise it is to train up the Christian in a place,
in an atmosphere, amid surroundings, where the mention of God
is never out of order, and Christ our Lord, and Mary, and Beth-
lehem, and Calvary, and humble confession and happy commu-
nion are matters of every-day consideration, until the plastic
mind of youth becomes so penetrated by religious convictions

i882.] A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. 61

that to lose them will be morally out of the question, and so en-
lightened, refined, and strengthened that in after-years it will be
very difficult to depart even for a little while from the ways of
innocence, to stray away permanently almost impossible. Does
not this make a good Catholic school worth more to a parent
than the whole world ?

Of course grown men may learn for themselves. But there
is a prodigious difference between convictions formed in child-
hood and those of later years. The knowledge of childhood ever
remains instinctive, ingrained, second nature. With most men
pretty nearly the whole stock of knowledge has been laid in in
youth ; and with all men that knowledge is ever quickest and
freshest. Artists tell us that colors laid on the soft, green plaster
produce the only enduring fresco. So the mind of man receives
its deepest and richest colors in the fresh growing season of
youth, catching and absorbing the tints falling upon it at home
and at school.

Look at other dangers. As soon as a boy learns to read he
is devoured with a craving for entertaining books and papers.
An immense variety of juvenile literature awaits his choice.
And, excepting Protestant Sunday-school periodicals and a very
few badly supported Catholic ones, this literature is all of a pro-
fane tendency, giving life a purely secular cast, and some of it is
even positively pernicious. From the influence of these juvenile
weeklies and monthlies, full of stories, and travels, and jokes, and
games, and puzzles, boys and girls can hardly escape. Their gay
pictures bid for their pennies as they pass the news-stands ; chil-
dren who can buy read and lend to others who cannot ; smart chil-
dren recount the wonders to their simpler playmates. In a word,
this literature is daily becoming a more and more powerful edu-
cating force. Oh ! who will guard our thirsting children against
poisoned fountains ? Who will correct the false ideal of life they
are acquiring — a life of adventure and roaming, and chance and
danger, instead of quiet and labor ? Who will contradict covert
and open slurs against their religion ? Will Catholic parents do
it ? They might do something by obtaining for their families
Catholic children's journals. But they show that for the most
part they are not so much as aware of the danger ; they have
suffered Catholic juvenile periodicals to languish miserably un-
supported, or utterly die. And in how many cases are our Ca-
tholic parents simple people, whose severe daily labor quite ab-
sorbs their energies, reading themselves little more than their
prayer-books and now and then the organ of the political party !

62 A PRACTICAL VIEW OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. [April,

They have neither time nor capability to correct the wayward-
ness of their children's reading. The most effective antidote and
remedy is that the youthful mind pursue a course of religious
study at school. There he is furnished with all necessary argu-
ments ; there he is brought in contact with Catholic literature,
and learns that the heavenly doctrine it is that gives the soul its
deepest satisfaction.

Otherwise, and without this, he passes not unscathed from
youthful perils into the midst of the dangers besetting maturer
years. And those dangers are no longer the ones that we could
so easily laugh to scorn in our early manhood. It is not now
the wan spectre of Calvinism that beckons, or pliant Episcopa-
lianism, or groaning Methodism. It is the deification of all that
is low and rebellious in his own fallen nature that lures him on ;
it is the ruddy Venus of sensuality, the proud Jupiter of crown-
ed ambition. He is informed by poetasters, glib orators, and
so-called scientists that a future existence is the dream of en-
thusiasts or the fable of impostors. Infidel books and pamphlets
it is next to impossible for him to escape reading. Bullying ma-
terialists among his acquaintance habitually make all religion a
butt for their jibes and ridicule, and if he cannot refute he must
blush and be dumb. If he travels his chance acquaintance ad-
vocates popular errors, and infidel publications are offered him on
the railroad train. If he reads popular novels, at least the un-
dercurrent is atheistical, the heroes and heroines creatures who
know neither God nor hereafter. In his daily paper atheistical
lectures and communications are often under his eyes. If he is
a workingman many of his fellow-workmen are active infidels,
and some of the leaders of his labor society are socialists and
atheists. In public life he sees the success of avowed unbeliev-
ers, and perhaps the very physician who attends his family
hardly disguises his materialism. Now, dare any Catholic pa-
rent say that he can be pleasing to God and run risks in prepar-
ing his child to live amidst these dangers ?

Such are some of the storms which await the spiritual house
th» Catholic child shall dwell in. Is it not wise, is it not neces-
sary, to lay the foundations upon the solid training of a good
Catholic school ? The kingdom of heaven " is like unto a man
who, building his house, laid the foundations on a rock. And the
rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and they beat
upon that house, and it fell not, for it was founded on a rock."
Sand is a good enough foundation, if there were to be no floods
or storms ; but the rain must fall, and the waters must rise, and

1 882.] THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 63

the storms must beat, and the foundations must be tested. From
the very start the child must defend his religion and struggle for
it against every kind of enemy. Parents must see to it that if he
loses the battle and is robbed of his faith he shall not have them
to blame for it.

THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS *

HISTORY has been singularly silent, or sparing in information,
as to a movement which excited the North and South of England
in the reign of Henry VIII. It was, however, an important up-
rise of the people for religious freedom and the protection of
the clergy and religious orders. Some were styled the Pilgrims
of the Cross, but they have been handed down by the chronicles
of the times as the Pilgrims of Grace. The former title was very
ancient, dating far antecedent to the Crusades, and almost for-
gotten, as many other things in connection with the Catholics of
the days of the Heptarchy.

What might be styled the first popular movement against the
government of Henry VIII. originated with the lower classes
towards the close of September, 1536. They were marshalled
under the guidance of the abbot of Barlings, who assumed the
curious title of " Captain Cobbler." They made some noisy
demonstrations of which the higher class of Catholics did not
approve ; but in many districts the people were in a starving
condition, and, until such men as Lord Crumwell had undertaken
the government of the country, starvation was an element of
misery unknown to Englishmen even in the humblest grade.

The innovations and confiscations of the crown naturally ex-
cited the angry feeling of the Northern population, who had hith-
erto enjoyed much prosperity. They beheld their old friends of
the monastic houses drifting to ruin ; the monks and nuns who
had been accustomed to supply their poverty-stricken brethren
of the world with bread, meat, and clothing in seasons of scar-
city or adversity were now reduced to seek food from those
whom they had formerly fostered and cherished ; they were

* Considering all the bearings of this insurrection against Henry's government, I elect to
style it that of the " Pilgrims of the Cross."

64 THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

now so regarded by the people as to come in for a share of
their scanty meals. Nuns were found dead on the roadside
from the effects of cold and hunger, and many of them were
aged women who had spent their lives in ministering to the
wants of the poor. The abbot, the abbess, the friar, or the
wise old nun,* who settled village disputes ; who reconciled the
rude husband and his aggrieved wife ; who impressed upon chil-
dren the obligations and the duties they owed to God, their
parents, and their country ; who reminded youthful manhood of
the position it should hold and the career it should follow, and
pointed out to maidens the importance of their mission as the
future mothers of an honest and virtuous race, the local friends
of the people, in fact — their counsellors and benefactors — were
now despoiled, and anarchy and insurrection followed. About
sixteen hundred monks and friars joined in the cry of discontent ;
and the nobles and the gentry who complained that they were
deprived of the " corrodies " f reserved to them by the charters
of the founders likewise joined the popular movement.

On the 2d of October, 1536, the Archbishop of York, the
Lords Darcy, Neville, Lumley, and Latimer, and many knights
and gentlemen, joined the insurgents. The people of Lincolnshire
presented a bold front ; and Charles, Duke of Suffolk, who was
sent down to " despatch them at once," thought discretion prefer-
able to temerity and made proposals for a negotiation ; he wished
to know what they had to complain of. The complaints were
numerous, but might be reduced to a few : the suppression of
the monasteries, which had made the poor man poorer than he
had ever been before ; of the Statute of Uses in relation to the
transfer of land ; and of the introduction to the king's council of
Thomas Crurnwell and Maister Rich. The Pilgrims described
Crumwell as " a low-born man, once a robber in foreign parts,
and then a robber in England ; and Rich as a dicer and a false-
swearer " ; they protested against the appointment of Cranrner
to the see of Canterbury, and Poynet to that of Rochester, de-
claring that the chief object of those men was to suppress the
olden religion of England. Cranmer and Poynet seem to have
been extremely unpopular with the Pilgrims.

The king gave a vague promise to the people to redress

* Sister Mary, of the Cistercian convent at Grantham, in Lincolnshire. In Fitzherbert's
quaint chronicle concerning the "wandering monks and nuns" it is recorded that this lady died
in 1562, in her ninety-second year, and in a state of destitution.

t This term was applied to a certain fund established at various abbeys and convents for the
relief of the descendants of those who endowed the institution, " if reduced to poverty." The
descendants of "donors " had also a right to claim " asylum for their old retainers."

i882.j THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 65

grievances and grant a general pardon ; but his political agents
soon caused dissension in the people's ranks, which led to failure.
In five other counties the movement became formidable. From
the borders of Scotland to the Lune and the Humber the masses
bound themselves by " a solemn oath to stand together for the
love which they bore to Almighty God, his faith, the holy
church, and the maintenance thereof ; to the preservation of the
king's person and his issue ; to the purifying of the nobility ; and
to expel all ' villein blood ' and evil counsellors from the king's
presence — not for any private profit, nor to do displeasure to any
private person, nor to slay or murder through envy, but for the
restitution of the church and the suppression of heretics and their
opinions" *

The men who took part in this enterprise adopted the quaint
title, " Pilgrims of Grace," in addition to that of " Pilgrims of the
Cross." On their banners were painted the image of Christ Cru-
cified and the Chalice and Host. Wherever they appeared the
monks and nuns were restored to their former residences.

Hull, York, and Pontefract declared in favor of the Pilgrims.
Robert Aske, a gentleman of ancient lineage, at the head of
thirty thousand men entered Doncaster; here they were soon
afterwards confronted by the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of
Shrewsbury with some ten thousand disciplined troops, cannon,
and all the appliances of war. But a sudden swell in the river
causing delay, the Pilgrims became disheartened ; they again
sought for an armistice, which was granted by the Duke of Nor-
folk, in order to give time to bring up fresh forces and, in the
interval, excite dissension in the Pilgrim camp. In this scheme
he succeeded. The king, however, thought proper to send a
written answer to the complaints of the Pilgrims of the Cross,
and gave authority to Norfolk to treat with them, granting a
full pardon to all but ten — six named and four unnamed. This
exception caused each of the leaders to fear for his own safety :
the Pilgrims rejected the terms. Another negotiation was open-
ed, which was participated in by a large number of the clergy,
who met at Pontefract. Amongst the fresh demands made on
the king were " that heretical books should be suppressed ; that
heretical bishops and laymen of the same mind should either be
punished according to law or decide the question* with the Pil-
grims of the Cross in a brave, fair fight on the field of battle ;
that the Statute of Uses and Treason of Wards, with those which
abolished the papal authority, and bastardized the Princess Mary,

* Woodville's Anecdotes of the Pilgrims of Grace.
VOL. XXXV. — 5

66 THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

be considered ; the suppression of the monasteries, which gave
to the king the tenths and first-fruits of benefices, should be
repealed ; that Lord Crumwell, Chancellor Audley, and Maister
Rich should be tried as subverters of the law and maintainers of
heresy ; that London, Legh, and Leyton, the monastic inquisitors
to the Northern district, should be prosecuted for extortion, pecu-
lation, and other abominable acts."

The king and his council rejected the petition with con-
tempt.

" I marvel," wrote his highness in reply, "that such ignorant churls as
you are should presume to talk of theological subjects to me, who is so
noted in learning of that kind ; or that you should complain of my laws, as
if, after the experience of eight-and-twenty years, I did not know how to
govern this fair kingdom of mine ; or that you should oppose the suppres-
sion of the monasteries. Is it not better, therefore, to relieve and aid me,
as the head of the church, than to support the slothful and wicked monks f "
And again he says : " You can no more give judgment with regard to gov-
ernment than a blind man can as to colors. We, with our whole council,
think it strange that j^, who are but brutes and inexpert folk, do take upon
you to lecture us as to what is right or wrong." *

In another letter King Henry seems to look on the Northern
rising as a serious affair, for he tells the people how much he loves
them ! — " that the humblest of his subjects could have access to
his royal person and state their grievances, were sure to be re-
dressed."

Who so bold amongst the " brutes " as to seek redress of
the lion?

Time, so valuable to all popular risings, was vainly lost by
the Pilgrims in marching, counter-marching, and bootless diplo-
macy, whilst it was utilized, on the other hand, by the royal
general, who, having his army recruited, marched into the heart
of the country, spreading terror and devastation far and near.
The Duke of Norfolk's activity was met with hesitation, want
of generalship, and consequent panic amongst the Pilgrims,
whose once grand array seemed to melt away like a morning
mist. The enterprise met with the fate of all armed remon-
strances where the masses negotiate before they conquer.

The king was not disliked by the Pilgrims, and they did not
wish to fight against him, but they entertained a natural enmity
to his ministers and their myrmidons. In their marchings and

* Despatches in State Papers of Henry VIII. The king's letter is printed in Speed, p.
1038 ; and also in Lord Herbert's Life of Henry p. 480.

1 882.] THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 67

counter- marchings the Pilgrims aroused a very strong papal
feeling; they gloried in the name of "Catholics." The cross
was everywhere held forward as an emblem by which the " holy
brotherhood " were known. The children wore the cross em-
broidered in various fancy forms on the right shoulder. No-
thing could exceed the enthusiasm of the women of all ranks
and ages. " The Englishwomen are the noblest Catholics in the
world," was the remark of Narcisso Lopez, the great Spanish
architect, who visited England in those troubled times.

In October (1536) the Pilgrims marched in three divisions
from Pomfret. The enthusiasm on this occasion was great.
" Old men and women, on the verge of the grave, were carried
out to see the Pilgrims on their march and to give a blessing
to the cause for which they drew the sword. "* The tall and
handsome Sir Thomas Percy, at the head of five thousand men,
well armed, carried the banner of St. Cuthbert. Maister Aske
and Lord Darcy came next, commanding ten thousand men, all
well attired and effectively armed. No motley groups were
anywhere to be seen. The emblems of the olden creed were as
profuse as they might have been amongst the Crusaders of old.
The Pilgrim cavalry excited the admiration of the country and
startled the government at every point. They numbered twelve
thousand men, " well mounted and appointed, and all in rich
armor." This splendid body of cavalry had in its ranks the
knights, the esquires, and the yeomen of Richmondshire, Dur-
ham, and other districts — as brave and fine a body of men as ever
rode to battle-field for creed or fatherland. " We were," writes
Sir Marmaduke Constable, " thirty thousand men, tall men,
well horsed and well appointed as any men could be." Sir
Marmaduke Constable's statement is corroborated by the gov-
ernment despatches from the scene of action. Such a military
display had not been seen in England since the grandfathers of
the Pilgrims fought on Towton Moor and the " Red Rose of
Lancaster faded before the summer sun of York." With very
few exceptions all the great families of the North were in con-
federacy with the Pilgrims. The Earl of Westmoreland was
represented by the chivalrous Lord Neville ; Lord Latimer was
with them in person ;f Lords Darcy, Lumley, Scrope, and Con-
yers were in the front ranks of the movement ; likewise the

* Woodville's Anecdotes of the Pilgrims of Grace.

t It is curious, if not strange, that the widow of that zealous Catholic, Lord Latimer, should
at a subsequent period join the Reformers, enter on a secret campaign of proselytism, and be-
come King Henry's last wife.

68 . THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

ancient family of Constable, the Tempests, the . Boweses, the
Brydges, the Fairfaxes (not yet Puritan), the Str,angways, the
Danbys, the St. Johns, the Buhners, the Lascelles, the Nortons,
the Moncktons, the Lowthers, the Ingoldsbys — in fact, almost
every family known and recorded in Border story was repre-
sented amongst the " Pilgrims of the Cross." * These men were
very unlike the king's description of them — " ignorant churls and
brutes that should be handed over to the hangman." f

About this time, when a brief sunshine surrounded the Pil-
grims, the pope speculated upon their movement ending in the
final overthrow of Henry VIII. ; but the pontiff soon discovered
that the English people were attached to the king— in fact, he was
long known as a popular prince, and his name was yet received
with reverence, even by those whom he sent to the scaffold.
The scorn with which the Puritans of a subsequent period re-
ceived the name of the " Lord's anointed " had no place in the
hearts of the English Catholics of 1536-7.

The Earl of Northumberland, although sympathizing with
the cause, refused to draw sword against the king. His loy-
alty in this case would appear to have had a show of chivalry
towards the kingly office ; for in reality he must have hated
Henry Tudor, who had crossed him in the path of domestic
happiness some years antecedent to these transactions, when, as
Lord Percy, he was the suitor for the hand and affections of
Anna Boleyn. But the Pilgrims could not induce the Earl
of Northumberland to join them ; he resolutely refused. The
Pilgrims became excited and indignantly cried out to their
leaders " to strike off the proud earl's head, and make Sir
Thomas Percy [his brother] the Lord of Alnwick Castle."
When lying on his deathbed the Earl of Northumberland re-
ceived a deputation from the Pilgrims. He assured them of his
devotion to the old Catholic faith, but he " honored the mon-
archy and could not in conscience appear in arms against it."
He was silent as to the king's demerits, only remarking that
he was dying and forgave every one who had injured him. In
reply to a more urgent message he said : " If the Pilgrims of
Grace think I am not a true man, then let them strike off my
head. I can die but once, and it will rid me of the pain I am
suffering now. I love my country, and shall die in the old re-

* It is worthy of remark that the descendants of those great Catholic families are now — in-
deed, long since — with scarcely an exception, Protestant and Puritan,
t State Papers«of Henry VIII. 's reign.

r 882.] THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 69

ligion, to which the Percys always clung."* The better feel-
ings of the Pilgrims of Grace prevailed ; they retired from be-
fore the castle walls of the Border chief, and left him to meet
death in peace. " My darling Henry never raised his head since
the death of that wicked, deceitful woman, Anna Boleyn," were
the words uttered by the Countess of Northumberland, who
attended her broken-hearted son in his last illness and closed his
eyes in death.f Such was the last scene in the eventful life of
another of Anne Boleyn's romantic lovers.

Mr. Hepworth Dixon, who may be considered a hostile
writer, furnishes the following account of the connection of the
Percy family with the Pilgrims :

" Henry Percy, the sixth Earl of Northumberland, was a man of the
highest rank and power, then living beyond the Trent. In the antiquity of
his line, in the fame of his fathers, in the extent of his possessions, he
stood without a rival. The lord of Alnwick, Wressil, Leckinfield, and
other strong places, he kept the state and exercised the power of a prince,
having his privy council, his lords and grooms of the chamber, his cham-
berlains, treasurers, purse-bearers, some of which offices were hereditary in
noble houses. . . . He was the king's deputy in the North, Warden of the
East March and the Middle March, the fountain of all authority in the
Border lands. If any man could be made prince of a new kingdom of the
North, Harry Percy was that man. Like his neighbors, Percy had been
slow to follow the great changes then going on in London. As yet the
names of Catholic and Protestant had not been heard in Yorkshire. Those
who were in arms for the king and holy church had risen in favor of old
ways and old things : in favor of Queen Katharine, of monks, friars, nuns,
and religious houses — points on which Percy of Northumberland took
much the same view as his tenants and friends. But Harry Percy was un-
thrifty.t a weak and ailing man, who had never got over his love for Anna
Boleyn, and who was mourning in his great house at Wressil, on the Der-
went, her starless fate, when Maister Aske and a body of riders dashed into
the courtyard* of Wressil shouting, ' A Perc)', a Percy !' The king's War-
den of the Marches slipped into bed and sent out word that he was sick.
The Pilgrims would not take this answer ; they wanted a Percy in their
camp — Earl Harry, if it might be — so that folks could say they were march-
ing under the king's flag, with law and justice on their side. Aske sent
fresh messages into the sick man's room ; either the Earl of Northumber-
land or his brothers, Sir Thomas and Sir Ingram, he said, must join the
camp of the Pilgrims of Grace. These gallant young knights were only

* Woodville's Anecdotes of the Pilgrims of Grace.

t Ibid.

t When Thomas Crumwell carried on the trade of a money-lender in London Lord Percy
was amongst his victims. In an account-book of Crumwell's still extant the name of Lord
Percy occurs ; he borrowed £tp at an enormous interest. To deal with such an extortioner as
Crumwell shows that Percy deserved the title of "unthrifty Harry." His father, according to
Cavendish, describes Percy as " a proud, unthinking man, who wasted much 'money."

70 THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

too quick to obey his call. The elder brother, Harry Percy, made a feeble
protest, and after they were gone he revoked the commissions which they
held under him as officers in the Marches. Katharine, their mother, widow
of the Earl of Northumberland, detained them with tears over what she
felt would be their doom. She came of a house which had known the
Tower and the block too well, her uncle being that Duke of Somerset who
was executed by Edward IV., her great-grandsire that Earl of Warwick
who had given his name to the Beauchamp Tower; but Katharine Percy's
sons, though they paused for a moment at the warning cries of their noble
mother, instantly leapt to horse, and, clad in flashing steel and flaunting
plumes, rode forward into the camp, where the Pilgrims of Grace received
them with a wild enthusiasm. That shining steel, those dazzling plumes,
were afterwards cited as evidence that they had joined the Pilgrims by de-
liberate choice, and his fine attire caused one of the brothers to lose his
head."*

Sir Thomas Percy, who was heir -to the earldom, was amongst
those who perished on the scaffold. The earldom was subse-
quently conferred by Queen Mary on Sir Thomas Percy's son,
who was known in the reign of Elizabeth as the " Stout Earl."
This nobleman, in conjunction with the Earl of Westmoreland
and many others, took up arms in favor of the Queen of Scots,
but the effort was followed by failure and disaster, f

I cannot pass over the allusion to the " Stout Earl " without
further reference to his fate. The leading men of the "rebel con-
federation," as the adherents of Mary Stuart were called in the
reign of Elizabeth, had escaped, and were beyond the reach of
the English government or the Scotch regent (Lord Moray) ; but
trie unfortunate Earl of Northumberland fell into the hands of
Lord Moray by the vilest means that could disgrace any public
man. Queen Elizabeth instructed Sir William Cecil to do his
utmost to decoy Northumberland into England. A plan was
quickly arranged. Robert Constable, a Yorkshire gentleman, " a
near relative and a -bosom friend," as he describes himself, of
Northumberland, was engaged to play the character of traitor.
Constable crossed the Border and soon discovered the hiding-
place of his confiding cousin (Northumberland), and immediately
made professions of secret loyalty to the cause of the outlaws,
and, above all, brotherly love for his chivalrous kinsman. No
suspicion crossed the mind of Northumberland and his outlawed
companions. They hailed their visitor as a noble and disinterest-
ed patriot. The next step taken by Constable was to write to

* In Sir Charles Sharpe's Memorials of the Northern Rebellion are to be found many par-
ticulars as to the misfortunes of the Percy family.

t Miss Strickland's Queens of England^ vol. iv. p. 539 ; Davison's Narrative ; Sir Harris
Nicolas.

1 882.] THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 71

Sir Ralph Sadler, informing him how " far he had got into the
confidence " of his beloved cousin and the other confederates,
whom he had advised to return to England. Queen Elizabeth
rejoiced to hear of this intelligence from her Secretary of State.
Constable was promised a large reward if he succeeded in decoy-
ing the earl and his friends to England. In order to disarm sus-
picion Constable spent a night at Jedburgh, at a house which
was the resort of the most desperate men who wandered along
the ^Border country. Those persons presented a strange mix-
ture of the most opposite characteristics : they were profuse in
their hospitality, recklessly brave, and whenever they met any
one whom they considered a victim or an outlaw of the English
or Scotch government they succored and defended him to the
death. A spy, an informer, or a traitor they dealt with in a very
summary manner. From what Constable saw in the Border
country he did not attempt to carry out his' scheme of treach-
ery. So it fell through. Another villain, named Hector Arm-
strong, appeared upon the scene ready to commit any crime for
English gold ; few, however, trusted this " red-handed assassin."
John Knox and Lord Moray corresponded about the same time
with Sir William Cecil upon the plans to be devised for the arrest
of Northumberland, although he stood upon neutral ground.
Whilst negotiations were proceeding between Queen Elizabeth
and the Scotch regent for the " betrayal and sale " of Northum-
berland, the career of Moray was suddenly brought to a close by
the well-aimed bullet of one of his victims, Mr. Hamilton-Hough.

A new crop of villains now appeared upon the scene.

Northumberland was arrested and lodged in Loch Leven
Castle, where he remained a close prisoner for two years. After
his betrayal his wife, a lady of great spirit and energy, went to
the Low Countries, where, with laudable devotion, she contrived
to amass the sum of two thousand pounds as a ransom for her
husband. Lords Marr and Morton accepted the money offered,
and next privately communicated with the English queen and
her minister as to what sum the latter were inclined to pay.
Sir William Cecil proposed to double the sum already offered by
Lady Northumberland, whilst the Scotch knaves increased their
demand upon the English monarch to ten thousand pounds, to be
paid down in gold. Queen Elizabeth, swearing one of her terri-
ble oaths, denounced the proposal as " an extortion ; she would
pay no such sum." Then sai'd Lord Morton in his letter : " Your
highness will not have the immense pleasure of cutting off the
head of your rebel subject." The queen took ten days to con-

72 THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

sider the matter. At the end of the time named she agreed to
pay the sum demanded. " Even in that ruthless age," remarks
Mr. Hosack, " the giving up of a fugitive to certain death was re-
garded as a heinous crime." Of all the actors in this scene of in-
famy, Morton, in the opinion of his contemporaries, incurred the
largest share of guilt. It was given out that Northumberland
was to be conveyed in a Scotch ship to Antwerp, and there set
free. He therefore joyfully left his gloomy prison at Loch Leven
and embarked on the Firth of Forth, as he believed for Antwerp,
where his wife and friends awaited his arrival. To his astonish-
ment and dismay he found that the vessel, instead of putting out
to sea, ran down the coast off Berwickshire and anchored near
Coldingham. Lord Hunsdon went on board the vessel, when
John Colville, a Scotch " gentleman," * delivered to Queen Eliz-
abeth's agent the unfortunate earl. The gold was then paid
down in " a business manner."

Northumberland underwent an examination which lasted six
weeks ; but he criminated no man, betrayed no one. The queen
sent her final command, or judgment, to Lord Hunsdon, to
bring his prisoner immediately to York, where she desired that
he should be executed as a traitor. He had no trial. Lord
Hunsdon, although a rough soldier, seemed horrified at this pro-
ceeding. He wrote to Cecil that " he would not lead the noble
prisoner to the scaffold — some other person must be found to per-
form that degrading duty ; and, further, he would, rather than
obey the queen's order in this matter, go to prison at once."f
Sir John Foster, on whom the queen conferred a large portion
of the earl's property, undertook the office of superintending the
execution. In Elizabeth's letters to Lord Hunsdon she desires
that he should hold out hopes to his prisoner of a pardon in case
he implicated others amongst the outlawed Englishmen beyond
the Borders and induced them to return to England. When the
queen was assured by Hunsdon that Northumberland was " re-
solved to be true to his unfortunate countrymen to the death,"
she became excited, and in her reply to her cousin Hunsdon
said : " So he is stuck up and will not bend before his queen.
Then, by the Host of Heaven ! I will make the remainder of his life

* Colville, who acted as the betrayer of Northumberland, had been orieinally a Presbyterian
minister, and became expelled. He next took to the " politics of the times," and was in the
pay of both parties. He finally became an infidel. He is supposed to have been the author of
a history of King James VI. Like many of the political adventurers and daggermen of those
times, he died in great poverty.

t Lord Hunsdon's bold letter to Sir William/ Cecil is printed in Sharpe's History of the
Northern Rebellion, p. 331.

1 882.] THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 73

as miserable as possible. I understand that he is very fond of sa-
vory belly-cheer. Let him have no food but of the poor descrip-
tion, and not much of that ; let it be just fit for a roadside beg-
gar. I wish to humble this proud Percy to the dust." To his
honor be it told, Lord Hunsdon did not in this case comply
with his sovereign's command, for he brought his chivalrous
and warm-hearted prisoner to his own table, and treated him
with all the respect due to a descendant of the Border chiefs.
The Earl of Northumberland was a stranger to the political in-
trigues of those times. No man seemed less fitted by nature
and habit to become the leader of a revolutionary movement.
He regarded with scorn and contempt the new order of nobility
created by Queen Elizabeth. His family were persecuted on ac-
count of their devotion to the olden faith of England. He pub-
licly denounced the Reformers for having " removed their neigh-
bors' landmark." He disdained to beg for his life, and seemed
quite unconcerned as to what course the queen might take
against him. Lord Hunsdon relates that he found him more
ready to talk of " his hounds, hawks, and horses than of the
grave charges preferred against him." He was acquainted with
the principal sporting gentlemen of England, and the famous
" story-tellers " and strolling players were always welcome at
his baronial castles, where profuse hospitality awaited " all
comers/' high and low. It is no wonder that this Border chief
was beloved.

The Earl of Northumberland ascended the scaffold at York
on the 22d of August, 1572. He advanced to the front of it,
accompanied by his confessor, Father Thurlow, his physician,
and two gentlemen of the household. Lord Hunsdon had
some difficulty in procuring this indulgence from the queen.
The Crown was represented by the sheriff, Sir John Foster, the
executioners, and several officials. A strong military guard of
horse and foot were at every point surrounding the scaffold.
The noble earl looked pale and sad, but he quickly recovered
himself again. He addressed the populace in a firm and digni-
fied tone.. He regretted nothing that he had done. He wished
to tell the people of England that he would die as he had lived,
a true and devoted member of the Church of Rome. He considered
Queen Elizabeth as a daring usurper, the bastard offspring of
King Henry VI II., and a heretic of the worst kind. He bade all his
numerous friends and retainers a long farewell. After a pause,
in which he surveyed the crowd, he said : " Remember that I die
a Catholic and I am a true Percy to the last. Farewell for ever,

74 THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

my dear friends. God bless you all ! " The execution was con-
ducted in a cruel and disgraceful manner : a blunt carpenter 's axe
was used, and the executioners were, as usual, in a state of drunken-
ness. For half an hour they were chopping at his neck and the
blood flowing at all sides ; at last one of them held up the convulsed
and blood-streaming head to the gaze of the excited multitude.

The high rank and ancient lineage of the Earl of Northumber-
land, the disgraceful circumstances attending his betrayal by the
Scots, and his steadfast adherence to the olden creed created a
profound sensation throughout England; in fact, all the great cities
of Europe felt indignant at the murderous conduct of Elizabeth
in this special case, in which she set aside the law — even such a
show of that arbitrary weapon as she used on other occasions.
But worse than all was her purchase of the noble victim from
the regent of Scotland for the sum of ten thousand pounds, paid
down in gold on the delivery of the prisoner, who, according to the
usage of all civilized nations then as well as now, was entitled to
protection and hospitality in Scotland, against whose laws he had
not offended. There was no second opinion on this matter
throughout Europe ; and it hands d.own to everlasting infamy
the character of the Scottish regent (Lord Marr), Queen Eliza-
beth, and her minister, Sir William Cecil.

In 1585 the next brother, who held the title of Earl of
Northumberland, was committed to the Tower on the charge of
high treason. It is alleged that he committed suicide ; but as he
was a man under the influence of religion, the statement is high-
ly improbable. It was believed at the time that Elizabeth's se-
cret agents murdered him. The despatches of La Motte Fene-
leon, the French ambassador, throw a flood of light on the pro-
ceedings of Elizabeth as to the " Northern rebels," which ex-
ceeded in barbarity the massacres perpetrated by her father
against the Pilgrims of Grace. " In spite of the explanations
given by the government," writes Mr. Hep worth Dixon, "folks
would not believe that Percy, Earl of Northumberland, died by
his own hand. Sir Christopher Hatton bore the odium of con-
triving a midnight murder ; for many years the event was spo-
ken of as a political assassination, and that by men who, like
Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Robert Cecil, knew every rr^stery
of the court." Sir Harris Nicolas pronounces the accusation
of murder against Hatton to be "scandalous and untrue." But
Percy of Northumberland was undoubtedly murdered by some
of Lord Burleigh's or the queen's agents. An inquest on a poli-
tical prisoner in the reign of Elizabeth was a dismal farce. The

1 882.] THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 75

true mode by which the unfortunate nobleman was assassinated
remains still a mystery. Sir Harris Nicolas thus exonerates
Hatton : he observes, " That Sir Christopher Hatton's position
rendered him an object of envy cannot be doubted ; but he seems
to have made more friends and fewer enemies than any other
royal favorite." The biographers of Hatton are at issue as to
his merits. Lord Campbell, Sir Harris Nicolas, and Mr. Foss
all disagree. Hatton, however, had many good qualities.

" He was," observes one of his distinguished biographers, " the con-
stant resource of the unfortunate, knowing on such occasions no distinc-
tion of religion ; in whose cause, he nobly said, neither searing nor cutting
was to be used. He was the frequent intercessor in cases of persecution,
and the patron and, better still, the friend of literary men, who repaid his
kindness by the only means in their power, thanks — the exchequer of the
poor — in the dedication of their works. All that is known of Hatton
proves that his heart and disposition were amiable, his temper mild, and
his judgment less biassed by the prejudices of his age than that of most of
his contemporaries."

The reader can see that the Percy family had too much rea-
son to remember and execrate the cruel and remorseless Tudors,
who scourged the English people for nearly one hundred and
twenty years.

To return to the Pilgrims. The secular clergy were disaf-
fected in the provinces ; they had reason to complain bitterly of
the conduct of the ecclesiastical inquisitors. George Lumley, a
son of the nobleman of that name, declared in his evidence before
the council that the priests in the North of England had "assist-
ed the Pilgrims of Grace with money and provisions." * Many
of the seculars were at first opposed to the movement ; but when
their " small household property was seized upon by Lord
Crumwell's agents they became exasperated ; still, they did not
join the popular movement." f The next command from Crum-
well was to seize the church plate ; the chalice was torn from the
tabernacle by the hands of such men as Richard Crumwell, and a
tin vessel was supplied to each church or chapel, to be used as a
chalice.\ When the government made this sacrilegious confisca-
tion the priests and the people at once coalesced. Popular in-
dignation was at its height, and the people cried out for Lord
Crumwell's head, whom they styled the "arch-heretic." " Down
with the villain ! " was the shout raised in every town and vil-
lage.§

* MSS. in the State Paper Office. f Thorndale's Memorials.

J Ecclesiastical Returns concerning Church Plate made to Lord Crumwell.
§ Anecdotes of the Pilgrims of Grace.

76 THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

Disaster followed disaster with the Pilgrims of Grace. Near-
ly all their principal leaders were taken prisoners. Lord Darcy,
Aske, Constable, Bigod, the abbots of Fountains and Jervaulx,
Sir John Buhner, Lord Lumley's son Tempest, and thirteen
others of ancient family were tried in London and at once con-
demned to death. Some were executed at Tyburn, others at
York and Hull. The king indulged in one of his savage say-
ings: " Let there be no delay; hang them tip at once" Lady Bul-
mer, a very beautiful woman, was consigned to the flames at
Smithfield by a special Tudor code which condemned women
to the stake " with its worst tortures" if they committed high trea-
son. Lady Bulmer died heroically. " / have" said she, " come
here to die for the old religion of England ; I have nothing to regret,
and I rejoice*and thank my God that I am given an opportunity of
offering up my life for the true faith of Jesus Christ." *

Mr. Hepworth Dixon represents Lady Bulmer as insane ; that
she was the illegitimate daughter of Stafford, Duke of Bucking-
ham, who was beheaded in the early part of Henry's reign ; and,
further, " She was not the wife of Sir John Bulmer ; her name was
Madge Chej'ne." And again Mr. Dixon observes : " She was a
devout woman, if not an honest wife; she brought with her into
.the Pilgrims' camp not only her high blood and bickering tongue,
but Father Stonehouse, her family priest." If the lady whose
memory Mr. Hepworth Dixon thus traduces held such a po-
sition, no Catholic priest holding jurisdiction from his bishop,
or accredited from the heads of the religious orders, could
fill the office of chaplain and confessor to her ; so Mr. Dixon's
allegations fall to pieces like a house of cards. If a fervid en-
thusiasm on the part of the English matrons and their daugh-
ters in favor of the Pilgrims can be construed into madness,
then there was an overwhelming amount of insanity in the pro-
vinces. Mr. Dixon cannot afford a good word for the Pilgrims,
to whom he applies many harsh epithets.

When Lord Darcy was examined before the Privy Council,
he turned on Lord Crumwell, " once his professing friend," and
now, regardless of his enmity, he said :

" Crumwell, it is thou that art the very special and chief causer of all
this rebellion [movement] and mischief, and art likewise causer of the ap-
prehension of us ; that be ... [the word here has faded away], and dost
daily earnest [travel] .to bring us to our ends, and to strike off our heads ;
but I trust that ere thou die, though thou wouldst procure all' the noble-

* Dr. Creci's Scenes at the Stake — a very scarce black-letter book ; Woodville's Anecdotes of
tJie Pilgrims of Grace.

{

1 882.] THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 77

men's heads within the realm to be stricken off , yet shall there remain one
head [and arm] that shall strike off. thy head."*

In Lord Darcy's petition to the king he says : " I beg to have
confession, and at Mass to receive my Adorable Maker [the Holy
Eucharist], that I may depart in peace from this vale of misery."

In a letter to the king Darcy besought his highness, in
pathetic words, that his " entire body " (when royal vengeance
was satisfied) might be laid beside the remains of the wife of his
early love, once known as the beautiful Anne Neville — the type
of all that was generous and good in her sex. Lord Darcy fur-
ther implored that his debts might be paid out of his own pro-
perty. Aske and others petitioned that their families " might not
be reduced to poverty and ruin." f How far such requests were
attended to by Lord Crumwell it is unnecessary to inquire.

Some of the Pilgrims acted in a half-hearted spirit on their
trials, but most of them were firm, and at the scaffold behaved in
a manner worthy of men whose fathers were famed in the wars
of the Plantagenets ; but, with that proud feeling which was often
evinced by the old . historic families of England, they protested
against being stigmatized as rebels. They placed themselves in
the position of " defenders of the olden religion of the country,"
which, they argued, was older than any monarchy in Europe.
They were still loyal to his highness ; but their loyalty to the
Papal Church could only be extinguished in their blood. The
scenes which took place throughout the country attested the
truth of their declarations, for no men ever died at the hands of
the headsman with greater moral courage, veneration, and love
for the creed of their forefathers than did the leaders of the Pil-
grims of Grace.

In York, Hull, Carlisle, and Pontefract some seven hundred
persons were hanged, amongst whom were many monks and
friars. The scenes of slaughter ended with " hanging upon the
trees a score of men in every village the king's generals passed
along." The poor, unlettered peasantry died like heroes, but
''without benefit of clergy" The "old nobles" were friendly to
the Pilgrims of Grace, and it is even alleged that the Duke of
Norfolk " secretly wished them well." No action of Norfolk's
life, however, supplies credence to such an opinion. If he were
a chivalrous courtier he always chose the strongest side, where-

* This brief address of Lord Darcy is to be seen in a MS. at the Rolls House ; and, what
is more curious still, it is in Lord Crumwell's own handwriting — thus inditing a premonition of
his own fate.

t State Papers of Henry's reign.

78 THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

by his interests were best promoted. A despatch of his from
Welby Abbey throws some light on what manner of man the
"hero of Flodden Field" really was. He says: " By any means,
fair or foul, I will crush the rebels [the Pilgrims] ; / will esteem no
promise that I make to them, nor think my honor touched in the -viola-
tion of the same. " *

There was no lack of enthusiasm or bravery on the part of
the Northern Pilgrims, and they had a powerful incentive to per-
severe in the fact that the royal army were supposed to be dis-
affected, both officers and men, who abhorred the king's coun-
cil, especially Lord Crumwell. Nevertheless, the Pilgrim gene-
rals lost their opportunities, perhaps through the incapacity of
Lord Darcy. Both parties have accused him of treachery ; but
he was no traitor, and many circumstances plead in his favor.
He belonged to the old class of nobility, who looked upon a
king as " the anointed of the Lord." He served under Henry
VII. and gave many sumptuous entertainments to that monarch.
He had fought against the Moors with King Ferdinand, and he
had earned laurels in France also. He had some military reputa-
tion. In early life he travelled to the Holy Land ; he visit-
ed Rome and paid homage to the spiritual head of his religion.
He was strongly opposed to the German Reformation, and when
the question of the king's supremacy was raised he made seve-
ral speeches in the House of Lords on the subject. He was
most outspoken on the question of the pope's spiritual headship,
and did not seem to care whether his sentiments pleased the
king or not. But at the same time he did not like to be stig-
matized as a rebel. The name sounded odious in his ear. Mr.
Froude insinuates treachery and cowardice in his conduct ;
but it is easy to draw an unfavorable inference from the uncer-
tain accounts that have reached posterity of the real circum-
stances which led to the overthrow of the movement. It must
be likewise remembered that Lord Darcy was nearly eighty-two
years old and weighed down with infirmity and domestic sor-
rows; nevertheless, he ascended the scaffold bravely and died
like a true Christian.

From the last terrible despatch of King Henry to the com-
mander of his army may be judged the kind of faith with which
monarch and general had conducted the negotiations with an in-
jured people. "The further," writes his highness, "you wade
in the investigation of the behavior of those monks, the worse
you will find them." f In conclusion the proclamation says :

*State Papers, vol. i. p. 519. t State Papers of Henry VIII.'s reign.

1 882.] THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 79

" Our kingly pleasure is that, before you close up our royal banner again,
you shall cause such dreadful execution to be done upon a number of the inhabi-
tants of every town, village, and hamlet that have offended as shall make a
spectacle to others who might wish to offend hereafter against our royal com-
mand. Finally, as all those* troubles have been caused by the monks and
canons of those parts, you shall, without pity, cause all the said monks and all
the said canons that in any wise have been faulty to be tied up without further
delay or ceremony."

In 1513, many years before Crumwell and Cranmer became
advisers to the crown, Henry wrote to Leo X., eulogizing the
religious orders of England, the Franciscans — Friars Minor, or
Gray Friars *— being special objects of his commendation. He
described them as " remarkable for Christian poverty, sincerity,
charity, and devotion." f " Tied up " signified to be hanged
from the nearest tree, " without benefit of clergy" The Duke of
Norfolk obeyed the royal command. In two days he hanged
seventy-four persons in Westmoreland and Cumberland. A
large portion of them were priests, some forty, fifty, sixty,
seventy, and one eighty-six years of age. To this number may be
added twelve abbots who were hanged, drawn, and quartered.^ One
of the abbots executed was Thomas Maigne, a man of conside-
rable learning and stainless character. At his so-called trial the
abbot addressed the jury in an eloquent strain ; but, that tribunal
having been " carefully selected," Maigne was speedily consign-
ed to the executioner. He died bravely, telling his companions
that they were " about to suffer for the faith of Jesus Christ."
Lord Hussey, also having gone through the form of a trial, was
found guilty and executed. § The mode of dealing with this
unfortunate nobleman was marked by the vilest treachery and
dishonor ; yet it is alleged by some writers that Lord Hussey
" had all the advantages of a fair trial." The record of what
took place is the most conclusive answer that can be made to
this assertion.

As I have already remarked, seventy-four persons were
" hanged and quartered " in three days at Westmoreland and
Cumberland. Several of them were aged priests, fl Here is Mr.

* The Franciscans of England, as also of Spain and the Spanisn-American countries, have
always worn a gray habit instead of the usual brown one generally worn elsewhere by the
order.— ED. C. W.

t Ellis' Original Royal Letters, vol. i. p. 166.

\ State Papers; Woodville ; Sharon Turner, vol. x.; Lingard, vol. iv.; Froude, vol. iii. In
the Hardwicke State Papers, vol. i., some additional light is thrown on the murderous pro-
ceedings of the king and his council in relation to the Pilgrims.

§Crumwell's State Papers. | Hall ; Stowe's Chronicle; MSS. State Paper Office.

8o THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

Froude's commentary on this dreadful scene : "• The severity vvas
not excessive, but it was sufficient to produce the desired result. The
rebellion was finished. The flame was trampled out'' *

An old tradition of Cumberland is that a number of poor
women and their daughters collected the mutilated remains of
the dead and gave them burial in a Christian form. On the
following day an Irish Dominican named Ulick de Burgh cele-
brated Mass for the deceased Pilgrims ; he was soon after ar-
rested, and hanged from a tree by Richard Crumwell as an " in-
cendiary offering prayers for rebels who died ' without benefit
of clergy.' "f

The Duke of Suffolk acted the part of a perfect monster to
the women who were arrested for " cheering on the Pilgrims."
" Chuck these women off from the nearest tree," were the
words of Suffolk to Colonel Talbot. The king desired that the
women who committed " high treason," as he would have it,
should be sent to the stake, in the same manner as Lady Bulmer ;
but his officers pleaded for the " rope " as the most expeditious.
The Pilgrims of Grace met with no quarter ; they were de-
cimated by the royal troops in their broken retreat ; and hun-
dreds of them were found dead in the ditches and roadsides from
hunger and exhaustion. The women in the rural districts acted
in the most heroic manner.

As in all revolutionary movements, the Pilgrims were guilty
of some excesses, but not one-tenth of what has been attributed
to them. Whenever they fell into the hands of the king's adhe-
rents they received no mercy — not even the women and children.
In a moment of " rage and red-hot passion " the Pilgrims slew
one of the principal canons of the cathedral of Lincoln. He was
known to have been a spy for Lord Crumwell, whilst at the same
time expressing sympathy with the popular cause. His assassi-
nation was the result of a mere outburst of popular fury. Mr.
Froude alleges that several priests cried out, " Kill him ! " If Mr.
Froude had stated that a number of half-mad women cried put,
" Kill Crumwell's Judas ! " he would have approached nearer to
the facts. Mr. Froude considers that Stowe and Holinshed
" knew nothing of the movement of the Pilgrims — they are no
authority." The reason is obvious. The public are invited to ac-
cept Mr. Froude's narrative. The wholesale butchery of the pea-
santry was " according to law " ; therefore it should receive no
censure. Richard, brother to Lord Crumwell, was invested with

* Froude's History of England, vol. iii. p. 203.
t Woodville's Anecdotes of the Pilgrims of Grace.

1 882.] THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. 81

the command of some troops, but his real office was that of a spy
for the king, to ascertain whether " certain squires were in earn-
est, true, and loyal." He writes in glowing terms of Sir John
Russell. Russell assured him that his hatred of the Pilgrims was
so great that he could " eat them without salt." * Another ac-
count is to the effect that Sir John Russell said, " Leave the lazy
monks to me, and I will soon dangle them from the trees," to
which Richard Crumwell replied, " I would rather yoke them to
a plough, that they might taste of hard work." Richard Crum-
well performed many offices for Henry of which there is no re-
cord extant. The term " Lollard " was sometimes applied to him
in relation to his "sacking" convents in search of jewelry for the
king. He was a special favorite with Henry, who invested him
with knighthood in a most gracious manner. " Formerly,"
says the delighted monarch, " thou wast my Dick, but hereafter
shalt be nry diamond," and thereat let fall his diamond ring
unto him; "in avowance whereof," writes Fuller, "these Crum-
wells have ever since given for their crest a lion holding a dia-
mond ring in his forepaw." f The examination of some of the
Pilgrims before Lord Crumwell as to the " causes of the discon-
tent " are of considerable importance.

"The discontent," says Aske, "extended to the county families who
shared or imitated the prejudices of their feudal leaders ; every family had
their own peculiar grievances. On the suppression of the abbeys the peers
obtained grants, or expected to obtain them, from the forfeited estates.
The county squires saw the desecration of the familiar scenes of their daily
life, the violation of the tombs of their ancestors, and the buildings them-
selves, the beauty of which was the admiration of foreigners who visited
England, reduced to ruins. The abbeys were the most picturesque and
beautiful places in the realm, and always a source of delight to the people
of other nations. The abbots had been the personal friends of the local
gentry, the trustees for their children, and the executors of their wills; the
monks had been the tutors of their children ; the free tables constantly
covered with good cheer had made convents and abbeys attractive and
popular, especially in remote places and during severe weather. The im-
mediate neighborhood of a large abbey or convent was a busy hive of in-
dustry ; no one hungry ; the sick, infirm, and aged cared for with tender-
ness." \

Upon this report Mr. Froude remarks : " I am glad to have
discovered the most considerable evidence in favor of some, at

*MSS. State Paper Office.

t Fuller's History of English Abbeys, edited by Dr. Brewer, vol. iii.
\ Examination of Aske ; Rolls House MSS. ; Crumwell's State Papers.
VOL. XXXV. — 6

82 THE PILGRIMS OF THE CROSS. [April,

least, of the superiors .of the religious houses."* George Gis-
borne, who lived by land, said that the poor people were left
without the commons, or patches of ground, which their families
held for centuries ; that they were oppressed by a new class of
squires, who doubled the rent.^ Other witnesses dwelt upon the
losses their children and themselves had suffered by the confisca-
tion of the abbeys. The grievances spoken of by the Pilgrims of
Grace were frequently alluded to by Hugh Latimer in his " rustic
speeches," yet those revolutionary proceedings were suggested
and carried out by the very class of men with whom Latimer was
so intimately connected. These facts are attested by the State
Papers and records of the times, and it is impossible to deny
their accuracy.

The Pilgrims were neither traitors nor rebels, but rather con-
servative and patriotic in all their actions ; they are almost un-
known to posterity ; they have been misrepresented by some
recent writers, as they had been cruelly calumniated by others.
From the days of the first Crusade no such enthusiastic move-
ment of Catholics had taken place in England to confront the
present and pressing foe of their belief. Youth and old age
rushed to the standard of the Pilgrims with self-devoted ardor.
Those Knights of the Cross did not war against their sovereign,
but with his council, who had nearly overthrown the nation-
al religion and raised anarchy, bloodshed, and confiscation in
its place. Those nobles, knights, and esquires who were con-
demned to the scaffold met death in a manner worthy of the
heroes of antiquity ; like the Christian martyrs of yore, they
advanced to the headsman singing hymns of praise to the
Most High. And, standing on the threshold of eternity, they
proclaimed their devotion to the faith of their fathers. Such
is the story of the Pilgrims of the Cross, hitherto known, and
that very obscurely, as the " Pilgrims of Grace," when men-
tioned at all in English history.

The Northern insurrection, instead of securing the stability,
as. might have been expected, accelerated the ruin of the remain-
ing monasteries, against which a new commission was issued
under the presidency of Lord Sussex, a pliant tool of the
monarch. On this occasion spies and informers of the most
abandoned character gave evidence against monks and nuns.
Every groundless tale, every malicious insinuation, was col-
lected, sworn to, and entered in the general bill of indictment,

* Froude, vol. iii. p. 89. t Rolls House MSS.

1 882.] BEFORE THE CROSS. 83

although Sussex, in his private despatch to Lord Crumwell,
stated that the character, of the witnesses was " rotten and
could not fairly be accepted against the religious orders, of
whom every one had spoken well." The treachery of Crum-
well and Sussex in this transaction was like that of Dr. London
with the nuns of Godstow.

About the spring of 1540 all the monastic establishments of
England had been torn from the possession of those who had
held them in faithful, genial, and kindly trust as the heritage
of the poor, and who were always known as the loving pro-
moters of every good work — clerics as well as citizens, pub-
lic benefactors, and private monitors in the inculcation of virtue.
Seeing the sacrilegious pillage to which God's altar and the
inheritance of the poor were being subjected, it was no wonder
that man's nature asserted itself in some of those holy men,
and that they threw themselves in the front ranks of their down-
trodden flock in defence of religious liberty.

BEFORE THE CROSS.

JESUS ! my prayer would tell thee all
A grateful heart could say :

But when I seek befitting speech
The words glide all away.

I view thy cross, and muse, and grieve,
And brush from lids their dew :

Oh ! let these mute love-tokens say
What language fails to do.

As flowers waft in scents their praise,

And well-accepted know,
My heart its silent incense sends,

Content if thou art so.

Ye choirs of lov'd ones, chanting now

Your Glorias full and free,
Oh ! fill the part I hope to take,

And sing my love for me.

84 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [April,

THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL.

From the German of the Countess Hahn-Hahn, by Mary H. A. Allies.

PART III.— THE FALL OF THE BLOSSOMS.

CHAPTER IV.

DECEPTION.

LEHRBACH and Edgar had left, and it was quieter than ever
at Griinerode. Sylvia felt inexpressibly lonely, and the place
appeared to her deserted. A change had come over everything.
Her reign as mistress, on whom devolved the intelligent supervi-
sion of the house and the pleasant nursing of the sick, had ceased.
There was nobody left to be glad at the sound of her step or
of her laugh, nobody with whom she could talk or who would
understand her, no one with whom she could feel a thorough
inward sympathy. Vincent alone inspired her with this sort
of confidence. In no other man had she ever found his calmness,
clear views, unflinching principles, and deep conscientiousness.
Perhaps it was because she had hitherto attached more impor-
tance to a brilliant exterior, as in Wilderich's case, or to mere
similarity of feelings, as in Aurel's, and had not sought for higher
qualities. Lehrbach, in short, rose in her opinion all the more
from the absence of sentiment in her judgment of him. Wilde-
rich's attentions had roused in her a feeling of proud triumph.
She felt that Lehrbach's affection was an honor, for it was no
high-flown sentiment. He foresaw labor and difficulties, ac-
cepted the trial of waiting for years, and did not shrink from
embracing patient toil in order to win the orize. Such was
the man who, full of virtue and noble feelings, gave her his
undivided affection and only asked her to love him in return.
He did not look to her for fortune, or connections, or wealthy
relations ; he was contented with her love. He trusted to his
own persevering energy to win a home for himself and the Avife
of his choice. Sylvia lived on the thought of Vincent.

Wilderich's condition was pitiable. He had not died, or
rather he got well up to a certain point, and his sister was at
.length able to see him. Xaveria had been going backwards and
forwards to Griinerode, but she had never entered his room on

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 85

account of his inability to bear the least excitement. When she
was admitted for about a quarter of an hour, she came back in
tears to the drawing-room, and said, as she threw her arms
round Sylvia, "Ah! poor, poor fellow. How will he bear it?"

" Bear what ? " asked Sylvia in a frightened tone.

" He is fearfully disfigured. Haven't you seen him ? "

" No ; he has been kept carefully, even from you."

" I tell you what, you will not recognize him. One eye and
a part of his cheek are gone, which perfectly disfigures his whole
face. I could not help crying as I looked at him. His forehead,
too, seems to be injured. He speaks very slowly and with great
difficulty, and has to think over every word. 1 wonder whether
he will be able to remain in the service, and what will he do
then ? Disfigured as he is, he cannot possibly be what he was in
society, and his vanity would not bear it. Just think, Sylvia, of
Wildefich, so handsome, refined, and elegant as he was, being in
such a miserable condition."

" Perhaps he will be happy in the quiet of his own home,"
said Sylvia, much shocked.

" What ! happy with Isidora ? " exclaimed the countess. " O
Sylvia ! you know well enough how impossible this is.'1

" She has been devoting herself to him during these three
months, and has hardly let the nursing-sister do anything for'
him."

" It was jealousy, I should think," replied Xaveria coldly.
" Her affection is so full of this bitter mixture that it does not
act refreshingly upon him. What a dreadful prospect the poor
fellow has before him ! A man who has a profession and good
health, and who is liked in society, can afford to give up some
of his domestic happiness. But if he is restricted to his own
fireside with an Isidora by his side he is truly to be pitied !
But you are utterly indifferent to his misery."

" I am not indifferent, but astonished to hear you talking in
this way of Isidora, when you did all you could to get her for
Wilderich," answered Sylvia seriously.

" Yes, darling ; but it was absolutely necessary. Nobody
could imagine the state his money affairs were in ; and then I
thought it might be a case of Fouqu£'s Undine with Isidora."

" Of what ? " asked Sylvia, in surprise.

" Of Undine — a pretty story, somewhat ancient, it is true,
which I came upon by chance in my uncle's library at Weldens-
perg. The water-nymph is without a soul till she falls in love.
Love gives her one. Girls sometimes have these water-nymph

86 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [April,

natures. They are cold, insensible, tiresome, soulless, till love
transforms them into nice, pleasant women. Unfortunately, I
made a great mistake in expecting anything of the sort from
Isidora. She is no loving Undine, but simply what she always
was."

The baroness interrupted the two friends by telling them that
the doctor approved of Wilderich's removal to town. She
added :

" We will break up as soon as we can, as one gets quite mel-
ancholy here. Quiet is pleasant enough, but this is dead-alive.
My husband could not stand it. He has been travelling over
half Europe with the greatest speed, and comes back in a few
days. We will be in our winter quarters to welcome him. Will
you put up with Weldensperg till the end of November,
countess?"

" Oh ! yes. You know my husband's passion for hunting.
We shall not leave before December, as we have to entertain an
unbroken succession of sportsmen."

" Do you still like this constant gayety?" asked Sylvia.

"Why shouldn't I?" Xaveria replied in astonishment. "I
am so accustomed to it that I couldn't get on without it."

Sylvia liked going back immensely, but her delight was
changed into sorrow when Vincent told her, the first time she
saw him, that he had been ordered to a distant provincial town
and would only be recalled to the capital for his examination.

" How lonely I shall be ! " she sighed. " Since I have been
accustomed to speak to you and to hear you talk all other con-
versation seems to me so very stupid."

" 1 like to hear you say that, for a year ago it was not the
case."

" Yes, it was."

" No, you didn't like what I said, and it used to.make you cry
a good deal."

" Yes, I cried, certainly, because you touched me, not because
I didn't like what you said. And, besides that, it seems to me
that you are tenderer with me now, having perhaps found out
how far from perfection I am and what gentle handling I re-
quire."

" I don't know that at all," he said eagerly. " I only know
that I love you."

" Won't separation alter your feelings?" Sylvia asked sadly.
" I wish that I could put my whole confidence in you ; I feel that
I need it, but I am almost afraid."

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 87

" So am I, Sylvia. This is the way with us poor creatures
when we look some great happiness in the face. Joy makes us
glad and anxious. But take courage, Sylvia. We hope for the
love and happiness which comes from God, not for that which
the world gives ; and God will take care of it for us. We must
put our hope of each other in his hands. His love sends us our
love, so it must fulfil the end which he had in sending it to us,
and that end can be no other than our preparation for heaven,
our sanctihcation. Is this your view, Sylvia? "

" Yes," she answered firmly and with feeling, for Lehrbach's
words always so touched and carried her away that they seemed
to make her share his way of thinking, feeling, and believing.

" Well, then, Sylvia, this will keep away any doubt of me or
my faithfulness. We will make use of our year of separation to
grow firmer in faith ; that will strengthen our love, and so the
bitter parting will in reality bring us nearer to each other."

The tears were in Sylvia's eyes.

" Have I again been saying something to vex you ? " he in-
quired anxiously.

" Oh ! no, only all that you say sounds as if it came from
above ; and as I am not accustomed to hear things discussed in
this way, you must be compassionate to my weakness."

" What I say is as simple as possible," he answered.

Then he asked her if he might sometimes write to her. " No,
indeed," she exclaimed anxiously. " My uncle might find it out
and make it disagreeable for us, and even for your father and
mother, who suspect nothing."

" Then I retract my request," said Vincent quickly. " My
father thinks it rash, or unlawful in some cases, for a young man
to engage himself with the certainty that years must intervene
before his marriage. He thinks it hard upon a girl, who might
meet with something better if she weren't bound."

" He needn't fear this in my case," said Sylvia, laughing ; " but
I think that your father and mother should hear it from your
own mouth, and that you will best know how soon they should
be told. We must beware of interference and prevent it at any
cost. My uncle wants me to stay with him as long as he chooses,,
unless, indeed, a millionaire were to present himself. He would
not be able to resist so great a bit of good-fortune as this. Money
is his barometer."

" Then he won't think much of our prospects," said Vincent.
" But as the whole house is probably of the same mind, you have
escaped the infection wonderfully, Sylvia."

88 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [April,

" I have already told you that I have been kept from it by my
own experience and a certain knowledge of the ins and outs of
things."

" I must tell you quite plainly that I am offering you very nar-
row circumstances, and I could not bear to see you unhappy un-
der them, as my conscience would reproach me for having loved
you selfishly and encouraged you to face what was to be a hard
lot for you, though I am accustomed to it."

" Don't be afraid," replied Sylvia with emotion. " You
guessed my secret the day you heard me sighing after ' freedom
and bread.' Do you think me fickle enough to change my mind
now that I may confidently look forward to ' love, liberty, and
bread ' ? "

Nothing delighted Vincent more than this confidence of Syl-
via's. It seemed to him that if she saw the ins and outs of her
position so plainly she might be trusted when she spoke of her-
self and her feelings ; and even though he was loath to leave her
for his new destination, he was too happy at bottom to allow
grief to get the better of him.

Sylvia settled down to her ordinary life. The baron had
brought her some beautiful dresses from Paris ; the room which
Valentine had occupied during her engagement was done up for
her with a fresh carpet and crimson damask furniture ; and she
had the prospect of some delightful rides on a spirited young
horse which was another present. She took all these gifts with
a few words of thanks, but as if they were matters of course, and
she built a silent castle in the air about herself at Lehrbach'sside,
when everything would be so very different. Yet the very sim-
plicity of their circumstances would make them cosey and com-
fortable.

The winter brought Mrs. Dambleton, with her newly-married
son Vivian and his wife, to Germany. Mrs. Vivian Dambleton
was a very attractive person and made some noise in society,
where she was much admired. She had struck up a great friend-
ship with Sylvia, who thus found a new and pleasurable charm
in people's company. " As I am obliged to go into society, I may
•as well not bore myself in it as much as I did last winter," she
said to herself. She was seen everywhere with her pretty friend,
and her own good looks seemed to gain, not to lose, by the com-
parison.

In the meantime Mrs. Dambleton had the most painful talks
with the baron and his wife concerning Valentine, who was de-
termined to get a separation from Herr Goldisch, in order to

1 88 2.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 89

marry a young Englishman and to go with him to the East In-
dies.

" My brother can't stand his dreadful life any longer," Mrs.
Dambleton said; " and, 'indeed, he ought not, for he would give
people a handle for thinking that he is perfectly insensible to the
way in which she treats his name and his honor. As the two are
entirely of one mind on this single point at least, a quiet divorce
seems to me the best thing that can happen. My brother would
thus be able to spend his latter years in peace, and Valentine
might begin her life over again with a different husband."

" But, dear Mrs. Dambleton, what are you thinking of?" said
the baroness in a dissatisfied tone. " Valentine can't marry again,
as she is a Catholic. She may leave her husband, but she may
not contract another marriage unless as a widow. Till then Herr
Goldisch is and must remain her lawful husband."

Mrs. Dambleton shrugged her shoulders and said coldly :
" Well, then, let her bear her own burden."

" That's what I say," exclaimed the baron in a very violent
tone of voice. " Ever since she has been married she has done
•nothing but vex her parents as well as her husband. Her hus-
band finds her unbearable — so do I ; so let us leave her to herself."

" But how and where, love, is she to pass her days ? " grumbled
the baroness. " You can't surely leave poor Valentine to herself,
if that dreadful husband of hers makes her over to a hard lot."

" Dreadful husband, indeed ! It is Valentine who is dreadful.
Goldisch is an excellent man."

" I am glad to hear you speak of my brother in this way ; un-
der, present circumstances it does honor both to him and to you."

" Yes, I cannot do otherwise ; but still I think that he should
not give up his wife so lightly. She will soon weary of her
East Indian. The same sort of thing has already happened two
or three times."

" That's just it — Valentine is incorrigible," answered Mrs.
Dambleton gravely. " If selfishness had not dried up her feel-
ings my brother's kindness and considerateness would have moved
her and made her better. Instead of this she shows him the great-
est dislike and talks of nothing but a divorce from him."

"What an idiot she is!" cried out the baron, stamping his
foot. " Let Goldisch rid himself of her, and let her bear the con-
sequences of her foolish behavior."

" Oh ! that I had never given my consent to her marrying a
Protestant," moaned the baroness.

" You should have weighed all that nine years ago. Then

90 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [April,

there was no talk or notion of Catholic principles," replied Mrs.
Dambleton in a very cold manner. " You have no right now to
find fault with my brother for acting according to his excellent
religion and getting divorced from her. It is not his fault if
she is unable to marry again ; but her determination to marry
Mr. Windham proves her disinclination to abide by the Catholic
view of the matter."

" Just God ! what scandals and what miseries that will cause,"
sighed the baroness.

" Is this Mr. Windham rich and independent, and does he
really mean to marry Valentine ? " asked the baron.

" I don't know him personally," replied Mrs. Dambleton. " I
only know that Valentine thinks him a set-off to my brother in
the matter of age. He is two or three and twenty."

"Just God!" again sighed the baroness. "How senseless
to like a man six years younger than she is herself! "

" If this Mr. Windham can support her in a fitting way it
seems to me the best thing for all parties for him to marry Tini
and take her off to the East Indies with him," said the baron.

" But, love, she ought not to marry him," insisted the baro-.
ness.

" Stuff, my dear ! Who is going to forbid her ? " he exclaimed.
" Do you think she means to ask the pope's leave ? She will
simply be married in the Protestant church, as she was before.
We ought to be too thankful to Protestantism for helping us out
of such a wretched state of things."

" But we are not at all thankful about it," replied Mrs. Dam-
bleton touchily.

" But, my dear Mrs. Dambleton, Henry VIII., the founder of
your religion, ought to have accustomed you to this manner of
setting things matrimonial to rights," said the baron, with quiet
sarcasm. " He invented the method and made a thoroughly
good use of it."

"Christ is the founder of my religion, not Henry VIII.!"
exclaimed Mrs. Dambleton indignantly. " He only freed Eng-
land from the pope's yoke."

" Well, he freed you from something, so it's all the same.
My opinions on the point are too complicated to fight over with
you, Mrs. Dambleton. We must keep friends, so as not to pre-
judice your brother's and my daughter's business. I have no-
thing to say against the divorce, as Goldisch is in the right. I
have only to think of this silly Tini's money affairs and to find
out what Mr. Windham can offer her. If he is a poor beggar

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 91

I would rather lock Tini up than let her go and starve in the
East Indies."

The baroness wanted to persuade Mrs. Dambleton to give up
the notion of a divorce, but Mrs. Dambleton was not to be
moved. " My brother has thoroughly weighed the matter, and
it has cost him years of struggle, and now he has quite made
up his mind," she said. " It is too late to change. Be thankful
that a divorce is made so easy in Germany ; in England it would
give rise to all sorts of scandal. Perhaps it may be a useful les-
son to Valentine for the future, and my poor brother will at least
have some peace and quiet, and feel satisfied that little George,
who is fast growing up, will not be troubled by the state of
things between his father and mother. You know well enough
that both my brother and I will do all we can to spare Valen-
tine."

The baron put out his hand to her; the baroness was in
tears. They wished to keep on good terms with Mrs. Damble-
ton, in order to get what they could for Valentine. For the same
reason they promised her that Sylvia should go to England for
a few months in the spring with Mrs. Vivian Dambleton. Syl-
via was delighted at it. Now at last she was to see England in
the way she had always wished to see it. Georgiana Damble-
ton belonged to a very good family which was highly connect-
ed, so that she had a footing amongst the upper ten thousand
and much enjoyed the prospect of introducing her friend to the
same. It was arranged that they should go by Paris, stopping a
few days there with Aurel and Phcebe, then spend the height of
the season in London, and leave in July for the country-seat of
Georgiana's father and mother. Sylvia was so much delighted
with the plan that she began to analyze her feelings. Consider-
ing that she was one day to become Lehrbach's wife, would it
not have been far more reasonable of her to keep away from
fashionable society instead of seeking it out and drinking in its
pleasures ? When she was married she would have small right
to company or going about, to say nothing of comfort or ele-
gance. Was she not, therefore, needlessly exposing herself by
going into the very midst of one of the most brilliant societies in
Europe ? But then was she not to profit by so good an oppor-
tunity of seeing so interesting a country ? Was she to grieve
Georgiana, who so looked forward to showing her " dear old
England " and her own beloved home ? Then how instructive
this visit would be ! In short, it was far wiser to taste the
world's good things, and, having done so, to despise them for

92 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [April,

true happiness, than to sigh after them from sheer ignorance.
For all that she would have liked to hear what Lehrbach thought
of the matter. " I wish he were here," she mused, and she won-
dered if she might venture to write and ask him. No, she would
not do that ; for, apart from other considerations, it was quite
possible, though not probable, that he might not approve of the
expedition, and she had set her mind upon it. Sylvia settled the
question by resolving to keep a very detailed journal, to which
she would confide not so much outward events as her impressions
and thoughts, and which she would give to Lehrbach. That
would show him that she had treated her journey as a serious
matter.

This was her intention, but it had the fate common to most
good resolutions: it was not carried out. She fancied she could
not make a beginning in Paris ; Aurel and Phcebe made her
too sad and Paris was too distracting. She did not want to
talk about Aurel and Phcebe, and she 'found that Paris produc-
ed a need of rest. But she did not succeed in collecting her
thoughts. Spending her energies entirely on outward things,
her power of concentration was null. That which she could not
do in Paris was even more difficult in London, where she went
through a gay and brilliant season. It was not a case of noting
down interesting remarks, for in ball-rooms and festive gather-
ings great people are wont to be as commonplace as their more
insignificant neighbors. After the season, as the journal was still
blank, Sylvia thought it was too late to begin. Her mind was
as empty as her book, but she had eyes only for the latter, not for
the former. Much to Georgiana's delight and to her own private
satisfaction, she had been a great deal noticed. At home people
had grown indifferent to a beauty they had seen for so long, and
which had reached its full maturity ; but in England she was re-
marked in the crowd, partly because of the novelty of the thing,
partly because she was really striking. Her great talent for mu-
sic was a further attraction. There was no scope for it, indeed,
at large balls and gatherings, but it was much appreciated at
smaller parties. She was the object of much attention, and it was
gratifying to her self-love to be once more on the pinnacle which
she had been obliged to relinquish so long ago in her own coun-
try. She exulted in her success, trying to disguise her elation to
herself by thinking how it would delight Vincent. But at times
the supposition waxed faint. She was perfectly well aware that
Lehrbach had higher views than all these gay doings. Some-
times another thought stole into her heart : " Am I not making

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 93

an immense sacrifice for him? Does he appreciate it?" But she
stifled it at once. " The state of things here is quite exceptional,
and it will soon be over," she said to herself. " When I get
home I shall again be portionless, prospectless Sylvia. Oh ! no,
indeed ; I am not making an immense sacrifice. He is offering
me ' love, liberty, and bread,' and I will willingly give up my
golden ring in exchange. Eastern slaves wear one on their arm
as a sign of their bondage ; and am I not a slave? "

In this state of mind she sent Clarissa a letter in which she
spoke just as if her going to England had been purely an act of
kindness towards Georgiana Dambleton, and that after all it was
not so very different from home or what she had found at Na-
ples, Rome, or Paris ; Clarissa was to tell her brother so with
Sylvia's love. In writing this Sylvia did not question her own
sincerity and had not the slightest intention of deceiving Vin-
cent and Clarissa ; but as her inclinations and actions lacked a
supernatural — consequently immutable — standing-point, and as
she did not understand searching into her motives, she took im-
pressions and moods for something lasting, and was not a judge
of what was passing in herself. She thus drew upon herself de-
ception after deception ; for, after the example of the serpent in
the garden, our fallen nature is an arch flatterer. The letter did
not leave a comforting impression on Clarissa's mind. " I am
pleased at least to hear something of Sylvia," she said to her
mother, " but I am very sorry to see that she looks at things in
this merely outward and superficial way. If she would go a lit-
tle deeper she would certainly be struck by different lands and
nations ; for it is quite impossible to suppose that London and
Naples, and Paris and Rome, are all exactly alike."

" Poor Sylvia ! How much does she see of these places ? It
is only drawing-rooms, theatres, and shops with her, and she is
with people who lay stress upon unimportant things and pass by
that which is most worth seeing. Any one who cared so little
for seeing the Holy Father as Sylvia did may certainly be ex-
pected not to know what is worthy of interest, and to fall into
a state of confusion with regard to their views and opinions.
Then one becomes like a reed which is swayed by fashion, whim,
self-love, or false authority, sometimes in one direction, some-
times in another."

" That sounds a sad lot for Sylvia, mother dear, and I know
Vincent made me quite happy about her by what he wrote last
year from Griinerode."

" Sylvia has no fixed religious principles, so she soon gets

94 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [April,

to be whatever her surroundings make her, and is influenced,
whether favorably or otherwise, by outward things."

" Oh ! if we could only free her from this wretched state of
dependence," sighed Clarissa.

" Pray for her," said Frau von Lehrbach. " This dependence
on people and things is the ruination of thousands. But the wo-
men come off the worst, because they bear demoralization less
easily than men, and, even when they are conscious of it, they have
not the stern energy requisite to regain their footing, and their
position in society makes determination and action more difficult.
Were Sylvia to be placed in new circumstances, and to marry a
man of strong principles whom she loved and respected, she
would be able to look up to him, and would, perhaps, become an
exemplary woman."

Sylvia's prospects disturbed and disheartened Clarissa. She
sent the letter without comment on to Vincent, so as to give him
some tidings of the "dear sister of charity," as he had called her.
But Vincent put a very indifferent interpretation upon it. He
thought he read in it the language of a person who was disguis-
ing her real feelings and submitting with careless indifference to
outward events. Clarissa did not get the letter back again.

PART IV.— APPARENT DIR^E FACIES.
CHAPTER I.

NEW PROSPECTS.

SYLVIA was walking restlessly up and down her room, accord-
ing to her wont. It was deep night and the house was plunged
in sleep. She had come home wearied out from a ball, and yet
she was not inclined to go to bed. She had found a letter on
her table which put her into a state of great agitation. She
opened it carelessly whilst Bertha was taking down her hair, but
after the first line or two her heart began to beat, and as she fol-
lowed it up she said in a trembling voice :

" Be quick, Bertha ! I want to be quiet." And she began to
take off her flowers and bows herself with eager haste.

" That's it. Now give me my dressing-gown, and do go," she
said impatiently, and Bertha, who was bewildered by her young
mistress' manner, did as she was told. She had scarcely shut the
door behind her when Sylvia snatched up her letter again, fold-
ed her dark silk dressing-gown round her, leaned back in a deep

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 95

arm-chair, and read it over and over again with increasing per-
plexity. It contained an offer from Herr Goldisch.

At the time of Sylvia's departure from England the previous
year the divorce had already been carried out. Whilst the busi- t
ness was still pending Valentine had betaken herself to her
brother in Paris instead of going to her mother, who was expect-
ing her at Griinerode.

She went to Biarritz with Phcebe, made expeditions into the
Pyrenees, and enjoyed herself immensely. She wrote word to
her mother that they might expect her in Germany in the au-
tumn as Mrs. Windham, when she would introduce Mr. Wind-
ham to them, and that she would then set out with him for Cal-
cutta, where he held an excellent government appointment. He
was, she said, then in England, getting ready for the journey.
Autumn came, but no Mr. and Mrs. Windham appeared at Grii-
nerode. The truth was that the faithless bridegroom had chosen
to go wifeless to Calcutta, pretending that his appointment there
was not worth the risk of exposing Valentine's precious health to
the Indian climate. Valentine wept a deluge of tears, let her
hair fall down once more on her shoulders in dishevelled ringlets,
and, betwixt love and revenge, contemplated setting off in pur-
suit of the truant. But when Aurel put before her the discom-
fort entailed by the journey she took alarm at her high-minded
scheme and resolved to continue acting the part she had played
in her married life — that of femme incomprise. This was doubly
advantageous to her, as she could still bemoan her fate and set
about once more seeking out a sympathetic heart. But nothing
would induce her to return to Germany ; she chose Aurel's
house — somewhat to his disgust — as her headquarters. Valen-
tine was not the kind of person who would help to lighten and
soothe his domestic burdens. Having a small mind, weak feel-
ings, and indolent character, she was wrapped up exclusively in
herself, and had not even that outward pleasantness which, in
daily life, is sometimes a set-off to selfishness. But Aurel saw
that for the time he was her only support, as, though the baron
made her an allowance, he had a very good mind indeed to quar-
ter her at Griinerode. There, he thought, she would not be
able to spend her money or to rush into another senseless mar-
riage. Reasons which commended themselves to him were, of
course, highly distasteful to Valentine, the more so from her
having her fortune, which Herr Goldisch had at once given
back, at her own disposal.

" I don't understand my father," she said indignantly to

g6 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [April,

Aurel. " Does he mean to shut me up at Griinerode and have me
watched? He doesn't see the stupidity of it. What should in-
duce me to .take up my abode there and wear myself to death
with the dulness and solitude, when I can live on the interest of
my capital and don't want his allowance of two or three thou-
sand dialers at all ? ''

" Yes, you can live on your interest, but not as you have been
accustomed to live," answered Aurel. " You will find that out
soon enough. My house is always open to you, but I advise you
not to quarrel with my father and not to get into debt."

" What is the use of my being a rich man's daughter and the
future heiress of a million of money, if I am to be thinking about
every penny I spend ? " sighed Valentine, who had already for-
gotten what she had just said about making the interest suffice.
This heedless way of talking was one of her characteristics. She
contradicted herself at every turn.

After the divorce business had been got rid of Herr Goldisch
went to spend a little time with his sister and to see Vivian
Dambleton at his charming place, Ivyhouse. There he met.
Sylvia and brought her back to her aunt at Griinerode. He was-
on very friendly terms with his father-in-law and mother-in-law,
and wished thus to show them that he had by no means acted
with unfairness. They were obliged to acknowledge his kind-
ness and considerateness. " We feel just the same towards each
other as we did, Goldisch," the baron had said one day. " If
that silly Tini did not know how to value you as a husband, I at
least know how to value you as a friend, come what may. I am
the last man to blame what you have done, although my daugh-
ter was your wife. Women must obey orders, and if they won't
they must be got rid of."

"But, love—" began the baroness.

" Be got rid of," he repeated. " It is a false and deceitful
sex, half cat, half chameleon — "

" What a monster! " interrupted Sylvia.

" Nothing more nor less, Sylvia. Women are strange beings,
and because they are strange they are apt at times to be per-
fectly bewitching. Now are you satisfied, you little coaxer ? "

" No, indeed ; I don't like your way of depreciating us first,
» and then of lauding us up to the skies."

" I can't help it, Sylvia. There is something of the cat and
something of the chameleon about you. The chameleon element
is almost a necessity for achieving a masculine conquest. The
man in question crouches before you for a brief space, to become

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 97

your lord and master for ever after. But the feline element,
little fairy—"

" But, love, when did you ever find that I acted like a cat ? "
asked the baroness in a grumbling tone.

" Never, my dear. You are a lamb, but you are an excep-
tion."

" And I am sure Sylvia is another exception, for there is a
certain number of good and simple women," said Herr Goldisch
in his comfortable and kind way.

" H'm ! what have you to say for yourself? Is it fairy, witch,
or kitten ? Kittens have their merits, you know."

" I don't know what I make myself, but at any rate I am not
a false cat," said Sylvia, and her lustrous eyes looked up frankly
into her uncle's face.

" A false cat ! You are perverting my words. I said kitten,
which is something quite different from a false cat ; and what I
said applies to a kitten."

The less pleasure the baron had with his own daughters the
more he petted and spoiled Sylvia. She neither grumbled nor
cried, nor vexed him nor wearied him, wrhereas Valentine and
Isidora never did anything else. So he loaded Sylvia with pre-
sents1 and wished to have her about him as much as possible.
She had to accompany him every night to the theatre. It amus-
ed him, perhaps from force of habit, but it bored her.- Then she
was called upon to ride out with him every day — a new arrange-
ment which she particularly disliked, as very often the baroness
would require her company an hour later on some expedition or
other. Sylvia sighed more and more earnestly after indepen-
dence and bread, and she counted the moments to Lehrbach's
final examination.

This was the state of her feelings when Herr Goldisch's letter
came to unsettle her. What a prospect it opened before her !
What a brilliant lot it put before her ! Certainly she was per-
fectly indifferent to him, but she appreciated him and all the
world respected him. True it was that he was already on the
wrong side of fifty, yet she herself would be twenty-eight on the
ist of May, and so would Vincent. Then Vincent's appointment
had not yet come. All that her father had once told her of the
folly of a long engagement full of painful hopes and expectations,
of their own narrow means when they did at last marry, came
into her mind, and she wondered whether she could rest content
with just such a lot as her mother's or as Mechtilda von Lehr-
bach's. But then Vincent's love was so true and noble and dis-
VOL. xxxv. — 7

98 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [April,

interested, he was so ready to shelter her in his faithful heart,
and the contrast between his ideal cast of mind and that unflinch-
ing conscientiousness which he united with a charm and charac-
ter she had never yet found in any other man made him extreme-
ly sympathetic. Was she to give him up for a few comforts ?
The thing was impossible. For years she had silently been crav-
ing for a true and unselfish affection, and for years her mind had
been seeking for a peaceful lot wherein she might live according
to her taste and desires. The one wish was fulfilled, and the
other nearly so, and was she now to give it all up ? But was
she in truth so near the bourne? Lehrbach's last examination
would take place in six months ; would he then be in a position
to support a wife decently ? — for it was superfluous to dream of
luxury. Had she not heard that the subordinate government
posts were miserably paid, and had not a sum been mentioned
which she now spent upon her dress alone? She was in a dire
perplexity. It was easy to renounce luxury, but was it not very
rash to choose a position which would be sure to entail great
privations ? How Lehrbach would feel it if he were to see her
smarting under them ! And could she be sure that she would
always be able to hide it from him ? Would he not a thousand
times rather see her married to a worthy man in easy circum-
stances than marry her himself and bring anxiety upon her ?

These were the thoughts which were at work in Sylvia's
mind. She did not weigh the thing calmly or see it as it really
was. Sometimes she strove to raise her heart above the inward
tumult and to seek light in prayer, but in the world's golden
cage her soul had lost the power of flying. She made a weak
attempt at fluttering in the air, and soon fell back upon the
ground. The very first thing which would have struck a Ca-
tholic never even occurred to her — viz., that Goldisch had a wife
already and was not free to rnarry, even though he might pass
the rest of his days away from Valentine. This single Catholic
principle would have brought her instantaneous peace of mind ;
but gradually she had grown utterly insensible to dogma as to a
worthless thing which is not even to be taken into account. Idols
had supplemented the place in her heart which belonged to the
loving God of revelation, and they could neither soothe nor coun-
sel her. There was no one in the outer world to whom she could
turn for advice. Mrs. Dambleton, Xaveria, or Georgiana, if
consulted, would have shown an individual coloring of mind not
favorable to Lehrbach in their answers. Herr and Fran von
Lehrbach and Clarissa never occurred to her, neither did her

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 99

uncle or aunt. Sylvia felt convinced that the latter would be
decidedly against her marrying Vincent, and she was not sure
what the Lehrbachs might think about it. Wherever she turned
she could find no pleader for Vincent. Her own feeling was in
his favor, but only because the consciousness of his love acted as
a soother and brought her a long-wished-for happiness. With
her it was no question of an unselfish affection which would
have been ready to return love for love. If there had been,
hesitation would have been momentary or null.

Exhaustion at length got the better of Sylvia's physical and
mental powers, and she found sleep, though not rest. The same
perplexing thoughts were on her mind when she awoke, for some
kind of an answer would have to be given. She felt quite in-
competent to come to a decision on the spot, and thought she
would take time to consider it, even deceiving herself into ima-
gining that she could make Lehrbach a judge in the matter. At
length she wrote to Goldisch, and told him that she was as
much surprised as honored by so high a mark of confidence, but
that she could not give a decided answer before she had laid
his flattering offer before her uncle and aunt, who might feel
themselves aggrieved if anything were done so soon after Valen-
tine's divorce.

After beginning this letter several times she succeeded in de-
spatching it, and once more breathed freely, resolving to care-
fully weigh the two paths which lay before her. But her grave
consideration merely amounted to her asking herself which of
the two would prove the pleasanter. Her worldly-mindedness
spoke for Herr Goldisch, her heart for Vincent ; and as she did
not trouble herself about consulting a disinterested authority
and scarcely gave the matter of principle a thought, she came to
no decision.

At this juncture Herr von Lehrbach called. She heard
him announced in a bewildered state of mind, and was obliged
to use so much violence over herself that she was deadly pale as
she went up to him.

"Do you know it already?" he asked, quite alarmed at her
looks.

" No ; but nothing good brings you here so suddenly," Sylvia
said.

" My poor father has had a fit, and he's dead," said Vincent,
with the tears in his eyes and in his voice. " A telegram yester-
day evening told me the sad news. I am only staying here two
hours just to see you, and then I am going to my poor mother.

ioo THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. . [April.

What a grief it is to me, Sylvia, that our engagement never had
my father's blessing ! "

" How is your mother ? " asked Sylvia with nervous haste.

" Clary's telegram only said that, she was quite overcome, as
you can imagine, by the sudden shock. Just fancy, Sylvia — he
died without the sacraments ! "

" Don't grieve about it," said Sylvia softly ; " he was so
good."

" Yes, he was, indeed ; but there is a wide difference between
dying with the Blood of our Lord fresh upon one's soul, peni-
tent and loving, and dying in the midst of work with the dust of
earthly things thick upon us."

" And how are you yourself? We have been so long parted,
and now it is death which brings us together," said Sylvia feel-
ingly.

" I am very well," and Vincent's eye lighted up as he spoke.
" I have a happy prospect before me, and I never lose sight of
it. Soon, I hope, it will be reality."

" Really, will it be soon ? " she asked eagerly.

" What are two or three years when our love will bind us
together for time and eternity? " he exclaimed.

" It is dreadful to be separated for so long ! " she sighed.

" How I love to hear you say this, my own Sylvia ! I can
tell you that I, too, feel what the separation is ; but happiness, as
we understand it, is a costly fruit which slowly comes to ma-
turity. Many gray days away from you have yet to be lived
through, but then comes the golden hour which will bind us
together for ever. That is what I look to. It is the polar star
which lights up my path."

"Yes, you are well off with your work and your profession,
which fill up your time and take off your thoughts ; but as for
me, I weary myself out in the dreary solitude of an empty life of
accomplishments and noisy pleasures."

" Daily work with its sameness, and the fulfilment of dry duty,
are no less wearisome, and man, who is a creature of change,
rebels against them occasionally with all his might. If you are
tired of your gayeties don't you think I am sick of my dry work
day after day ? Indeed, Sylvia, I have to practise daily self-de-
nial. It is the only road to progress, but a sure one.. Our
Lord taught it to us, and the saints carried it out in their lives."

" It was all very well for saints."

" Well, they had the same flesh and blood as we have, though
they made a different use of it," said Vincent, laughing. " They

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 101

were frail men, but they shouldered manfully the cross of self-
denial and became holy under its burden."

" But it is exceedingly difficult to be plunged as I am in a sea
of distractions, and notrto forget even the meaning of self-denial
as the saints practised it, let alone carrying it out."

" This is why the saints withdrew themselves from the world ;
and as you are going to do the same thing soon, Sylvia, and to
live in a very modest way, you see that Almighty God wishes
to put the means of perfection in your power," Vincent said in a
playful tone, though with a deep meaning.

" Do you think so ? " she asked doubtfully.

" Certainly I do," he said with decision.

" Would you not speak differently if you were a millionaire ?
Would you then advise me to choose humble circumstances?
Would you advise me to give you up because you were a rich
man and feared the dangers of riches for me ? "

" These are strange questions, Sylvia, and they seem to me
beside the mark," said Vincent, puzzled. " In theory it may be
easy to answer this ' if ' as it ought to be answered ; but I cannot
say positively that I should be disinterested enough to warn you
off making me happy if I were a millionaire. But nobody on
earth is less likely to offer you the perplexity than I. Make
yourself easy," he added, laughing ; u you will break yourself
of luxurious habits, and that more easily than you think for,
when you are removed from the great world and its senseless
demands. And supposing you should ever be tempted to look
back, self-denial will help you to fight against the desire."

" Your soothing words encourage me," answered Sylvia.
"Sometimes I am quite afraid of being a great burden to
you."

" Put that trouble out of your head, Sylvia. It is a great
joy and spur to me to work not only for myself but also for that
loved one whom God has confided to me."

" How good and noble you are ! " exclaimed Sylvia with feel-
ing. " O Vincent ! I am not worthy of you."

" We won't fight about it. I fancy we quite agree in desiring
' love, freedom, and a sufficiency.' "

" If 1 could see you and speak to you oftener ! Is there no
hope of it ? When are you coming back ? "

" Probably in October."

" And then what will you do ? "

" Then comes the official examination — the last it will be —
after which I shall have an appointment. There may be a few

102 THE STORY OF A PORTION-LESS GIRL. [April,

months' delay about it, but certainly next spring, Sylvia, our
happy day will dawn."

" How I shall welcome it, Vincent ! " she exclaimed eagerly.
" Life with you takes quite a different coloring, or I should
say is different to what it is without you. Nobody talks your
language here or thinks as you do. Your whole life is in a dif-
ferent sphere to theirs. Indeed, it is beyond me, but I can at
least understand and admire and appreciate it, and it makes me
wish to be like you — a wish which finds no echo in this house.
Nobody helps me on."

" You might have help, Sylvia ; I have often told you where
it is to be found," answered Vincent with beseeching earnest-
ness.

" Oh ! no," she exclaimed quickly ; " that sort of help is not to
the point."

" Yes, it is. It is a help to self-knowledge, which makes us
humble ; and a humble man is ready to deny himself. God will
not refuse his grace to such a man."

" Oh ! don't ask me to do impossible things," Sylvia said,
raising her hands in a supplicating way. " I can give my confi-
dence only to some chosen friend whom I can honor and not
fear."

" I don't ask anything of you, dearest Sylvia, and have no
right to ask. I am only putting a well-tried means before you
which might give you light and strength in your spiritual soli-
tude."

" No, you are the only person who can help me, and I will
be helped only by you," she said with decision. " I won't have
any third person coming between us."

" That is not a right way of looking at it, Sylvia," he said
seriously. " A priest, a director, by no means comes between
us. He would be your counsellor. But don't let us talk about
it, as you can't see it as it is. What we have to do now is to
pray for my poor father's soul."

" And for our future," added Sylvia with a certain con-
straint.

They were obliged to say good-by. " No," thought Sylvia
to herself after Lehrbach had gone, " I can't give him up. He is
quite a man apart. My heart goes with him. I want to be able
to love, honor, and respect, and I do love him. It will be the
best thing I can do to write to-day and decline Goldisch's offer."

Sylvia was summoned to her aunt, who held out a letter to
her and said :

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 103

" What do you say to this match, love ? "

" I wish Helen much happiness," replied Sylvia, after she had
read the letter announcing an engagement.

" I dare say you do; but where is the happiness to come from?
She has nothing and he has nothing."

" O Aunt Teresa ! just think of Valentine and of Aurel.
There was money enough on both sides, but where is their hap-
piness ? Once in a way, I am sure, there may be a happy mar-
riage without money."

" Indeed, child, my poor children seem not to have much
happiness between them," sighed the baroness. " How misera-
ble poor Isi is over Wilderich's pitiable state ! Yet there is no-
thing to be done for it."

" It is very sad. Aunt Teresa. But Wilderich's state is a con-
sequence of his having followed his calling ; it is an outward mis-
fortune which does not affect domestic happiness, supposing that
this existed. So, I imagine, Helen may be very happy in spite
of possible anxieties."

" You speak, love, as if you had no notion of the difficulty of
giving up that to which one has been accustomed. Just try it,
and I am sure in a fortnight's time you will be quite sick of
tramping the streets in the snow and rain instead of sitting in
your carriage, and of having to bear with a stupid cook who
over-salts your soup and sends you up smoked milk for your
coffee."

The baron came in to luncheon and they talked about Helen
Darsberg.

" It is evident that she is determined to marry before she en-
ters upon her thirtieth year, and consequently upon the state of
old-maidenhood," said the baron. " How could she otherwise
think for a moment of bestowing her aristocratic hand upon a
nobody who has only lived in provincial towns, and whose
family is one of the poorest in the country ? "

" Apparently because she loves him. Don't be so dreadful-
ly matter-of-fact," Sylvia said in a light tone, but with a heavy
heart, for she read a personal application in the baron's words.

" As a man of business I cannot but be matter-of-fact, little
fairy ; and, besides, I have always found that it is the wisest course
to have a deep regard for that matter-of-fact thing — a well-filled
purse. In marriage the realities of life come to the fore. A
married man, be he king or cobbler, requires a healthy young
wife who will bear him nice children and fulfil the duties of her
position according to his circumstances. Now, how is this coun-

104 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [April,

tess, who does not know a chestnut from a potato, nor a spirling
from a lark, to direct a household with at most one thousand
thalers a year, she being herself thirty ? Is it within the bounds
of human capacity ? I say no. There are many families who live
upon one thousand or five hundred thalers, or even less, but
what sort of living is it ? If people have been born and brought
up in these circumstances they may not feel what they lose ; but
you won't get me to believe, Sylvia, that a person so fearfully
spoilt as poor Helen Darsberg will be insensible to the change,
or rather that she is going to view it in the light of poetry and
romance. She might have -fallen into the .delusion at eighteen,
but at thirty it is out of the question. At the present moment
she has no excuse for her folly, and her mother will be in a fine
way about it. But what can she do with a daughter at thirty
who is determined to marry ? She must simply see her destroy
her prospects, and comfort herself with the proverb, ' Every man
his own paradox.' '

" But when Countess Darsberg dies what is to become of
Helen ? " said Sylvia, still defending her.

" She has several married brothers and sisters with heaps of
children, arid inherits sufficient from her mother to live becom-
ingly as a single lady, and then she can devote herself to her
nieces and nephews."

" But it is not a very enviable position only to be an aunt ! "

" Well, let her make a sensible marriage suitable to her age
and position. It is too ridiculous to see her appearing as Frau
Assessorin by the side of a man who is scarcely as old as she and
who almost looks like her son — for these fair complexions very
soon go off. Let her marry a man of fifty or sixty in good cir-
cumstances— I have nothing whatever to say against it ; on the
contrary, I should be delighted. However, I hate beggarly
marriages, and in my opinion paupers are recruited not only from
the scum of the lower classes, but from all ranks where people
have hardly got bread to leave their children."

Sylvia was silent. Every word struck home like a stab at her
heart. In an ordinary way her uncle was by no means an au-
thority in her eyes, and she generally fought against his views ;
but that day everything he said seemed to her right, and the
consequence was that the letter to Goldisch was not written and
that she fell back into her miserable indecision. If hers had
been a passionate nature she would not have been able to bear
this uncertainty ; she must have come to some determination or
other, even at the risk of future regrets. But, full of worldly

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. 105

vanity and the craving to get as much happiness out of her life
as possible, she was first for one thing and then for the other,
weighing in each prospect what her chances were, just as if she
had caught up something of her uncle's commercial tone of
mind. At times she reproached herself bitterly with giving only
half a heart to Lehr bach, and at others with even thinking of
marrying Goldisch, who was perfectly indifferent to her. " But
whom do I really care about?" she asked herself uneasily. Alas!
her own worldliness and the worldliness of others had choked
up her better feelings, and to be truthful she ought to have an-
swered : " The fact is, I care for no one but myself."

TO BE CONTINUED.

THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY.

•

THE primacy conferred on St. Peter and his successors by
Jesus Christ may be properly defined as "the pre-eminence
by which the Roman Pontiff obtains by divine right not only
honor and dignity, but also jurisdiction and power, throughout
the universal Church." *

The pre-eminence of honor and dignity over the other apos-
tles of St. Peter appears clearly enough in the pages of the New
Testament. The pre-eminence of jurisdiction and power is also
perfectly clear in the terms of the commission given to him and
to his fellow-apostles by our Lord. The exercise of universal
apostolic jurisdiction is also plainly manifested in the New Testa-
ment. The actual and immediate exercise of pre-eminent apos-
tolic jurisdiction by St. Peter does not so distinctly appear. The
obvious reason is that the extraordinary powers conferred on
the apostles were such that they participated in a subordinate
way in that very universal episcopal pre-eminence which is one
chief prerogative of the permanent primacy in the church, be-
sides having other gifts which were intransmissible even to
the successors of St. Peter. The Acts of the Apostles are silent
concerning St. Peter from the time of his leaving the East for
Rome, and silent also concerning all the other apostles except

* Schouppe, Elem. Theol. Dogm., t. i. p. 226, Rhodes' translation, Visible Unify of the
Church, vol. i. p. 43. This work is specially recommended to those who wish to study the
question.

106 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. [April,

St. Paul. In the Epistles and the Apocalypse St. Peter, St.
John, St. James the Less, and St. Paul are the only apostles who
appear prominently on the scene, and besides' these only St. Jude
appears at all. St. James did not exercise the apostolic power
outside of Jerusalem and Palestine. St. John, after going to
Ephesus, remained within the limits of proconsular Asia. St.
Paul expressly states that he kept himself within certain limits
where he had been the missionary pioneer and founder. All
tradition represents him as taking the second place after St.
Peter at Rome. Thus, as the sacred history withdraws its light,
as the church passes into the obscurity of the period following
the year 60 of our common Christian era, we see dimly episco-
pal succeeding to apostolic government ; St. James closing his
career as the Judasan patriarch ; St. Paul remaining to the end as
a missionary and doctor of nations, but effacing himself as a ruler
before the Prince of Apostles, with whom he becomes a martyr
at Rome ; St. Peter fixed in his primatial see and transmitting
the succession to Linus, Cletus, and Clement ; while St. John
closes the century at Ephesus, where, as, St. Jerome writes, " he
founded and ruled all the churclies of Asia," and closed, as the
last of the inspired apostles and evangelists, the canon of Scrip-
ture with his Gospel, Epistles, and Apocalypse.

The memory of St. Peter's Roman episcopate and primacy,
and of his transmission of the same to his successors, remained
and was preserved throughout the universal church.

At the CEcumenical Council of Ephesus, A.D. 431, Philip, a
priest and legate of Pope Ccelestine, said, without a whisper of
dissent from the prelates present :

" We do not doubt, nay, rather it is a fact well known in all ages, that the
holy and blessed Peter, Prince and Head of the Apostles, Pillar of the
Faith, Foundation of the Catholic Church, received from our Lord Jesus
Christ, the Saviour and Redeemer of the human race, the keys of the king-
dom of heaven, and that to him power was given to loose and to bind sins.
And Peter has, in his successors, lived and exercised judgment up to this
present day, and for all future time will live and judge."*

This is the expression of the universal belief of orthodox
Christians in the middle of the fifth century, and a statement of
the indisputable fact that the Bishop of Rome then claimed and
possessed, with the consent of all ecclesiastical and civil rulers in
Christendom, that primacy which has been above defined. It
had a cause, an origin, and a history in preceding ages, and it

* Labbe, t. iii. p. 1154. Bottalla's Sup. Auth. of the Pope, p. 86.

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. 107

would be strange indeed if these could not be traced and proved
by testimonies from the earliest antiquity, as well as the begin-
nings and developments of other constituent elements of the
Christian religion.

One of these earliest testimonies to the apostolic origin of
the primacy has been already presented in the action and doc-
trine of St. Clement, the fourth Bishop of Rome. Between Cle-
ment and Constantine an interval elapsed of two hundred and
twelve years, of two hundred and sixty-one years from the foun-
dation of the Roman Church to its recognition as a legitimate
institution in the empire. This interval of time is one which
gradually emerges from obscurity after the middle of the
second century of our era, until as it approaches its term it
becomes comparatively luminous. The earliest and most ob-
scure period is well described by a writer from whom we have
already quoted :

" Christianity, from the days of the Emperor Nero to those of the An-
tonines, from the year 60 to the year 160 — that is, from the captivity of St.
Paul at Rome to the bishopric of Irenaeus at Lyons ; from the persecution
of St. James by the last devotees of that Jewish worship, which was even
then hastening to its fall by the destruction of Jerusalem, to the death of
Justin Martyr by the hand of the last great pagan, Marcus Aurelius, in 166 —
Christianity lives under ground. It has no connected story to tell. . . .
What is it, this new society? Where is it? What is it doing ? How does
it come ? How does it grow? Who compose it? There is darkness, diffi-
culty, puzzle about all this, for us as for the Roman statesman. It is hard
to piece it together, hard to distinguish what is happening and how it hap-
pens. We can only penetrate, for the most part, into the hiding-places of
the church by the help of these statesmen themselves. . . . Every now and
then their suspicions grew too strong to control, or the feelings of the crowd
drove them to violent measures, and they broke forcibly into those strange
societies and let the daylight in upon their secret gatherings. . . . The
Christian Church of the apostolic Fathers, then, shows itself, under the
light let in upon it by its Roman enemies, to be remarkable, first, for its
power to develop strong individual characters, of strange and defiant ob-
stinacy, whether in ruler, slave, or apologist ; and, secondly, as men looked
deeper, for its power of holding all its members within the compass of a society
•which was a social as well as a religious unity, which was bonded together by
close ties of brotherhood into the communion of a common faith, and which
so realized in act the idea of the spiritual communion that it could make its
, own dominion felt as a counter ' imperium ' to the empire of Rome, with a
changed centre of action, with unknown and alien points of contact between
man and man, with different manners, customs, laws — different interests,
different thoughts, different feelings, different aspirations." *

* The Apostolic Fathers, pp. 5, 6, 17, 18. The italics are our own.

io8 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. [April,

The one idea we wish to bring- forward and use in argument
by means of this borrowed language is the church's original
character as an " imperium," bound together in strict unity, and
under leaders or chieftains, which latter note of its organic con-y
stitution the writer quoted has more distinctly expressed in his
context, which we have not space to quote.

In respect to the principle of this unity, as bearing on the
office of the primacy, we find some apposite remarks making a
fine episode in Cardinal Newman's exposition of the difference
between civilization and barbarism which is one of the most ad-
mirable parts of his Lectures on the Turks.

The author has previously laid down that a civilized commu-
nity has an interior principle of life, progress, and development,
" a vigorous action of the intellect residing in the body, indepen-
dent of individuals, and giving birth to great men, rather than
created by them." Taking an illustration from the early rise and
progress of Christianity, he says :

" In the first three centuries of the church we find martyrs, indeed, in
plenty, as the Turks might have soldiers ; but (to view the matter human-
ly) perhaps there was not one great mind, after the apostles, to teach and
mould her children. . . . Vigilant as was the Holy See then, as in every
age, yet there is no pope, I may say, during that period, who has impress-
ed his character upon his generation ; yet how well instructed, how pre-
cisely informed, how self-possessed an oracle of truth do we find the
church to be when the great internal troubles of the fourth century re-
quired it ! ... By what channels, then, had the divine philosophy descend-
ed down from the Great Teacher through three centuries of persecution ?
First through the see and church of Peter, into which error never intruded,
though popes might be little more than victims^ to be hunted out and kill-
ed as soon as made ; and to which the faithful from all quarters of the
world might have recourse when difficulties arose or when false teachers
anywhere exalted themselves. But intercommunion was difficult and
comparatively rare in days like those, and of nothing is there less pretence
of proof than that the Holy See imposed a faith, while persecution raged,
upon the oecumenical body. Rather, in that earliest age, it was simply the
living spirit of the myriads of the faithful, none of them known to fame,
who received from the disciples of our Lord, and husbanded so well, and
circulated so widely, and transmitted so faithfully, generation after genera-
tion, the once delivered apostolic faith." *

It is the unity of the church which makes the primacy neces-
sary, in order that the body may have a head, the imperium an
imperator. It is, therefore, requisite that we should understand
the nature of the unity and the vital constitution of the body,

* Lectures on the Hist, of the Turks, lect. iv. part iii. pp. 255, 256. Ed. DubL 1854.

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. 109

in order to understand the nature of the headship subsisting in
the primacy.

In the strictest sense Jesus Christ alone is or can be the head
of the church. Only God can create and sustain spiritual life, and
the spirit of life which he communicates can only be in an indi-
vidual subject. Because he is the Eternal Son, one in essence
with the Father and the Holy Spirit, Jesus Christ can give the
Life-giving Spirit who proceeds from him and from the Father
as one principle, and thus, as the Head of the Church, unite its
living members in one body by giving the same spiritual life
as their animating and uniting principle to each one of its mem-
bers. This life is active and operates by faith, hope, and charity.
The priest cannot give forth from himself faith, hope, charity,
sanctifying grace and life ; and the sensible signs of the sacra-
ments have no efficacy intrinsic in their matter and form, apart
from their supernatural quality, for spiritual effects. It is Christ
who regenerates, pardons, consecrates and offers himself in sac-
rifice, enlightens, sanctifies. It is his word in which we believe,
in his grace that we hope, his person that we love, with him that
each one holds immediate communion in prayer. The sacraments
are only" his instruments and channels ; the ministers of the
church, from the lowest to the highest, are only his agents and
messengers, who serve him as acolytes in his priestly office, as
heralds in his prophetic mission, as vicars and ambassadors in his
kingly dominion.

The whole external order and constitution of the church is
therefore sui generis, as belonging to a spiritual kingdom which
differs essentially from a mere body politic. It could not be in-
vented, lawfully constituted, or made the instrument and medi-
um of divine grace by men, and must derive from Jesus Christ.
The personal and vital communion with Christ is not given to
the individual believer independently of the church. He is depen-
dent on preaching and the sacraments. These are committed to
the priesthood, and the priesthood cannot be validly conferred or
lawfully exercised except according to the divine law by which
the church is constituted.

St. Clement, who was a personal witness of the manner in
which the apostles constituted the churches which they founded,
and who was taught by them, declares, as we have seen, that they
established the priesthood according to a fixed order by divine
commandment. St. Ignatius, Patriarch of Antioch and the second
in succession from St. Peter, ten years after St. Clement's Letter
to the Corinthians, distinctly testifies that this order was epis-

no ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTUXY. [April,

copal. St. Irenseus in the same century, and Tertullian in the
third, locate the seat of the rule of faith and unity in the apos-
tolic succession of bishops in the churches.

According to the true, Catholic idea, the living members
were gathered into the unity of the one, Catholic Church by a
congregation into particular churches, each under its bishop,
and containing within itself all the principles and means of life.
In the bishop was the plenitude of the priesthood, all that the
sacrament of order can convey, including the power of ordaining
others ; and in the priests and deacons was a part of the same
sacramental gift of ordination. The faith, the sacraments, the
law of Christ, the power of government — all that was necessary
to a living, self-subsisting body — was in each particular church.
Yet it was not independent of the Catholic Church ; on the con-
trary, it possessed all its privileges on the condition of being
united with all other similar parts of the universal church in one
Catholic communion.

The outward bond of this communion lay in an affiliation of
the churches of a province to their metropolitan church, of met-
ropolitan churches to one which was of a higher metropolitan
order, like Ephesus, or patriarchal, like Antioch. Gathered in
councils under their presiding bishops, the bishops of these va-
rious eparchies exercised judicial and legislative functions. In
the centre of this system Rome was the church which possessed
the principality, as the mother and mistress of the rest, depen-
dent on no other, having all others depending from her, she being
the model and type, all her daughter churches facsimiles of her
and of each other, and all together being the Catholic Church,
subsisting at once in unity and multiplicity.

This universal pervasion of vitality through all the living,
individual members of the church , the repetition of the total or-
ganic structure in the distinct parts of the body ; the multiplica-
tion of particular churches constituted like the universal church,
under rulers who participated in the perfect plenitude of the
episcopal character with the bishop of the church to which the
supreme principality belonged ; the annexation of all archiepisco-
pal pre-eminence of honor and jurisdiction, from that of metro-
politan up to the primacy to the office of bishop over a particu-
lar church, in which all bishops were essentially equal, explains
the wonderful phenomenon of unity during the age of persecu-
tion. The church was alive all over, and not merely vitalized
by an impulse from the seat of supreme authority. It explains
also many things in the attitude and relation of other churches

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. in

to the Roman Church, of bishops and councils to the pope, and
in the language and sentiments of those early times, which seem
inconsistent with the idea of the church as an imperium with an
imperator at its head possessing sovereign and universal juris-
diction, as supreme judge in faith and morals, lawgiver and ruler,
and the Vicar of Christ on earth.

The life and unity of the church were operative by faith and
love. Therefore the faithful were all one brotherhood under
one father, and the pomp of human distinctions was absent from
their fraternal society. The titles of its chiefs and leaders were
few and modest, and just such as were sufficient to designate
their pastoral and ministerial offices. The laity and clergy
were the brethren of the bishop, and the clergy of all orders
were the " ancients " and seniors among their brethren. The
bishops presiding in the principal churches had no special de-
signation, and the bishop presiding in the church which pos-
sessed the more powerful principality had none. He addressed
his colleagues as his fellow-bishops, and they sometimes ad-
dressed him in the same manner. The patriarchs were called
simply the Bishops of Alexandria and Antioch, and the pope
was called Bishop of Rome. The prerogatives special to each
were perfectly understood as annexed to their episcopate and
implied in its title. The intensity of faith and love, the disinte-
restedness and humility of obedience, the reality of an age of
suffering and heroism, made all parade of names and formality in
proclaiming titles of authority superfluous and inappropriate.

All these various considerations which have been brought
forward respecting the church and the Roman primacy during
the second century especially, and also in due proportion during
the third, prove most conclusively that the belief which is found
universally diffused, which is openly appealed to and loudly pro-
claimed, in the fourth and fifth centuries, respecting the divine
primacy of the Bishop of Rome as the successor to St. Peter, the
Prince of the Apostles, was planted by the apostles themselves
together with the faith. The faith and the hierarchical order cul-
minating in the primacy were planted and grew up together
everywhere, at the same time, and alike. The faith did not pro-
ceed from Rome alone ; the apostolic deposit of the written and
unwritten word of Christ was not committed exclusively to the
Roman Church ; the organization of the hierarchy did not origi-
nally proceed from St. Peter's successors in that see ; their pri-
macy was not established and did not bring into subjection all
the churches of the world through an influence proceeding solely

ii2 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. [April,

from their efforts. The church was handad over to their guar-
dianship in possession of its faith and order. ' They could not
have ousted that order and substituted another any more than
they could have changed the faith. They found but did not
make themselves the primates of the Catholic Church. The oc-
casions for exercising their supreme power were in great part not
sought for but thrust upon them by appeals from all parts of the
church, and the testimonies to their high dignity are sponta-
neous and unbidden, coming from the East as well as from the
West.

The official letters and rescripts of the popes from Clement
to Siricius (A.D. 386) have perished. The first testimony in the
second century comes from Antioch, from Ignatius the Martyr,
St. Peter's disciple and second successor in the great patriarchal
see of the East. A short time before his death, in the year 107,
he wrote a letter to the Romans which begins as follows :

" Ignatius ... to the church which hath found mercy in the Majesty
of the Father Most High, and of Jesus Christ his only Son, beloved and
enlightened in the Will of Him who willeth all things which are in accord-
ance with the love of Jesus Christ our God, and which presides in the place
of the Romans, all-godly, all-gracious, all-blessed, all-praised, all-prospering,
all-hallowed, and presiding over the Love, with the Name of Christ, with the
Name of the Father." *

St. Ignatius ascribes to the Roman Church a governing presi-
dency unrestricted by any limiting term, and implying the sub-
jection of his own apostolic see, the third in dignity among the
principal churches, by using the same term which he employs to
denote the authority which the bishop, in the place of God, ex-
ercises in his diocese. In his letter to the Church of Ephesus,
which was -the presiding church in the exarchate of proconsular
Asia, and in his letters to the other churches, instead of " pre-
sides " he always uses the term " is." And in that beautiful expres-
sion, " presiding over the Love," he sets forth briefly but very
plainly that doctrine of the unity of the church under the primacy
which we have endeavored to explain. His other expressions are
most significant, and breathe that fervent devotion to the see of
Peter, that deep conviction of its supereminent gifts and prero-
gatives, which has always been characteristic of true Catholics.
Later on he says : " Ye have taught others. I would, therefore,
that those things may be firmly established which teaching you
have commanded" Full of reverence for that church upon which

* Lindsay's Evidence/or the Papacy, p. 128.

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. 113

its holy founders, Peter and Paul, poured out all their doctrine
with their blood, he exclaims with humility, although he was
himself a disciple and successor of the apostles : " I do not, as
Peter and Paul, command you" *

A voice from Greece in the first century which may fairly be
taken to represent the belief and sentiment of the whole great
exarchate of Thessalonica, and a voice from Antioch, the centre
of the greatest of the Eastern patriarchates, in the beginning of
the second, have already attested that supremacy of the see of
Peter which had been taught to them by the apostles Peter and
Paul, the founders of the Roman Church. It cannot be doubted
that Alexandria, next in rank to Rome, whose patriarch exer-
cised a delegated authority inherited from St. Mark, St. Peter's
disciple and vicar in Africa, greater and more unlimited than
that of any other of the greater archbishops, would have uttered
a similar voice, if it had spoken.

A silence of half a century, during which the church was
noiselessly growing, is broken by a voice from the great ex-
archate of Ephesus. St. Polycarp, Bishop of Smyrna, came to
Rome to visit Pope Anicetus, and they had some conference
about a question which henceforward became an important mat-
ter— the observance of Easter. This was shortly before the year
166, the date of Polycarp's martyrdom. He was a disciple of
St. John, and St. Jerome calls him "the prince of all Asia." It
is difficult to understand what pre-eminence this title imports.
St. John, who governed all the churches of proconsular Asia, re-
sided at Ephesus, and the successors of St. Timothy, who was;
ordained by St. Paul the first bishop of that see, undoubtedly
became the superior metropolitans of the whole exarchate, in
which Smyrna with its suffragan sees was included. The latter
city was, however, the rival of Ephesus in importance. If the
epithet " princeps totius Asias " denotes principality of jurisdic-
tion, and not rather pre-eminence on account of age, sanctity,,
and the spiritual influence of an eminent associate of St. John,
Polycarp may have succeeded to that apostle by his appoint-
ment, and the pre-eminence of rank may have been assigned to
the Bishop of Ephesus by a later arrangement.

The churches of Asia Minor observed the festival of Easter
on its precise anniversary, whatever day of the week that might
be, whereas Rome, and the Catholic Church generally, observed
it always on a Sunday. This difference of practice had un-
doubtedly begun to cause discussion and uneasiness,,, and. St.

* Allnatt's Cat A. Petrt, p. 84.
VOL. XXXV. — 8

ii4 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. [April,

Poly carp may have been requested to confer with the pope, on
behalf of his brother bishops, in respect to this as well as other
matters of discipline. The question was not definitely settled
at this time, Polycarp not consenting to make a change in the
practice of the Asiatics, and Anicetus not thinking it necessary
to insist on his doing so.

The motive of St. Polycarp's visit to Rome and his personal
attitude towards the pope must be explained, in the absence of
any decisive reason to the contrary, in accordance with the state-
ment of the legate Philip at Ephesus. A nearer commentary on
it is found in the doctrine of his disciple, St. Irenasus, which the
latter derived from his master ; and in the assertion of supreme
power over that portion of the church in Asia Minor in which
the diocese and province over which Polycarp presided were
situated, soon afterwards made by Pope St. Victor, and uni-
versally acknowledged, though its exercise was for a time re-
sisted by the Asiatic bishops. Polycarp's visit to Rome, and his
conference with Victor concerning the observance of Easter,
must therefore be regarded as a visit to the supreme apostolic
see and to his ecclesiastical superior. This conference is viewed
differently by different Catholic writers. Some regard it as the
principal motive of Polycarp's visit, and as having been con-
sidered by him, and by the pope also, as a matter of serious im-
portance. Others think that it came up incidentally and was
dismissed as a mere question of varying discipline which did not
demand any decisive action, because it did not involve any ques-
tion of dogma or, 'at that time, seriously disturb the peace of the
church. Later in the century, under Victor, the third in suc-
cession from Anicetus, whose pontificate began A.D. 193, the dif-
ference in the observance of Easter threatened to introduce a
doctrinal dissension and became the cause of a serious disturbance
of the peace of the church. Councils were held by the direction
of the pope in different parts, their decisions were sent to Rome,
and the bishops generally desired a final judgment and decree
enforcing everywhere the observance of Easter on Sunday. The
decree was made, and conformity to it was required of the Asia-
tic bishops, with a menace of excommunication, provoked by
their obstinate adhesion to their own local custom. It is not cer-
tain, we do not think it even probable, that the sentence of ex-
• communication was actually pronounced and put into execution.
St. Irenasus and other bishops remonstrated in an earnest and
respectful manner with St. Victor. The Asiatic custom was not
at once and in a peremptory manner abrogated. Polycrates of

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. 115

Ephesus pleaded the authority of St. John, who had, for certain
reasons of prudence and condescension toward Jewish converts,
permitted a custom different from that which the other apostles
had established elsewhere. He seems to have considered that
this custom had even a divine sanction and was obligatory as a
divine law. In some other provinces beside the Asian exarchate
a similar custom had somehow got into use. The difference of
observance was tolerated for above a century after the reign of
Victor, but gradually disappeared and was fully removed by the
decree of the first Council of Nicasa, A.D. 325.

The entire history of this affair proves the recognized and
legitimate existence of the Roman primacy. The resistance
made to it, although contrary to right, was professedly a resist-
ance to abuse of power, and not to usurpation of a power not
rightfully possessed. The remonstrance of St. Irenasus, who
appears to have persuaded Pope Victor to resort to milder mea-
sures, is a most emphatic testimony to the unquestioned supre-
macy of the Roman See. And we shall now see that this illus-
trious martyr and doctor of the church explicitly teaches the
existence and attributes of this supremacy in such strong lan-
guage, that an ingenious Protestant writer can only evade its
evidence by regarding it as a prophetic forecasting of the Papacy
in future times.

St. Irenaeus was born in Asia Minor somewhere near the
year 140. His testimony covers the century, and his instruction
was derived from St. Polycarp, and through him from St. John.
He speaks for Ephesus, and, as a Gallic bishop, for the West
also. The great aim of his writings was to refute heresies and
defend the faith. It is for this end that he exalts the apostolic
succession and the authority of the Ecclesia Docens — that teach-
ing magistracy which the episcopate possesses by divine right.
In this he is in perfect' accord with St. Ignatius, who for the
same holy purpose, and not with any primary intention of mag-
nifying the dignity and power of the hierarchy, exalts the office
of bishops. As the head of the Ecclesia Docens, and the central,
ruling seat of unity in faith, St. Irenasus sets forth the doctrinal
authority of the Roman Church and the necessity of being in
its communion. His earnest and firm remonstrance against the
hasty and despotic exercise of supreme power to quell the in-
subordination of the Asiatic bishops gives additional weight to
his recognition of the power itself, and manifests, moreover,
what his judgment was of the grave consequences of excision
from the communion of the Holy See :

n6 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY, [April,

" It is within the power of all, therefore, in every church, who may-
wish to see the truth, to contemplate clearly the tradition of the apostles
manifested throughout the whole world ; and we are in a position to
reckon up those who were by the apostles instituted bishops in the
churches, and the successions of these men to our own times. . . '.

" Since, however, it would be very tedious, in such a volume as this, to
reckon up the successions of all the churches, we do put to confusion all
those who, in whatever manner, whether by an evil self-pleasing, by vain-
glory, or by blindness and perverse opinion, assemble in unauthorized
meetings, by indicating that tradition, derived from the apostles, of the
very great, the very ancient and universally known church founded and
organised at Rome by the two most glorious apostles, Peter and Paul ; as also
the faith preached to men, which comes down to our time by means of the
succession of the bishops."

The abo.ve is the translation of Rambaut, revised by Roberts
in the " Ante-Nicene Christian Library." Allnatt gives the last
sentence from the English translati.on of Hergenrother's Church
and State as follows :

It suffices to " declare the tradition received from the apostles by the
greatest church, the most ancient, the most conspicuous, . . . and to de-
clare the faith announced to men by this church, coming to us even by the
succession of bishops."

The Latin text is :

" Maximae, et antiquissimae, et omnibus cognitae . . . ecclesiae, earn
quam habet ab apostolis traditionem, et annuntiatam hominibus fidem, per
successiones episcoporum pervenientem usque ad nos, indicantes, confun
dimus omnes, etc."

Then follows the decisive passage : „

" Ad hanc enim Ecclesiam propter potentiorem (al. potiorem) principali-
tatem necesse est omnem convenire Ecclesiam, hoc est, qui sunt undique
fideles, in qua semper ab his, qui sunt undique, conservata est ea quae est
ab apostolis traditio."

This is translated by Mr. Rambaut :

" For it is a matter of necessity that every church should agree with
this church, on account of its pre-eminent authority, that is, the faithful
everywhere, inasmuch as the apostolical tradition has been preserved con-
tinuously by those who exist everywhere."

Mr. Allnatt translates :

" For with this church, on account of her more powerful headship (or
supremacy), it is necessary that every church, that is, the faithful every-
where dispersed, should agree (or be in communion) ; in which (in commu-
nion with which) church has always been preserved by the faithful dis-
persed that tradition which is from the apostles."

1 882.] RQMAN PRIMACY IN THE SECOND CENTURY. 117

Father Schneeman finds that the substantive translated princi-
palitas is almost always, in the remaining fragments of the origi-
nal Greek text, avdsrria, which signifies " absolute sway," and
once apx^li which signifies " beginning, dominion, supremacy."
In twenty-three places the Latin translator of Irenaeus uses
" principalitas " or its equivalent, "principatus," in the sense of
power, dominion, empire.*

Dr. Roberts calls this a " difficult but important clause."
Important it certainly is, but not at all difficult, except for those
who seek to explain it away in some plausible manner.

The Protestant writers Salmasius, Thiersch, and Stieren ex-
plain the second clause of the sentence to mean that it is neces-
sary " to agree in matters of faith and doctrine with the Roman
Church." The very last clause of the sentence quoted above
is badly translated by Messrs. Rambaut and Roberts, and the
second rendering we have given is evidently the correct one, in
qud denoting, as Mohler, Dollinger, and Hergenrother remark,
that "in her communion," or "through her," the apostolic tradi-
tion has been preserved by all the faithful dispersed through the
world.f

After mentioning the names of the successors of St. Peter
down to the reigning pontiff, St. Eleutherius, St. Ireriasus con-
cludes :

" By this same order, and by this same succession, both that tradition
which is in the church from the apostles, and the preaching of the truth,
have come down to us. And this is a most full demonstration that it is one
and the same life-giving faith which is preserved in the chiirch from the
apostles and handed down in truth." \

Ziegler, a Protestant writer, remarks on the whole doctrine
of St. Irenasus concerning the extrinsic criterion and rule of
faith :

"To the mind of Irenaeus it is the episcopate which sanctions the rule
of faith, notvice-versd. With him, as with Cyprian, the highest ecclesiastical
office is inseparable from orthodox doctrine. . . . He makes the preserva-
tion of tradition, and the presence of the Holy Ghost with the church, de-
pendent upon the bishops, who in legitimate succession represent the apos-
tles, and . . . this manifestly because he wants at any price to have a guar-
antee for the unity of the visible church. This striving after unity appears
in the most striking way in that passage where he passes, as if in a prophetic
spirit, beyond himself, and anticipates the Papal Church of the future." §

* Allnatt, p. 70. flbid. p. 86. Jlren., Con. ffcer., lib. iii. c. 3.

%Iren. B. von Lyon., Berl., 1871. Quoted by Addis, Angl. and the Fathers, p. 7, and All-
natt, p. 70.

THE IRISH NAMES IN C&SAR. [April,

Rationalists account for the agreement between prophecy
and history on the hypothesis of vaticinium post eventum. Here
we have a theory in which the former one is reversed. The
agreement between the language of St. Irengeus and the histori-
cal Papal Church is admitted. Shall we consider the Bishop of
Lyons as a prophet of the future, or a witness to that which was
already a past and present reality ? The question is one which
answers itself. The existence and exercise of the Roman pri-
macy in the first and in the second century is an established fact,
proved by documentary evidence.

THE IRISH NAMES IN CAESAR.

ONE of the first of the literary productions of antiquity to
which the art of printing was applied in Europe was Caesar's
Commentarii de Bella Gallico. The Commentarii is one of the
most valuable contributions which ancient Rome has made to
modern investigation. We are informed by Christian W.
Gliick* that at the time of its being first printed, as now — in
the sixteenth as in the nineteenth century — there were only six
manuscripts of the Commentarii in the world. These six copies
to the scholars of Europe are more precious than gold. Of these
the copy preserved at Paris, and known as " the first Parisian,"
is considered the most faultless. It presents the nomenclature
of the chiefs and people of Gaul in the most intelligible form.

Regarded from a Celtic point of view, the Commentarii have
never been properly edited, for the editor should have some
knowledge of the language of the Gallic races — a knowledge
which none of these editors so far has displayed. Let us ask:
What is the subject of the Commentarii? What did Caesar do?
Caesar did eighteen hundred years ago what Queen Elizabeth
of England undertook to accomplish in the sixteenth century :
he subjugated a Gaelic-speaking people — not a people speaking
what is now termed Welsh, but a people speaking, at least sub-
stantially, what is now termed Irish or Gaelic. This has been
demonstrated by Jacob Grimm in two essays which he read be-
fore the Philological Society of Berlin ; it is proved by the For-
mulas of Marcellus, by the geographical nomenclature of ancient

* Die bei Caz'us Julius Ccesar vorkommenden Keltischen Namen in ihrer Echtheit festges-
tellt.

1 882.] THE IRISH NAMES IN C&SAR. 119

Gaul, and by the names or titles of the heroic chiefs of the
picturesque clans whose variegated costume gave to a large seg-
ment of their country the title of Gallia Braccata.

In all the printed editions which have come under my notice
Cassar is made to say'that the Gauls made use of literce Grcecce —
" Greek letters." But Horace Walpole assures us that this is a
mistake ; that in the manuscripts which he had examined he
found litercs crasscz* If we adopt this reading we shall re-
concile in Cassar what has been hitherto apparently irrecon-
cilable. Caesar says — or is made to say — that the Gauls used
Greek letters to convey their meaning. At the same time he tells
us in his fifth book that on one occasion he himself made use of
Greek characters to hide his meaning from those very Gauls.
Lest his despatch addressed to Q. Cicero should fall into
the hands of the Nervii, who were beleaguering Q. Cicero
in Beauvais — lest those redoubtable woodsmen should discover his
meaning — Cassar writes Latin words in Greek letters. This is
the meaning of the passage, and is it not perfectly irreconcilable
with the assertion that the Gauls were familiar with the Greek
alphabet? We have no right to say, as Leopold Contzenf does,
that Cassar wrote Greek words. No ; the words were Latin, the
characters Greek. This is the obvious meaning of Caesar's lan-
guage, and we have no right to pervert Caesar's meaning. We
have no reason to suppose that these Roman soldiers were Greek
scholars, though Cassar himself was. Here we have two assump-
tions : one, that the Gauls used the Greek alphabet ; the other,
that Caesar wrote his despatches not only in Greek characters
(as he says) but in the Greek language (which he does not say).
What is said above on the authority of Horace Walpole seems
never to occur to Contzen : namely, that Caesar did not use the
word Graces at all, but the word crassce, thick or heavy letters,
such as Irish manuscripts are found to be written in — characters
which were termed at one time in France the " Caroline hand."
In this point German scholarship is at fault.

A Gaelic people such as Grimm and Zeiiss have proved the
Gauls to have been, cannot have lived without letters. The po-
litical institutions of the Gaels necessitated the use of alpha-
betical characters. On this subject Augustin Thierry is very
emphatic :

" All the Celts, poor or rich, had to establish their genealogy in order

*" The common editions of the Latin writers do not intimate," says Arnold, "how much
of their present text is founded on conjecture."

t Wanderungen der Kelten. Leipzig : Engelman.

120 THE IRISH NAMES IN CSESAR. [April,

fully to enjoy their civil rights and secure their claim to property in the ter-
ritory of the tribe. The whole belonging to a primitive family, no one could
lay any claim to the soil, unless his relationship was well established." *

" The clan system," says Thebaud, " rested entirely on history,
genealogy, and topography. The authority and rights of the monarch of
the whole country ; of the so-called kings of the various provinces ; of
the other chieftains in their several degrees; finally, of all the individuals
who composed the nation, connected by blood with the chieftains and
kings, depended entirely on their various genealogies, out of which grew
a complete system of general and personal history. The conflicting rights
of the septs demanded also a thorough knowledge of topography for the
adjustment of their difficulties. Hence the importance to the whole nation
of accuracy in these matters and of a competent authority to decide on all
such questions.

"An immense number of books," Thebaud goes on to say, "were
written by their authors on each particular event interesting to each Celtic
tribe ; and even now many of those special facts recorded in these books
owe their origin to some assertion or hint given in these annals. There is
no doubt that long ago their learned men were fully acquainted with all
the points of reference which escape the modern antiquarian. History for
them, therefore, was very different from what the Greeks and Romans have
made it in the models they left us which we have copied or imitated. . . .
What Caesar then states of the Druids, that they committed everything to
memory and used no books, is not strictly true. It must have been true
only with regard to their mode of teaching, in that they gave no books to
their pupils, but confined themselves to oral instruction."

Thus Gaelic literature sprang out of the clan system. The
pedigree of the clansman was the title-deed of his inheritance.
Without a pedigree he was not only a pauper ; he was a slave.
Caesar says that the humbler classes in Gaul were little better
than slaves. The meaning of this is that certain classes in Gaul
had no genealogies. Wanting a pedigree, the clansman lapsed
into this class. He became daor (unfree). The fear of slavery,
the apprehension of pauperism, rendered writing indispensable.
The Gaels could not live without letters. Every man in the
" nation " had an interest in maintaining and upholding the
literary class. Gaelic literature was not an exotic borrowed
from another country and intended for ornament and display, as
in imperial Rome. Its roots lay in the arrangements of pro-
perty, and its branches ramified into ballad poetry, or rhythmical
narratives of great events, topography, medicine, and recorded
law. The shanachy,\ or antiquarian, or genealogist, should be
acquainted not only with men and their origin but with the
country and its history. Every acre should be known to him.

* Conqutte de PAngleterre, liv. i.

fThe true form of this word is seanchtiidhe — i.e., " that old party, order, or class of men."

1 882.] THE IRISH NAMES IN CMSAR. 121

Writing existed in Eire, or Erin, in pagan as well as Chris-
tian times, before as well as after St. Patrick. The immense
antiquity of the art of writing in Ireland is proved by the fact
that the Irish have preserved in their orthography the letters
they no longer pronounce. For instance, the Irish for father
is atJiair (pronounced aJiir). The letter t is mute, or mortified,
in this word. But there was a time unquestionably when this
silent / was audible. Here is an anecdote which proves the
great antiquity of Irish literature. We read in a fragment of
Caesar's EpJiemerides that Caesar, in the confusion and tumult of
a hand-to-hand engagement, was carried away by his horse and
suddenly captured by a Gaulish warrior (likewise a horseman),
who, putting his brawny hand on Caesar's shoulder, made
him his prisoner. At that moment the Gaul heard a fellow-
soldier (possibly a superior officer) exclaim, Is C<zsar e * — i.e.,
" He is Caesar." But in the disorder and clamor of the combat
the capturing Gaul mistook the words and fancied the speaker
to exclaim, " Cast him free — liberate him." Now, what words
were those which so closely resembled the name of the illus-
trious Roman ? They were these : caith saor e — " Cast him
free." Caith is the second person, imperative mood, of the verb
caithim, " to fling or cast "; and / signifies " him," equivalent to
eum in Latin. " Throw him loose " is the meaning of caith
saor t. The / in this imperative, though mute at present, was
unquestionably sounded at one time. But when was that?
Not when Caesar was captured by an Irish-speaking warrior
on the field of Gallic battle. To find the period when the /
was sounded we must go back ages before — to a time when
the plain on which Karnak stands was unencumbered by a
monument, when the temple of Belus was not yet mirrored in
the waters of the Euphrates. It appears to me that if the / had
not been mute in Caesar's time Caesar would have lost his life on
this occasion ; the javelin of a Celt would have changed the des-
tinies of the world. But if this was not sounded in Caesar's time
it is evident that Irish scribes have preserved this / for at least
two thousand years. " It is a proof of the resistance given
by Irish ollaves and bards to the linguistic corruptions of the
vulgar." In no existing edition of the Bphemerides will you find
a satisfactory explanation of the mistake to which Caesar was
indebted for his liberty.

Caesar informs us that Central Gaul was inhabited by a

* The reader will recollect that in classic ages c had in all cases the hard sound of £, just
as it 'continues to have in Gaelic.

122 THE IRISH NAMES IN C&SAR. [April,

nation who termed themselves Celtce, but who in the language
of the Romans were termed Galli. Thierry supposes that the
word Callus, " a Gaul," is merely a dialectic variation of the
word Gael. Now, the word Gael signifies unquestionably an
Irishman. As the word Jew is derived from a Hebrew patri-
arch named Juda, so the word Gael is inherited from a primeval
progenitor of the Irish race named Gaedhel. If you ask an
illiterate Irishman who speaks his vernacular what is the mean-
ing of the word Gael he will tell you it signifies a " kinsman,"
while gal* means a "foreigner." Nothing can be more at va-
riance than these two words. In the Welsh likewise and in the
Breton dialect of France the word gal signifies foreign.

Now, when the Irish were at home in their sea-encircled Eire
they called themselves Gaeil, but when they went abroad — when
they invaded what they termed Lochlin, the continent of Europe
— they ceased to be simply Gaeil; they became gal-gaeil, " for-
eign Irishmen." This compound epithet gal-gaeil occurs in the
Annals of the Four Masters, and is explained in a note by O'Dono-
van as signifying " piratical Irishmen." You will find it like-
wise, with the same signification, in Smerwick's History of the
Clans of Scotland. The gal-gaeil were " roamers of the deep,"
knights-errant of the wave, who sallied forth from their island-
citadel in search of adventure, gold, and renown.

" Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres, quarum unam incolunt Belgae,
aliam Aquitani, tertiam qui ipsorum lingua Celtae, nostra Galli, appel-
lantur."

In this sentence we find two names for one people. That people
are termed Celtce and Galli. But this race had a third appella-
tion which is still more famous. They were termed Galatai, or
Galatians. St. Paul's Epistle to the Galatians has given celebrity
to the Gaeil. , That the Galatians and the Gaeil were twin
branches of the same great tree is proved by the venerable au-
thority of St. Jerome. " The Treveri of Gaul and the Galatians
of Asia Minor spoke the same language," he says. In addition
to Caesar, the ancient writers of Greece and Rome who mention
the Keltoi, Celtce, or Keltai are five in number — viz., Aristotle,
Politic., ii. 7 ; Hecatseus, Fragm., N. 19; Herodotus, ii. 33, iv. 49 ;
Poly b., ii. 1 3 ^! / Strabo, passim.

* We set down here the correct orthography of these words, viz. : gaodJial (gael) and its
plural gaoidhil (gaeil), gaedhilg (gaelic), gall (gal), the forms in parenthesis being a phonetic
concession to "Saxon "vocal organs — a sort of concession, however, it must be confessed,
which has worked sad havoc with many Irish words, especially with such as have become some-
what naturalized in English.

1 882.] THE IRISH NAMES IN C&SAR. 123

Galatai is a later form of the word Gaul, and is found
for the first time in Timaros. It is likewise found in Pausa-
nias, i. 3, extr.; in Polybius, ii. 15 ; and Strabo, passim. It is com
pounded of gal, "foreign," and ait, "a place." The word Galii
was more familiar to the Romans than to the Greeks. Their
western position (comparatively western) brought the Romans
into closer contiguity with the Galli. But the Greeks were
not strangers to that name. We find -TorAAoz in Ptolemy (iii. i, 23)
and in Theodoret(i. 31). This Greek knowledge of the Galli and
the Celtas is worthy of attention ; for, as Sir George Cornewall
Lewis says : " Josephus remarks that neither Herodotus nor
Thucydides nor any of their contemporaries ever mentioned the
Romans, and that it was at a later period and with difficulty that
the Greeks became acquainted with the Romans." * " The Ro-
mans," says Livy, " never heard of Alexander the Great."f It is
highly probable that Alexander the Great never heard of the
Romans. But Alexander's acquaintance with the PaXXoi, or
I£eA.roz, as recorded by Arrian, is well known. The men whom
Arrian refers to were evidently gal-gaeil. They were adven-
turers who had quitted their native country, armed and equipped,
to make a. raid, or creaclit, \ through the length and breadth of
Europe. Here is what Plutarch says on this subject :

"There are some people who say . . . that they make regular
draughts out of their country, not all at once nor continually, but at the
spring season every year ; that by means of these annual supplies they
have gradually swarmed over the greater part of the European continent ;
and that though they are separately distinguished by different names, ac-
cording to the different clans of which they are compounded, yet their
whole army is comprehended under the general name of Celto-Scythse. " §

During these expeditions, while they were absent from their
native country, they were gal-gaeil. In the Annals of the Four
Masters the O'Neills of Ulster are described as sending emissa-
ries to hire ships from the gal-gaeil of Arrain, in Cantyre. Here
we have the reason why so many of the Gaulish chiefs terminate
their titles in orix. We find in Cassar Dumnorix, an uasal, or
noble, of the ^Edui. He is called domadJi an thoruis (pronounced
dumanorish), " the second person of the expedition " — that is,
aomadh, " second " ; and torus, " a tour " or journey. The first
man of the expedition was Orgetorix — that is, orra, " a chief " ;

* An Inquiry into the Credibility of Early Roman History, vol. i.
t Idem, vol. i. pp. 61, 62.

\ Creachadh, a preying or plundering ; creach-slua^ an army of spoil.
§ Life of Caius Marius, vol. iii. Langhorne's Plutarch.

124 THE IRISH NAMES IN CMSAR. [April,

gach, " every " ; torus, " expedition." Orgetorix was the head
man ; Dumnorix seconded his contemplated migration. This was
a tain, or razzia, which the Gallic chiefs contemplated. We
also find in Caesar Eporedorix — that is, ab urra tortiish, " the
chief and sire of the expedition " (ab, a father ; urra, a chief ; torus,
an expedition). These chiefs were knights-errant, roaming the
world, like Ariosto's heroes, in search of glory and adventure.

Cassar does not understand them when he says : " They deem-
ed their territories narrow in proportion to the number of in-
habitants," etc. These men were enrolled in an order of chiv-
alry, of which their very women were members, and which the
boys entered when the height of a sword. " The Irish," says
the first edition of Appleton's Encyclopedia, " possessed the rude
elements of chivalry," and the anomalies of Caesar's statement
may be elucidated by quoting the vernacular literature and lan-
guage of Ireland as to that chivalry.

" It is utterly impossible," says Latham,* " that Caesar's account of the
Helvetian expedition can be true. It is utterly unexampled for an agricul-
tural people to abandon their lands and go out to wander like nomads
through the world. If they needed additional territory, as Ca3sar alleges,
the emigration of a portion would furnish room for the remainder."

The pressure would naturally be relieved by the expatriation
of a minority. But here we have the whole tribe sallying forth,
like an army, after giving their homes to conflagration. My
explanation consists in the fact — churlishly conceded by the
American Encyclopedia — that the Irish had an order of chivalry,
and that the Helvetians belonged to that order.f They were
merely encamped in that country. In guiding and controlling
this chivalrous expedition, for which the warlike spirit of his
adventurous followers, impatient of action, were burning, and
of which the encampment in Helvetia was only a phase, Orge-
torix was foremost. His functions explain his appellation ; his
appellation explains his functions. He was the urra gach toruis
of his followers — literally, the promoter of every expedition ; for
urra signifies an agitator, one whose restless energy urges on-
ward some enterprise. The fine phrase of Caesar shows us
this : " Ad eas res conficiendas Orgetorix deligitur " — i.e., " for
the management of this business Orgetorix was chosen." The
clan elected an urra gach toruis to guide, control, and hasten the
expedition. These men, to whom all Europe was a battle-field,

*In his edition of Prichard's Eastern Origin of the Celtic Nations.

t Ealbha (pronounced elva), "a drove or herd of cattle," is the radix of the word Helvetia.

1 882.] THE IRISH NAMES IN CJESAR. 125

were gal-%aeil, roaming' Irishmen, who went to the continent of
Europe with the sword, as now they come to America with more
peaceable implements.

Having said that the word Galli is an abbreviation of gal-gaeil
— not Gael itself, as Anthon maintains — the next question which
suggests itself is: If gal signifies a foreigner, what is the origin
and meaning of Gaeil?

In his admirable work, Grammatica Celtica, Zeiiss asserts that
Gaeil , is derived from gal, an old Irish word signifying "battle,
arms, weapons of war." Contzen endorses this definition and
says we must content ourselves die von dem grossen Zeiiss gegebene
Erklarung anzufuhren — "to adduce the elucidation of the great
Zeiiss." Cormac, however, in his celebrated glossary — the oldest
dictionary in Europe — asserts that Gaeil is derived from, ga, a
javelin (the gessum of the Romans), because the Gael was a man
who, armed with a gd, endeavored to make his way to supremacy,
to place himself above all law.* But this derivation originates
in error. The radical meaning of Gael is "a kinsman"; and
though the Gael was a soldier, he was also, and before all, a
clansman, for " the genius of the Irish nation is affection," said
Grattan.

Contzen, in his Wanderungen, tells us that it is useless -to seek
in the Gaelic language an explanation of the word Keltoi. In this
he makes a mistake. I am persuaded that the Celtae whom
Caesar describes were not a nation but an order :

" The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this world holds record."

Now, what is the genesis of knighthood? Chivalry has been
defined by Edmund Burke as " a generous loyalty to rank and
sex, a dignified obedience, a proud submission, a subordination
of the heart, which kept alive in slavery itself the spirit of an
exalted freedom." Chivalry is the blossom which beautifies the
tree of aristocracy. A military tribe succeed in subjugating
a laborious population, as the Normans mastered the Anglo-
Saxons, and that tribe lives in idleness on the labors of its
victims. Aristocracy originates in conquest ; and knighthood
originates in -aristocracy. When the Saxons conquered the
Welsh, or Britons, they established an order of knighthood
which is described by Lingard.f The spirit of the conqueror

* Cormac's definition of the word gaodhal is translated by Adolphe Pictet in a different man-
ner. He objects to O'Reilly's translation, and says it should be '•'•gaodhal, c'est a dire, heros,
c'est a dire, homme, allant par violence (pillage, vol) a travers tout pays habile."

t Antiquities of t lie Anglo-Saxon Church.

126 THE IRISH NAMES IN CJESAR. [April,

seems to be dissatisfied with his undeserved supremacy, and to
make himself worthy of his position he evolves from the depths
of his moral consciousness the idea, and sometimes the reality, of
knighthood. Chivalry may be regarded as the homage which
oppression offers to freedom. It is the romance of military life,
and it proves that there is more poetry in the world than phi-
losophy always dreams of. Chivalry flourished among the
Franks of Gaul, the Goths of Spain, the Normans of England,
the Milesians of Ireland. Something very like the spirit of
chivalry sprang up in the Southern States of this republic when
negro slavery was sanctioned by law. The Turpins of real
life, the Macheaths of the drama, the Paul Cliffords of the
novelist — the men who figured, pistol in hand, on Hounslow
Heath a hundred and fifty years ago — were the most chivalrous
men in England. Few manifested more respect for the ladies,
more generosity to the poor, more haughty pride to the arro-
gant, more courage in battle, more tender sympathy for suffering
humanity. They had nearly every virtue under heaven except
common honesty.

Be this as it may, one thing is certain : the Irish at an early
period possessed institutions which were " the nurse of manly
sentiment and heroic enterprise."

The knighthood of pagan Ireland did not involve the idea of
horsemanship. The knight was not necessarily a chevalier ; he
was not mounted on a charger and hooped and riveted in a can-
ister of iron. Rather he was the very contrary of all this. The
Gaelic epithet for chivalry is more truthful than chivalry itself.
It is gradh-gaisge , The first syllable in this compound epithet
is akin to the Latin gradus. It means a degree or gradation.
Thus we have gradha eagluise, " ecclesiastical orders." The Gaelic
knight was a graduate in war. Gaisge signifies " bravery, feats
of arms." Its radix is g&, a javelin, the inseparable concomitant
of the Gaelic knight.

There is nothing more extraordinary in the history of chiv-
alry than the fantastic and extravagant vows which knights
were accustomed occasionally to make. In his admirable notes
to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border Sir Walter Scott says :

" It was not merely the duty but the pride and delight of a true knight
to perform such exploits as none but a madman would have undertaken.
. . . To be first in advancing or last in retreating ; to strike upon the gate
of a certain fortress of the enemy; to fight blindfold or with one arm tied
up ; to carry off a banner or defend one, were often the subjects of a par-
ticular vow among the sons of chivalry. When Edward III. commenced

1 882.] THE IRISH NAMES IN CAESAR. 127

his French wars many of the young nobility bound up one of their eyes
and swore before the peacock and the ladies that they would not see with
both eyes until they had accomplished certain deeds of arms in France "
(Froissart, cap. xxviii.)

Now, vows of this nature had been taken by Gaelic knights ages
before Christ, and were termed geasa. For instance, every Gaelic
curadh * made solemn vow never to tell his name to an enemy.
" I was renowned in war," says one of Ossian's heroes ; " I never
told my name to a foe." This geas, or obligation, was not extra-
neous or fantastic so much as fundamental, being taken by the
knight at his inauguration. The curadh who violated it was re-
garded as a felon-knight — curadh-feal — unworthy of the goodly fel-
lowship of his heroic and romantic brethren, because if an armed
adventurer revealed his name to an enemy it might turn out that
he was no enemy at all. He might prove a kinsman or a friend,
and the opportunity of fighting might be lost. He might forfeit
the opportunity of signalizing his valor by crossing swords with
the stranger. Here is an illustration : A Gaelic youth, full of
fire, daring, and valor, named Cuchullin (the Cuthullin of Mac-
pherson), is described as going to a foreign country to learn the
exercises of knighthood from an Amazon who resembles one of
Tasso's heroines, an accomplished instructress in the art of war.
Under her eye in a military academy a crowd of daring and ro-
mantic striplings learn to career the steed, hurl the javelin, and
guide the bristling war-car through the ranks of battle — they
learn the courtesies and exercises of chivalry. But animated by
the fire-blood of the Gaeil (an gris-fuit), Cuchullin masters the mili-
tary science so rapidly, he is so apt a pupil, so daring, courteous,
generous, and comely, that he ingratiates himself with his in-
structress and completely wins her heart. When his education is
completed and he takes his leave of his mistress to return to Eire
he presents her with a brilliant torque of twisted gold — that fa-
mous ornament which Virgil places on the neck of young Asca-
nius, which gave a name to a noble family in pagan Rome and to
a nobler poet in Christian Italy. " When your son fills this neck-
ring, when his knightly training is concluded, send him to Eire
with this ring ; it will enable me to recognize my son."

The Amazon gives birth to a boy, whom she names Con-
laoch (con is the genitive of cu, " a hound "; laoch, a hero). When
this son of a warrior, this child of an Amazon, reaches manhood

* Derived from cu, a wolf-dog, the largest, noblest, and most intrepid of hounds — a species,
however, now extinct.

128 THE IRISH NAMES IN CAESAR. [April,

he takes shipping and visits Eire. At this time he is a perfect
knight, a master of every accomplishment befitting a curadh. He
has solemnly sworn never to yield in single combat to any war-
rior in the world, never to refuse the challenge of any knight on
earth, and, amongst the rest, never to tell his name to a foe. He
has been trained to arms by his Amazonian mother, and he in-
herits the lion heart of his hero-father. He repairs to Tract Essi,
where the King of Ulster, Conor MacNessa, surrounded by the
brightest circle of knights which Eire can boast, holds high fes-
tival, like King Arthur at Camelot.

The strange knight Conlaoch, who is described as " well made
and fair of form ; his eyes gray and sparkling ; his visage smil-
ing, fair, and sanguine," challenges any knight in Conor's pre-
sence to mortal combat. In reply to this challenge Conor sends
out an officer to ask his name. But the young stranger replies :
" I am under knightly obligation ; there is a geas upon me never
to disclose my name to a foe." The challenge is accepted ; a
knight advances and fights Conlaoch, who not only vanquishes
but binds him in chains and makes him his prisoner. This oc-
curs again and again. These repeated combats, and the per-
petual success of the astonishing stranger, so young, so comely,
so intrepid, fill the Aos-gradJia — the noble press of proud knights
assembled round King Conor — with alarm. Finally the king re-
quests Cuchullin, lest the glory of Eire should be tarnished for
ever, to go forth and fight the stranger. But even Cuchullin is
not able for his son, and he, too, would have been vanquished and
manacled if a trusty squire had not supplied him in the pause
of the struggle with a favorite sword whose haft, " twinkling
with diamond studs and jacinth work of subtlest jewelry," ren-
dered Cuchullin invincible. When the irresistible arm of Cu-
chullin and his resplendent sword have struck Conlaoch down,
smitten him through the helm — when the pale hero is on the
point of death, when his life-blood is ebbing fast from his multi-
plied wounds — he unwinds the glittering torque from his snowy
neck and presents it with silent lips and tremulous hand to his
astonished father, who utters a cry of horror at the sight. " Are
you my son? " asks the distracted father. " Yes, I am your son,"
whispers the heroic boy. " I am the son of Sgathach. I die as a
warrior should. I perish on the field of war. I never told my
name to a foe."

In this youth you have the true Celt, the perfect type of
those terrible men whom Livy describes as gens ferox et ingenii
avidi ad pugnam. In battling with other nations Rome fought

1 882.] THE IRISH NAMES IN CSESAR. 129

for glory, says the same historian ; in struggling with the Celts
she fought for her life. Strictly speaking, the word from which
Celtcs and Keltoi are derived is not a noun ; it is a participle of the
Irish verb ceilim, " I conceal," equivalent to the Latin celo. The
noun fear, or fir* is understood ; fear ceilte is equivalent to the
Latin vir celatus. Cealteach signifies celans ; cealtigh, celantes. The
noun ceilt is Latinized celatio, and, like that word, it means hiding,
concealment. The well-known epithet kilt which the Scottish
Highlander applies to a part of his garb is the same noun
slightly mispronounced ; it signifies the concealment of the per-
son.

And here I may remark that this word ceilte was rarely ap-
plicable to the Gaels in their own country. It was in foreign
lands that they refused to reveal their name. At home they
were too well known. Hence it is that Diodorus Siculus, in
describing Eire under the name of Hyperborea, says that " the
island lay opposite the Celtse." f

In describing the Celtae the Greek and Roman writers use
the adjective and omit the governing noun. This is a serious
omission of frequent occurrence. In almost every instance the
difficulty in explaining and ascertaining Irish words in Caesar
consists in the absence of the governing noun. Unless we take
the governing noun into consideration an explanation is impossi-
ble. It would be erroneous to suppose that in all instances
Caesar's initial is the Irish initial ; you will look in vain in Irish
dictionaries for his initials. A striking instance of this is afford-
ed by the word Cingetorix. The first syllable in Cingetorix is
unintelligible without the governing noun. Why should it be
cinn? Why should it not be ceann?\ Because, as in the word
ceilte, the governing noun is absent. To ascertain the meaning
of this word Cingetorix we must first ascertain the governing
noun. The absent noun in this instance is fear. Cinn is the
genitive of ceann, governed by fear understood. Now let us
write it in its amplitude : Fear cinn gacha toruish signifies lite-

* fear, man, and fir, men.

t Arnold, speaking of the Celts, says in his History of Rome : " Diodorus tells us (v. xxxii.)
that the Romans included under one common name two great divisions of people, the one con-
sisting of the Celtic tribes of central Gaul, Spain, and northern Italy, the other embracing
those more remote tribes which lived on the shores of the ocean. These remoter people were
the proper Gauls, while the others were to be called Keltoi. Niebuhr supposes that Diodorus
learned this distinction from Posidonius, and it is undoubtedly well worth noticing. Diodorus
further says that to these more remote tribes belonged the Kimbri, whom some writers identified
with the old Kimmerians ; and that these Kimbri were the people who took Rome and sacked
Delphos, and carried their conquests even into Asia."

\ Ceann, a head.

VOL. XXXV. — 9

130 THE IRISH NAMES IN CSESAR. [April,

rally " the man of the head of every expedition " or raid. This was
the name which, according to Florus, struck Rome with terror—
not by its sound, as he supposes, but by its meaning. " His very
name was terrible," says Florus : " Ille corpore, armis, spirituque
terribilis, nomine quasi ad terrorem composito Vercingetorix."

The knighthood of the Gaels accounts for those terrible raids
which they were perpetually making, sword in hand, into the
heart of the European continent. These expeditions continued
for a thousand years preceding the birth of Christ. During that
time they were constantly traversing the continent in search of
knightly adventure and heroic enterprise. But as chivalry was
an institution of which the classic writers had no conception,
Plutarch ascribes their martial expeditions to their numbers. A
similar mistake was made by the Byzantine historians, who could
not understand that a knightly vow, not the pressure of popula-
tion, brought the Crusaders to Palestine.

The men who went from Eire to the continent were fir ceilte,
" unknown knights," who haughtily refused to give any account
of themselves — "qui ipsorum lingua Celtse, nostra Galli, appellan-
tur." They were really gal-gaeil, but they preferred the knightly
epithet of fir ceilte from motives which are perfectly intelligible.
These Celtse, or Keltoi, were " the upper ten thousand " of ancient
Gaul. They are the warriors whom Virgil sees advancing upon
Rome splendidly attired in magnificent and vari-colored costume :

" Aurea caesaries ollis, atque aurea vestis."

From this passage Niebuhr infers that the warriors who sacked
Rome had yellow hair. But if Niebuhr be correct it is at the
same time impossible for a people living permanently in such a
climate as that of France to have yellow hair. It has been prov-
ed that the climate of France has .not changed during two thou-
sand years. In such a climate the natives cannot have yellow
hair. The climate discolors the skin in the course of ages, and
the complexion of the skin determines the color of the hair. You
will find in Niebuhr that Brennus and his followers were Hyper-
boreans— that is, they were islanders ; and, being islanders, they
could not be natives of any part of the continent. Niebuhr as-
serts that the color of their hair is implied in the term aurea used
by Virgil ; and as a corroboration of his assertion I shall here
quote the description of an Irish chief, taken from an Irish manu-
script of the fourteenth century entitled The Book of Ballymote :

' Splendid was Cormac's appearance. . . . His hair was slightly curled
and of a golden color ; a scarlet shield, with engraved devices and golden

1 882.] THE IRISH NAMES IN CJESAR. 131

hooks and silver fastenings, glittered on his arm ; a capacious purple cloak
enveloped his person, and a gem-set bodkin with pendent brooch secured
it on his breast ; a golden torque encircled his neck ; a white-collared
tunic embroidered with gt>ld was visible when his mantle opened ; a girdle
studded with precious stones and secured by a golden buckle was likewise
visible ; two spears with golden sockets, and secured by red bronze rivets,
in one hand, while he stood in the full glow of manly beauty, without defect
or blemish."

A Greek author could be quoted to prove that a dress of this
brilliant and costly character was worn by the Celtae of the con-
tinent. There is nothing truer than what Baldwin says in his
Prehistoric Nations — viz. :

" The general outline and main facts of Irish history furnished by the
old records of the country cannot reasonably be discredited nor shown to
be improbable. On the contrary, they are in harmony with what we know
or may reasonably presume concerning western Europe in prehistoric
times."

Now, according to the Annals of the Four Masters, the aristo-
cracy and plebeians of Ireland — the Fir-bolgs and Milesians — con-
quered the whole of western Europe, precisely as in our own
day Irish and English generals commanding Irish and English
soldiers have conquered all southern and central Asia. If you
consider the limited extent of the British Isles and the prodigious
extent of Hindostan you will be lost in astonishment at the con-
trast. It is highly possible that posterity will refuse to believe
that the inhabitants of islands so small could establish an empire
so extensive, and it is also possible that even learned men may
smile incredulously when I affirm that at one time the empire of
Eire was almost as wide-spread as that of Britain in our own day.
But I am supported in this view by the very highest possible
authority — namely, an oecumenical council. In the celebrated
Council of Constance it was solemnly and unanimously affirmed
that Europe contained four empires, and only four — viz., the
Greek, the Roman, the Spanish, and the Irish empires.* Now,

* Becchetti, an Italian author, in his Istoria degli ultimi quattro Secoli della'Chiesa, speak-
ing of the Council of Constance, says that the Cardinal of Cambrai published a document in No-
vember, 1416, in which he denied the right of the English to be considered as a nation, and argued
that it was to the interest of the court of France to oppose such English pretensions. This
document excited in the minds of the English present at the council the. deepest indignation and
fiercest resentment. The English were eagerly desirous of getting from the entire synod a
decree in their favor, while the French wanted to have the question referred to the Sacred Col-
lege. . . . Cardinal Alliaco based an argument on the bull of Benedict XII., in which he
enumerates the provinces subject to the Roman pontificate. He divided Europe into four great
nations in accordance with the bull, in such a way that several nations were comprised under the
head of Germany; and England was one of these. . . . " Finalmente si rammentano varte,

1^2 THE IRISH NAMES IN CAESAR. [April,

you will not find this decree improbable if you consider the Irish
and the Celtic empire as one and the same thing.

" So considerable," says the Universal History, vol. ii., " was the Celtic
nation even in Augustus Caesar's time that it contained no less than sixty
great tribes distinguished by the name of cities or districts, according to
Strabo. Tacitus says sixty-four, Josephus three hundred and fifteen. Appi-
anus made them amount to four hundred ; and their cities, he asserts, were
thirteen hundred in number. This was in the time of Augustus Caesar; but
before that time they must have made a greater figure in the world, as may
be guessed by the expedition of Bellovesus, six hundred years before
Christ, or in the time of Tarquin the Elder."

It may be remarked that the name of Bellovesus is suscepti-
ble of explanation — if, indeed, it can be termed a name ; for here
I must observe that the Romans did not know the Gaelic chiefs
as men but as functionaries, and we almost invariably find in
Csesar that the title supersedes and blots out the patronymic.
The Gaels appeared in Gaul and Italy as soldiers. Now, in war
the function remains though the officer perishes. In Caesar we
have little else than titles ; the man is lost in the officer, for war
was raging in the country. Thus an ambassador is, in Cassar,
Andecumborius — that is to say, an te cum bothar, which is the Irish
of" the man for the road " ; and thus Bellovesus is bealack fi&sack,
a man acquainted with the highways — bealach signifies a highway,
road, or path ; and feasach, knowing, expert. Now, we read in
the Annals of the Four Masters that Hugony Mor, King of Ire-
land about six hundred years before Christ, fitted out aji expedi-
tion which overran western Europe. The Irish king penetrat-
ed into Italy and mastered Piedmont or Lombardy. There is a
remarkable harmony between the account given in the Four
Masters and the map of the Celtic empire published in the Uni-
versal History. The expedition of Hugony Mor synchronizes
with that of Bellovesus.

The centre of what is now known as France was in Cassar's
time inhabited by an Irish-speaking people, as is strikingly ap-
parent in the topographical names of the country. The word
Garonne signifies the rough river (garbh amhari). Sequana signi-
fies the river of separation or division — amnis divisionis (seach am-
han) — because to the north of it were the Belgas, and it separated

divisioni, nelle quali erano gi& state partite le province della Europa ; ciol nei di Kama, di
Costantinopoli, d'Irlanda, e di Spagna " (vol. iii. p. 99). As in 1416— when the council was
held— England claimed the "lordship "of Ireland, which was one of the four empires above
mentioned, the pretensions of France to the precedency of England were set aside and the coun-
cil went on in undisturbed serenity.

1 882.] THE INFLUENCE OF FAITH ON ART. 133

these Fir-bolgs from the Gaeil. Caesar asserts that the language
of the Belgse was distinct from that of the Galli. The accuracy
of this statement has been questioned by Latham for this reason :
the Belgian chiefs in Caesar bear Gaelic names. Therefore, says
Latham, the Belgians themselves were Gaelic. But this is a non *
sequitur. It originates in an utter oblivion of Irish history. The
Belgas were a people subject to the Galli, or Gal-Gaeil, on the con-
tinent, because they were subject to the Gaeil in Eire. The offi-
cers of a Hindoo regiment bear English names, but it does not
follow that the rank and file are Englishmen. Speaking of the
Fir-bolgs, Moore says in his History of Ireland, vol. i. p. 48 :
" That their language must have been different from that of the
Celtic natives appears from the notice taken in the Book of
Lecan of a particular form of speech known as Belgaid."

THE INFLUENCE OF FAITH ON ART.

ART has always been to common life like the thread of gold
burning through its dusky hues and lighting them into richness
and beauty. Even Greek art did not confine itself only to the
deities of sky and earth, or nymphs of fountain and stream, but
delineated also the athlete, the disk-player, or, as in the small
statues of Tanagra, maidens giving flowers to each other. They
chose, however, only the strength, and beauty, and gladness of
daily life to commemorate ; they rejected and scorned weakness,
and failure, and sorrow. We wonder, in looking upon the
thronging figures of Greek friezes or metopes, the heroic groups
and erect statues of god or warrior, where were the old people,
the helpless babes, the common faces, unbeautiful in all except
kindliness? Where are the tender spirits that are glad with our
joy and sad with our sorrow ? Where is the touch of sympathy
that makes the world akin ? These are not to be found in the
Greek world of art ; there they all rejoice in their strength, and
stand apart in their cold and haughty grace from the pain of hu-
manity. You can scarcely imagine weariness or suffering in con-
nection with the strong, full limbs of the Greek Venus, any ache
of mental care under those low, smooth brows, any pity or sor-
row in her heart.

How different is it with the world of Christian art, into which
faith has entered as a vital element ! Here are many cares and

THE INFLUENCE OF FAITH ON ART. [April,

troubles ; it is a more sombre age, and one stained with sin and
torn with anguish, but it is alive with the keen, throbbing sym-
pathies of love. In every woe the darkness, as in a certain
beautiful picture in Florence, trembles as you gaze into its
depths, into wondering, eager faces of adoring child-angels.
No longer is it solely the world of the strong ; emaciation, peni-
tent tears, exhaustion, are seen in the spiritual faces of martyr
and saint. Even the pains of death are glorified by this faith,
and martyrdom ends in ecstasy ; for out of the devouring flames
bloom the red roses of Paradise. In the earliest efforts of Chris-
tian art, in the " rock-hewn tombs " of the Catacombs, the part-
ing of death was not forgotten, but was touched with the bright-
ness of promise. The epitaphs are full of tender trust: "Peace,"
" Live in God," " Dear little child," " Virgilia sleeps in peace,"
and the emblems of art that accompany these are all joyous — the
birds flying homewards, the Good Shepherd and his flock, the
Heavenly Vine. Nor has death alone been consecrated, for in
many a face which Christian art has preserved we see the disci-
pline of life, resisted temptations, a spirit grown white and pure
from earthly dross by continued self-denial and charity to others.
The Holy Child, with its divine purity and innocence, has lifted
up hands of benediction on all childhood, and our helpless little
ones are evermore dearer to us because our Lord once deigned
to rest as a babe in his Mother's arms, and all the endearing
ways of childhood, its clinging and trusting tenderness, have a
double sacredness from the teachings of Christianity. So it has
been also with womanhood : its loving and believing nature,
faithful to the end, has been lifted out of the mire of the pagan
world and made holy and earnest. The divine words of our
Lord drew many to follow him upon earth ; and across the mo-
notonous, restricted life of the pagan wife and mother Chris-
tianity has woven its threads of light and awakened it to spir-
itual truth and activity. In the faces of St. Margaret of the
Louvre, with the palm-branch in her hand, unheeding the loath-
some dragon in her path, of St. Barbara, and of many a lovely
and lily-like face of Italian art, there is a new peace, a faith that
is an inspiration, a tenderness that transfuses them like perfect
music. If these faces are not physically more beautiful than
those of the Greek woman, the beauty is of a higher type ; it has
a meaning : the soul is there, alive with all the intensity of
spiritual love. The Christian faith has blessed all humanity, lift-
ing it to higher powers of virtue, and self-sacrifice, and purity,
and Christian art has been its enduring attestation and witness.

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 135

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

CONSTITUTION AND PROCEEDINGS OF THE CATHOLIC YOUNG MEN'S NA-
TIONAL UNION, by the Seventh Annual Convention, held at Chicago,
111., May ii and 12, 1881. Richmond (Va.) : Taylor & Co. 1881.

Last May an assembly was held at Chicago of representatives of about
forty Catholic societies in different dioceses. This was the seventh gene-
ral meeting of the Union. The Right Rev. Bishop Keane, of Richmond,
Va., was chosen president, and its various officers, clergymen and laymen,
are gentlemen of standing. The object of the Union is declared in the con-
stitution to be " the furtherance of practical Catholic unity and the moral
and intellectual advancement of its members." Among the means of effect-
ing this is " the fraternal union of all associations aiming, in whatever way,
at the spiritual, intellectual, and moral improvement of Catholic young
men." It is an excellent project, and the character of its promoters seems
to give assurance of a serious determination to succeed. Two resolutions
of general interest were adopted, one urging upon Congress the justice of
providing a fair proportion of Catholic chaplains for the army ; the other
calling the attention of Congress to " the regulations now existing in the
Interior Department, by which a Catholic missionary is expressly forbid-
den to set his foot upon the reservations of Indians assigned to non-Ca-
tholic control " — a very great outrage when it is remembered that most of
the Indians, when allowed to express their desires, have begged for the
ministrations of the " black-robes." The next convention of the Union is
to be held in Boston in the second week of May next.

We have about seven million Catholics in the republic — a great increase
within fifty years, no doubt, but how much of the increase is due to Ameri-
can effort and how much merely to immigration? That is to say, how
much is really an increase from natural causes and from conversions, and
how much is simply a transfer to this country of Catholics from abroad ?
Will these Catholic immigrants — many of them from rustic homes — and their
children retain their faith in the new conditions of life in which they are
cast in the United States ? American life is a trying one to the weak 01 the
ignorant. It is in the main an active, vigorous, manly life, and because it
has these qualities it is apt to be without some of the traditional aids on
which many in the Old World had for ages been accustomed to rely in
a great measure. The immigrant rustic, whose parish was his country,
and with whom the performance of his religious duties was just as essential
to his pride as an honest man as any of the requirements of natural mo-
rality, finds himself amid a strangely assorted mob, and is often brought
dangerously near to degrading associations of all sorts. His faith, too, is
questioned on all sides.

But if the older men, whose very instincts are Catholic, are exposed to
perils for their faith and their morals, what is to become of those younger
men who are subjected to few of the influences with which ages of faith
and long-settled customs had surrounded their fathers ?

I36 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [April,

It is easy to answer that, next after the supernatural influence of the
sacraments, safety may be secured in organization — in the establishment of
young men's societies, for instance. But what sort of societies shall be
formed, what is to be their scope and what their means of action ? The
answer is all the more difficult from the want of homogeneity in our Catho-
lic population, though this difficulty is every year becoming less, according
as the different races that form the American people more and more lose
their repulsion for one another. In some regions the want of friendship
between Catholics of different race-origin is great enough to be positively
harmful , in others it is barely perceptible, if it exist at all. The estrange-
ment, it is true, is usually negative at most, and is principally owing to dif-
ference of language. Though this difficulty is temporary only, it is none
the less a difficulty at present, and one that is likely to endure for years
yet.

Many attempts have been made by zealous priests and laymen in the
way of organization. Literary societies, so-called, have sprung up from
time to time in various places. But if one were disposed to examine into
the genuineness of the literary tastes of most of these societies he would
be amazed to find that the reading-rooms, for instance, which they support
he might count on the fingers of his two hands. It would be safest for
one's peace of mind not to consult a Catholic publisher or bookseller on
this head. The reason, however, of the failure of the " literary " societies
is obvious enough. To form and maintain a literary society you must
bring together men of literary inclinations. Such a society cannot be
formed out of men whose reading is confined to the daily papers. Here
comes in an inquiry. There are seventy Catholic colleges, more or less, in
this country. With a few exceptions their graduating classes are small ;
yet even if the average attendance of their students is not more than two
years, that time ought to develop a reading tendency at least. There are
hundreds of Catholic high-schools, and of upper classes in parochial schools
with a course of studies more or less assimilated to these high-schools. In
addition to these there are the parochial schools themselves, which have
been at work for years. Where now are the Catholic readers ? What are
all these Catholic scholars reading now ? They do read.

These points are not raised by way of discouragement, but as sugges-
tive. We trust that at its approaching convention the Catholic Young
Men's National Union will discuss them and give us solutions.

So far as Catholic organization is concerned, it is safe to lay down that
no attempts will be successful that aim to unite in one society men who
are uncongenial either from the ordinary differences of social life or from
differences of race-temperament or customs. All Catholics, of course, can
and do unite in the practices of religion, and all, therefore, may, and fre-
quently do, unite in societies having a purely devotional end in view.
But there is no question here of the devotional societies which flourish in
every well-ordered parish. Something is needed that will reach the great
body of young men whose faith and piety are more or less sound, but who,
from some cause or other, do not associate.

But, in addition to the literary and beneficial societies now in existence
among us, Germany, in its Catholic working-men's societies, offers a model
that may be well worth adapting to American needs. At present a very

1 882.] NE W PUBLICA TIONS. 1 37

great number of Catholic artisans are forced either to sacrifice the benefits
to be obtained in the co-operation of labor in self-defence, or else are
drawn into organizations of their craft that are apt to be highly flavored
with infidelity. There is""no doubt whatever of the fact that most men will
join a society of some sort when the occasion offers. A Catholic artisans'
society furnishing its members with practical instruction in industrial
drawing, elementary mechanics, or other suitable technical matters, etc.,
having a fund for the sick and those out of work, and providing healthful
and social amusement, ought to succeed, if properly organized and man-
aged. Politicians and political intrigues should, of course, be studiously
kept clear of.

Anyhow we are heart and soul with the young men of this country, and
we have great hopes of the Catholic Young Men's National Union.

OFFICIUM MAJORIS HEBDOMADS a Dominica in Palmis usque ad Sabba-
tum in Albis, juxta ordinem Breviarii et Missalis Romani, cum cantu
pro Dominica Palmarum, Triduo Sacro et Paschate quern curavit S.
Rituum Congregatio. Neo-Eboraci : Sumptibus Frederici Pustet.
1881.

This volume, a reproduction in smaller form of the same work issued in
1871, is most opportune. The special merit of the work lies in the facility
it affords the singer to chant each office entire without referring to various
parts of the book. While the work in general elicits satisfaction, certain
mistakes in the detail must be noticed. The " Ave Regina," p. 46, is mark-
ed Tone 12. A study of the phrasing and the notation will at once make
•this error apparent to a youthful chorister, who readily perceives a marked
difference between the twelfth and the fourteenth Mode. Again, the work
on its title-page professes to follow the Roman Missal. For this reason,
and also because we are well aware of the desire which Messrs. Pustet &
Co. have always manifested of making their works correct in every par-
ticular, we take the liberty to indicate two passages in which there is a
marked disagreement with that authority. The first will be found in the
chorus at the adoration of the cross, on page 186 ; the second, in the Litany
of the Saints, page 253.

These are but trifling faults and affect only the careful student. To
the public, whether engaged in chanting or attending the beautifully ex-
pressive services of Holy Week, the arrangement of matter, as well as the
typographic execution throughout the volume, render the book a desirable
possession.

MAY CAROLS; or, Ancilla Domini. By Aubrey de Vere. London:
Burns & Gates. (For sale by the Catholic Publication Society Co.)

Are Catholics fully alive to the fact that the highest and deepest of
living poets of the English language is, so to say, one of their own flesh
and blood — Aubrey de Vere ? Years ago, before the present generation
existed, so severely classical a critic as Walter Savage Landor discerned
the genius of the young poet and stamped it with his emphatic admiration.
He selected him from the throng as the true descendant of the Greeks,
and of all living poets there is certainly none so simple and sublime in his
harmonies, whose fountain of thought is so clear and yet so deep, whose
purpose is so unfailingly noble, and whose spirit is so pure. It is the Greek,

138 NEW PUBLICATIONS. . [April,

indeed, but the Greek watered and blessed and lifted up by the baptism,
the grace, and the religion of Christ. He will stand in English literature as
the one poet who has never given utterance to an ignoble thought, and who,
endowed, as his works show him to be, with all the gifts a poet could wish
for, though as fiery as St. Paul in the righteous cause, is as pure as St. Ce-
cilia. The dramatic poet who has given the finest picture ever presented
of Alexander the Great, of Thomas a Becket, of Henry II. of England, is
pre-eminently the poet of the Blessed Virgin ; and in this sense he himself
is truly ancilla Domini. What his May Carols mean, and what their spirit
is, may be judged from the prologue, which it is safe to say no mind but his
could conceive and set in so high a key. Often, indeed, the trouble, be-
tween Mr. de Vere and those who would admire him is that he treads such
skyey heights poor human nature cannot follow, any more than it can walk
among the stars. They admire from afar off, but they naturally cling to
earth. Here is the prologue :

" Religion, she that stands sublime

Upon the rock that crowns our globe,
Her foot on all the spoils of time,
With light eternal on her robe ;

" She, sovereign of the orb she guides.

On Truth's broad sun may root a gaze
That deepens, onward as she rides,
And shrinks not from the fontal blaze.

" But they — her daughter Arts — must hide

Within the cleft, content to see
Dim skirts of glory waving wide,
And steps of farting Deity.

" 'Tis theirs to watch the vision break

In gleams from Nature's frown or smile,
The legend rise from out the lake,
The relic consecrate the isle.

" 'Tis theirs to adumbrate and suggest ;

To point toward founts of buried lore ;
Leaving, in type alone expressed,
What man must know not, yet adore.

" For where her court true Wisdom keeps,

'Mid loftier handmaids, one there stands
Dark as the midnight's starry deeps,
A Slave, gem-crowned, from Nubia's sands —

" O thou whose light is in thy heart,

Reverence, love's mother ! without thee
Science may soar awhile ; but Art
Drifts barren o'er a shoreless sea."

How true and noble this is all who regard the present mean and igno-
ble and petty condition of art and poesy among us will recognize at once.
Art and poetry have fallen from their high estate, while the aim of the
scientists seems chiefly devoted to an attempt to destroy the supernatural.
Mr. de Vere would bring men back to the true science— that science that
recognizes and worships a divine Creator as the centre, origin, and mover
*

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 139

of all things. So where others sing to Venus he sings to the Blessed Vir-
gin, and in strains befitting his theme. " To be rightly understood," he
says in his admirable preface, "this work [May Carats] must be regarded,
not as a collection of Hymns, but as a poem on the Incarnation, a poem
dedicated to the honor of the Virgin Mother, and preserving ever, as the
most appropriate mode of honoring her, a single aim — that of illustrating
Christianity, at once as a theological truth and as a living power, reigning
among the humanities, and renewing the affections and imaginations of
man." Mr. de Vere's preface is in itself a study worthy of the most careful
consideration. That, like all his writings, is infused and pervaded by the
sublime beauty that Christian faith inspires, and which he so fitly describes
as " that nobler Beauty, severe at once and tender, mystic yet simple, glad-
some yet pathetic." In these words Mr. de Vere has unconsciously de-
scribed with great truth the spirit and character of his own writings. Each
poem in this volume is in itself a deep meditation set to perfect music, and
each forming a link in a long chain that circles the Virgin Mother, whose
glory spread abroad thus :

" A soul-like sound, subdued yet strong,

A whispered music, mystery-rife,
A sound like Eden airs among'
The branches of the Tree of Life.

" At first no more than this ; at last

The voice of every land and clime,
It swept o'er Earth, a clarion blast :
Earth heard and shook with joy sublime.

41 The Church had spoken. She that dwells

Sun-clad with beatific light,
From Truth's uncounted citadels,
From Sion's Apostolic height,

" Had stretched her sceptred hands, and pressed

The seal of faith, defined and known,
Upon that Truth till then confessed
By Love's instinctive sense alone."

No more beautiful or delightful book could grace a Christian home
than these May Carols, and it would be well for parents to indoctrinate
themselves and their children with the spirit of this great Catholic poet.

LE MusijON. Revue Internationale, publiee par La Societe des Lettres et
des Sciences. Tome i., No. i. Louvain : Peeters ; Paris: Leroux ;
London and New York : Triibner & Co., Burns & Gates ; Liege : Soc.
Bibliog. ; Leipsic : Harassowicz ; Aix : Barth ; Bombay : Duftur Ash-
kara Press.

This new quarterly review published at Louvain, price two dollars and
a half a year is devoted to historical science, archaeology, philology, linguis-
tics, etc. It has a long list of regular contributors — Belgians, Frenchmen,
Germans, Dutchmen, Russians, Italians, Greeks, Hindus, and Americans.
The names best known to us among these are De Harlez, Lamy, Lenor-
mant, Oppert, Van Weddingen, and Mr. Da Costa of New York. The first
number contains articles by writers of several nations, such as : A trans-
lation of a part of an Upanishad, an essay on Gog and Magog, a descrip-

I4o NEW PUBLICATIONS. . [April,

tion of a session of the Roman Senate, an article on the R61e of Myths in
the formation of ancient religions, another on La Science Americaniste, etc.
In respect of erudition and ability this review is of the first class. A large
proportion of the best writing in Europe is now published in reviews in
the French language, which grow into volumes of permanent value.
Many of these have a quite special character and scope which takes them
out of the category of miscellaneous literature, and places them in some
particular department. The Museon is quite sui generis, and completely
different from the other French reviews with which we are acquainted.
It is easier, however, to appreciate this difference by examining this first
specimen number than to describe it accurately in a critical notice. Its
international character will doubtless add much to its value and interest,
and the more remote the contributors the more charm of novelty will
attach to their articles, adding zest to the intrinsic and essential merit
which they may possess. Therefore, when Mr. Jamaspji Minocheherji and
Mr. Peshotum Sunjana of Bombay contribute articles they will be likely
to be the first ones examined by the curious reader.

A PICTURE OF PIONEER TIMES IN CALIFORNIA. Illustrated with Anecdotes
and Stories taken from Real Life. By William Grey. Sari Francisco.
iSSi.

Our European readers sometimes complain of American literature that
it is not purely American, but a reflex of their own literature. They want
more novelty and originality, less repetition and imitation of European
themes and authors. Let such readers take up Mr. Grey's book, and they
will find it an indigenous product of the Western world. It is worthy to be
classed with Judge Burnett's history of his own life, which we noticed at
the time of its publication. Though unpolished and often faulty in the
minor accuracies and elegances of language and style, it is of good metal
and vigorously wrought. In a religious and moral aspect it is unexcep-
tionable.

The author has aimed at exposing and refuting misstatements of igno-
rant and reckless writers, especially those of one calumnious, vicious, and
ridiculous work entitled Annals of San Francisco. He has endeavored to
give a true picture of the epoch of the pioneer colonists who founded the
State of California, beginning with the year 1849. HG presents impartially
and graphically both the good and the bad side of that chapter of history.
Many tragical events and atrocious crimes are recorded which lend a fear-
ful interest to the narrative. Other characters and scenes, equally drama-
tic, of an opposite nature, are placed in contrast with these. Many well-
known and honored names, such as Oliver, McGlynn, White, etc., figure in
the pages, together with others of disgraceful notoriety. All is enlivened
by the descriptive talent and sportive humor of the author.

To his strictly historical narrative he has appended three others which
may be called historical novelettes, founded on facts and real incidents,
with characters drawn from actual life, and intended to be illustrations of
the first era of Californian history. They have a truly thrilling interest, and
in fact the whole book is one of the most readable we have lately met
with. All the moral lessons it inculcates are wholesome and useful for the
young generation, and we can therefore commend it without any reserve.

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 141

CONTESTACION A LA HlSTORIA DEL CONFLICTO ENTRE LA RELIGION Y LA
CIENCIA de Juan Guillermo' Draper, por el P. Fr. Tomas Cainara, Pro-
fesor del Colegio de Agustinos Filipinos de Valladolid. Segunda edi-
cion, corregida y aumentada. Valladolid: De Gaviria y Zapatero.
1880.

This answer to the late Dr. Draper's mischievous attack on Christian-
ity under the pretext of a History of the Conflict between Science and Reli-
gion is by a learned professor in the university of Valladolid— Friar Camara,
an Augustinian. Though the book has reached us rather tardily, it de-
serves really more than a passing notice. One of its most noteworthy
chapters, coming from a Spaniard who knows what he is talking about, is
that on the Inquisition, which, in its harsh features, is shown to have been
what it was — a political, not a religious, institution. The old controversy,
too, of Galileo is taken up, as well as that of Giordano Bruno. Neverthe-
less, it is almost discouraging to reflect that no sooner have these calum-
nies against the church been exposed for the hundredth time than an-
other anti-Catholic adventurer, apparently oblivious of all that has been
written on the Catholic side previously, comes along, dresses them up in a
new toggery, and creates a new sensation with them. We shall, if possible,
return to this very learned work.

SOUTH SEA SKETCHES: A Narrative. By Mrs. Madeleine Vinton Dahl-
gren. Boston : J. R. Osgood & Co. 1881.

The accomplished author of these Sketches spent about one year in
Peru and Chili while Admiral Dahlgren was in command of the South
Pacific Squadron. It is pleasant to find occasionally a record of travel in
South America which is not defaced by a narrow contempt for a foreign
people, and irreligious or bigoted prejudices. We are, in every way, much
more widely separated from our sister nations in the southern part of
North America and in South America than from those of the opposite
continent. They are to us like the country of the Sclavonians and like
India. Mrs. Dahlgren had the opportunity of being received into the best
circles of society in Lima and Valparaiso, as the wife of the North Ameri-
can admiral, and, being also a Catholic and familiar with the Spanish lan-
guage, was naturally more cordially welcomed on these accounts than an-
other would have been. She stayed long enough to take a leisurely inside
view, and, having a temporary home of her own among the Peruvians and
Chilians, there is a quiet and tranquil character to her sketches, different
from notes of hurried journeys. The descriptions of natural scenery, of
the fruits and flowers, and the other external features of the country are
very attractive. There is also a good deal of information about the politi-
cal and social condition of things, and in general a lively picture of what
the writer saw, and heard, and experienced at sea and on shore, including a
revolution, some earthquakes, and the taking fire of the flag-ship Pcrwhatan
at sea while she was on board. At every page one is aware that he is con-
versing with an intelligent, refined, and truly Christian woman, speaking
with sense, gayety, and no attempt at display, upon interesting topics. Oc-
casionally we meet with an unusually well-written passage, an impromptu
expression of some of the deeper emotions awakened by objects or events
above the level of the daily incidents of life. The scenes described lie far

142 NEW PUBLICATIONS* [April,

back in the year 1867-68, yet they are not so remote as to have lost their
freshness, and the volume is as agreeable and readable as it is neat and
attractive in form.

Du PRESENT ET DE L'AVENIR DES POPULATIONS DE LANGUE FRANCAISE

DANS L'AMERIQUE DU NORD. (Extrait des Memotres de la Societe de

Geographic de Geneve.)
DE L'EDUCATION. Conference faite en Fevrier, 1881, devant le Cercle Ca-

tholique de Quebec par Boucher de La Bruere. St. Hyacinthe : des

presses du Courrier de St. Hyacinthe. 1881.

Considering how large a part the French people have had in the ex-
ploration and settlement of North America, and, indeed, in the very estab-
lishment of our republic, it is interesting to notice with what ease and com-
placency many of us ignore French influence on this continent. A glance
at the two pamphlets above will be, perhaps, a slight antidote to vanity and
ingratitude.

Dr. Edouard Dufresne, in his valuable contribution to the Geneva
(Switzerland) Geographical Society, traces the footsteps of French settlers
in North America and indulges in some prophecies. The French element
in the Canadian Dominion he puts at one million two hundred thousand,
and he quotes Lord Dufferin as authority for the assertion that the French-
Canadians have better profited by English institutions there than the
Canadians of English descent, and that they have furnished a larger pro-
portion of orators, journalists, and politicians than the English. He 'is
very hopeful of Manitoba, which, relying on the conclusions of Canadian
authors, he predicts will one day — rather a vague distance off, it is true —
have a neo-French population of forty millions ! But a good deal of al-
lowance must always be made for uninspired prophecy. There is no doubt
that the Norman a'nd Breton French — how absurd to speak of them, as
these French writers do, as Latin ! — are a hardy, indomitable race, and,
whether they have preserved their language or lost it, they are not likely
to lose themselves on this continent among any class of emigrants. Of
late years they seem to be pressing down into New England. What a mer-
ciful revenge for the iniquity that in the last century drove twelve thou-
sand Acadians from their homes ! Dr. Dufresne quotes authority for the
statement that one-half of the people of New Orleans still are French, and
that French is spoken in most of the rural parishes of Louisiana. But
French has long ceased to be the prevailing language of the three great
cities of St. Louis, Chicago, and Detroit, though many of the leading fami-
lies of those cities, especially the first and last, are the descendants of the
adventurous voyageurs who first found a way for the English-speaking ele-
ments to come in as settlers.

M. La Bruere's lecture is an interesting historical review of education
in France and in French Canada.

THE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE : A Romance. By Georg Ebers. From the
^ German by Mary J. Safford. New York : WiHiam S. Gottsberger. 1882.

That evil movement which has been dignified with the name of "the Re-
formation " made abuses, which could and would have been remedied by
proper means, the excuse for wrong-doing, disorders, and a complete un-
settlement of society that will take ages yet, perhaps, to set to rights again.

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 143

One of its immediate results was a violent displacement of old and acknow-
ledged seats of authority, and, as a consequence of this, a series of cruel
civil wars and wars of invasion — wars that lasted for fully two centuries
after the "reforming" nobles had first laid avaricious hands on the monas-
tic establishments and the other church estates which had given shelter
and employment to a large body of the people. The whole history of the
so-called religious wars that followed Luther's revolt is a mixture of hypo-
crisy, rapine, and cold-blooded cruelty. The Netherlands, densely populat-
ed as they were, felt the shock, and here England and Spain, in their in-
triguing ambition, found it convenient to fight out their own battles.
English gold and perfidy on the one side were matched by Spanish military
genius and ferocity on the other. But the merciless rigor of the Spaniards
played, in fact, into the hands of the English by arousing the patriotic
valor of the Dutch in defence of their homes.

Most historical novels are failures, because their writers, ignorantly or
knowingly, miss the drift of the affairs they pretend to work into their
story, or because they are inclined to give a false coloring to facts. This
is especially the case in stories that touch on the disastrous contests be-
tween Catholics and Protestants. The story before us seems to be an ex-
ception to this. It deals with the gallant and stubborn defence which the
inhabitants of Leyden made in 1573-74 to the Spanish army under Valdez.
The Burgomaster of Leyden, an austere man past middle life, has espoused
a young girl whom he continues to treat as a child, not letting her into his
confidence. She chafes at his demeanor, but at last shames him by the un-
expected force of character which she displays at a critical moment.

The translation is in excellent English, but it is a curious question
whether a certain slip is the author's or the translator's : (the time was
evening, after dusk), " the shrill sounding of the bell calling to Mass," etc.;
for if the mistake is the author's it is another instance of a star-gazing phi-
losopher falling into a well. Prof. Ebers is exceedingly learned in the
minutiae of the pagan ritual of the ancient Egyptians, and it is only fair to
expect him not to make so egregious a mistake as to speak of Mass — ex-
cept at Christmas — as being celebrated in the evening, even in the six-
teenth century. Sir Walter Scott made a number of similar mistakes, but
there is less excuse for Ebers — if he is guilty — for he has had a better op-
portunity of becoming acquainted with Catholic practices.

THE SPOILS OF THE PARK. With a few leaves from the deep-laden note-
books of "a wholly unpractical man." By Frederick Law Olmsted,
one of the designers of the Park, several years its superintendent, and
some time president and treasurer of the department. February, 1882.

All New-Yorkers have a deep interest in the preservation of Central
Park, and many must have observed with chagrin that within a few years
the Park has deteriorated artistically and otherwise ; that the hopes which
had grown up in the popular mind have not been fulfilled as they might
have been. If a change is made — and a change seems necessary — what
more natural than that the Park should fall again into the care of the one to
whom is principally due whatever beauty the Park possesses, and who has
from the beginning shown a loving solicitude for it ? Certainly.it is the
city of New York, and not Mr. Olmsted, that will be the chief gainer by the

144 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [April, 1802

reappointment of Mr. Olmsted. It is a pity that politics should have been
allowed, as Mr. Olmsted charges, to have had to do with the management
of the Park.

THE SPIRITUALITY AND IMMORTALITY OF THE HUMAN SOUL. A Reply to
Materialists. By the Rev. Henry A. Brann, D.D., author of Age of Un-
reason, Truth and Error, Curious Questions, etc. New York : The Ca-
tholic Publication Society Co. 1882.

The first part of the argument of this short tract proceeds on a single
line, proving the spirituality of the soul from its consciousness of its own
unity and simplicity in the act of thinking.

The second part infers immortality from the want of any self-destruc-
tive principle in the soul, of any reason for its annihilation, and more posi-
tively from its natural tendency towards perfect happiness, which must be
endless to be perfect, as the end of 'its existence. Though condensed and
concise, the style of the tract is clear and simple, and the argument goes as
straight to its mark as Leather-stocking's bullet into the body of a flying
goose. The mark is the same, also, in both cases.

THE TRAGEDIES OF SOPHOCLES. A new translation, with a biographical
essay, and an appendix of rhymed choral odes and lyrical dialogues.
By E. H. Plumptre, D.D., Prof, of Divinity, King's College, London,
Prebendary of St. Paul's, etc. New York : George Routledge & Sons.
1882.

THE TRAGEDIES OF JEscHYLOS. A new translation, with a biographical
essay, and an appendix of rhymed choral odes. By E. H. Plumptre, D.D.,
Prof, of Divinity, King's College, London, Prebendary of St. Paul's,
etc. New York : George Routledge & Sons. 1882.

These are reissues of Dr. Plumptre's very excellent translations. Dr.
Plumptre's religious views are similar to those so cleverly caricatured by
Mr. Mallock's Romance of the Nineteenth Century in the sermon of the
Broad Church minister, but in spite of this his discourse on the religious
aspects of .^Eschylos' tragedies will not be without interest to the Catholic.

WESTWARD Ho ! By Charles Kingsley. New York : Macmillan & Co. 1882.

AMERICAN CLASSICS FOR SCHOOLS. Longfellow. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1882.

HYPATIA ; or, New Foes with an Old Face. By Charles Kingsley. Thirteenth edition. New

York : Macmillan & Co. 1882.
THE POETICAL WORKS, including the drama of "The Two Men of Sandy Bar," of Bret

Harte. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1882.
SEMINARII NIAGARENSIS DIE ANNIVERSARIA REGIN^E ANGELORUM AUSPICIIS, vicesima quinta

vice fauste admodum redeunte, Nov. 23, A.D. 1881. In tantas rei memoriam, confratrum

ergo Carmen.

ST. MARY'S LODGING-HOUSE to shelter respectable girls while seeking employment, and Home
for Convalescents for the working-girls of New York. New York : Martin B. Brown, 49
Park Place. 1882.

THIRTEENTH ANNUAL REPORT OF ST. MARY'S INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL, and third Annual Report
of St. James' Home for Boys, Carroll P.O., near Baltimore, Md. Printing Department of
St. Mary's Industrial School for Boys. 1882.

PSALMS, HYMNS, AND ANTIPHONS for Vespers on Sundays and the principal festivals of the
year, including the " Common of Saints " at Vespers, Litany and Prayers for the Forty Hours'
Devotion. Boston : Thomas B. Noonan & Co. 1882.

GREAT BRITAIN AMD ROME ; or, Ought the Queen of England to hold diplomatic relations with
the Sovereign Pontiff? By the Right Rev. Monsignor Capel, D.D., Domestic Prelate of
His Holiness, Pope Leo XIII. London : Longmans, Green & Co. 1882.

THE

VOL. XXXV. MAY, 1882. No. 206.

RECENT ATTACKS ON THE CATHOLIC CODE OF

MORALS*

THE March number of Harper s Monthly contains a highly
eulogistic article on M. Paul Bert, the late French Minister of
Public Instruction. This appointee of M. Gambetta specially
commended himself for that very important post by his efforts
to secularize' education. His two speeches in the Chamber of
Deputies on the famous Article 7 of the Ferry Bill had im-
mense effect in carrying the measure against the Religious
teaching Orders. The day after his second speech M. Bert,
whose previous life had been devoted to medical science, to
vivisection and to politics, heard for the first time of the Moral
Theology of Father Gury, S.J. He fancied he found in it a
timely and telling argument in support of his thesis, and forth-
with applied the whole bent of his talent to become a new Pas-
cal. The outcome of " the midnight oil " of this young theolo-
gian is a work of 665 pages, entitled La Morale des J<f suites, and
professing to be an analysis and review of Father Gury's four
volumes. It has had a rapid sale, having already reached, since
its appearance in 1880, a fifteenth edition.

The tone of M. Bert's theological strictures may be inferred
from the panegyric in Harpers : " To say that he makes out his
case is to feebly describe the effect of his expose"" But what is
his case ? " That for the last three hundred years the Jesuits
had been corrupting the youth of all nations ; that they uniform-

* La Morale des Jf suites. Par Paul Bert. Paris, 1881. Harper's New Monthly Magazine,
March, 1882. The New York Observer.

I46 RECENT ATTACKS ON THE [May,

ly taught as morals a set of doctrines that struck at the very foun-
dations of human society ; that they countenanced debauchery,
theft, incest, robbery, murder," etc. " The fight M. Bert is mak-
ino- is a fight for freedom of conscience and purity of morals
. . wherever it is desired that stealing, lying, perjury, theft,
criminal impurity of conduct, homicide, and parricide should be
treated as crimes."

Now, as the Jesuits have no special system of theology, and
as Father Gury bases his teaching on that of St. Alphonsus
Liguori, the accusation really means that the odious crimes just
mentioned are sanctioned by the Catholic Church. In fact, M.
Bert has lately laid aside the mask, proposing, to the disgust of
his own party even, the abolition of the Concordat; the sup-
pression of many episcopal and metropolitan sees — the proscrip-
tion of Catholic worship.

" It would be difficult," continues the panegyrist in Harper's, " for any
one who has not read Gury's books, and verified the language quoted by
M. Bert, to believe it possible that such doctrines as he will find there
are not only printed but taught in schools of theology by persons calling
themselves Christians, or that there is any race of people so degraded in civili-
zation as to listen to them."

Considering as a matter of public notoriety the unsavory weeds
" the pope will persist in throwing over the garden wall," and
then the intelligence, the virtue, the social standing of the long
line of " Rome's recruits," particularly in England, who have
made a study of various religious systems and have deliberately
gone over to Rome, even when such a step involved untold
worldly sacrifices, and who love their new Mother more the
more they know her ; estimating the number of Catholics to-
day as two hundred and fifty millions, and remembering that
the majority, perhaps, or at all events thousands upon thou-
sands, of the spiritual guides of this vast army use Gury either
as a text-book or at least as a valued work of reference, " our
friend the enemy " indulges in language so hard to reconcile
with the facts just stated, and with the dictates of common sense,
that no way out of the puzzle offers itself so readily as the grave
words of the apostle : " Whatever things they know not, they
blaspheme."

Before proceeding to notice M. Bert's sweeping charges, and
to show that he does not speak according to knowledge, it
will be useful to glance at the chief actors in the arena, and to
state the difficulties which prevent non-Catholics generally, and
M. Paul Bert in particular, from forming a correct estimate of
the Catholic Code of Morals.

1 882.] CATHOLIC CODE OF MORALS. 147

In the first place, Father Gury was specially fitted for his
work. Besides having the teachings of the brightest minds of
many centuries to guide and direct him, he was, as we learn from
his Life, a man of remarkably clear intellect, of profound study,
and of very deep and fervent piety ; in addition, a professor of
the difficult science of Morals for nearly forty years.

Moral Theology is that part of theological science which di-
rects human actions to the rule of virtue in order to eternal
life. Its sources are Sacred Scripture, the holy Fathers, decisions
of the Popes, decrees of Councils, the teachings of tradition, rul-
ings of canon and civil law, the authority of theologians, and the
light of reason. It is manifestly a noble and difficult science,
applying to vital questions of the soul the best wisdom of past
ages. To the priest the 'knowledge of moral theology is what
jurisprudence is to the lawyer, the science of medicine to the
physician. Hence systematic and scientific expositions, designed
for the instruction of the clergy, abound in the church, her theo-
logians seeking to apply the great principles judiciously accord-
ing to time, place, and circumstances, just as would the physician
or the judge in similar cases. As there is, then, obviously room
for diversity of opinion in this task, it has happened that at times
individual writers have erred either on the side of rigorism or of
laxity. On this account the Sovereign Pontiffs have felt it to be
their duty, as occasion required, to proscribe false or dangerous
teachings, and the doctrines so censured are known as " condemn-
ed propositions." Apart from this, a commendable latitude is
allowed and is exercised ; and nothing is more untrue than the
insinuation of M. Bert that amongst the Jesuits — not to speak of
other theologians — there is no individuality of thought or opin-
ion. On the contrary, even in the copy of Gury before his eyes
he had (pages 3-20) a long list of distinguished Jesuit writers re-
presenting every shade of theological thought.

The non-Catholic notion of moral theology is very much like
the old-fashioned idea of Scholasticism, to which Father Harper,
S.J., alludes in his Metaphysics of the School : "Thirty or forty
years ago it was a common impression, even in our universities
— and I find that the respectable tradition, still survives — that the
Angelic Doctor is exclusively occupied with the discussion of
such questions as How many angels could dance on the point of a
needle ? I myself (then a Protestant) entertained the same idea
till subsequent study of his works opened my mind to the absurd-
ity of the fable. ... As to St. Thomas, I may say that I have
been occupied in the study of his works for many years ; yet I
have never as yet come across a single question in his voluminous

148 RECENT ATTACKS ON THE [May,

writings that did not amply repay the labor of mastering it and
the time expended upon it. Nevertheless, the labor often is not
light, and the time is by no means short."

A wise saw says, " One must catch the hare before cooking it."
Having abolished Confession, Protestants had no need of culti-
vating moral theology. Nor did their leading principles invite
them to this study. Why treat learnedly of vice and virtue, if
man be not free, if human nature be totally depraved, if good works
be iiseless ? Consequently, apart from the Ductor Dubitantium,
or Guide for those in Doubt, of Jeremy Taylor, Protestants have
scarcely anything to show in this department of science, and
therefore their theological training hardly fits them to sit in
judgment on Father Gury.

M. Bert, in particular, is still less qualified for the task. In
the first place, he is an atheist and styles the very Scriptures
" brutal " (p. xxii.) Next, all his theological learning is imbibed
from poisoned sources — namely, the Jansenism of the Provinciales
and the Abstract of dangerous Doctrines taught by the Jesuits.
His arguments and authorities are all drawn from these impure
sources, excepting only a sentence or so from an unknown Abbe
Rigord, and a few quotations from two elementary catechisms
used in the primary schools in France. The Provinciales and
the Extraits des Assertions (on which consult Alzog, History,
iii. 565-568) have been for the last two centuries, though time
and again proved to be untrustworthy, the unfailing arsenals
whence powder and shot are borrowed for every new attack.
Within the last few weeks the Monthly of the Protestant Alliance
of England and the Observer of this city have both quoted con-
demned propositions from these Extracts as "authorized Romish
doctrine" to-day — e.g., Prop. XV. of Innocent XL (1679), XVII.
of Alexander VII. (1665).

The mention of this Monthly and the New York Observer leads
to another incidental remark— namely, that even when the docu-
ments quoted are genuine a knowledge of their style is needed
to grasp their meaning. Thus, e.g., the Monthly quotes as follows :
" Salamancan Jesuits say, ' They only are to be accounted assas-
sins who commit a murder with the bargain that he who em-
ploys them shall pay them a temporal reward,' " insinuating that
the theologians of Salamanca (not Jesuits, by the way), permit
murder, provided only that the murderer is not paid for it to
boot. Now, the meaning is simply this (see St. Liguori, de V.
Prcecepto, No. 364), that the sentence of excommunication inflict-
ed by canon law on assassins strikes those only who murder
for pay, in order to add a new sanction against such a crime ;

1 882.] CATHOLIC CODE OF MORALS. 149

not that to murder " without a temporal reward " is not assassi-
nation. That such a crime is murder, that it is, moreover, a mor-
tal offence, there is no need of saying, as every child knows it ;
and if it were not it could not be visited with excommunica-
tion (Gury, vol. ii. No. 934).

In like manner M. Bert, in his very first criticism on Gury,
blunders on the definition * and division of conscience (preface,
xx.) If he had read St. Paul (i Cor. viii. 7, 12) he would have
heard of " a weak conscience " ; in the words, " whosoever killeth
you will think that he doth a service to God " (St. John, xvi. 2),
he would find a specimen of a false conscience ; in the case of
Susanna (Dan. xiii. 22), of a perplexed or doubtful one. Why,
then does he say that to make such distinctions " amounts to the
same thing as to distinguish between true truth, doubtful truth,
false truth " ? The writer in Harper s blunders even worse, show-
ing not only that he does not know theology, but, besides, that he
does not know French ; for he translates M. Bert so as to make
Gury say, " Again, a distinction is made between true truth,
doubtful truth, and false truth " (p. 563). Of course neither Gury
nor any other theologian is guilty of such absurdity. Meanwhile
we beg to commend the writer in Harper s to any school-book on
Christian ethics — e.g., Gregory's (Philadelphia: Eldridge, 1881, p.
135) — to find out what is meant by these various divisions of con-
science.

Viewing, then, the relative merits and previous training of
Father Gury and M. Bert in the theological arena, we must con-
fess that there is, prima facie, a strong presumptive evidence in
favor of the former ; but as presumption needs to be confirmed
by facts, let us examine briefly some of M. Bert's arguments.
They may be fairly summed up as follows: viz., first, the general
arraignment of the "Jesuitical" morality as lax, because based
on the doctrine of probability ; and, next, proofs of this looseness
regarding theft, lying, impurity.

From the days of Pascal down the favorite method of argu-
ment on the score of lax morality is this : First, a list of rash
statements is sought for from indiscreet, injudicious, or forgotten
authors ; then these propositions are set down as probable opin-
ions, and one is bidden to take his choice ! Principles, mean-
while, are thrown to the winds, or rather, to use the exact words
of M. Bert, " There are no more principles ; mere fragments are
found in the abyss, and over every one of them a casuist cavils

* On M. Bert's objection to Gury's and St. Thomas' definition of conscience, that " it
seems to be the very denial of free-will" (!), see Cardinal Newman's masterly exposition in his
letter to the Duke of Norfolk against Gladstone's Expostulation, sec. 5.

150 RECENT ATTACKS ON THE [May,

and harangues. For every question he has a solution at hand to
offer to the passer-by ; and as he is, according to the Jesuitical
phrase, a doctor, an honest man and learned, his opinion becomes
probable, and, in the tranquillity of his erroneous conscience, the
wayfarer may choose that which suits his case best amongst all
the solutions tendered by the doctors. And observe that if he
follow one opinion to-day he may choose the contrary to-morrow,
provided it is his interest to do so " (p. xxi.) All this is given as
the doctrine of Gury (ibidem).

The best vindication of Father Gury in this entire discussion
is Gurv himself. With all Catholic theologians he first lays
down the principle (Compendium, vol. i. No. 39) that only a cer-
tain conscience is the right rule of morals (Rom. xiv. 23). But
what is to be done when certainty cannot be had ? Evidently
one cannot act if he doubt the morality of his action. To remove
the doubt he must recur to some other principle acknowledged
to be morally certain (No. 55). And then Gury proceeds to define
when a true and solid probability — one which commends itself to
the judgment of a prudent and sensible man, and therefore not
every chance opinion — may help to form that moral certitude
which is necessary for action. To begin with, (i) the use of pro-
bability is excluded in certain ranges of subjects — namely, when-
ever there is question of absolutely obtaining some definite end
which the use of means only probably suitable would endanger.
Hence, ist. One cannot use probability in the matter of salva-
tion ; 2d. In danger of life or death ; thus, a physician, e.g., can-
not, in such cases, experiment on his subjects instead of taking
the safest remedies. 3d. In the administration of the sacra-
ments. 4th. In matters of justice (Nos. 56, 57).

Again, (2) one is not allowed to follow an opinion only slight-
ly probable, but must take the safer side. The opposite teach-
ing is expressly condemned by Innocent XI. (Prop. III.)

It may be noted, by the way, that Jeremy Taylor, relying, per-
haps, on his avowal that the " Christian religion is the best-natured
institution in the world," says that at times one may follow a
slightly probable opinion. Thus, in the Guide for those who are in
Doubt (vol. iii. p. 153 seq., London, Bohn, 1850) he gives, Rule
viii., " An opinion relying upon very slender probability is not to
be followed, except in cases of great necessity or great charity."
Example : A woman is married in bona fide to a man whom she
afterwards discovers to be her own brother. In this dilemma an
old woman comes to her and tells her that it is a mistake.
" Now, upon this the question arises whether or no Muranna
may safely rely upon so slight a testimony as the saying of this

1 882.] CATHOLIC CODE OF MORALS. 151

woman in a matter of so great difficulty and concernment. Here
the case is favorable. Muranna is passionately endeared to
Grillo, and, besides her love, hath a tender conscience, and, if her
marriage be separated, dies at both ends of the evil, both for the
evil conjunction and for the sad separation. This, therefore, is
to be presumed security enough for her to continue in that
state."*

But (3) it is permitted to follow an opinion that is really and
solidly probable, even leaving aside one equally well founded, or
even more so, when there is question merely of that which is
licit or illicit (No. 60). Gury develops the proof of this thesis
in eight pages, which M. Bert dismisses in as many lines.
Space forbids entering into this interesting argument. The
system of Probabilism, however, as taught by Father Gury and
by many other excellent theologians as well, is not the only view
tolerated by the church. St. Alphonsus proposes another, no-
ticeably stricter, and other theologians a third system still fur-
ther removed from the charge of laxity. The only point main-
tained at present is that the probabilism of Gury is not justly
open to the cry of loose morality. To show this it is sufficient
simply to quote the requirements of a probable opinion. No Ca-
tholic moralist holds the dangerous doctrine attributed to the
church by M. Bert, that any one may make any pet whim or
theory probable (p. xxi.) What Gury does say is this : that an
individual author may malfe his opinion probable, even against
the stream of theologians, but provided he be himself (i) beyond
exception ; (2) and that he bring forward arguments which the
others have not examined or sufficiently answered, while he (3)
solves all their objections. And under such conditions might
not one safely follow even M. Bert ?

But, retorts M. Bert, one may change his opinions as often as
self-interest demands ; and he refers to Gury (No. 80) and to the
Cases of Conscience (No. 75) ; so that the doctrine of probability
is an ignis fatuus still. Now,. we find in both these places that
one may not change his opinion at will, but only when the choice
involves no contradiction either in theory or in practice. One
cannot, e.g., to use Gury's example, decide that a will drawn
without the legal formalities is valid by the law of nature, and so
accept its benefits, and again, on the strength of the opinion that
such a will is invalid in civil law, decline meeting its burdens ;
for the will is valid or invalid, and the moment you decide in
one sense you exclude the other.

*On the ease also with which opinion may be changed, etc., see Bishop Jeremy Taylor,
Duct or Dubitantium, 1. c. Rules xi., xiii., xiv.

1 5 2 RECENT ATTACKS ON THE [May,

It needs only to read Gury carefully (No. 54) to be con-
vinced that the safeguards thrown .around the use of probability
are quite as great, and greater, than those offered to its votaries
by science, medicine, or law, and that, consequently, the rhetoric
of M. Bert is only a travesty of truth.

Let us consider the question of lying. Nothing easier at first
sight than to proclaim as an absolute and all-sufficient rule, to be
followed in all cases, the divine precept, " Thou shalt not lie."
Those who have not reflected on the difficulties with which
this and kindred subjects bristle would do well to consider
the home-thrust of Cardinal Newman: "Only try your hand
yourself at a treatise on the rules of morality, and you will see
how difficult the work is " (Apologia, Am. ed., p. 297).

In the first place — not to mention the doctrine of Plato and
other pagan writers — there are quite enough difficulties in the
Holy Scriptures to make one think twice before pronouncing
that all misleading statements are untruths or lies. Abraham
and Isaac both call their wives their sisters ; Jacob calls himself
the elder son of his father ; Tobias takes the title of a great per-
sonage of Israel. Other examples of dissimulation are found
i Kings xvi. 1-5 ; Jeremias xxxviii. In the New Testament
our Blessed Lord said (John vii.), " I go not up to the feast,"
and yet he went ; St. Matthew xxiv. 36, " Of that day no one
knoweth, but the Father alone," yet undoubtedly the Son also
knew, not only as the Word but also as man.

For the general reader perhaps the best information on this
intricate and interesting subject is that given by Cardinal New-
man in his Apologia, pp. 295-302, 357, 384.

Gury writes as follows :

"A lie is speaking against our convictions with the wish to deceive. A
mental restriction is an act of the mind turning off or restricting the
words of some proposition to some other sense than the natural and obvious
one, so that they are true only in the sense of the speaker. A restriction
may be purely such, />., when the sense of the speaker cannot be perceived
at all, or only in a broad sense, when it can be inferred from the surround-
ings.

" Now, I. The lie proper is always intrinsically evil.
II. A purely mental restriction is always unlawful.

" III. For a just cause a mental restriction, in the broad sense of the
term, is sometimes permissible when the meaning of the speaker can be
understood" (Nos. 438-443).

If the teachings of Catholic and non-Catholic moralists be
compared on the question of lying, it will be found, much, per-
haps, to the surprise of the latter, that the former take the higher

1 882.] CATHOLIC CODE OF MORALS. 153

ground, and that the excuses offered by non-Catholic authorities
for lying apply a fortiori to mental reservations.

Catholic theologians, from St. Augustine and St. Thomas
down, teach that a lie is intrinsically evil — that is, from its very
nature — and consequently, as the essences of things are unchange-
able, it never can be lawful. Non-Catholic moralists teach that
lying is an offence against society only, and therefore, not being
intrinsically w\\ per se, may sometimes be permitted.

A very few testimonies must suffice. Grotius, cited by Bar-
beyrac (vol. ii. p. 726, note 8), after stating that St. Augustine
says, " We ought never to lie," continues : " Nevertheless, there
is no want of authorities in favor of the opposite sentiment. In
the first place, we find in the Holy Scripture examples of per-
sons, whose probity is praised, who nevertheless sometimes lied
without being blamed for it in any way." Then after a long dis-
cussion of the nature of lying and its sinfulness, the sin consisting
in the violation of a right and of an agreement among men, he con-
cludes : " In fine, as the right of which we are speaking (i.e., of
truthfulness) is destroyed by an express consent of the one with
whom we are treating — as, for example, when one has told him
beforehand that he will speak falsely, and he has consented — so
it is in like manner destroyed by a tacit or reasonably presumed
consent, or as well by the opposition of the right of another, which is
much stronger in the judgment of all persons." Hence there is
no intrinsic evil in a lie.

Barbeyrac (p. 736, note 2), speaking of the Egyptian midwives,
maintains boldly that their lying (Exodus i. 19) was a merito-
rious act, praised by the Holy Scriptures and rewarded by God,
and rejects the arguments of more rigid moralists as futile.

Puffendorf, the celebrated jurist, held the same theory, as Bar-
beyrac expressly mentions.

Archdeacon Paley, whose Moral Philosophy is the text-book
used in many American colleges, writes : " There are falsehoods
which are not lies — that is, which are not criminal : I. Where no
one is deceived, etc. ; 2. Where the person to whom you speak
has no right to know the truth," etc. (Mor. Phil., book iii. p. 79,
Harper's edition).

Jeremy Taylor : " It is lawful to tell a lie to children or to
madmen, because they, having no power of judging, have no
right to truth. To tell a lie for charity, to save a man's life, the
life of a friend, of a husband, etc., hath not only been done at all
times, but commanded by great and wise and good men" (Duct.
Dub., b. iii. c. ii. rule v. q. i).

Now, if, according to these grave Protestant authorities, it is

154 RECENT ATTACKS ON THE [May,

sometimes permitted to tell a lie (and it is not easy to refute
them, except one take the higher ground of St. Thomas), may
it not be inferred a fortiori against M. Bert that, with a. just rea-
son, which must always be presupposed, it is sometimes lawful, in
special cases, to use a mental reservation ? The latter is not a
" locutio contra mentem " ; it is not used precisely for the pur-
pose of deception, although in the pursuit of another end the
deception is, for cause, permitted. But what say the masters in
Israel ? Jeremy Taylor says : " In these cases, where there is no
obligation to tell the truth" (such are the cases supposed by
Gury,and objected to in Harper s\ "any man may use the covers
of truth : especially in the case when it is not a lie, for an equivo-
cation is like a dark lantern ; if I have just reason to hold the
dark side to you, you are to look to it, not I " (Duct. Dub., book
iii. c. ii.)

Bishop Andrewes writes (Christian Directory, p. 342) :

" Mental reservation may be lawful when it is no more than a conceal-
ment of part of the truth of a case-where we are not bound to reveal it."

Dr. Gregory adds :

" There may also be cases, as stated by Dr. Hodge and others, in which
the obligation to speak the truth may be merged in some higher obliga-
tion ; as, when a mother sees a murderer in pursuit of her child, she has an
undoubted right to mislead him by any means in her power" (Christian
Ethics, Philadelphia, 1881).

Next to the charge of lying comes that of stealing. The
Catholic doctrine of theft and restitution is extremely clear and
just: "Theft is the unjust taking away what belongs to another
against his reasonable will. It is a mortal sin and binding to res-
titution, either in fact, if possible, or, if impossible at the moment,
binding in wish, desire, and intention, and to be made in act as
soon as circumstances permit, under pain of eternal loss" (Gury).
From the terms of the definition, if one is justified in taking the
property of another it is not theft ; nor, again, would it be theft
if the owner be unreasonably unwilling to part with his property.
Hence the two causes excusing, by way of exception, from theft —
namely, extreme necessity and occult cotnpensation. If one be in ex-
treme distress — e.g., in danger of death from starvation, or any
other cause equally urgent — theologians permit him to help
himself to what he actually needs, with the obligation, however,
of making the damage good later on, if actually able to do so,
or if he have even a reasonable hope that he will be able in fu-
ture to make such restitution (Gury, 617). Various reasons are

1 882.] CATHOLIC CODE OF MORALS. 155

assigned for this permission — e.g., that in such dire straits all
things are common (which is not communism, however, notwith-
standing the insinuation in Harper's) ; or, again, that the law of
property does not protect our goods to such an extent that we
may retain them when they are necessary to shield our neighbor
from death. The limitation of this doctrine is thus given by
Gury (No. 616), " Grave necessity and, a fortiori, common ne-
cessity are not sufficient to justify one in taking what belongs to
another," which our friend in Harper s thus translates : " M. Gury
is not less charitable toward thieves than toward liars. The
necessity, he says, which excuses theft is either extreme, grave, or
common." No theologian in the whole world teaches such doc-
trine, for the simple reason that it was officially condemned by
the Sovereign Pontiff more than two hundred years ago.

A little further on this same accurate writer says, profess-
ing to quote Gury : " Quirinus has sinned gravely in stealing six
francs. But he has not sinned in principle in his small thefts of
provisions, as already explained "; leaving the reader to infer
that " if thieving be carried on within conservative limits it may
become a perfectly legitimate business" and "no sin in princi-
ple." Here again Harper s strikes against another rock, against
which Pope Innocent XL raised the cry of warning in 1679
(Prop. XXXVIII.) But Gury says further, as one can see even
from M. Bert's translation, that Quirinus sinned mortally in the
first case, though not mortally in the second ; still, of course, he
sinned, which is not quite the same thing as not sinning and do-
ing " a legitimate business."

Father Gury, with all other sensible men, teaches that the
gravity of theft depends, to a certain extent, on circumstances
and on the relative value of the thing stolen. Thus, even ten
cents — i.e., half a franc, stolen from a poor man — may constitute a
mortal sin. Our champion translator in Harper s, as usual, does
not quite understand Gury, and makes him- say that even thirty
cents — i.e., a franc and a half — taken from a poor man may become
a grave offence, finds fault with Gury for being so easy, and
thinks this reasonable attention to the relative value of money
and of things stolen " a marvellous evolution of the Eighth Com-
mandment."

But occult compensation ! Once more take Gury's text : " Oc-
cult compensation may be just and lawful, if vested with the ne-
cessary conditions. These are, ist, that the debt be certain, at
least morally ; 2d, that payment cannot be obtained in any
other practicable way — e.g., by course of law ; 3d, that compensa-
tion be made in the same kind, if possible ; 4th, that the debtor be

156 RECENT ATTACKS ON THE . [May,

not exposed to the risk of paying twice. As this exceptional
mode of procedure is based entirely on the certainty of the debt
and the want of hope of obtaining legal payment, it is not so evi-
dent why M. Bert, Harper 's, and others style it " a right to steal"
It is taking the law, indeed, in one's own hands, but in special
cases, with various precautions, and, after all, is not unjust, and
consequently not stealing, unless the axiom be false, " Give
every man his due." It is curious that our opponents confound
with this kind of compensation the petty thefts of servants — e.g.,
in marketing — as if the latter were justified by Gury. On the
contrary, he teaches very plainly (Cases, No. 571) that such
conduct binds strictly to restitution, even when articles equally
good are bought at lower rates, for the reason that the surplus
evidently belongs to the owner. It is preposterous, therefore, to
assert, as M. Bert does (p. xxvi.): " The Jesuit never hesitates be-
tween the thief and the party robbed ; he always puts himself on
the side of the thief." Let us verify this by taking the nine cases
given by Gury under the head of theft. In each and every one,
except the sixth, where the question does not enter, he insists on
or implies restitution ! * Besides, how could Gury release a thief
from restoring ill-gotten goods, when he teaches (vol. ii. No. 644)
that the confessor who, from malice, or ignorance, or grave negli-
gence, either unduly releases his penitent from the obligation of
restoring, or obliges him to do so when he is not bound, shifts the
burden to himself and must make good the loss? What right has
M. Bert to suppose that Father Gury, and all Catholic priests,
for that matter, are hypocrites, sinning against their own souls
by compounding felonies ? Does not almost daily experience
show how many wrongs are righted by the confessional ? What
is meant by conscience-money, and whence does it proceed ?

Much more remains to be said on the doctrine of restitution ;
the great De Lugo and many other theologians of the first rank
have written volumes on it ; but there is space only for a single
remark, which is, indeed, the key to many difficulties of non-Ca-
tholics— namely, " the fundamental doctrine," as Harper s admits,
" that where there is no bad intention there is no moral delin-
quency." Now, theology says that where there is no knowledge,
at least in confuso, there is no intention. For instance, A drinks
enough wine to cause intoxication, never suspecting the wine is
poisoned, and death ensues. He is guilty of the sin of drunken-
ness, but not of suicide. The civil law (if we are rightly inform-
ed) holds that if A, committing a grave unlaivful act, accidental-
ly perpetrates another, he is guilty of the second offence. " If one

* See especially his Cases ex professo on Restitution (No. 580-598).

1 882.] CATHOLIC CODE OF MORALS. 157

intends to do another felony and undesignedly kills a man, this
is murder " (Blackstone). We submit that reason in this case is
on the side of theology ; and yet it is this very principle in ques-
tion which furnishes the most plausible objections to M. Bert
and his supporters. It is well known that in the past the church
has often had occasion to reform the civil law. In regard to the
particular principle under consideration, Lord Macaulay writes,
after quoting the above passage from Blackstone : " The law of
India, as we have framed it, differs widely from the English law.
... It may be proper for us to offer some arguments in defence
of this part of our code.

" A pilot directs his vessel against a sand-bank which has re-
cently been formed, and of which the existence was altogether
unknown till this disaster. Several of the passengers are conse-
quently drowned. To hang the pilot as a murderer on account
of this misfortune would be universally allowed to be an act of
atrocious injustice. But if the voyage of the pilot be itself a high
offence, ought that circumstance alone to turn his misfortune into
a murder? Suppose that he is carrying supplies, deserters, and
intelligence to the enemies of the state. The offence of such a
pilot ought, undoubtedly, to be severely punished. But to pro-
nounce him guilty of one offence because a misfortune befell him
while he was committing another offence, to pronounce him the mur-
derer of people whose death has been purely accidental, is sure-
ly to confound all the boundaries of crime " (Notes on the In-
dian Penal Code, quoted by Dr. Walsh, De Actibus Htimanis,
Dublin, 1880, No. 112).

Lastly, one word about purity of morals — not to enter into
any discussion of the subject, but simply to ask one or two ques-
tions, i st. If the confessional promote lax morality, how is it
that those who frequent it most lead' the best lives, while bad
Catholics, whose conduct is a scandal and a shame, habitually
avoid it? 2d. To come to particulars, if the confessional be any-
thing like M. Bert's accusations, how is it that our poor servant-
girls, so assiduous in approaching the tribunal of penance, have
acquired, and deservedly maintain, so enviable a reputation for
virtue?

In a systematic exposition of morals intended for professional
readers only, written in Latin, and, notwithstanding the statement
in Harper s that it has " been translated into all languages," never
yet translated into any, Gury could not avoid touching on the'
Sixth Commandment and kindred topics without writing an im-
perfect and mutilated treatise ; yet in a work of more than a
thousand pages less than thirty are given to such explanations.

158 RECENT ATTACKS ON THE [May,

Three pages, then, in a hundred make " a very large proportion
of the compendium of Gury." Has this careful writer invented
a new system of arithmetic ?

In a short article like the present it is impossible to follow all
the vagaries of M. Bert, for at every step he distorts and mis-
represents Catholic doctrines. His usual plan is to fasten on
some special and exceptional case, and then to set it forth as a
universal principle. Take, for instance, the peroration of his es-
say : " Fly from the disciple of the Jesuits, for he has at his com-
mand broad mental reservations which really permit him to lie
whenever he wants to.

" Fly from him, for the teaching of probability will always
permit him to find a grave doctor whose opinion will suffice to
legitimate his action and authorize him to do whatever self-in-
terest demands.

" Fly from him, for once he has formed his opinion he will
violate all the civil laws with a safe conscience, and even when con-
demned in open court can make generous use of secret compen-
sation in all tranquillity.

" For this is the point we must insist on. In virtue of the
doctrine of intention he comes to substitute his own authority
for every other. The laws have no more power over him,
whether the laws of the state, the ties of family, the laws of
honor, or all that which forms the cement binding the elements
of society together. He will do such a thing if he deem it good,
for if he has on his side a doctor of renown he has a right to
deem it good ; in every case, once the act is done, as he has
acted according to a conscience invincibly erroneous, as he has
committed no fault in conscience, he is not bound to restitution,
and if the civil judge venture to order it he will indemnify him-
self by just compensation."

This species of reasoning is as logical as the following : New
York has elevated railroads ; therefore every city in the Unit-
ed States is similarly provided. From a particular fact M. Bert
draws universal conclusions. It has been shown already that in
special cases, and always presupposing a just cause, mental re-
servations may become lawful. According to M. Bert's exposi-
tion, one may lie each and every time he finds it convenient !

When direct certainty cannot be had, indirect certainty, un-
der certain well-defined restrictions and safeguards, may take its
place. According to M. Bert, you can always find an accommo-
dating moralist whose opinion will authorize the eloquent rea-
sons of self-interest !

1 882.] CATHOLIC CODE OF MORALS. 159

If a judge condemns A for damages accidentally done by his
horse, A is bound in conscience to obey the sentence (Gury, No.
660, 624) ; yet M. Bert writes that one may break all the laws of
the state with a safe conscience, and, if mulcted by the court,
have recourse to copious and peaceful compensation !

It is time to cease wading through the mire. This tender-
hearted and blushing physician who permits himself (p. 544) to
sanction violations of the law of nature (Gen. xviii.) is scan-
dalized at the loose morality of Father Gury. On almost every
page he indulges in misrepresentation, ignoring Father Gury's
arguments, omitting essential qualifying clauses, stretching legi-
timate consequences far beyond the bounds of truth and justice.
And then wiping his mouth, he feels profoundly pained at being
charged with unfairness, and writes pathetically of " the ardent
and undivided worship he has vowed to Truth — to truth, holy and
eternal"

So far La Morale des Je"suites. M. Bert knows well how " to
wave the red rag before the bull." The lives of the Jesuits are
before the world. Parkman gives abundant testimony to their
zeal and self-sacrifice in the early missions of this country.
Their own modest Relations, re-edited years ago in French
and quite recently rendered into English by Mr. John Gilmary
Shea, unconsciously paint most touching and thrilling pictures
of apostolic labors and piety. What they were two centuries
ago in Canada and the northern parts of New York, that they
are the world over to this hour. We beg, therefore, to com-
mend to M. Bert the reflection of his friend Voltaire : " There is
nothing more self-contradictory, nothing more shameful to hu-
manity, than to accuse of lax morality men who in Europe lead
the very hardest of lives, and who go forth to seek death on the
farthest frontiers of Asia and America."

M. Bert, we are assured by his panegyrist, " has never fallen
into the toils of the confessorial fraternity." Should he ever have
the grace to go to confession — faxit Deus — he will learn the
meaning of the divine command: " Thou shalt not bear false wit-
ness against thy neighbor" And his abettors on this side of the
Atlantic will perhaps learn in time to respect the moral teaching
of that Church which has civilized the barbarian, saved learning,
taught man his true dignity, rescued woman from degradation
and bondage, rooted out vice and planted virtue, because One
stronger than man has promised to be always with her, one who
was called in the days of His flesh "the friend of sinners" but
who was and is " the Way, the Truth, and the Life."

160 BISHOP LYNCH. [May,

BISHOP LYNCH.

As a general rule, a man who becomes a prelate of the Ca-
tholic Church must be possessed of talents far beyond the com-
mon. It has often happened, however, that some country has
had a long line of bishops whose ability was not equal to the
requirements of the times. Such periods must be marked as
mournful ones in the annals of the church. These United States
have no such epoch. From the very first the leaders of the
American Catholic clergy have exhibited, besides the religious
devotion that fitted them for their peculiar office, aptitudes and
talents for all manner of learning, rising often into sheer genius ;
and, under Providence, not a little of the success of the church
in this free land has been owing to the single-minded zeal with
which her brilliant leaders threw themselves into her interest.
Among those leaders it detracts from none to say that the late
Right Rev. Patrick N. Lynch, D.D., third bishop of Charles-
ton, S. C., shone conspicuous.

The subject of this sketch was born March io,.i8i7, at Clones,
in the County of Monaghan, Ireland. But his father was of the
famous " Lynches of Galway" who, in the traditions of that city,
are celebrated for their sufferings for faith and country. Many
had undergone exile rather than surrender the religion they held
dearer than all the earth yields, and those who remained at home
had contributed liberally to the support of the Irish College at
Paris, where they had their sons educated. His mother was de-
scended on the maternal side from the MacMahons ; and among
the stories handed down in the family was a tragic one which
deeply impressed itself on all their minds and is a memento of the
Orange times. Her uncle, Hugh MacMahon, just as he rose to
speak at a public meeting and as the crowd began to cheer him,
had the dagger of an assassin plunged into his heart. Mrs.
Lynch witnessed this scene while a little girl, but the vivid
spectacle never faded from her mind.*

The father of Mrs. Lynch had apparently objected to the
marriage, and in 1819 the young couple emigrated to this coun-
try. They were among the earliest Catholic settlers in South
Carolina. When, in 1819, they landed in Georgetown there was

* Catholicity in tJie Carolina* and Georgia, by Rev. Dr. J. J. O'Connell, O.S.B., pp. 132-3.

i882.] BISHOP LYNCH. 161

but one priest in the State, and they had to carry their second
infant to Charleston to be baptized by the Rev. Dr. Gallagher.
Recommended by the governor to make their home in Cheraw,
a town just mapped off on the headwaters of the Great Pedee
River, after many difficulties and delays Conlaw Peter Lynch
constructed there a frame house, joining in the labor with his
own hands. In 1820 the diocese of Charleston was estab-
lished. Bishop England brought out with him several priests,
but it was many years before one could be spared for Cheraw.
When he came the Lynches were the only family of Catholics
for miles around ; and they had as many as four children bap-
tized on the occasion. A curious incident, illustrating their iso-
lation and the primitive crudity of that time, was furnished by
the visit of a man who had travelled some miles to witness the
" horns and hoofs " of a Papist. Treated with Mr. Lynch's usual
and kindly courtesy, this strange visitant confessed the reason of
his uneasy glances ; and from that moment, won by the pleasant
and cultured ease of this family, he was a warm friend. Mr.
Lynch soon succeeded in finding a place in the hearts of all his
neighbors, and in after-years they testified their affection and
esteem for him by contributing liberally to the building of a
church.

It was, it seems, an immemorial custom in the Lynch family
to dedicate their first-born to God ; and, while they never men-
tioned it to the child, they were happy to see him called to the
priesthood. In this instance the offering was not in vain, as
might have been expected.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lynch," says Father O'Connell, "assembled their nume-
rous little family regularly for prayer, and were most edif)nng and exact to
instruct them in the truths of the faith. On Sundays, in order to impress
their children with respect for the Lord's day, Mrs. L. was accustomed to
dress them in their best clothes, as if they were going out to church ; then
they were assembled for Mass-prayers, after which were read the lives of
the saints. All spent the day very religiously at home and with a quiet
happiness, and in the afternoon catechism class was held and a prize given
to the best in class and controversy. When the priest came again to visit
Cheraw he found the children well prepared for the Sacrament of Penance,
and expressed the highest admiration for so well-regulated and governed a
household. The priest's visit of a week or ten days was always a happy
epoch in this family. . . . Not only the priest but every one was struck
with admiration on seeing such a numerous family of healthy, intelligent
children so united and loving among themselves, so devoted and obedient
to their parents. What was it that gave such an uncommon tone to this
family? Religion. Those children saw in their parents religion, fidelity,
self-sacrifice, union, and all those beautiful domestic virtues which elevate
VOL. xxxv. — n

1 62 BISHOP LYNCH. [May,

the home circle and ennoble it. Hence respect and obedience were easy
and spontaneous.

"Mr. and Mrs. L. soon began to feel happy and proud in hearing the
encomiums of the children from their school-teachers, who pronounced
them the most obedient and intelligent students under their charge ; and
they were often amused to find their eldest son, mounted in his father's arm-
chair, which he had wheeled around for a pulpit, holding forth to his de-
lighted audience of little brothers and sisters. This was indeed an adum-
bration of the future. At length Right Rev. Bishop England made the
visitation of his diocese, and on arriving at Cheraw was charmed to meet
in this up-country a true Irish-toned family so congenial, and his praises of
their admirable domestic government were enthusiastic. The bishop pro-
posed that Mr. L. would send his oldest son, Patrick, to his own classi-
cal school in Charleston. Already there seemed to spring up between
the illustrious bishop and the youth those warm feelings which attract
towards each other persons of great disparity of age, and which are
prompted by a profound respect and confidence on one side and almost
paternal affection on the other. The good bishop already discerned in
the youth a vocation for the priesthood." *

If this period of the late bishop's life seems dwelt on at too
great length, it is because the boy is the father of the man. In
this case the old adage is strictly true. What other issue could
there be of a youth passed in such surroundings and nourished
on the purest spiritual and intellectual diet?

Very soon, through the agency of Father O'Neill, the ven-
erable mission-priest, Patrick was installed as a scholar in the
Seminary of St. John the Baptist at Charleston. Here his un-
flagging ardor and industry shattered his health, and he was
obliged to go back to Cheraw, where country-life, rural occupa-
tions, and the salubrious air of the pine region enabled him to
lay the foundation of that robust -vigor which served through-
out an arduous existence. On resuming his studies he was
sent to Rome, where he entered the College of the Propaganda
in company with Dr. Corcoran, the scholar and theologian. He
graduated with full honors, receiving the degree of Doctor of
Divinity. Ordained priest in 1840, he repaired to Charleston
and was stationed at the cathedral. Here he officiated until the
death of Bishop England, in 1842, and throughout the administra-
tion of the Very Rev. R. S. Baker. Bishop Reynolds, immedi-
ately after his nomination to the diocese in 1844, appointed Dr.
Lynch pastor of St. Mary's Church, in 1847 principal of the Col-
legiate Institute, and, at a later period, vicar-general ; all which
positions, together with a partial superintendence of the building
of the new cathedral, he filled with marked ability and success.

* Pp. 130-2.

1 882.] BISHOP LYNCH. 163

Dr. Lynch had been a teacher in the diocesan seminary while it
was under the charge of the Rev. T. J. Sullivan, and had en-
deared himself to the hearts of the students. He " was," says
Dr. O'Connell, who was studying there at the time, " fresh from
the Propaganda, and not quite divested of the student ; thin, pale,
and sallow-faced, he would occasionally mingle in our conversa-
tions and entertain us with an anecdote." *

Upon the demise of Bishop Reynolds, in 1855, the vicar-gene-
ral was continued as administrator until the I4th of March, 1858,
when he was raised "to the bishopric. He was consecrated by
Archbishop Kenrick, assisted by Bishops Portier of Mobile,
Barry of Savannah, and McGill of Richmond, the latter of whom
delivered an eloquent sermon on the occasion.

Bishop Lynch's powers were tried to the utmost immediately
after his accession. South Carolina seceded in 1860; hostilities
began, and within a year a destructive fire sprang up in the east
end of the city of Charleston, which, driven zigzag by the wind
across the most populous portions, traversed the entire length of
the town. In its course were the new cathedral, the residence of
the bishop and clergy, the extensive diocesan library, and much
other church property, thus irrecoverably lost. The insurance
policy, having expired, was, through an oversight on the part of
the clergyman in charge of this department, suffered to lapse,
and so no part of the hard-earned funds were saved. The cher-
ished dream of Bishop England, the earnest labor of Bishop Rey-
nolds, were thus laid waste in a single night, and the young
bishop found himself not only with empty hands but heavily
burdened by a great debt. Shortly after this Bishop Lynch was
commissioned by the Confederate government to go to France
in order to negotiate a treaty of peace. When he returned he
found his diocese more desolate than ever. The Confederacy
had been crushed, and Gen. Sherman had led his army through
the interior of the country, spreading ruin and terror on all
sides ; and in the burning of Columbia St. Mary's College, the
sisters' house, and the Ursuline Convent had gone down in fire
and smoke.

This was the problem before him — to pay off an old debt,
to reconstruct the necessary buildings, and to accomplish this
seemingly impossible task among a hunted and poverty-stricken
community. With herculean strength and undaunted heart he
set to work ; the forces of restoration began to move silently and
slowly ; and the church sprang, phcenix-like, from her ashes,

BISHOP LYNCH. [May,

with the spires that mark her territory quivering again in the

sky.

Who can estimate the great ability, the silent endurance, the
patient toil, the matchless devotion of this noble heart that con-
sented to sacrifice itself for the good of the community held so
dear by its every pulsation ? None. Not a glimpse was afford-
ed to the eyes of outsiders during his life, for the innate modesty
of the man shrank from public examination ; and now that which
many blamed while they could not see all see to have been the
necessary outcome of the straits to which the good bishop was
reduced by his own generous and pious action. A nice sense of
honor made him decline to avail himself of the evasions of the
law, and he unhesitatingly shouldered the burden of the past
debt, trusting, under Providence, to his own unwearied labor
and unsleeping talent to accumulate the necessary funds for
paying off the old debt and for adequately supplementing the
contributions of his poor diocese by collections abroad. For fif-
teen years he faltered not. Begging is the hardest work a man
can do ; and that is what he did. In the principal cities of the
North and of Europe the form of Bishop Lynch must have been
familiar. Year after year he pleaded for his stricken people,
often, no doubt, to unbelieving ears, but on the whole the re-
sponse was generous to a degree.

" We are able to say " (Charleston News and Courier, February 27), " on
the highest authority, that the debts of the diocese, with the cost of the
property acquired and improvements made for diocesan purposes, after the
close of the war, amounted to more than two hundred and twenty thousand
dollars. With the exception of about fifteen thousand dollars, the whole of
this vast sum has been discharged ; and probably four-fifths of the means
at his disposal, in the course of seventeen troublous years, was obtained, by
Bishop Lynch's individual exertions, outside of the State of South Carolina.*
The constant anxiety and labor, coupled with his disregard of his own com-
fort, told terribly upon him and hastened his death. Rest and freedom from
care would have prolonged his days, but he declined to spare himself and
refused the archbishopric which was within his grasp. The prompt answer
was made again and again that he was unwilling to transfer to another a
task so arduous as that which he had undertaken. To his flock he gave
his health and strength ungrudgingly. The goal was near. A vigorous
effort was about to be made to discharge the last debts of the diocese in
token of appreciation of the bishop's marvellous success. The promised
land of peace lay fair and broad before his eyes, and he was not permitted
to enter in."

* One hundred thousand dollars of this debt represented deposits in the diocesan savings-
bank—deposits made, in swift-dissolving Confederate money, by the laboring classes of
Charleston.

1 882.] BISHOP LYNCH. 165

In 1877 the bishop underwent a surgical operation in Boston,
and from that time may be dated a slow decline in his once flour-
ishing health. It was the breaking-point where were accumulat-
ed all the results of a life of unresting labor ; the wear and tear
had hardly been felt before, but now they began to tell heavily.
His physicians advised rest and quiet as the only sureties for pro-
longing his days ; but he refused to spare himself in a work
which none but he could carry forward. His duties to his
diocese demanded constant travel, not only abroad but also over
the wide-extended and thinly-peopled district under his charge ;
the latter a more onerous burden than the former when we con-
sider the slender means of transportation and comfort afford-
ed by a poverty-stricken community. His visitation of the up-
country in the autumn months was extremely laborious and ex-
hausting to him in his weak condition, and when he returned to
Charleston at Christmas he was prostrated on a bed of sickness.
Still, little was known by outsiders of his alarming danger ; the
announcement in the morning papers of Sunday, February 26,
was speedily followed by the proclamation, at late Mass in the
Catholic churches of the city, of the death. Thus the news of
his demise came like a shock upon the community. Immediately,
from all quarters, warm and sincere expressions of regret were
heard ; and the silent, unostentatious mourning for what all
classes agreed in regarding as a public calamity is a higher tes-
timony to the subject of this paper than a whole volume of rhe-
toric.

The death of Bishop Lynch was, physically speaking, very
painful; but he bore it with angelic patience, affording thus a
guidance in the last extremity, even as his life had beeii a guid-
ance to the living of his flock. A fortnight before his physicians
had advised a visit to Florida, but his sufferings had prevented
the journey. After that he sank rapidly, and to those imme-
diately about him it became apparent that the end was at hand.
At five o'clock Saturday afternoon he sank into a coma from
which it was impossible to rouse him. Doctors Chazal and Ged-
dings, summoned in haste, performed a surgical operation in
hope of saving his life. This last chance failed to afford relief ;
his cure was abandoned ; the bishop was in a dying condition.
His brother, the vicar-general, and his secretary and confessor
remained with him during the long death-agony of the night.
Some days before he had received the Holy Communion, and
that afternoon the Holy Viaticum and Extreme Unction. Pre-
vious to his reception of the latter he had made a profession of

X66 BISHOP LYNCH. [May,

faith in the following noble and simple words, varying but slight-
ly from time-honored precedents :

" I have lived a member of the Holy Catholic Church. I
believe all her doctrines, and I have tried to the best of my abil-
ity to obey' her precepts. I die a bishop of the holy Roman
Catholic Church, and in dying profess my faith in all the truths
taught by the church. I ask the forgiveness of God for all my
shortcomings, and, trusting in God's mercy, I resign my soul
into his hands."

Throughout he remained conscious, took docilely the medi-
cines they gave him, listened to and participated in the prayers
for the dying which were occasionally offered up, and cheerfully
resigned himself to the grasp of the grim destroyer. The sun
rose in brilliant majesty and shone down on the death-chamber
— the last earthly sun he was to see, for the end was nigh. The
prayers for the dying were resumed, and the expiring bishop,
raising his hand and making the sign of the cross, gave his bene-
diction to the clergymen kneeling beside his bed. As the day
advanced the intelligence of his state drew many to visit him —
personal friends, members of the vestry, and Sisters of Mercy.
Although shaken in the throes of death, he seemed to recognize
them all ; not able to speak, his hands remained extended in
benediction to the last. At ten o'clock he was dead.

His work was accomplished and rest was come. The volume
was closed ; the eager pen was to trace no more lines in it. Vol-
umes ! Look not for his works between cloth covers ; his works
are not there. The talent, the energy, the unceasing toil of an
invaluable life had been given to the relief of his poverty-stricken
flock. Here are his works — not written on paper, but traced in
imperishable lines in the diocese which he had prevented from
perishing from mere inanition under crushing debt; in the
hearts of thousands of poor people who, but for his matchless
devotion, would have lost their humble savings; and, taking a
larger scope, in 'the memory of Catholics as a beloved leader,
and in that of the rest of the community as a respected friend.

But though it can be said with truth that the labors of the
pen were but supplemental to the main labor of his life, the
work he did here is of a value that would make the reputation
of any other man. His mind was naturally broad, analytical,
and inquisitive ; and in the intervals of leisure he devoted him-
selt to a wide range of studies. The natural sciences were as
familiar grounds to him as those of theology. As a classical
scholar and a linguist he could hold his own with any man of the

j 882.] BISHOP LYNCH. 167

day ; to a profound knowledge of the Latin language, speaking
French, German, Spanish, and Italian with fluency, he added a
working acquaintance with Greek, and Sanscrit, and Hebrew.
In short, whatever subject proved interesting to man he always
took pains to study, accomplishing during spare hours a mass of
work that many might despair of doing in the space of a lifetime.
Many of these • profound scholars, meshed in the toils of their
learning, cultivate a rude* and turgid style of writing English
which renders their works extremely unpalatable. Not so Bish-
op Lynch. He showed himself a master of the English tongue,
in his clear, unmistakable logic as well as in the pellucid flow of
his language. As a conscientious reasoner, who states in full
force the objections of those who differ in opinion, Bishop
Lynch never failed ; his fairness and gentleness were inex-
haustible.

His first efforts with the pen were made in the United States
Catholic Miscellany, of which he was editor for some years ; and
his reputation as a controversialist was then established by his
masterly refutation of the Rev. Dr. Thornwell, the leading light
of the Presbyterian Church in the South, and attached to the
then celebrated South Carolina College. The more pressing
duties of his sacred calling, and the subsequent War of the Seces-
sion when he became bishop, prevented him from devoting any
of his hours to the literature which was chiefly in his hands a
weapon for the defence of the truth. After the war, upon the
establishment of THE CATHOLIC WORLD, he became an early and
valued contributor ; many of the most profound and brilliant
papers that have appeared in these pages were from his pen.
His letters on the " Council of the Vatican " and the searching
essays on the " Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius," as
well as his articles in the American Catholic Quarterly Review on
" Our Lord's Divine Nature" and " The Perpetual Miracle of the
Living Church," represent the scope of his powers as a vivid nar-
rative-writer and master of clear logic and vigorous " English
undefined." Another side of his fertile mind is revealed in the
essay on the Transit of Venus, which was admired by specialists.
His lecture on the " Early Discoverers of America " exemplified
a profound acquaintance with the history of an obscure period.
His lecture on " Tunnelling the Alps " represented the fruits of
much study of the strata of the earth ; for, forty years ago, he
had been interested in the construction of the artesian wells of
Charleston, and his report on the new well, as chairman of the
scientific committee appointed by the city council, had been sent

1 68 BISHOP LYNCH. [May,

in a few weeks before his death. One of the last works he had
in hand was an essay demonstrating, in the light of the latest dis-
coveries, the absolute agreement of science an'd the Mosaic re-
cord. It is to be hoped that this work is in such a state of com-
pletion that it can be published.

As a pulpit orator and speaker Bishop Lynch was not strik-
ing. He usually began coldly and slowly, gathering force as he
advanced, but never quitting the strictest bounds of logical se-
quence. His style is fittingly described by Father O'Connell as
one of "grand simplicity." Very soon, as you listened to him,
the languor of monotony passed away ; you began to discern the
broad lines of the argument he was working out ; and as he pro-
ceeded to fill in the details, calmly but powerfully, you recogniz-
ed with astonishment the wonderful force of intellect behind
those simple words, and satisfaction, conviction, ample and com-
plete, filled your mind. His utterance was deep, sonorous, but
subdued ; and the secret of his power lay not in externals but in
innate intellectuality.

To speak of the charity and modesty of the good bishop
would be superfluous. These two qualities formed the founda-
tion of the universal respect in which he was held by all with
whom he came in contact. This paper cannot be more signifi-
cantly closed than by quoting here the eulogium of a Charleston
journal which in the old days denied utterance to Bishop Eng-
land : " Stately in appearance, dignified in manner, unassuming,
courteous, self-possessed, learned and pious, Bishop Lynch was
honored wherever he went, and was not without honor in his
own country. Others will take up the burden which has slipped
from his shoulders, and begin where he left off. But none has
gone before, or will come hereafter, more loyal to his church,
more lovable in the estimation of all conditions of men, more
earnest, more self-sacrificing, and more true, than the good bishop
who has passed away."

Surely, lives of good and great men are not without fruit, not
only hereafter, but in the transitory existence of this earth.

The following lines, written by a Hebrew, Mr. J. Barrett Cohen, were
published in Charleston while Bishop Lynch's body was resting before the
altar :

1 882.] LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. 169

IN MEMORIAM.

When I look on your calm and peaceful face,

In which no longer beams the light of life,

In which no mark remains of that long strife

Through which you passed, and won a well-earned place —

Not only in men's hearts, but, through God's grace,

Also in heaven, among the pure and blessed,

Who after death find sweet and perfect rest —

I can but feel how little is the space

Of time that we can linger on this earth

Ere God shall summon us before his throne ;

And thinking of the life that you have led,

And knowing as I knew your priceless worth,

I pray that unto me the grace be shown

To find such peace as yours when I am dead.

LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS.

IT was a raw, wintry day. The last snow was hardened on
the ground, and the dark, bleak clouds that obscured the declin-
ing light betokened a fresh fall soon coming. The doctor, be-
spectacled and beslippered, sat before the glowing grate in his
modest dwelling, and had not yet quite made up his mind to
light his lamp. He was reading Ferraris' De juribus parocliorum.
God bless you, old Ferraris, and all ye writers, whether grave
theologians and historians, spirited controversialists, lively satir-
ists, Dious ascetics, or entertaining poets and imaginers ! What
a lonely life would the priest's be in those country villages at
this season were it not for your company !

A ring at the door. The doctor closed his book, laid aside
his glasses, and said to himself : " Now for a seven-mile ride to
the station." He was expecting John O'Connell, the farmer at
whose house he was to say Mass on the morrow, and who was
to call on his way home from his weekly marketing in the vil-
lage of Omicron, where the priest resided, to take him out. " It
may be a poor tramp, though," thought the doctor, and he felt
to see if there were any pennies ready in his pocket ; " or some
one unused to begging, but forced in these hard times to do so,"
and he had a silver piece prepared ; or " possibly an enterprising
book-agent bent on selling before the week closed in one more

170 LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. [May,

copy of ' the most readable and useful work ever published,' " and
he screwed his courage to the sticking-point ; " or an adaman-
tine-cheeked lightning-rod man urged to renewed vigor by the
stormy look of the heavens," and he smiled a little scornfully at
the well-known oratory of his prospective assailant. A gentle
tap at the door, however, put an end to these thoughts, always
recurring whenever the bell rang, and the little waitress inform-
ed him in the softest of tones that Mr. O'Connell was waiting.
The doctor wrapped himself up without regard to fashion, bift
as warmly as he knew. Over his cassock, which he wore as
usual, was a heavy overcoat of Irish frieze purchased during a
recent visit to the land of his fathers. A heavy fur cap with de-
pending ear-laps covered his head, and a comforter of the same
material protected his neck and throat. He wore arctic over-
shoes; and gloves corresponding to the cap were ready in his
hands. So, taking the valise which contained the requisites for
the celebration of the Holy Sacrifice, he handed it to his travel-
ling companion and they set forth on their journey.

The vehicle was what is known as a box- wagon, such as well-
to-do farmers keep for going to town and driving around the
country on business. The springs were rather stiff from rust
and exposure in the open shed where it usually stood. The seat
was low and fastened near the dash-board, making it very un-
comfortable for the occupants' legs. A coarse robe of canvas,
with a rusty and mangy old buffalo-skin, proved a very accept-
able defence against the weather, and the little horse, rough and
unkempt of hide and mane, started out bravely on his return to
his stall. So inspirited was he, in fact, with the prospect of oats
and home again that he dashed along over the hard snow utterly
regardless of the results, whether to the wagon, the springs of
which collapsed at every jounce, or to his master and his mas-
ter's guest, who were quite lifted off their seats as they jolted
over the holes or rose and fell with unpleasant violence in the
passage of the " thank-you-marms," while as his speed increased
a disagreeable steam rose from his body and lumps of clotted
hair flew off on the doctor's person, sometimes in unpleasant
proximity to his mouth. However, the motion, violent though
it was, kept the blood in circulation, and the travellers prefer-
red to stand it. As they passed through a wide frozen piece
of swamp-land on their way the farmer checked the unwilling
horse with some hard pulling, and, handing the reins to his com-
panion, said : " Would you be plazed to hold the lines for a min-
nit, your reverence ? " " Certainly," replied the doctor, wonder-

1 882.] LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. 171

ing a little whether some nut- or bolt were not loosened in their
rapid career. O'Connell leaned back over the seat, however,
and began untying a bag that lay in the box. When he had
loosened it very cautiously he kept hold of the mouth with one
hand, and, lifting up the other end, suddenly spilt its contents
over the tail-board. What was the doctor's astonishment on be-
holding half a dozen kittens, four or five weeks old, deposited in
the snow. " Quick, your reverence ! gi' me the lines. Gwan ! "
—to the horse, whose pace he quickened with a cut of the whip,
and they started away as if a bridge were breaking down under
them. The surprise and consternation of the youthful felines it
is impossible to describe, and their feelings on being transferred
in the twinkling of an eye from the warm sack to the freezing,
inhospitable snow. Their eyes were wide open with astonish-
ment ; but the painful sensations in their paws soon overcame
this, and they attempted to move in the direction of the rapidly
retreating conveyance whence they had been ejected. An ex-
planation was naturally due to such an extraordinary proceed-
ing on the part of O'Connell, who said : " Herself wanted me to
dhrown thim, your reverence, but I hadn't the heart to do it."
" Well, but they'll surely die there ! " " Oh ! no, sir ; they'll find
their way to some comfortable quarters. Lave a cat alone for
that. Shure you know the ould saying uv their having nine lives.
Faix, I shouldn't wander to find wan or two of thim at home
afther me in the morning. It's only three mile from here.
There's a house up there on the hill, anyhow, and you may be
shure they'll make for it. Didn't yer reverence ever hear tell —
but of course you're a fine historian — ov the Kilkenny cats ?
'Tisn'taisy to kill a cat ; indeed, 'tis hard to get rid o' thim at all."
And he smiled at his own pleasantry. It was too late, especially
in the face of these assurances, to remedy the disposal of the
cats, which were now quite a distance behind. " Is this your
horse ? " said the doctor. " No, your reverence, 'tis not — oh !
no. Don't you remimber when I brought you out to see Mrs.
Dempsey in the fall ? Poor woman ! she'll be wantin' to see you
agin to-night, or in the mornin' may be 'twould do. I'm afraid
she'll not last long. Oh ! no, sir; my own is drawing ice to-day.
This is the baste of a man named Paulding, a neighbor of ours.
He's a hardy little wan, but they takes no care of him — don't
curry him or clane him. That's the raison the hair is flyin' off
him on your reverence. If I'd known it I could have got an-
other from Mr. Van Wert. We're all good neighbors out at the
Clove, sir. This little one was stiff, comin' out first, from stay-

172 LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. [May,

ing out in the field this weather ; but, by the same token, there's
not much sign of lameness on him at the present moment."
" There's not much room for Ferraris here," thinks the doctor.
So, the great theologian retired, he replied in like strain, and the
two travellers chatted pleasantly together as they sped along the
road.

It was dark when they reached O'Connell's house, one of the
few straggling edifices at Spuykenkill Clove. As they drew up
their arrival was announced by a large mastiff and a couple of
miscellaneous curs. The former, being let loose for the night,
would doubtless have given the stranger a warmer reception
than, even in his chill condition, was desirable, had he not been
speedily quieted by his master's voice. Good dogs are kept in
country places for watching, but mongrels generally abound in
numbers directly proportionate to the povert}r of the family.
They form " company " in these lonely situations, as one of their
owners once confessed to the writer, and being despised by the
rich, who have other resources, cling to those by whom they are
tolerated or made welcome. " What do they get to eat? " I ask-
ed. (Bones are scarce in proportion to the number of canines, for
the reason stated.) " Oh ! I d'no, sir. They pick up something
around the country." The expression " dogs and poverty "»is
often realized by the priest, who is frequently embarrassed by
these in attending sick-calls in remote localities. The superfluous
ones in the present instance belonged to O'Connell's neighbors,
but were doubtless paying court to the majesty of " Nayro," or
had assembled in his more favored locality to gnaw the remains
of his osseous banquet and forage for subsistence undisturbed,
by favor of Nox's sombre reign. The house was of frame, as is
the rule even with the wealthiest mansions in the country. The
ground-floor was entered by a graceful stoop and a door that
was never opened unless on very exceptional occasions (such as
this), and contained a parlor, or " sitting-room," never used but
when the front-door was opened, and consequently chilly, damp,
and uncomfortable. In fact, the traditional custom described in
Knickerbocker s History of New York is rigidly observed with re-
gard to these rooms of state. Off this were a couple of bed-
rooms, and behind a kitchen, all on the same level. A side-door
opened into the latter apartment, which was, in point of fact, the
"living-room" of the family, and served for cooking, eating, and
social intercourse. A fire was lit in the parlor stove, and the
doctor had his valise brought in there and saw that the table was
prepared for the Mass of the following day, and then, as soon as

1 882.] LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. 173

he was thawed out by the respectful attentions of Mrs. O'Con-
nell and her eldest daughter, bade them say that he was ready
" to hear." One by one then the Catholics who were assembled
in and around the kitchen entered the apartment to approach
the tribunal of penance. There were about three dozen of
them, men, women, and children. After all had been heard the
" missis " gently tapped to announce that supper was " ready
now, if your reverence would be pleased to have it."

«The table had been spread in the kitchen, according to the
known wish of " his reverence," who found this family so
thoroughly Catholic and good, as well as naturally courteous
and discreet, that he made himself quite at home with them, and
felt that their usual abiding-place would make them all feel more
at their ease than the rarely-used best room. A huge cooking-
stove was in close proximity, but could scarcely be objected to
in this weather, though when one has to sit near it on a torrid
day in July, as once happened to the narrator, it is not at all an
agreeable feature, especially when rich, solid viands, cooked with
no regard for aught but the healthy appetites of farmers, are set
before the delicate palate of the pastor just transferred to the
country for his health. On the present occasion, however, the
smoking potatoes, steak which actually hissed on the very table,
or even the usually alarming tea-biscuit did not come amiss to
the doctor. We need not say that the honest farmer himself, his
stalwart boys and comely girls — their hearts just lightened by
the Sacrament of Penance of whatever slight burden might have
weighted them — as well as the little ones of both sexes, making
with the old couple a round dozen in all, took advantage of the
" extra spread " and delighted their parents and their spiritual
father by their happy, easy, but respectful manner. There is
something exquisitely touching in the deportment of the Irish
people — and of their American-born children, too, when these are
not corrupted by causes which need not be here set down — to-
wards their priest. He is their nearest counsellor. They are as
frank with him as with God, one might almost say ; for, indeed,
they look on him as the intimate friend and minister of Christ,
the Man who is God. And the doctor, cold and reserved in his
manner, a student by taste and profession, nevertheless became
thawed out at once on meeting with one of his children, espe-
cially of this family.

When the hearty though homely meal had been disposed of,
and the blood warmed by the excellent meat and bread and
butter, and the " heart roused " by the stimulating power of

174 LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. [May,

China's grateful leaf, Mrs. O'Connell and her daughters quietly
removed " the things," and, the table being pushed aside, the
priest and his entertainers ranged themselves around the stove in
situations corresponding to their respective ages, the mother, in
self-sacrifice, keeping aloof that her elder boys might get the full
benefit of the priest's conversation, and the little ones bestowing
themselves, along with the two warm-looking cats, towards the
front of the company. It was indeed a pleasant picture, though
the high, dark rafters, hung with flitches of bacon and strings of
onions, were wanting ; though there was no honest earthen floor,
no proud dresser laughing with its shining array of delf, no fire-
place with its romantic dark recesses and its heap of blazing turf
that has such a fascinating attraction for the eyes of all ; and
though, instead of a tallow dip in a polished brass, candlestick,
a prim kerosene-lamp, with a piece of red flannel to set off its
plainness, threw its scientific glare upon the scene. Notwith-
standing all these drawbacks, which the elders of the group
could not help remarking, the little gathering was pleasant, nay,
delightful to see. For there were the old elements — the eternal
faith which had bound the priest and his people for fourteen
hundred years ; the knowledge of mutual confidence, love un-
mixed, and supernatural respect ; the happiness of a father among
his faithful children ; the delight of these children to have among
•them the one who was the traditional head, adviser, and rep-
resentative of their race in all its sad history, whom they loved
as their nearest friend, respected as a man of learning and travel-
led lore, and reverenced as one of the ministers of God.

The talk continued, then, and the pastor informed himself of
the way things were going on and inquired of all the various
members of the little mission. He designedly drew out the
native-born members of the family, being anxious to know how
they looked at matters and what color their faith was receiv-
ing from their surroundings. From their answers and remarks,
which were made with more confidence for that they had inherit-
ed the intelligence and frank manners of their mother with their
father's shrewd common sense, the doctor was grateful to God to
perceive that their Catholic instinct enabled them to appreciate
at their true value much of what was going around unsafe or
false in matters pertaining to religion, society, and the fundamen-
tal principles of politics. Here was another great reason why he
found himself so happy in this family — that 'the old breath of
heresy or the newer one of infidelity had passed them without
harm, and that he had good reason to hope that these young

1 882.] LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. 175

people would be scarce inferior to their parents in loyalty to
the church, while their better advantages in the way of instruc-
tion gave reason to believe that their social influence would be
superior.

The priest addressed himself in such wise to every individual
of the family as to show interest and regard for all. O'Connell
in particular could always be relied upon to lighten the talk by
reminiscences of his travels or stories of former days learned
in the cabin on the Galtees where he first opened eye on this
world. To-night he was giving a very detailed account and de-
scription of his voyage to this country in the old days of packet-
ships. " There were about four hundred and fifty of us, your
reverence," he went on, " men, women, and children, and but
wan stove beside the cook's galley. The most of the women, of
course, wor below with the say-sickness, and the min.had to stand
in a file and wait their turn to bile a sup of water for tay — little
and poor in quality that same water was — to cook a little stir-
about or whatever else they had. There was nobody to see to you,
if you hadn't your ownfrinds. The officers wor careless, and the
sailors 'ud only curse and shove you against the ship's side if you
didn't get out of their way, and the strongest had it all their
own way. Wan mornin' we were standin' and fallin' in a line
as well as we could with the ship tossin' and pitchin', and each
one wid his saucepan in his hand, when I see a poor wake boy,
one Cosgrove, lookin' as if herd be thrown into the say before
reachin' America, sthrivin' to put his breakfast on the stove and
a big, ugly-lookin' fellow sthrivin' to prevint him. Your rever-
ence, I couldn't stand it, but I stepped out o? me place and I step-
ped up to the bully, and says I, ' What's that yer doin' ? ' and I
hit him a tip wid me left hand that laid him on his back in the
wather on the deck. Faith, they giv a cheer, and the poor boy
he was let alone after that, and the bully never said a word and
was very respectful afterwards, especially to the people from the
County — What's that ? " he said, as the dogs were heard bark-
ing outside the door. " 'Tis Jack Lawler," replied one of the
sons. " He wants the priest to go and see Mrs. Williams ; she's
taken very bad." " God help us ! " said O'Connell. " I offered
to call your reverence when she was sick before, sir, but she
told me 'she wasn't bad enough yet! "

" May the Lord give her time for repentance ! " said his wife.
Without any unnecessary delay the doctor put on his wraps,
and, accompanied by his worthy host, made haste through the
now blinding snow to the house of the unfortunate woman. It

176 LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. [May,

was a case unfortunately not uncommon tyithin seventy-five
miles of New York, and doubtless much less further away — an
ignorant Catholic family, godless schools, heretical or infidel so-
ciety, distance from the church and the priest, and a mixed mar-
riage before the Methodist minister. Such was Kate Williams'
story in brief. Yet the poor girl retained enough of the natural
Catholic conscience to bear children ; but, alas ! false terror had
kept her away from the priest, and her children were unbaptized,
the eldest, now a boy of twelve, without any knowledge of God,
soul, or church. And even now what an ordeal to have to meet
the priest — the learned, grave, but patient, gentle doctor ! One
would think she had to see Christ, the Judge ! Were it not for
Mrs. Lawler's Christian interference even now the priest might
not have been sent for. Shall we tell of the natural aversion one
has for entering such a house ? A condemned cell or a hospital
for smallpox were pleasant in comparison. Shall we describe the
trepidation of the poor wretch when the confessor, whose cha-
racter was for her invested with nameless terrors, was heard out-
side the room ? Mrs. Lawler had done her best to assure the
poor sinner of the doctor's kindness, but she seemed to fear God
in him. He could but echo the terrible voice of her own con-
science, which pointed at her children, for whom she was respon-
sible; at her husband, -to whom she had been united without
God's ordinance, to whose blind prejudice she had sacrificed
God's service and his truth. When the priest left the house she
was more easy, as they said, but there remained a fearful load
upon her heart : would she die now and leave her children in
charge of a heathen parent ? And if God did not restore her
health, would he accept her late, enforced repentance for the
omission of her most essential duty ? Sick at heart naturally,
but with a deep prayer welling up to Christ for that soul, the
priest forced himself to say a few cheerful words to the little
ones and turned from the cold, indifferent presence of the hus-
band and his household, and seemed to breathe a more genial
atmosphere in the wild, dark night out of doors.

Again reaching the hospitable abode of his faithful children,
the doctor was shown to his room by the man of the house,
where an enormous feather-bed, in which he was almost smoth-
ered in the summer, but which was now quite acceptable, stood
prepared to receive his wearied limbs.

Next morning before eight o'clock the people of the settle-
ment began to arrive in very ordinary-looking sleighs, and them-
selves dressed with more regard to comfort than appearances,

1 882.] LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. 177

though the young people did not allow these to suffer. Having
heard a few confessions, the doctor celebrated Mass in the best
room aforesaid, with very unpretending habiliments and no
particular attempt at decoration, unless a couple of " wandering
Jew " plants that adorned the plain table, and contrasted agree-
ably with the print of the Crucifixion, the shining chalice and
crucifix, and spotless linen that covered the place of the mystic
Sacrifice. An old man who had once been a soldier in the Brit-
ish army in India, and who acknowledged that he had assisted
the chaplains in Gibraltar, too, and elsewhere, was the server of
the Mass. There was no sanctuary, of course, nor platform, and
the congregation of forty or fifty crowded very closely indeed
about the celebrant and his military assistant and guard. But,
plain as everything was, there was piety there, and pure faith
and works, and simplicity of heart. The atmosphere, however,
was very close and unpleasant, but the priest availed himself
of the occasion to give a little homily to this portion of his
flock ; and as he read the Gospel story and retailed it to them he
felt that the Eternal Word himself had a similar audience and
for that reason spoke so plainly. This is the great, the all-
sufficient consolation for the highly educated missionary when
he finds himself on such a station. There was one individual
who seemed anxious that the service should be finished. He
made quite a move when the salutation was said at the Post-
Communion, and was evidently uneasy about something. At
last, when the book was closed and the celebrant turned to repeat
the " Dominus vobiscum " before the blessing, the man urged
himself forward, and, placing a bill in the opening hand of the
priest, said : " John Michaels, your reverence." It was the day
for the payment of the quarterly dues. The doctor was grave
and had a profound knowledge of human nature. Not a muscle
of his features moved, though a ripple of merriment passed
through his heart. He took the money and laid it on the altar:
" Ite missa est ! " he said.

After the Mass there was a child to baptize, cold though the
day was ; for the country people never consider a child's health
when there is question of bringing it to be baptized. Then
there were inquiries to be made of the children, and the priest
was delighted to find that they knew their catechism better than
the average of those who lived at Omicron and had " Sunday-
school " regularly. " The nearer the church," etc., thought he.
Then there was the receiving of those blessed dues, and the in-
cidental talk with most of the people in attendance about mar-
VOL. xxxv.— 12

178 LIFE IN THE COUNTRY MISSIONS. [-May,

riages, and children, and politics, and morals, and crops, and
everything but Ferraris and Co.

It was half-past nine when the doctor, the blood already
mounting into his head and the cold settling into his feet, set out,
this time in a sleigh, on his return homeward, calling in at Mrs.
Dempsey's on the way. There was no sign of the kittens so
ruthlessly abandoned the previous evening. "Oh! I'll engage
you they're all right and have found hospitality," said O'Connell.
The priest spoke but little. His feet were getting colder, and,
despite the bright, snowy day, his usual Sunday headache, aris-
ing from untimely fasting, foul air, and impaired digestion, was
giving premonitory symptoms. When he reached home he had
to hear a score or more confessions, then say eleven-o'clock
Mass ; preach ; look after the collection, the pew-rents ; receive
the reports of various committees on the subject of his fair ; say
a word or two to the organist about preparing a Mass for
Christmas ; " church " a woman who had come a distance with
her child, which he baptized ; receive Mr. Flanagan, who seized
this opportunity to talk about building the new wall around the
cemetery, and attend to several other minor matters. It was
now approaching one o'clock, the headache was in full sway, and
the doctor sat down, with a disordered stomach, to break his fast
of sixteen hours. Then he retired to his little room, and, stretch-
ing himself upon the lounge, tried to compose himself to rest,
while the dull, painful beating of his poor brain, and the many
little projects in hand which chased sleep frorn his pillow, inter-
fered with the sound digestion that was necessary to his health
and repose. There let us leave him upon his cross, trusting in
God's goodness to recruit his strength and spirits before the bell
rings for Sunday-school and the Vespers to follow.

i882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 179

STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.

By F. X. Z.
V.

" I LOVE pleasure — oh ! I do love pleasure," Stella had said
more than once to her lover in extenuation of her addiction to
flirting and dancing the german — which last offence, by the way,
ranked as a greater enormity in his opinion than the first even.

" Yes, I think you love it better than anything else in the
world," he replied during their conversation on Christmas eve.

" No, I do not love it as much as I love — you ! " she answered.

And she had spoken the truth. Notwithstanding her attach-
ment to pleasure and the german, it was with very great diffi-
culty that she was prevailed upon to go to Mr. Gartrell's party.

At first she absolutely refused to go ; but when her usually
indulgent mother became seriously angry and spoke with paren-
tal authority she knew not how to resist. Naturally of a yield-
ing temper, that had been made wilful and obstinate only by
unlimited indulgence, she was intimidated by a violence so new
to her.

Even now, however, she did not yield the point without a
struggle. She argued, she entreated, she even came to tears,
imploring her mother not to compel her to do what she knew
Southgate would not easily forgive. But Mrs. Gordon, who,
ever since the hope of securing Gartrell as a son-in-law first
dawned on her imagination as within the limits of the possible,
had been extremely anxious to break the engagement with
Southgate, was inflexibly resolved not to permit such an oppor-
tunity as this to pass without using it. She interrupted Stella's
pleadings by telling her, in a tone not to be disobeyed, to go and
dress, as the carriage was already at the gate.

The latter, thus constrained, made a hasty and careless toilette,
and then, with swollen eyes and heaving breast, wrote the letter
wnich received such contemptuous treatment.

Seated beside her mother in the carriage, she threw hersejf
back in her corner, and without listening to the remarks on indif-
ferent subjects which Mrs. Gordon volunteered, or pretending to
reply to them, began to think of Southgate and of what he
would think when he called for her at midnight and heard that
she was gone.

i8o STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [May,

" O mamma! "she cried, suddenly bursting into tears again
and sobbing convulsively, " do let me return home. We are not
more than a mile from town, and it is very early yet. Do drive
back and set me down ! "

" Is it worth while to talk so nonsensically ? " asked her
mother coldly.

" My head aches as if it would burst. I feel really ill," sobbed
Stella. " I am sure this is a sufficient excuse for my not going
on, particularly as you can say that I started and had to turn
back."

To this argument her mother deigned no reply.

" Mamma, I never thought you could be so cruel," cried the
poor child, indignation and distress together making her almost
hysterical. " You do not seem to care how much I suffer."

" Stop crying, and your head will stop aching," was the frigid
reply.

" But I am thinking of Edward," Stella exclaimed passionate-
ly. " What will he say ? He will believe that I am altogether
unworthy of his love and trust. He will give me up in de-
spair."

" So much the better," said Mrs. Gordon complacently. " Mr.
Gartrell is much the better match of the two, and I am confi-
dent that the moment he knows your engagement is off he will
propose for you."

For an instant Stella could not utter an articulate sound. Her
blood tingled in her veins, and there was an aching lump in her
throat that she strove in vain to swallow.

" Mamma," she exclaimed at last in a choking voice, " do you
mean that you have deliberately counted on the breaking off of
my engagement ? "

" I have foreseen for some time that it must soon come to an
end," was the reply in a cold, matter-of-course tone. " Consider-
ing how you have been acting during the last month, I am only
surprised that Mr. Southgate has not asked you before now to re-
lease him."

" And you never uttered one word of reproof or warning, and
you said distinctly that you were sure Edward was too reason-
able to resent my attending this party."

" He has been so very ' reasonable ' in overlooking what, in his
place, / should have considered inexcusable conduct on your
part that I may be pardoned for presuming his powers of for-
bearance to be unlimited," answered Mrs. Gordon sarcastically.
" As for interfering myself, I have more regard for your best in-

i882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 181

terests than to do anything which would prevent your ridding
yourself of an entanglement which you may replace to-morrow
by so much more advantageous a connection."

" O mother !" cried Stella, in such a tone of reproach and de-
spair that Mrs. Gordon for a moment half regretted having
compelled her to take a step which that lady believed would cer-
tainly separate her from her lover. But the regret was only
momentary. When the girl once more implored passionately
to be allowed to return home her mother answered authorita-
tively :

" Don't repeat that ridiculous proposal again, Stella, but dry
^our eyes and act like a rational being instead of playing the
spoiled child."

" You are right," said Stella bitterly. " I have been playing
the spoiled child all my life ; but I have done with the rdle from
henceforth, I promise you."

She sat up in her seat, and by the faint moonlight her mother
could see that she was drying her eyes and arranging her dress,
after doing which she leaned back once more and did not speak
or move again until they drew up before a flight of steps over
which a broad light was streaming from the brilliantly illuminat-
ed hall at Lauderdale, and Mr. Gartrell opened the carriage-door
himself and assisted her to alight.

"Thank you," she said simply in reply to. his impressive wel-
come.

Her tone and manner were so spiritless that he paused in-
voluntarily as he was about to turn and extend his hand to Mrs.
Gordon, who was still in the carriage, and looked inquiringly at
her.

"I hope you are well?" he asked, noticing how pale she
was.

" No," she answered quietly. " I am suffering with the worst
headache I ever remember to have had in my life. Indeed," to
Mrs. Gordon's great vexation she added, "but for mamma I
should not be here. I tried several times to persuade her to
turn back and leave me at home, but she insisted on my com-
ing."

"The crisis!" thought Mr. Gartrell jubilantly.

He expressed his regret with evident sincerity at hearing of
her indisposition, as he conducted her mother and herself into
the house, and was most solicitous to secure her comfort in
every way. But he did not press any marked attentions upon
her. One glance at her face had informed him, almost as clearly

1 82 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.

as words could have done, that there was or would be a rupture
with her betrothed as the result of her presence here to-night. '
He was satisfied with this knowledge, and had too much sense
to risk injuring the prospect of success which seemed opening
before him by injudicious haste in obtruding his suit. To do
him justice, he had also too much good-nature to feel inclined to
inflict the least degree of additional pain on her when it was
plainly to be seen that she was . already suffering very much.
There was in her eyes an expression of anxiety and preoccupa-
tion of mind strangely out of place in a ball-room — so strangely
out of place that early in the evening he suggested to her mo-
ther that he feared Miss Gordon ought to retire, she looked si
really ill ; and Mrs. Gordon, whose ambition by no means stifled
natural feeling as yet, went to Stella and urged her to go to
bed.

She declined to do so.

" I could not sleep, and it would be more tiresome lying
awake all alone than staying here," she answered coldly.

" But I am afraid you are suffering very much, you are so
pale," said her mother.

" I feel ill," she replied in the same tone as before, " but I
suppose I shall be well to-morrow."

The evening was very long and wearying to her. Instead of
joining in the wild .whirl of the german, as Southgate's imagina-
tion pictured her, she sat quiet and languid by the fire, with
that forced expression of amiability on her face which is so often
the most transparent mask put on to conceal ennui.

" You poor child, I see that you are bored to death ! " ex-
claimed her friend Bessie Curtis, coming to her side shortly be-
fore twelve o'clock and regarding with half-comic pity her con-
scientious efforts to talk to and seem amused by a heavy gen-
tleman who " never waltzed " and was exceedingly anxious to
please. " Come and go up-stairs with me ! You have been act-
ing martyr long enough."

Stella smiled more brightly than she had before during the
whole evening, and rose readily.

" I am tired," she said, " and my head aches distractingly. So
tired!" she continued a moment later when her friend and her-
self were seated beside a glowing fire in the pleasant chamber
that had been assigned to them. "Every clash of that band
went through and through my brain, it seemed to me. I don't
think I shall ever want to hear a Strauss waltz again."

" Oh ! yes, you will," said Miss Curtis, laughing — " to-mor-

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 183

row night, perhaps. It is to be hoped that your head will be
well by that time."

" My head is not the worst of it," said Stella ; and, time and
place being propitious for confidence, she poured out a recital of
her wrongs, the root of her headache — her lover's insistance that
she should not come to this party, and her mother's insistance
that she should. " I know Edward is going to be very, very an-
gry. Yet it is not my fault that I came," she concluded.

" You can tell him so," said her friend consolingly. " And
now do go to bed. You look wretched — ion: you"

11 1 feel horrible," Stella answered, and followed the advice
offered.

But it was not so easy to comply with the exhortation to
go to sleep with which Miss Curtis left her shortly afterwards.
Southgate's face, as it had looked that afternoon, stern and re-
solved, with a gleam of scorn in the clear gray eyes, was persis-
tently before her.

" He knows by this time that I am here," she said half-aloud,
pressing her hands to her aching temples. " He has a right to
be angry and to scorn me. I wonder if he is thinking of me
now! No," as a clock down-stairs struck twelve, "he is not, I
am sure. He is at Midnight Mass."

On that thought she paused, and a different picture of South-
gate's countenance replaced the one that had been haunting her
all the evening. This was a gentle and reverent face that she
saw gazing at the altar before which she knew he was now
kneeling.

" I wish, how I wish, that I was there with him ! " she exclaim-
ed under her breath. " Ah ! if he will but forgive me this one
time more I will try and learn to be good and devout, as he is."

She went to sleep after a while, and woke the next morning
feverishly impatient to get back to town in order to see her
lover and justify her conduct to him. But there was breakfast
and a long delay to be endured before the moment of relief
which saw her seated in the carriage and driving away from
Lauderdale. It was almost noon when they reached home.

VI.

SOUTHGATE'S servant was coming out of the gate as they
drove up to it.

"You brought a note for me, Willis?" Stella said eagerly,
leaning out of the carriage- window to speak to the man.

1 84 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [May,

" Yes'm," was the reply.

With a light heart she hurried into the house, to find the
note addressed not to herself but to Mrs. Gordon, and to see
that the vase of flowers she had left for Southgate was still on
the table where she had placed it.

She met her mother and offered her the note as the latter was
entering the hall.

" You can read it," said that lady, recognizing the writing.

Stella opened it and glanced at a few formal words in which
the writer excused himself from dining with Mrs. Gordon that
day, " as he had expected to have the honor of doing."

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Gordon a little sharply, and yet
sorry for the distress visible in her daughter's face.

" It is an apology. Mr. Southgate is not coming to dinner,"
answered Stella coldly.

Laying the note down on the hall-table, she went to her own
room, summoned her maid, and heard a detailed account of
Southgate's visit of the night before.

He had received her letter unwillingly, and had put it into his
pocket unopened ; he had refused to take the flowers ; he " had
no message " for her !

That was the cheering information obtained by a very strict
cross-examination of Louise. The prospect before her was not
encouraging. She could not write to him again. What should
she do? she asked herself.

Just at the moment she could do nothing ; but in the after-
noon she went to Vespers, hoping she might there meet her re-
cusant lover.

She saw him at once on entering the church, his pew being
near her own ; and all through Vespers, and even as she knelt at
Benediction, she was considering how she could attract his atten-
tion, and waiting with palpitating heart for the moment of leav-
ing the church.

That moment came and went without his glancing once in
her direction.

With heavy heart she returned home, and the rest of the day
— which ended with a large Christmas-party — dragged through
more wearily than ever day had for her before.

She even could not sleep when at last, long after midnight,
she laid her tired head on the pillow. But when finally she did
lose consciousness her slumber was deep and long.

"Mr. Southgate is down-stairs, Miss Stella," was the an-
nouncement with which Louise awoke her the next morning.

i882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 185

" What did you say? " she exclaimed, starting up and looking
a little bewildered.

The maid repeated what she had said, and added :

" I saw him coming' up the walk a minute ago and thought I
had better wake you."

" Mr. Southgate here this time in the morning ! " cried the
young lady in amazement as she sprang out of bed.

" Oh ! it's not so very early," said the maid. " Breakfast is
over, but—"

" Breakfast over, and you did not wake me ! "

" You know you always tell me not to disturb you early
when you have been up the night before," was the answer.

A truth which Stella could not deny. Therefore she made no
rejoinder, but with Louise's assistance dressed as rapidly as she
could.

"Did you tell Mr. Southgate that I would be down direct-
ly?" she asked.

" No'm ; I didn't speak to him. I only caught a glimpse of
him, and came straight to tell you."

A few minutes afterwards Stella ran lightly down-stairs and
with sparkling face opened the sitting-room door. To her sur-
prise the room was empty. She went to the drawing-room, but
that too was vacant; and, on inquiring of the servant who had
seen Mr. Southgate, was told that he had asked for Mr. Gordon,
not herself, and, learning that Mr. Gordon was already gone to
his office, had declined to come in.

Sick to the soul with disappointment and an intuition of com-
ing evil, she returned to her own room and waited for what was
to come.

She did not have to wait long, though the time seemed long
to her. In less than half an hour she received a message from
her father. He wished to see her.

He was standing on the hearth with his back to the fire when
she entered the sitting-room in answer to his summons, and
greeted her by a very slight "Good-morning." For the first
time that she remembered he had no smile for her; his face
was grave, almost stern.

When she was seated and looked up questioningly he said
abruptly :

" Southgate has just been with me to request to be released
from the engagement of marriage which existed between him
and yourself."

She was not surprised. It was what she expected. The

186 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [May,

color ebbed from her face, and her hands clasped each other
convulsively ; but she had prepared herself, and managed to
present an appearance of calmness, though she could not com-
mand the power of speech.

After a momentary pause her father continued :

" He says that almost from the first you have acted in a man-
ner which has gradually led him to the belief that you were mis-
taken' in imagining you were attached to him. He is inclined
to think that you discovered this and wished to get out of the
affair, yet did not like to move first, and consequently have so
conducted yourself as to force him to move. Believing that, un-
der these circumstances, it would not be for the happiness of
either of you to marry, he asks that the engagement be dissolved
by mutual consent, though he leaves you at liberty to say that
you rejected him.

" I have repeated substantially his own words ; and now I
want to know the meaning of it all. He is not a man to be
either untruthful or unreasonable ; therefore I presume that his
taking this step is justifiable?"

" Yes," answered Stella in a quivering voice.

" I am to understand, then," said Mr. Gordon, " that you did
want to rid yourself of the engagement, and took this unworthy
way to do it?"

" No," she replied emphatically, lifting her eyes and meeting
his frowning gaze unflinchingly. " I have acted very badly, I
confess, though I did not mean to do so — it was all my miserable
folly — but I never for a moment wished to break the engage-
ment."

"Then why did you leave that impression on Southgate's
mind? " he demanded, with increasing irritation.

Partly the tone in which this question was asked — so different
from her father's usual caressing manner — and partly the sense
which grew momently more clear to her apprehension and more
bitter to her heart that Southgate was lost to her for ever, over-
came the composure she was struggling to maintain. To Mr.
Gordon's equal annoyance and consternation she burst into
tears, and, covering her face with her handkerchief, sobbed un-
restrainedly.

While he was essaying some blundering attempts at con-
solation, half reproving, half soothing her distress, the door
opened and his wife entered the room. He had been informed,
when he came home and wished to see her before he spoke to
Stella, that she was dressing to go out, and she appeared now

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 187

in carriage costume. Pausing just within the threshold, she
said :

" Did you want to see me, Roland ? " Then, observing the
disturbance of his countenance and the tears of her daughter,
she advanced a step and asked : " What is the matter? "

" The matter is that your kind efforts to break my engage-
ment and ruin the happiness of my life have succeeded,
mamma ! " cried Stella, springing to her feet and confronting
her mother witli flashing eyes from which tears were pouring
in streams. "I told you," she went on passionately, " that Ed-
ward would not forgive another breach of faith on my part ! I
implored you not to compel me to go to that detestable — "

" Stella! " interrupted her father sternly, " recollect yourself.
How dare you speak in such a tone as that to your mother? "

" You don't know, papa, how cruelly she has treated me ! It
is her fault, not mine, that my engagement is broken off ! I — "

She stopped, her voice choked in tears, and Mr. Gordon
looked inquiringly to his wife for an explanation of the accusa-
tion just made.

Mrs. Gordon was buttoning her gloves — an occupation which
she chose at the moment as well to prevent the exultation she
felt at hearing of the success of her schemes from betraying itself
in her eyes as to conceal some slight confusion which, notwith-
standing her complacency, she could not entirely control. Not
succeeding in meeting her eye, her husband was obliged to put
his question into words.

" What is this trouble between Stella and Southgate about ? "
he asked, " and what does she mean by saying that it is your
fault?"

" Stella, though engaged to one man, has been flirting with
another for a month past, to which conduct Mr. Southgate
naturally objects," answered Mrs. Gordon drily. " As to her
assertion that I had anything to do with the breaking the en-
gagement, that is nonsense. I insisted on her going to a party
on Christmas eve which was given to please her and at her
special request. After asking Mr. Gartrell to give the party,
and promising again and again that she would go, she wished
to draw back at the -last moment. This would have been such
unpardonable rudeness that I would not permit it."

" I am astonished that you suffered her to act so improperly
in the first place," said Mr. Gordon in a tone of displeasure.
" Why did you permit her to flirt, as you call it, and to be on
such familiar terms with a man like Gartrell as to be asking him

1 88 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [May,

to give parties? If she wanted a party could not you have
given it? "

" Why did I ' permit ' her to flirt with Mr. Gartrell and pro-
pose his giving a ball at Lauderdale ? " repeated Mrs. Gordon
quietly. " Really, if you imagine that Stella ever waits for per-
mission to do anything she chooses to do you know very little
about her character."

Mr. Gordon turned round sharply where he stood, and, taking
up the tongs, punched the fire vigorously for a minute or two.
Then he took several turns up and down the room, glancing at
his daughter to see whether she had any further plea to enter in
her defence. But she could not deny the truth of a word her
mother had uttered, and did not attempt to do so. " Well,"
he said at last very drily, " so far as I can see, there is nothing
more to be done in the matter."

" Nothing, except to return Mr. Southgate's ring," said Mrs.
Gordon in a matter-of-course tone. " You had better do so at
once, Stella."

With which parting advice she went on her way rejoicing.

VII.

MR. GORDON was a man of easy temper and, morally speak-
ing, indolent nature. He would not have been guilty of a dis-
honorable act for any earthly consideration ; nothing would
have induced him to commit a wilful fault even. But as to sins
of omission his conscience was as easy as his temper. He was
fond of his wife and daughter, and the sole principle of his life
with regard to them was unlimited indulgence.

Naturally they accepted this rule kindly ; and thus far it had
answered very well, giving him what he desired — a quiet and
harmonious life. Stella was badly spoiled, it is true ; but her
whims and caprices did not come much within his cognizance,
and, consequently, it had never occurred to him that he was
called upon to notice or correct them.

Mrs. Gordon was phlegmatically amiable. She had all she
wanted in the world, and nothing to speak of that she did not
want. Though profoundly selfish, she was not disposed to be
unreasonable or to make herself disagreeable to anybody about
trifles. And everything which did not conflict with her own
comfort or wishes was a trifle in her eyes. When Stella accept-
ed Southgate she accepted him also willingly enough. She

1 8 82.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 189

thought at the time that he woul.d fill the position as well or bet-
ter than any other young gentleman of her acquaintance, and
rather liked him personally.

But at Gartrell's appearance upon the scene, and as soon as
his manner made it evident that with the slightest encourage-
ment he would be a suitor for Stella's hand, dormant ambition
awoke in her soul. Here was the man for Stella to have mar-
ried. Still, while lamenting secretly the ill-chance which, in the
person of Southgate, had come between her daughter and this
distinguished and desirable parti, it was some time before the
idea entered her mind that, though engaged, Stella was not yet
married, and that to give up one engagement and form another
was not a thing impossible.

Perhaps such an idea never would have entered her mind
but for Stella's own conduct. Having obtained entrance, how-
ever, it remained.

A person of phlegmatic temperament is, according to physi-
ological science, capable of energetic effort if once roused to
action. Mrs. Gordon exemplified the truth of this opinion.
She was indefatigable in her exertions to bring about the end she
desired. Almost daily she managed that, one way or another,
Stella should be irritated against her lover and do something
to irritate him in turn. To her own surprise, she developed
a decided genius for intrigue, really enjoyed the excitement of
the game she was playing, and played in a perfectly dispassion-
ate spirit. Until on Christmas eve, when he so nearly defeated
her by his pertinacity and resolution, she had not entertained
the slightest ill-feeling toward Southgate, nor was she troubled
with the least twinge of remorse for the injury she was doing
him. She was acting for the advantage of her daughter, she
would have said to her conscience, had she owned such an ap-
pendage and it had ventured a remonstrance.

Great was her exultation now, as, leaving Stella dissolved in
tears, she drove off to do some shopping. She regarded the
marriage with Gartrell as virtually accomplished.

Her husband looked at the matter in a very different light.
Knowing Southgate well, and appreciating his character at its
true worth, he had been more than pleased with the proposed
connection, and his disappointment and regret, at this termina-
tion of the affair was extreme. Added to which he was both
shocked and angered at an exposure of conduct on the part of
his daughter which he regarded as nothing less than false and
unprincipled.

STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [May,

He walked up and down the floor, after his wife was gone,
looking and feeling very much incensed ; and as soon as Stella's
sobs softened a little from their first violence he requested and
obtained her version of the affair.

" Humph ! You have certainly acted in a very honorable
manner," he said, with stinging irony, when she had concluded.

" O papa ! " she cried deprecatingly.

" I thought you might possibly be able to make some expla-
nation which I could offer to Southgate," he went on coldly ;
" but I see he was right in saying that your conduct is inex-
cusable. I am disappointed in you, Stella — bitterly disappoint-
ed. Of course I knew that you were spoiled and childish, but
I gave you credit for having some sense and some principle. In
this affair you have shown no sign of either. However," check-
ing himself, " reproaches will do no good ; nor, I am afraid, will
advice. But I have one word of warning to give you. Unless
you want to make a miserable life for yourself do not think of
marrying Gartrell. He is not a man to be trusted."

" I would not marry him to save his life, or my own either ! "
she exclaimed vehemently.

" Don't talk senselessly," said her father, with frowning impa-
tience, as he turned to leave the room.

Stella listened to his receding steps and felt that hope had
departed with them. His words, " There is nothing more to be
done in the matter," and her mother's addendum, " except to re-
turn Mr. Southgate's ring," seemed repeated almost audibly be-
side her. It had come to this, then — her engagement was real-
ly at an end.

She sat for a long time just where her father left her, with-
out moving, almost without breathing, with something of a
stunned sensation.

The entrance of a servant with two cards at last roused her.

" Why didn't you say ' not at home,' Robert? " she exclaimed
impatiently, taking the cards and glancing at them, turning her
back to the man involuntarily as she did so to prevent his seeing
her face, on which the traces -of tears must be very visible, she
feared. " You know mamma is out."

" I said so, Miss Stella, and that you werp not up, I thought.
Mrs. Harrison was going away then, but Miss Flora insisted
on my finding out. whether you could not see her. So I asked
them in."

" Say, with my compliments, that I beg to be excused."

But before the servant could leave the room she stopped him.

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 191

The dread idea of what the opinion of the world would be as to
the breaking of her engagement, for the first time came like a
shock upon her. Of course the fact would soon be known. Of
course the dullest people could put two and two together —
Southgate's absence from Mr. Gartrell's ball and from her mo-
ther's party the evening before, and her own low spirits on both
occasions. She was sure it would be perfectly well understood
that he had withdrawn from the contract, not been rejected.
Her vanity writhed at the bare imagination of all that would be
said on the subject. She could hear Mrs. Harrison and her
daughter — who, though not ill-natured, were thoroughpaced
gossips — contributing their quota to the general fund of conjec-
ture and report. " No wonder she was not to be seen this
morning, poor thing!" Mrs. Harrison, she knew, would exclaim
in sympathetic tone ; and Flora would add, with a slight shrug
of the shoulders, " I always knew how that affair would end.
Stella is too incorrigible a flirt to marry the first man she was
engaged to ! "

Swift as a flash all these thoughts were in her mind ; her
pride was in arms in an instant. A sense of indignant anger
against Southgate which she had never felt before took pos-
session of her. " She would show him that she was not heart-
broken, nor even hurt, by his desertion ! " she exclaimed men-
tally.

" Stay, Robert ! " she cried, almost in the same breath with
the apology she had just delivered, and before Robert had taken
a step toward the door.

Turning rapidly to a mirror, she scrutinized her face. It
was not so hopelessly unpresentable as she had expected to see
it ; and, bidding the man say she would be down presently, she
hurried to her chamber, bathed her eyes, manipulated her
flushed cheeks gently with a powder-puff, and then made a very
deliberate toilette. By the time this was completed scarcely
a trace of her late distress was discernible even by herself, and
to her friends in the drawing-room she looked quite as usual.
They had no suspicion that they had been kept w.aiting so long
from any other reason than the one she apologetically alleged —
her having been late in rising, and always taking a long time to
dress.

Mrs. Gordon was amazed, on her return, to hear voices and
laughter as she entered the hall, and to find Stella, in her best
looks and spirits, entertaining visitors. Here was a transforma-
tion as unlooked for as it was welcome. She had expected to

192 STELLA ' s DISCIPLINE. [May,

have no slight trouble, and that it would require skilful manage-
ment, to induce her daughter to " act reasonably " in the matter
of her broken engagement. Her relief and pleasure were great
at perceiving that the girl herself had, as she considered, taken
so sensible an attitude.

And Stella was as much pleased with herself as her mother
was pleased with her when she found how well she was acting
her hastily-adopted rdle. She made an engagement for the even-
ing with Mrs. Harrison, and, while the two elderly ladies were
exchanging parting civilities when Mrs. Harrison and her daugh-
ter rose to go, remarked to her friend Flora, apropos of observ-
ing the latter's gaze fixed on her hand :

" I see you miss my ring. I was tired of it, it had so many
sharp edges and was always cutting or scratching me. So I
have taken it off — for good."

" Indeed ! " exclaimed Miss Harrison, surprised. " You mean
you have discarded Mr. Southgate?"

Stella winced at this point-blank question. She would have
been willing to convey indirectly the impression just expressed,
Southgate having requested that she would give to the world
her own version of the affair ; but her capability of deception
was not robust enough to commit a positive breach of veracity.
Therefore she laughed and answered :

"Oh! no. The affair had become mutually unbearable, and
we determined to be happy apart instead of miserable together.
Don't you think we were right?"

VIII.

CHANCE has often more to do with the shaping of human
action than the actor himself is aware. In the present case the
mere circumstance of an inopportune visit caused Stella to take
a line of conduct which would not probably have been her
choice had time been afforded her for consideration. She could
not permit the Harrisons to think she was in agonies of regret
at the loss of her lover— that, she was aware, would be the in-
ference drawn from her denying herself to them as soon as the
fact of her break with Southgate became known — and so she
constrained herself to put aside the pain she felt and affect in-
difference. Then, on the impulse of the moment, she gave Miss
Harrison (whom she knew to be a good publishing medium) an

1 88 2.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 193

explanation of the affair the truth of which she afterwards felt
bound to substantiate by her conduct.

A sense of womanly pride, aided by her epicurean nature,
which turned instinctively from everything painful and seized
instinctively every possibility of amusement and enjoyment the
passing moment afforded, enabled her to succeed fairly well in
her self-appointed task. If she felt her lover's defection to be
anything but a relief she betrayed no sign to that effect, unless
a more feverish pursuit of pleasure than she had indulged before
even might be construed so. She flirted and danced the ger-
man ad libitum now, and became so very " fast " that her mo-
ther interfered — or, more properly speaking, attempted to inter-
fere, but without result.

" You destroyed the happiness of my life, mamma, and you
must allow me to take all the pleasure I can get in place of it,"
she said coldly in reply to Mrs. Gordon's remonstrances and
reproofs, and went her way with utter indifference to everything
but the gratification of her own will.

Smarting under an accusation that was but half true, Mrs.
Gordon soon began to wish that she had not undertaken to
order Stella's life, but had acquiesced in what fate and Stella
herself had elected as fitting.

It was not only that the latter's resentment seemed inap-
peasable, manifesting itself in a frigid distance of manner and
studied avoidance of her presence which wounded even more
than provoked her. She had incurred her husband's displeasure
also. He blamed her severely, she could see. Though he said
only a few words on the subject once, and did not recur to it
afterwards, he was cold, almost stern, in his manner to her as
well as to their daughter. She was obliged to admit to herself
that the result of her labors at match-breaking and match-mak-
ing was altogether infelicitous. She had brought a cloud upon
her marital life and had estranged her daughter's affection.

That was not all ; for when, early in the new year, Gartrell
fulfilled her prediction by proposing to Stella, he received a
prompt and decided refusal — a refusal so prompt and decided
that most men would have accepted it as final.

Not so Gartrell. He never, like the rest of Stella's friends
and acquaintance, was deceived by her affected indifference and
rattling gayety into the belief that she had thrown over South-
gate for his — Gartrell's — sake and was ready to marry him at a
word. Having read with tolerable accuracy the whole course
of her conduct, he understood much better than Southgate did

VOL. xxxv. — 13

194 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [May,

that she was sincerely attached to the latter, and that the faults
which to her lover seemed grave and inherent defects of charac-
ter were simply the volatility of extreme youth and an exu-
berance of animal spirits which she had not yet learned to con-
trol. He was not surprised, scarcely disappointed, and certainly
not discouraged, by the issue of his first proposal; considering
it a first step only, a breaking ground, so to speak, and not ex-
pecting a different answer.

But he was just the man to be animated instead of dismayed
by obstacles. That which was difficult of attainment he most
desired ; and, apart from this very common sentiment of man-
kind, he was really fascinated by Stella's beauty and vivacity.
Above all, his vanity was enlisted in the pursuit. She was the
first woman he had ever asked to be his wife, and she had de-
clined that much-coveted honor. Such a failure must be retriev-
ed, he felt. Time would reconcile her to the loss of her lover,
he doubted not. He would wait awhile, perhaps, before renew-
ing his addresses ; but, at whatever cost of effort and manage-
ment, he must win her, he was resolved.

No doubt he was more encouraged than he would otherwise
Jiave been to persevere in his object by the fact that Southgate
left M— - a few days after the rupture of his engagement, for,
he informed his friends, a stay of considerable time in Europe.
He had a brother, a student of the Propaganda, whom he had
been intending to visit during the autumn just past. His en-
gagement having prevented the fulfilment of that intention,*
Stella had consented to be married in April, and they were to
sail at once for the Old World. He now went alone ; and Gar- •
trell considered him well out of the way, and, like Mrs. Gordon,
regarded his own success to be simply a matter of time.

He would not have been so sanguine had he known what
Stella's feelings toward him were. He had injured her by
tempting her to flirt with him and thereby provoke her lover to
break with her ; she had injured him by being induced to flirt
with him and thus lead him to suppose she would marry him.
So the proposition stood in her mind. Mutually sinning and
sinned against, they were quits, she thought ; and, on her part,
she wished she might henceforth and for ever be quit of him and
his admiration. She had never imagined or desired that this ad-
miration would take the practical form of a declaration of love
and proposal of marriage. A little incense to her vanity was all
she had wanted from him.

His proposal gratified her in one way only. In the bitterness

i332.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 195

of her anger against her mother she was pleased to be able
(metaphorically speaking) to trample on that lady's ambitious
hopes, and to let her see that her intriguing had done nothing
but mischief. Too eager and anxious not to be observant, Mrs.
Gordon divined at once by Gartrell's manner, when she return-
ed to the drawing-room one morning after having absented her-
self for a time in order to give him the opportunity, which she
hoped and believed he desired, of speaking to her daughter, that
he had put his fate to the touch — and lost.

" Did not Mr. Gartrell offer himself this morning, Stella ? "
she inquired the first moment she obtained for speaking to Stella
privately, which, thanks to an influx of visitors at the time and
the manoeuvres of the latter afterwards, was not until she had
endured some hours of suspense.

" He did me that honor," answered Stella, with just the faint-
est inflection of irony in her voice.

"And you — ?" said her mother, outwardly calm, but in-
wardly palpitating with alarm at the bare suspicion which began
to dawn upon her.

" I declined the honor."

" You mean to tell me that you refused him ? " cried Mrs.
Gordon in a tone of violent anger.

" Certainly," was the cold reply.

It seemed at the moment as if mother and daughter had
changed characters. Mrs. Gordon, who had all her life been so
imperturb.ably tranquil in manner, was now excited beyond the
power of self-control. Her ample chest heaved with passion ;
her light blue eyes, which were too cold to flash, had a dull glow
in them ; she was absolutely inarticulate as* she gazed into her
daughter's face, on which was a look almost cruel, such utter in-
difference did it express. She had come into Stella's room in the
afternoon while the latter was dressing for a short journey she
was about to take, had sent Louise away, and abruptly asked the
question which was thus answered so much to her disappoint-
ment ; and it was not only disappointment and rage that she
now felt, but a sort of startled wonder at the change in Stella.
The singular immobility of the countenance habitually all flash-
ing vivacity, the perfect quiet of the attitude in which the girl
stood beside the toilet-table facing her mother, with her hands
resting on the marble, as motionless as if they had been part of
it, struck Mrs. Gordon as so unnatural that she was half-bewilder-
ed. A thrill of pain, almost remorse, shot through her heart ; but
it was followed the next instant by a rush of angry indignation.

196 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [May,

" You must have lost your senses ! " she exclaimed, regaining
the power of speech. " Silly and spoiled as you always were, I
never thought you could be capable of the idiocy of refusing
such a man as this ! "

" Tastes differ," said Stella carelessly. " Some people admire
Mr. Gartrell — you, mamma, for instance. I do not. I never
should have thought of marrying him, even if he had not been
the cause of my not being permitted to marry the man I loved."

" I am ashamed to hear you speak in this way ! " cried Mrs.
Gordon with vehement reproach. " I am ashamed that my
daughter has so little pride, is so destitute of the faintest senti-
ment of self-respect, as to boast of her love for a man who left
her — who rejected her — instead of despising and forgetting him ! "

" It is only the despicable whom it is possible to despise," an-
swered Stella quietly. " Mr. Southgate treated me as I deserv-
ed— I confess that. And as to forgetting him, I am not breaking
my heart about him. No one would accuse me of that, I am sure,"
she added, with a cynical smile that looked very much out of
place on her lips.

" Everybody will believe it, if you show so little sense as to
refuse Mr. Gartrell."

Stella shrugged her shoulders. " It is a matter of indiffer-
ence to me what everybody believes," she said.

" And pray whom do you expect to marry, if you throw away
such an offer as this ? " demanded her mother, in despair.

" Nobody, probably. But I manage to amuse myself well
enough, and that is all I care about for the present. The future
can take care of itself. And if I am at last left an old maid on
your hands, mamma, why, you will have only yourself to thank
for it, you know."

There was a ring of bitterness in the last words which silenc-
ed the burst of anger with which Mrs. Gordon's heart was swell-
ing. She turned and left the room without making any reply to
the reproach ; and Stella rang for her maid and resumed the in-
terrupted labors of her toilette.

An hour afterwards, having taken a cold leave of her mother,

she was on her way to visit a friend in W , a neighboring

town, half a day's journey away by rail.

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 197

IX.

IN the fresh fields and pastures new to which she had betaken
herself Stella found everything enjoyable. She was charmed to
be with her friend Gertrude Ingoldsby ; she was pleased with
the parents of her friend — kind, genial people, whose acquaint-
ance she had never made before ; and, best of all to her, in the

society of W there was plenty of food for powder — plenty

of young gentlemen who, without permanent injury to their
hearts, offered her that incense of admiration which she craved
as the inebriate does brandy.

Chief among the number of these admirers was Tom Ingolds-
by, a brother of her friend, who met her at the station on her ar-
rival, and straightway flung himself down and licked the dust of
her chariot-wheels. She appreciated such unhesitating and un-
reserved fealty, and accepted it graciously. As she often assur-
ed her friend, her time passed delightfully.

For a week. But circumstance, alas ! is mutable. At the end
of that short period there suddenly appeared a Mardochai sit-
ting in the gate of her triumphs.

There was an elder son of the house of Ingoldsby, who had
been absent from home when she arrived. He returned one
night, made his appearance at breakfast the next morning, and
her peace of mind, as well as his brother Tom's, was gone.

He did not bow down and offer involuntary homage of eye
and smile to her beauty, as most men did when they met her first.
Not being what is called a ladies' man, it was a matter of no con-
cern to him that a young lady was domiciled for the time in the
house. He was courteous but indifferent in manner when intro-
duced to her. " A pretty girl," he thought carelessly ; but the
piquant face which many men considered so bewitching had no
special attraction to him. Had he been in the way of admiring
women his ideal would have been different.

Stella was at first amazed at his insensibility, then disgusted,
then piqued, finally put upon her mettle. If Mr. Ferroll In-
goldsby had been aware of the counsel she took with her pillow
on the first opportunity she had for consulting that sole available
friend (she could not, of course, discuss with his sister the subject
of his intractability to the power of her charms) he might have
trembled at his danger, or — he might have smiled.

She had never intentionally been a coquette, only a flirt. To
excite admiration, not to inspire love, had been her amusement
hitherto. But she felt bloodthirsty now.

198 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [May,

" I should like to make that man love me," she said to her
confidant, the pillow, as she laid her head down upon it. " And
why not ? Shall I try ? A whole day in the same house, and he
has bowed to me three times ? Not a word beyond the most com-
monplace of social civilities ; not a look which he might not as well
have bestowed on the poker. Shall I submit to such treatment ?
I think not. Let me see: I have been here a week, and I came
to stay a month. Mrs. Ingoldsby said yesterday that she would
not hear of my staying only a month ; but mamma may interfere
and insist on my returning home. At all events I have three
weeks to count on, and that is long enough to do a great deal in,
particularly with mine enemy at such close quarters. Well, Mr.
Ferroll Ingoldsby, we shall see."

Mr. Ferroll Ingoldsby did see, what she vainly flattered herself
she was successfully concealing, that she was endeavoring to at-
tract him. And he was amused. He saw also that the face he
had at first considered merely pretty became much more than that
when daily association developed to his perception each detail
of its exquisite loveliness. He might have fallen wilfully into the
snare laid for him had not his growing admiration been check-
ed by one little circumstance — the suspicion, which indeed might
be called a conviction, that Tom's young affections had been tri-
fled with.

Tom was desperately in love and desperately miserable — that
was evident at a glance ; and, judging Stella by her effort to cap-
tivate himself, Ferroll blamed her for this more than she deserved.
Tom's infatuation had been instantaneous and voluntary — or, more
properly speaking, perhaps, involuntary ; her only fault in the mat-
ter being that, partly from vanity, partly from good-nature, she re-
ceived his adoration too kindly, thus fostering instead of repress-
ing it. Regarding him as a mere boy, she treated him with a
familiarity which he found intoxicating until it was contrasted
with her very different manner to his brother. He saw then that
she gave his love no serious thought, and the discovery was very
wounding to his amour propre. He had been gravely considering
of the responsibilities of married life ; and to be pulled up thus
abruptly in his dreams rendered him as sentimentally unhappy
as a conjunction of extreme youth and unsuccessful love gene-
rally makes a man.

His brother, while looking upon his fancied wretchedness as a
folly worthy only of a smile, was nevertheless- sufficiently sorry
for him to feel a little irritated against Stella; and, determined
not to afford her vanity any farther gratification, he carefully re-

I882.J STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 199

frained from paying her the slightest attention not demanded by
the common courtesy due to a guest in his father's house.

And so day after day passed, and Stella could not flatter her-
self that she was making the slightest progress toward her ob-
ject— had produced the least impression on this most unimpres-
sionable of men.

" What is he made of?" she thought, as he sat opposite her
one morning at breakfast, reading his newspaper, and never once
looking up from its columns, though he had only to lift his eyes
in order to take in the beautiful vision before him. She was
glancing at a paper herself, but was not so much interested in
its contents as to be deaf to the conversation around her.

" Ferroll," said Mrs. Ingoldsby suddenly, " I hope you are go-
ing to the ball to-night ? "

" I did not think of it," he said, lowering the sheet he held
and turning to her. " I rarely go to balls, you know."

" But that is not saying you ought not to go to them," Mrs.
Ingoldsby remarked in a highly moral tone. " I wish you were
more social in your habits. Suppose everybody ignored the
duties of social life as you do. What would the world come
to?"

<' My dear mother," said Ferroll, with a slight laugh, " your
supposition demands a stretch of imagination of which my ideal
faculties are incapable. The great majority of mankind are gre-
garious in nature. And especially in this stirring age of the
world there is not the least danger of too many people becom-
ing eremitical in life."

" It is your life I am thinking of," answered his mother, " not
the lives of other people."

" As to that," he said, with a smile and tone which took the
rough edge off the words he was about to utter, " I am afraid
you will have to take me as I am. And really I think you are a
little unreasonable. Of your three children two are eminently
social in instinct ; and two to one ought to satisfy you. Here
are Tom and Gertrude, who would willingly go to a ball every
night, and who are going to-night, I am sure. So I think —
don't you, father? — that I may be excused."

" I think that your place will be so well supplied in the
family party to-night," replied Mr. Ingoldsby, with a smile and
slight bow toward Stella — he was a courtly old gentleman —
" that, certainly, you may be excused."

With a flash of humor in his eyes Ferroll glanced trium-
phantly at his mother, who smiled gravely.

200 STELLA' s DISCIPLINE.

" You are a bad case," she said. " Your father always spoil-
ed you."

There is something very contagious in any sentiment shared
by numbers, albeit only an affair of a social gathering. Ferroll
Ingoldsby smiled to himself that evening as he was conscious of
a faint inclination to join the family party going to the ball. He
even went so far as to say to his mother, as he wrapped her
shawl around her in the hall :

" Pray present my compliments and apologies to Mrs. Ross.
Perhaps I may look in for a few minutes during the course of the
evening."

" I shall be very much gratified if you do," said his mother
earnestly.

But Gertrude laughed and exclaimed : " Don't flatter your-
self that he will remember that promise a minute after you are
out of sight, mamma."

Her prognostication would have been fulfilled but for the
occurrence of an unlooked-for circumstance. Ferroll had estab-
lished himself comfortably in dressing-gown and slippers, and,
utterly oblivious of the promise, was holding pleasant converse
with one of the friends he loved — a solid-looking volume — when
there was a loud ring of the door-bell.

It being late, he did not summon a servant, but opened the
door himself and found a telegraphic messenger waiting.

"Any answer, Mr. Ingoldsby? " the man said, as he deliver-
ed the black-lettered yellow envelope the unexpected sight of
which is always a little startling to the soundest nerves.

" I don't know," Mr. Ingoldsby replied when he had glanced
at the address on it. " But I will ascertain at once, and will send
an answer to the office in less than half an hour, if one is re-
quired."

The message was for Miss Gordon.

When the man was gone Ferroll, after a momentary pause
of deliberation, decided to carry the despatch to his mother
and let her decide whether it should be given to Miss Gordon
immediately. It might be of importance, or it might not. He
would not take the responsibility of withholding it. And having
engaged to appear for a short time among Mrs. Ross' guests, he
thought this necessary errand an apropos reminder to him. He
made a hurried toilet, and a minute's walk brought him to the
house of Mrs. Ross, which was near by.

The night was so mild that the front door was wide open :

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 201

he heard the clash of music and sound of dancing as he ap-
proached. His intention was that, as soon as he had made his
compliments to his hostess, he would find his mother and give
the telegram to her. But it is often as impossible to control
circumstance in small things as in great ones. He found it so
in the present instance. Stella, who with one or two favored at-
tendants was established high up on the staircase, from which
there was a good view of the hall-door, saw him as he entered.
To his surprise and that of her companions, she started up and
hurried down-stairs to meet him.

There was nothing in his face to have excited her alarm,
for at the moment he was not thinking of the telegram. Never-
theless, one of those inexplicable intuitions which sometimes pre-
sent themselves to the mind, not as possibilities but as certain-
ties, took possession of Stella at sight of him.

" Is anything the matter, Mr. Ingoldsby ? " she asked a.brupt-
ly as she came to his side.

" Why should you think so ? " he said, with a smile. But a
sense of uneasiness communicated itself to him as he saw that
she had grown a little pale ; and neither his voice nor his smile
was so reassuring as he intended it to be. " I promised my
mother, you know, to — "

" Something is the matter, I am sure," she interrupted ; and,
laying her hand on his arm, she drew him into an unoccupied
room on the opposite side of the hall. " Now tell me ! " she ex-
claimed, looking up in his face firmly, though the blood kept
ebbing from her face, leaving it momently paler and paler.

" My dear Miss Gordon," said Ferroll, shrinking, it must be
confessed, from the scene he feared might be impending, and
feeling that his mother, not he, was the proper person to face it,
yet unable to resist the questioning of her eye, " you are alarm-
ing yourself without cause, I hope. A telegram for you was de-
livered a few minutes ago, and I thought I would bring it to my
mother — "

He paused, as Stella extended her hand with an imperative
motion not to be disobeyed, and, taking the despatch from his
pocket, gave it to her.

With trembling fingers she tore open the envelope and un-
folded the enclosure.

As her eye fell on the words it contained everything grew
dark before her sight ; she reeled, and would have fallen if Mr.
Ingoldsby had not caught her in his arms and supported her to
a seat.

202 THE DESPONDENCY OF ST. PAUL. [May,

"What is it?" he asked, forgetting ceremony in the excite-
ment of the moment.

She lifted her hand as if with difficulty, and held toward him
the unfolded paper. He took it hastily, and read :

" Mrs. Gordon has met with an accident which may prove fatal.

" JAMES MCDONALD."

TO BE CONTINUED.

THE DESPONDENCY OF ST. PAUL.

" Lest that by any means when I have preached to others I myself become a castaway."
" For the good that I would, I do not ; but the evil which I would not, that I do."

AH ! make me what I am not,
The much, alas ! I claim not.
I cannot what I would be,
And sigh for all that should be.

T'ward thee, the Perfect, speeding,
The goal seems still receding.
Yet striving, praying, yearning,
Tho' feeble gain discerning.

By bonds I'd sever gladly
I'm hindered, ah ! how sadly :
Delay 'd with faint relenting,
With half-sincere repenting.

Yet sin shall cease, and sighing,
And many a woe, with dying ;
And Heaven reveal what could be —
If haply there I should be !

1 882.] DECA v OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. 203

DECAY OF FAITH AiMONG CATHOLIC PEOPLES.

Is there decay of faith among Catholic peoples ? We should
answer emphatically, No. It is a superficial observation^ of the
phenomena of society which leads persons to jump to conclu-
sions not warranted by the actual facts. Because radicalism
is noisy — radicalism religious and political — it is assumed that
the noise of blatant factions implies the sympathy of the nations
which suffer it. The inference, we repeat, is superficial. It
shows a want of philosophical observation. The appearance of
Catholic decadence is due solely to certain changes which have
come over the whole tone of society. It is due to vast political
changes ; to an immense upheaving in the ideas of political loy-
alty ; to the wide spread of literature, largely aided by an un-
principled press ; to the bustling interchange of peoples by
means of railways; to the lightning speed of communications
by the telegraph ; to the bubbling turmoil of worldly interests
through growth of business ; to the over-populating of great
towns, which breeds dissension ; to the complacency which
comes from reading about science without digesting so much
as its first principles ; to a sort of general impression that so
much movement, so much vitality, in the departments both of
inventiveness and development, must indicate an enlightenment
and progress which are inconsistent with severe Catholic rule.
From such phenomena, and from kindred ones, is bred a popu-
lar delusion that there must be some decay of the old faith% Yet
such phenomena, we repeat, are superficial. They are external
to the hearts of Catholic peoples. They present, we admit, the
appearance of decadence to such persons as do not understand
the Catholic life ; but to the philosophical Catholic they are no
more than brisk breezes wh.ich bend the boughs but not the
body of a great tree.

To consider such a subject with any practical advantage it is
desirable that we propose some elementary questions and en-
deavor to answer them explicitly. Our first question shall be
this : " What is the degree of sympathy which exists between
Catholic peoples and the governments which they are assumed
to have elected, or how far can the tone of a Catholic gov-
ernment be assumed to represent a Catholic people?" In an-

204 DECA Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. [May,

swering this question we admit that there is good ground for
a question which the London Standard put a few weeks ago :
" How comes it that so many Catholic nations seem to be alienat-
ed from the church ? " and our first answer shall be the assertion
that it is the governments which are alienated, and not in any
sense the majorities of the peoples. The truth is that the ma-
jority of Catholic peoples take but little practical interest in
their governments. Of France and of Italy, of Belgium, even of
Spain, it would be absurd to say that the ministries in power
represent the aspirations of majorities ; absurd to say that
Gambetta, Depretis, Frere Orban are types of the national ideal.
Not even politically, and certainly not religiously, are such min-
isters representative of majorities. It is well known that the
majorities of Catholic peoples try to keep out of the turmoil of
party factions, preferring to lead a quiet domestic life, to mind
their own business, or to say their prayers. It would be well
if they would care more for politics. It would be well if
they would regard it as a high Catholic duty to take their
share in securing Catholic governments. Instead of which they
leave such business to " brilliant " men of the world whose spe-
cial talents, or selfish interests, or fervid temperaments suggest
politics as a congenial vocation. To take one example out of
a hundred : Can it be said that M. Paul Bert, the elect of M.
Gambetta, was the elect of the majority of the French people ?
He was elected by M. Gambetta for the simple reason that he is
most offensive to the faith, feeling, and instinct of all good Catho-
lics. The democratic Caesar who now practically rules France
does not care a pin for French majorities. He hates Catholi-
cism ; therefore the majorities and their religion must be
snubbed or calumniated to please him. Is this representative
government ? Is this the liberty, the fraternity, the equality,
which were assumed to have enthroned the "sovereign people"?
Now that we are considering that very delicate question, " the
decay of faith among Catholic peoples," it is necessary that we
begin by affirming that appearances are very distinct things
from realities. Appearances are got up by noisy people who
insist that everybody is as bad as themselves, and who point
'to the governments of (ancient) Catholic peoples in proof that
the peoples are non-Catholic. We repudiate the inference on the
three following grounds, and we shall add additional testimony
by and by : First, we say that the accident of a non-Catholic gov-
ernment is not brought about on religious grounds, but by the
deceit of fair promises of national liberties. Secondly, the actual

1 882.] DECA Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. 205

exercise of an anti-Catholic policy is repudiated with disgust
by majorities. Thirdly, the numerous interests, both in home
and foreign politics, which are involved in the stability of any
government render it desirable to put up with a strong govern-
ment which is disliked rather than to supplant it by a weak one
which would be approved. These are three reasons out of many
why, in these days of colossal movements, mere politics must
not be accepted as conclusive. The very utmost that they can
be taken to show is that, all nations being on the alarm, their
guards and keepers must be chosen for their muscle. Just as a man
who would guard his house seeks for a giant with broad should-
ers who is capable of resisting a stalwart enemy, so in states
people prefer an " iron chancellor," albeit they dislike him for his
tyranny, or a prime minister who can say, " L'etat, c'est moi," al-
beit he adds, " Le clericalisme, c'est le mal." And thus, too, any
" raison d'etat," or even any wicked " coup d'etat," is made to
justify a successful " homme d'e"tat," because patriotic interests,
as they are politically apprehended, take precedence in what are
supposed to be pure politics. It is not that majorities prefer
irreligion because their political masters are irreligious, or, con-
versely, that they have chosen such masters on account of their
anti- Catholic demerits; it is simply that A B being a states-
man of strong arm, but C D a mere David without a sling, the
interests of a country demand the stoutest of champions, while
good Catholics shrug their shoulders and say, " Alas ! "

It is the same with regard to dynasties as to ministries ; they
may be made or they may be unmade as a " choice of evils."
For example, why did the French Catholic clergy favor Napo-
leon III., who was known to have been allied with the secret
societies, save only because he was an improvement on the red-
handed radicalism which threatened to pull down church and
state ? To take a still more extreme case, why did some of the
Italian clergy feel a sense of relief when Victor Emanuel had
entered Rome, save only because it was a toss-up at that par-
ticular moment between his usurpation or Garibaldi's ? Indeed,
the history of Italian politics during the last eleven years fur-
nishes the best possible proof of our contention that religion
must not be judged by its politics. Three-fourths of Italians are
"good Catholics" — in the sense, that is, of holding the Catholic
faith. The majority of these "good Catholics " are shocked at
the impropriety of treating the Holy Father as a subject. Yet
the sort of reasoning with which they try to calm their con-
sciences might probably be cast in this form : " It is true that

206 DEC A Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. [May,

the Holy Father ought to have his own ; true that Victor Ema-
nuel was a usurper; true that his majesty was helped to rob
Pius IX. by a crowd of ruffians who gloried in unbelief; true
that we do not approve of this vulgar secularizing of Catholic
Rome, which has always been unique in characteristics, and which
is the capital of Christendom, not of Italy. But at least now we
have a government that does not tear up the stone pavements
with which to murder priests or smash altars ; and so far we have
a negative gain, and one that keeps ruffians in check. In God's
good time may the pope be reinstated ; but it is not for us to be
the first to risk the wickedness of a red-shirted raid on holy
places. We know what that has meant, and we would not see
it again. And, therefore, though we despise the Depretis, and
th*e Mancihis, and the apologetic Petrucelli della Gattinas, and
all the half-hearted crew of political worldlings, we say, ' Let
risky politics alone, and let us mind our own business and do our
duties.' '

Nor do we consider that such a tone of apology can be re-
garded as a self-accusation, or as vindicating the adversary's es-
timate as to the " decay of faith among Catholic peoples." It is
common for even educated persons in England to speak disdain-
fully of Continental populations, on the ground that they cannot
be sincere or they would quickly act up to their own convictions.
" You see," they will remark to us — and a hundred journalists
write the same thing — " that so great is the decay of faith among
your Catholic peoples that you actually prefer a Humbert to
a Leo XIII., or a Gambetta to a Henry V.; while as to most of
your Catholic governments, you put the worst men in the best
places and applaud the scoffing bullies who chastise you." Let
us frankly admit at once that there is a disgraceful pusillanimity
in many a section of great Catholic communities ; in other words,
that human nature is much the same in Catholic countries as it is
in such countries as are not Catholic. What of this ? Does it
prove a decay of faith ? There is a natural and a supernatural
side not only to all Catholics but to the church itself ; and it is
the confusion of the two sides which leads non-Catholics into
grave errors when judging of what they call the " decay of faith."
A man may be a thoroughly sound Catholic, not only in belief
but in practice, and yet he may be wanting in those robust natu-
ral gifts which would make him a marvel of chivalry. Nay, a
man may be " half a saint," and yet not feel it his vocation to
break his head against brick walls of obstinacy. We do not see
that the good Italians, the good Frenchmen, the good Belgians

1 882.] DECA Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. 207

should lose their character .because they live in stubborn times.
Granted that anti-Catholics are more savage in their enmity
than good Catholics are robust in their fidelity ; we say that it
is characteristic of the great mass of good people to be rather
submissive than combative.

Moreover, let it be remembered that submission to authority
— to a de facto though not a de jure authority — is a binding obli-
gation upon Catholics. Lord Macaulay, in one of his masterly
smnmaries, shows that the early Christians submitted to the
pagan emperors in everything that did not cross the divine law.
And the same rule holds good in the nineteenth century. How-
ever much good Catholics may abhor a wicked government or
be ready at the right moment to fight for justice, they are not
permitted to sow civil or religious discord, save only when the
divine law seems to sanction it. And, therefore, we plead that
the " decay of faith among Catholic peoples " is not to be argued
from their apparent want of heroism, nor from their apparent
acquiescence in pagan rule, nor from their relegating political
earnestness to unbelievers (such phenomena may indeed indi-
cate a certain weakness in the moral order, a want of robustness
or of activity in public life) ; the appearance of the decay of faith
is due exclusively to certain accidents which are extraneous to
the Catholic faith, the Catholic life. And at this point we would
allude briefly to that great rebellion and parent evil which,
first religiously, then politically, then socially, was responsible for
the phenomena of which we speak.

The " principle " of the Reformation was the repudiation of
divine authority and the substitution of the regal or the civil.
But if religious authority was not divine, neither could regal
authority be divine, neither could the political nor the civil.
Hence the logical issue of Protestantism was revolution. For a
long time the sacred traditions of the " old religion " kept Pro-
testants from becoming too logical, but at the close of the last
century there burst over Europe the full logical outcome of the
Reformation. The Goddess Reason was enthroned in Notre-
Dame, and men spoke what before they had only dreamed. Now,
the point to be observed in connection with our subject is that
this outburst shook every throne in Europe, causing the princi-
ple of government to be assailed with the same radicalism which
had already assailed divine authority. It is true that the Revo- .
lution soon shook itself into its senses and society became more
or less calmed ; but from that moment to this men have spoken
and written what before was only whispered in closets. The

208 DECA Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. [May,

Voltaires, the Jean-Jacques, the Saint-Justs, the Camille Desmou-
lins, the Dantons, the Chaumettes, the Robespierres, with their
fantastic but really atheistic theories of what they were pleased
to call the "etre supreme," have been followed in this genera-
tion by the Gambettas, the Paul Berts, the Castagnarys (as, in
England, by the ridiculous Mr. Bradlaugh), who are blatant
against Catholicism, though they have no religion of their own,
except, of course, " la religion naturelle." This, then, is the
political development. This is the political generation. But
the social and the literary generations have been kindred with
the political and the religious. From the example of lofty
personages in political position has grown the fashion of blatant
scepticism or free-thought ; so that it is now deemed respecta-
ble for men to write blasphemy, which at one time would have
consigned them to the pillory. All the proprieties of literature
have become subverted, so that magazines of high quality and
first-class daily papers write in tones of the most reverent appre-
ciation of every talented venture against religion ; while " sci-
ence " has come to mean the logic of materialism verstis faith,
and " enlightenment " the grossest darkness as to the future.
This, then, is the literary development. This is the generation
of the Revolution. This is the natural outcome of the principles
of the Reformation, crowned as they were in 1789.

Now, in judging of the " decay of faith among Catholic peo-
ples " we would hazard the two following propositions : first,
that the modern blatancy of what is ridiculously called free-
thought is a perfectly natural development of a free press, fol-
lowing as it does on the syllogistic working-out of the principles
of the Reformation plus the Revolution ; secondly, that the very
people who are now professedly infidel would in any age have
been worldly or indifferent, the change of fashion during the
last generation having but substituted free-thinking for free-
living. The chain of sequences was perfectly natural, perhaps
inevitable. Abyssus abyssum invocat. Our grandfathers had not
recovered from the shock of the Revolution, and were too con-
servative to allow free-thought even in whispers ; but within the
last, say, forty years intellectual fashions have developed — lite-
rary fashions, social fashions, conversational fashions — and men
now speak out scepticism without reproach. Whereas in draw-
ing-rooms, or even in smoking-rooms, some thirty or forty years
ago it was thought " bad style " to so much as suggest sceptical
views, it is now thought consistent with high breeding, even
high principle, to question the raison d'etre of the etre supreme.

1 882.] DEC A Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. 209

Does this show a " decay of Catholic faith " ? We do not admit
the imputation in the least. We believe, as we have said, that
the developments in "fashion " — as good a word as any other for
the world's changes — are but the natural working-out of Protes-
tant "principles," wholly extraneous not only to the faith but
to the life of all persons who are Catholics ; that such develop-
ments have not diminished the number of Catholics — in other
words, have not caused " decay of faith " — but that the same
classes of people who are noisy sceptics in these days would in
earlier days have been loose or reckless men, the sole difference
in their attitude being derived from an impunity which is begot-
ten of the literary fashion. It is the fashion (thanks to the issues
of the Reformation plus the issues of the naturally consequent
Revolution) to investigate, or to imagine that we do so, the
grounds of revelation and authority; to follow up science to its
first sources, or what we imagine to be its first sources ; to assert
that education confers the right of analysis not only of all things
human but of things divine. This fashion breeds an infinity of
talking. It breeds also an infinity of scribbling. It breeds an
infinity of complacency and of bold superficiality, which are mis-
taken for research or thinking power. Hence outside the
church there is a decay of rational gravity, though inside there
is no decay of faith. Good Catholics are now precisely what
they were in the days of the saintly Louis or the English Con-
fessor, while outsiders have changed heresies about doctrines
for heresies about the Eternal " 1 Am." The whole process is
extraneous and quite natural. Error must have its developments
precisely as has truth ; only error must abandon more and more,
while truth must define more and more. This is just precisely
what has happened. In the proportion of the increasing gran-
deur of the fabric of truth has been the digging-up of all foun-
dations by its enemy ; only the process by the enemy has been
suicidal : it has not done the slightest harm to the truth.

So that the general conclusion to which we have arrived is
that the appearance, not the reality, of the decay of faith is due
solely to the development of that Protestantism which imagines
that it has tried to save the church ! Good Protestants say to us
(their clergymen preach it) : " See what the corruptions of the
Church of Rome have generated in all Catholic countries." Our
answer is : " See what the corrupting influence of anti-Catholic
principles has generated in European society." As a matter of
statistics, there are more Catholics now than when Henry VIII.
declared himself to be pope — more Catholics proportionately to,

VOL. xxxv. — 14

2 io DECA Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. [May,

the increase of populations, not only numerically more Catholics.
Lord Macaulay's bold assertion that, a hundred years after the
Reformation, the church had gained more in the New World than
she had lost by the Reformation in the Old World, might be sup-
plemented by the estimate that even in the Old World there are
more Catholics now than there ever were. There is no need to
speak of the organization of fifty dioceses — of what might be called
a complete new-born Catholic Church — in the United States, or
of the colossal work of the Propaganda in Australia, in Tasma-
nia, in half a hundred apostolic mission-settlements ; nor, to come
nearer to the fountains of the " reformed religion," need we
speak of the re-establishment of Catholic hierarchies in Holland,
in England, in Scotland ; we may assert — to quote the words of
a French writer — that "in France, Spain, Portugal, Belgium,
Austria, even Germany, the constitutions ' Dei Filius,' ' Pastor
YEternus,' the encyclicals ' Mirari Vos,' ' Quanta Cura,' have
been addressed both to more numerous and more willing ears
than they could have been two centuries ago." There is no
" decay of faith among Catholic peoples." In the German Em-
pire there are fifteen million Catholics, against twenty-five million
evangelicals — that is, more than one-half of the " Christians "; in
Austria-Hungary there are twenty-three million Catholics, against
about four million evangelicals ; in France there are thirty-five
million Catholics, against about half a million evangelicals ; even
in Great Britain and Ireland there are six million Catholics,
against about twenty-six million (all kinds) Protestants ; in Italy
there are twenty-six million Catholics, against about one hundred
thousand Protestants; in Spain there are sixteen million Catho-
lics, against about two hundred thousand Protestants ; in Belgium
there are four million Catholics, against about sixteen thousand
Protestants ; in the Netherlands half the (Christian) population
is Catholic ; while of the United States it is needless to speak
here, since the statistics are sufficiently well known. But, it will
be replied, " These are but census statistics ; and every one
knows they are unreliable." Well, we will grant it ; but they are
equally unreliable on both sides, and therefore let us accept
them in round numbers. " Yes, but," will reply the objector,
" you do not give us the census of those who prove the ' Catholic
decay ' ; you do not tell us of the millions who ought to be Catho-
lics, by .education, by country, by surroundings ; and it is just
here that we charge you with decay."

Now, we have already replied that all anti-Catholic phe-
nomena are extraneous to the Catholic life, and that they are

1 882.] DEC A Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. 2 1 1

generated by contact of the social sides of Catholicism with the
social sides of all sects of modern thought. We have sought to
show that politics, literature, social movements have necessarily
generated such phenomena ; the " fashions " of our time all
springing, by natural sequence, from the principles of the Re-
formation plus the Revolution. It remains yet that we speak of
another important point: the discrimination between different
classes of free-talkers — a discrimination not often made by non-
Catholics, yet important to the completion of our argument.

Let us divide all the persons who are quoted by the adver-
sary as proving "the decay of faith among Catholic peoples"
into three perfectly distinct (mental) classes : (i) the professed
infidels, (2) the sceptics, (3) the weak Catholics.

Of the professed infidels it must be confessed that the spirit
of the Revolutionists has descended on the Gambettas and the
Berts — perhaps a worse spirit even than that of Robespierre, who
at least wished to decree that " there is a God " and to found a
gospel according to Jean-Jacques. Yet since this class is but
the natural offspring of the Revolution, and has no affinity with
even the superficies of Catholicism, it need not be discussed, ex-
cept to say that its numbers are as insignificant as they are noisy
.and vulgar. One "professed infidel" makes more row in his
generation than five hundred ordinarily loose-living men ; and if
you polled all the nations of the Continent on the subject you
would find few who would enrol themselves in the category.
The Bradlaughs of the Continent are, like the Bradlaughs of
England, pinnacled by their rareness and their audacity.

Of the " sceptics" — the men who have their doubts, and who
express them without fear but without arrogance — it is necessary
that we speak with much caution. There are many different class-
es of sceptics. But we are about to speak only of those species of
the genus sceptic which are assumed to be " Catholic-bred." Let
us say, then, that there are five distinct species, of which the gene-
sis may be easily traced : (i) the Sceptic Slothful, whose scepti-
cism means simply that he won't be hampered by any restraints
on easy living ; (2) the Sceptic Scientific, who, having mastered a
little science, has allowed his little science to master him; (3) the
Sceptic Scandalized, who has allowed the human side of Catho-
licism to blind his soul to the side which is divine; (4) the
Sceptic Liberal,, who, witnessing the fact of a hundred religions,
is too magnanimous to make invidious distinctions ; (5) the Scep-
tic Political, who adopts his scepticism for this sound reason :
that it is hated by the conservatives whom he hates. It is of the

212 DECA Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. [May,

last two species only that we will say a word or two, since the
first three require no explanation.

Of the Sceptic Liberal who, witnessing the fact of a hundred
religions, is too magnanimous to make invidious distinctions, we
are bound to say that Protestant principles alone are responsible
for the possibility of his existence. Religious liberty having
given the right of inventing every heresy, and civil liberty
having given the right of publicly practising it, the world pre-
sents the spectacle of as many varieties of faith as there are
varieties in the shiftings of a kaleidoscope. The superficial
Catholic who mistakes natural phenomena for indications of
the will of Divine Providence, and who argues that the per-
mission of so many religions shows that good people need not
necessarily be Catholics, permits himself the luxury of a mag-
nificent charity which comprehends all beliefs under one will.
This is what is called religious liberalism. And its offshoot is
scepticism as to the oneness of the true religion, in the sense of
the oneness of divine faith. Of this kind of scepticism there is
a good deal. In Catholic countries, if you take a place at a din-
ner-table, say, in some hotel which is frequented by commercial
travellers, you hear a marvellous display of the most magnificent
charity (especially if there be an Englishman at the table) on the
subject of the comprehensiveness of true religion. This "talk"
is really scepticism of the moral sort, proceeding from moral
weakness, moral cowardice. Still, scepticism it is, and most
practical in its fruits ; for the victims of it are invariably careless
men.

Of the Sceptic Political it is necessary to trace the origin
with some little care and analysis.

Democratic ideas plus the wildest empiricism have developed
the popular conviction that newness is in itself a real good, and
not a good only relatively or conditionally. Newness, both reli-
gious and political, is regarded by most half-educated democrats
as a thing to be aimed at and to be cherished. But this new-
ness has one particular charm, and this charm is its opposite-
ness to conservatism. Whatever is conservative is hated by that
class with which " democracy " means simply bitter radicalism.
Now, we shall see in one moment why the species Sceptic Poli-
tical is a perfectly natural (but not Catholic) development.

Society was formerly the governing force of the world ; so-
ciety always cherished religion ; religion is therefore disliked by
the democrats because it was society's chief force. If we should
attempt to define the aspiration of this sort of democracy we

1 882. J DECA Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. 2 1 3

might say it is '• the unification of classes "; but since class uni-
fication cannot possibly be achieved save by pulling down the
higher levels to the lower levels, religion has become unset-
tled because a settled religion was one of the strongest (political)
weapons in society's armory. And free-thinking and free-talk-
ing have become a political fashion, as expressive of democratic
aspiration — not necessarily from loss of faith in the old Catho-
licism, but from intense party hatred of conservatism. Angry
scepticism is a twin-sister of angry radicalism. It is a not un-
natural generation from revolution. It is not necessarily irreli-
gious in its first intention ; it is a fruit of class hatred, of irrita-
tion. Nine-tenths of it is bubble and twaddle, and has no legs,
though it has wings and can flutter. We must pity, even more
than blame, most of its victims. We must defend such "scep-
tical Catholics " against themselves. If they lived in quiet times,
if there were no social revolution, their scepticism would be as
extinct as their hatred. But in the ardent southern mind what-
ever is hated is hated thoroughly, including everything that ap-
pertains to the thing hated.

And this reflection will lead us to insist yet more particularly
on the point of purely natural characteristics. We have sought
to draw a distinction between political phenomena and such
phenomena as appear to be religious. It is equally important
to draw a distinction between the characteristics of the British
mind — that mind which is so scandalized by " Catholic decay " —
and the characteristics of the mind of the Catholic southerner.
A " Catholic sceptic " — or one who is assumed to be so — may
indulge himself in all sorts of flights of fancy which are easily
misapprehended by non-Catholics. The Frenchman, the Italian,
the Spaniard — with a naturally more vivid imagination, a more
ardent or at least mercurial temperament, than the cold north-
erner who has been brought up in Protestantism — will say a
hundred different things about religion or its accidents which
must be accepted as the mere chatter of fancy. He may mean
what he says, as an inference from an hypothesis ; but then the
hypothesis is itself but his own imagining, and he converses
with a non-Catholic without knowing or caring to know that the
non-Catholic does not know what he knows. Hence the non-
Catholic will run away with the wrongly formed impression that
every chatty, frisky Frenchman is an infidel ; whereas, in nine
cases out of ten, .the frisky chatter is but the homage which is
being paid to the modern " fashion " of free-talking. This is a
very important fact in the consideration of the question as to

214 DECA Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. [May,

." decay of faith among Catholic peoples." Many a Catholic on
the Continent will entertain you for an hour with his fun about
scientific infidelity, and will seem, to the uninitiated, to be a cav-
iler. Like the witty American who wrote the " Bible of the
Future," in grave, rounded periods or stilted verses, such as,
" Primarily the Unknowable moved upon cosmos and evolved
protoplasm," in the same spirit the chatty southerner will talk
an immense amount of nonsense while being probably all the
while not a bad Catholic.

And so, too, in England (for it is as well just to allude to it)
there are Catholic students of Professor Tyndall who love to
talk about the " gaps" between the Nothing and the Something,
between the brute of any class and the first man ; just as there
are students of Professor Darwin who think that evolution
(theoretically) might be vindicated without damage to Catho-
licism. But these students do not on these accounts think of
questioning the Old Testament nor of entertaining a shadow of
doubt about the New. The point we would insist upon is that
the "fashion" of the day is to talk about everything and to
seem to know it ; and to talk, too, of all matters in a frank, reck-
less way without regard to the inference which may be drawn.
Hence the imputation of " mild scepticism." For every one Eng-
lish Catholic who is really sceptical, even mildly so, a hundred
might be so reputed without deserving it ; nor do we believe
that within the Catholic body in England there are a dozen
sceptically disposed Catholic men.

If from the class of " mild sceptics " we pass to that of " weak
Catholics " a very few words will suffice. Let it be remembered
that the immense majority of mankind are deficient in these two
respects : the power of reasoning accurately, with its correlative,
talking accurately ; and the gift of a grand moral courage.
Divide what is commonly talked about religion by a divisor of,
say, from two to two hundred, and you might still be a long way
off from really knowing what to think of the " deep religious
convictions " of most persons. And so, too, of moral courage.
Not one man in a hundred likes to say " straight out " what he
thinks, from fear of giving offence to his hearer or from fear of
seeming himself to be complacent. Hence what are called
" weak Catholics " are, for the most part, merely Catholics who
are wanting in robust intellect or in moral courage. That is,
they are like the rest of mankind. And why should Catholics
chatter about their consciences? Catholics chatter less than
other " religionists," because they have to be real in their con-

1 882.] DECA Y OF FAITH AMONG CA THOLIC PEOPLES. 2 1 5

fessions. The " sacrament of truth " makes Catholics dislike
chattering, or even talking with normal candor, about their con-
sciences.

So that, if by " weak Catholics " are meant Catholics with
weak faith, we do not see how we are to know much about it.
Nor do we see what business it is of anybody's. Suffice it that
normal Catholics are at least as earnest as other " religionists,"
while a minority are most indubitably more earnest ; there is no
argument to be built as to the " decay of faith among Catholic
peoples " upon the superficial appearances of Catholic life.

And thus, finally, we arrive at these eight conclusions, which
we think have been sufficiently vindicated : first, that the general
turmoil of the increasing " business " of the world would neces-
sarily give an appearance of religious decadence ; secondly, that
infidel political representatives are the accidents of political
revolutions ; thirdly, that the principles of the Reformation plus
the Revolution have naturally generated the religious, the lite-
rary, the social phenomena which are commonly classed under
the heading, modern thought ; fourthly, that an (apparent) de-
cadence is fully accounted for by the modern " fashion " of co-
pious scribbling, copious talking, about everything ; fifthly, that
all such phenomena are extraneous to the Catholic life, and do
not touch even its (spiritual) superficies ; sixthly, that numerical-
ly, and proportionately to the population, there are more Ca-
tholics now than there ever were ; seventhly, that professed in-
fidels are very few, and mild sceptics easily accounted for on na-
tural grounds ; while, eighthly, weak Catholics are no more weak
than anybody else, and have no reason to be ashamed of their
exceptionalness.

216 THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [May,
THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY.

TERTULLIAN.

TERTULLIAN forms one of the principal links between the
second and the third centuries. He was born near the middle of
the second, A.D. 150-160, and died in the first or second quarter
of the third century, A.D. 220-240. He was the son of a Roman
officer stationed at Carthage ; he was very well and thoroughly
educated in his youth, probably in Roman law as well as in the
polite letters, and was a person of remarkably strong intellect
and character. He lived as a pagan until some time after he at-
tained his thirtieth year, became a most strict and fervent Chris-
tian after his conversion, and was raised to the priesthood within
a few years from the time of his baptism. He was at Rome for
a time, but the greater part of his life was spent in Africa. Be-
ginning as a zealous adherent and champion of the Catholic
Church against all forms of infidelity and heresy, he became in
process of time a Montanist and the great chief of that sect, in
which he continued to the end of his life. Mr. Allnatt gives the
dates of his history as follows: His birth, A.D. 150; conversion,
185 f ordination, 192 ; apostasy, 199 ; death, about 220. Some of
his works were composed before and others after he became a
heretic, and all have the very highest value, partly because of
the strength of their reasoning on all points in which he was or-
thodox, partly as testimonies to the Catholic doctrine and disci-
pline of his day, his later works being in some respects in this
latter quality of greater importance than the earlier ones.

No distinguished man who has seceded from the church has
been so deeply and sorrowfully lamented by her children as Ter-
tullian. No one has received so much respect or retained so
much influence as a writer, even in spite of his fall, as he. Some,
indeed, have given to Origen a position even more conspicuous
in the same category. It is, however, by no means certain or
universally believed that he belongs in the same category at all,
notwithstanding the deservedly severe censures which have been
passed upon certain errors contained in his writings as we have
them. One reason for this exceptional treatment of Tertullian is
found in the admiration which his marked intellectual superior-
ity has always awakened, and in the quality of his works. St.

iS82.j THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 217

Cyprian, who read them constantly, used to say when he called
for one of his books : " Da magistnim — Give me my master." St.
Vincent of Lerins writes: " Who can express the praises which
he deserves, whose so many words almost are- so many sentences,
whose so many senses so many victories?" (Comm., c. xviii.)
Then, while his earliest writings are Catholic, his later ones are in
part so conformed to orthodox doctrine that it is difficult to sepa-
rate with precision those works which were pre-Montanist from
those which were post-Montanist, and even those which contain
unmistakable errors give the most valuable testimony to what was
Catholic doctrine and discipline in attacking both the one and
the other. Hence they have all remained among the most pre-
cious remains of Christian antiquity, and their author has done
signal service to the cause of the church in all ages, his errors
being so extravagant, so completely obsolete, and so unattrac-
tive as to be harmless.

Another reason is to be found in the natural heroism and no-
bility of the man's character and the consistent severity of his
morals, which added much to his intellectual prestige, while his
capital vice of pride was one which men commonly are prone to
pardon easily in a great man.

The heresy of Montanism started up in Phrygia at some
epoch not certainly determined by any agreeing judgment of the
learned, between A.D. 126 and 171, but undoubtedly nearer the
latter than the former date. Its authors, Montanus, Priscilla, and
Maximilla, professed to have received some new revelation from
the Holy Spirit. After some delay and hesitation they were
condemned and excommunicated, and they founded a sect which,
as usual, was afterwards subdivided into parties varying from
each other in doctrine and discipline, and continued to exist until
the fifth century. The Montanists did not pretend to accuse the
Catholic Church of having altered the apostolic faith and disci-
pline in respect to their constitutive principles. They claimed
to have received a new light from the Paraclete, and to have an
immediate divine commission for inaugurating a more perfect
and spiritual way of life, a more -advanced Christianity which
was an improvement of that which the apostles had promulgated.
They condemned all heretics condemned by the church, and did
not reckon Catholics among heretics or pseudo-Christians, but
called them Psychical Christians, while they claimed to be Spiritual
Christians. They foretold the speedy coming of judgment and
the end of the present world, to be followed by a millenarian
kingdom of Christ, with the New Jerusalem, located in Phrygia,

2 1 8 THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTUR Y. [May,

as its capital. Hence, they said, it was time for all Christians to
begin a new and more perfect life, to abjure all second marriages,
to fast more strictly, never to seek to escape persecution, to ex-
clude all who had sinned grievously after baptism from ecclesi-
astical communion, if possible to practise strict continence, to
have done with this world entirely, and to prepare themselves
for the approaching Second Advent of the Lord.

It seems as strange as it is sad that such a man as Tertul-
lian, who, as St. Vincent of Lerins says, " overthrew the blasphe-
mous opinions ol Marcion, Apelles, Praxeas, and Hermogenes, of
Jews, Gentiles, Gnostics, and many others, with his many and
great volumes, as it had been with thunderbolts," should have
become the dupe of such an irrational and fanatical delusion.
Without doubt it was pride and self-confidence which quenched
the grace of God in his soul, caused him to rebel against the liv-
ing, present authority of the teachers and rulers of the church,
and was fittingly punished by his shameful fall into a degrading
captivity under the dominion of three impostors. There is, nev-
ertheless, a further question to be investigated — viz., what was
the attraction and the plausibility in the Montanist heresy by
which Tertullian was tempted and deluded, the weak spot in his
mental and moral condition on which the fatal sophistry fastened
its hold. His apprehension of Catholic principles- was remarka-
bly clear, and he did not formally renounce them. Yet his prac-
tical conclusions and acts were in diametrical opposition to the
logic of these principles. His beginning was that of a devout
child and intrepid champion of the church, and he did not pre-
tend that he had made a mistake by serving under a banner to
which he did not owe allegiance. Yet he ended in apostasy and
enmity to the church. Since,. then, Tertullian did not pretend to
have been converted from error to the truth, from a sect to the true
church, and we cannot suppose that he deliberately resolved to
turn his back on the truth as truth, and on the true church as iJie
church, how can we explain the motive and plea by which he justi-
fied himself to himself for his secession, and covered from his own
mental sight the logical contradiction which changed his course
like that of a ship in a fog? The answer to this query has been
implicitly given in the explanation of the Montanist heresy. We
know very little of the personal history of Tertullian, and what
is said about the proximate ostensible causes of his secession by
writers of the fourth century has not the certainty of contempo-
rary evidence. We have to infer from the exhibition which he
."nakes of himself in his writings what the points of contact were

i882.] THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 219

between himself and the pseudo-prophets of Montanism, and the
points of repulsion between his subjective views and the position
taken by Catholics in his day. Whatever personal differences
he may have had with tne clergy of Rome and Carthage, or par-
ticular grievances he may have nourished in his soul, it seems
evident that he went astray through a passionate discontent and
impatience with that human and earthly alloy which must un-
avoidably always debase the visible church in so far as it is a
society of imperfect men. In comparison with the ideal which
glittered before his imagination, he despised the reality with
which he was acquainted by experience. Keenness of intellect
and loftiness of soul are no safeguards against the illusions of in-
tellectual and spiritual pride, and ascetic severity of life is no in-
fallible antidote for either of these passions, which are sometimes
fomented and heightened by those very means which subdue the
passions of animal nature. Humility and obedience must be
joined with mortification of the senses to make self-abnegation
interior and perfect. Tertullian was deficient in humility and
abjured obedience. He scorned the " turba episcoporum" re-
garding himself as more enlightened and holy than they. Yet
he could not formally reject the principle of apostolic authority,
or deny the legitimacy of episcopal succession in the chairs of
the apostles, without flagrantly contradicting all his own teach-
ing. It needed a subtle illusion, a specious sophistry to make him
nullify in practice what he had -theoretically maintained. This
specious pretext was offered to him by Montanism. It present-
ed what in modern language would be called " a higher plane,"
where he could soar aloft in freedom, raised alike above the
unintelligent Protestantism of the heresies and the Catholicity
which had become antiquated, unprogressive, and obsolete by
refusing to follow the new light of the revelations of the Para-
clete. He was a precursor of many followers, who, unable to
shut their eyes to the perfect legitimacy of the Catholic Church,
escape from the duty of submitting to her authority by a pre-
tence of some farther and more perfect development of Chris-
tianity, virtually contained in its primitive form, and by a false
distinction between what is divine and essential and what is ec-
clesiastical and accidental in the institution of Christ.

Tertullian made this distinction. He did not formally re-
tract or deny what he had so invincibly established on Catholic
principles against his predecessors in heresy. But he distin*
guished something temporary and imperfect from that which
was permanent and complete in apostolic doctrine and disci-

220 THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [May,

pline. The latter, according to him, consisted in the fundamen-
tal articles of the faith, the sacraments, and the primary laws of
morality. The former lay in the hierarchical order, and in the
indulgence conceded to what he considered was a state of Chris-
tian childhood by certain lenient rules of discipline. This was
the false doctrine which made Montanism more than a mere re-
bellion against authority, or a schism — that is, made it to be an
actual heresy. It subverted the divine and perpetual right of
the apostolic episcopate under its head, the Roman Pontiff, as
the teaching and ruling authority in the church. It treated this
right as a merely ecclesiastical commission which had fulfilled
its purpose and lapsed, being supplanted by a new prophetical
mission from the Paraclete. The assembly of the truly spiritual
Christians — viz., the disciples of the three prophets — possessed
the virtual priesthood and all the gifts of the apostles in even
greater perfection than the apostles themselves, and could estab-
lish a new hierarchy out of the fulness of its power. So Tertul-
lian, without any scruple, turned his back on the Catholic Church,
and, later, seceded from the main body of his fellow-seceders to
make a little sect of his own devising whose members were call-
ed Tertullianists. Henceforth his history fades away into ob-
scurity. As a sectary he had no career and left no mark. The
most noteworthy of the peculiarities of his teaching as a Montan-
ist is the opinion of the materiality of the soul. This absurdity
he sustains by the authority of the crazy Maximilla, who saw a
soul while in an ecstasy and described it to him. The pith of
Tertullian's writings is Catholic, and aM his greatness and all his
fame are heirlooms from that brief period of bloom and fruitage
which promised so much but ended in a blight. But it is now
time to take his testimony.

Tertullian was partly contemporary with Irenasus and may
be regarded as his disciple and continuator ; for he was a great
reader of his writings and reproduces his ideas, especially in the
treatise, written while he was a Catholic, entitled On Prescrip-
tion against Heretics. The object of this treatise is to establish a
prescriptive rule of orthodox and Catholic doctrine against all
heresies whatsoever, a formal demurrer or plea in bar, happily
styled in French un fin de non recevoir, which shuts them out, in
hmine, from all right to appear and argue their cause in court.
This criterion is found in the testimony of the church to the
apostolic doctrine she has received, transmitted intact, and has
been perpetually teaching from the very times of the apostles.
The principal depositories of this doctrine are the great apos-

1 882.] THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 221

tolic sees, among which the . Roman See is pre-eminent, from
which the other churches derive their title to be called apostolic
through communion with these great churches.

Tertullian begins his plea by distinguishing true Christians as
those who have found and possess the truth, from heretics who
•are professedly seekers after it. Their invitation to go on a
search for the discovery of the truth in the Scriptures must be
rejected. To discuss the Scriptures with them is useless. They
have no right to the Scriptures, which belong to the church,
their witness, keeper, and interpreter.

" Our appeal, therefore, must not be made to the Scriptures. . . . This
point should be first proposed, which is now the only one which we must
discuss: with whom lies that very faith to which the Scriptures belong?
From what, and through whom, and when, and to whom has been handed
down that rule by which men become Christians ? For wherever it shall
be manifest that the true Christian rule and faith shall be, there will like-
wise be the true Scriptures and expositions thereof, and all the Christian
traditions " (Prascr., c. xix., transl. of Ante-Nic. Libr.)

" From this, therefore, do we draw up our rule. Since the Lord Jesus
Christ sent the apostles to preach, . . . what that was which they preached
— in other words, what it was which Christ revealed to them— can, as I
must here likewise prescribe, properly be proved in no other way than by
those very churches which the apostles founded in person, by declaring
the Gospel to them directly themselves, both m-ud voce, as the phrase is,
and subsequently by their epistles. If, then, these things are so, it is in
the same degree manifest that all doctrine which agrees with the apostolic
churches — those wombs and original sources of the faith — must be reckon-
ed for truth, as undoubtedly containing that which the churches received
from the apostles, the apostles from Christ, and Christ from God ; whereas
all doctrine must be prejudged as false which savors of contrariety to the
truth of the churches and apostles, of Christ and God " (ibid. c. xxi.)

" Since, therefore, it is incredible that the apostles . . . failed to make
known to all men the entire rule of faith, let us s.ee whether, while the
apostles proclaimed it, perhaps, simply and fully, the churches, through
their own fault, set it forth otherwise than the apostles had done. . . .

" Grant, then, . . . that the Holy Ghost had no such respect to any one
church as to lead it into truth, although sent with this view by Christ, . . .
is it likely that so many churches, and they so great, should have gone
astray into one and the same faith? No CASUALTY DISTRIBUTED AMONG
MEN ISSUES IN ONE AND THE SAME RESULT. Error of doctrine in the
churches must necessarily have produced various issues. When, however,
that which is deposited among many is found to be one and the same, it
is noti the result of error but of tradition. Can any one, then, be reck-
less enough to say that they were in error who handed on the tradi-.
tion ? . . .

" In all cases truth precedes its copy, the likeness succeeds the real-
ity

222 THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [May,

" To a church which possessed this doctrine it was written — yea, the
doctrine itself writes to its own church — ' Though an angel from heaven
preach any other gospel than that which we have preached, let him be ac-
cursed ' (Gal. i. 8).

" Where was Marcion then, that shipmaster of Pontus, that zealous
student of Stoicism ? Where was Valentinus then, the disciple of Platon-
ism? For it is evident that those men lived not so long ago — in the reign
of Antoninus, for the most part — and that they at first were believers 'in the
doctrine of the Catholic Church, in the Church of Rome under the episco-
pate of the blessed Eleutherius" (ibid. c. xxvii.-xxx.)

" Let them, then, produce the original records of their churches ; let
them unfold the roll of their bishops, coming down in due succession from
the beginning in such a manner that their first distinguished bishop shall
be able to show for his ordainer and predecessor some one of the apostles
or of apostolic men — a man, moreover, who continued steadfast with the
apostles. For this is the manner in which the apostolic churches transmit
their registers ; as the church of Smyrna, which records that Polycarp was
placed therein by John ; as also the church of Rome, which makes Cle-
ment to have been ordained in like manner by Peter. In exactly the same
way the other churches likewise exhibit those whom, as having been ap-
pointed to their episcopal places by apostles, they regard as transmitters
of the apostolic seed. Let the heretics contrive something of the same
kind. For, after their blasphemy, what is there that is unlawful for them ?
But should they even effect the contrivance they will not advance a step.
For their very doctrine, after comparison with that of the apostles, will
declare by its own diversity and contrariety that it had for its author nei-
ther an apostle nor an apostolic man " (ibid. c. xxxii.)

" Come, now, you who would indulge a better curiosity, if you would
apply it to the business of your salvation, run over the apostolic churches
in which the very thrones of the apostles are still pre-eminent in their places, in
which their ow'n authentic writings are read, uttering the voice and repre-
senting the face of each of them severally."

The thrones here spoken of are to be understood in the lit-
eral sense of the word. Eusebius relates that St. James' throne
was preserved in Jerusalem, and that of St. Peter is still pre-
served in Rome. The Abbe Godard. in his Cours d1 ArcJu'ologie
Sacri-e, thus describes the throne :

" Behind the altar, and in the semicircle of the apsis, bema, or concha, ex-
tended the presbyterium. The episcopal chair, cathedra, sedes alta, thronus,
was raised in the centre of the seats destined for the priests, throni secundi,
Thus the- priests, sitting on the right and left of the bishop, constituted
for him a veritable senate. The episcopal chair, of marble, and with a full
back, was covered by a kind of vestment suitable to the dignity of the one
who occupied it. St. Augustine admonished a Donatist bishop that 'in
Christ's coming judgment no apses ascended by steps, nor veiled chairs
will be provided for defence ' (Ep. xxv. Ed. Ben.)"

The existence of these material thrones, as well as of the

1 882.] THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 223

autograpns of the epistles while they lasted, and of the apo-
graphs of the originals immediately succeeding in their place and
read publicly without any interruption, was a testimony to the
apostolic foundation of the great episcopal sees. What we are
about to quote, overlooked in its proper place when we were
treating of St. Clement's legation to Corinth, is a decisive proof
of the original episcopal constitution of that church. For Ter-
tullian refers to it as or- jf the churches having a succession

of bishops from its apostolic founder, whose throne was there as
a memorial of the fact. Directly after the last sentence quoted
he proceeds :

"Achaia is very near you, in which you find Corinth. Since you are
not far from Macedonia, you have Philippi, you have the Thessalonians.
Since you are able to cross to Asia, you get Ephesus " (ibid., c. xxxvi.)

We have delayed thus long in the exposition of a part of
Tertullian's testimony and doctrine, not directly concerning the
primacy, which those who call themselves Anglo-Catholics need
not to have proved to them, since they do not dispute it, because
we do not argue the case with them exclusively. The primacy
is the pinnacle of the hierarchical spire which tapers up to it
gradually and springs out of the massive structure of the Catho-
lic Church. The manifestation of its whole architecture, in all
its parts, its foundations and walls, its principles of harmony and
stability, the broad tower of its episcopate, its entire plan and
style, as it was in the early time, is necessary to the proper view
of its summit. To set forth the Papacy without the episcopate
is to make it seem to hang in the air. Episcopacy, on the other
hand, without the primacy, is a truncated cone, and a system of
church authority without a central supreme see is an arch with-
out a key-stone. Ex pede Herculetn. From ioot-prints, even, the
proportionate head can be constructed. Thus all the testimony
to the actual embodiment of the genuine Catholic idea in the
second century or the third, whatever part of the one consistent
whole it may be which is directly brought into view, is evidence
for every part and the totality, in distinction from a fragmentary,
mutilated orthodoxy like that of the Greeks, or a dilettante imi-
tation of Catholicism such as some Anglicans have invented.
If you see the rear cars of a train whose forward part is around
a curve, you know that all are connected by coupling and drawn
by a locomotive, without needing ocular demonstration of the
fact. When, after traversing a considerable space, the locomo-
tive with its long train comes completely into distinct view, you

224 THE ROMAN PRIM A CY IN THE THIRD CENTUR Y. [ May ,

know that it was the same when you first caught a transient view
of a part disappearing" upon a track concealed from view. It
would be ridiculous to suppose that its cars were uncoupled and
each drawn by a yoke of oxen to the spot whence the whole is
clearly visible, and that they had just then been coupled and
attached to the locomotive. Still more so if you had occasion-
ally caught a glimpse of the smoke of the locomotive, and heard
the sound of its whistle and the rumbling of the .train.

So it is as we peruse the pages of the early Christian writers
and get partial views of the church and its movement through
time. Everything they say which brings out some distinctively
Catholic principle or doctrine shows the identity of the Catholic
Church after she has emerged from obscurity, with herself in the
apostolic age and the period immediately succeeding. Tertul-
lian, as a Catholic writer, has no meaning or consistency, unless
we prescribe, to use his favorite expression, the Catholic idea of
one body under one head, through all his argumentation with
heretics, and one see which is, par excellence, the apostolic see, as
being the see of Peter, the Prince of the Apostles.

There are, besides, some direct references in the Catholic
writings of Tertullian to the pre-eminence of St. Peter, to the
succession of the Roman Pontiffs to his Roman episcopate, and
a distinct acknowledgment of the pre-eminence of the Roman
among all the apostolic churches :

" Was anything hidden from Peter, who is called the Rock, whereon the
church was to be built ? " (De Prascr., c. xx., Allnatt).

" Run through the apostolic churches, etc. (ut supra). If thou art near
to Italy, thou hast ROME, whence we also have an authority at hand.
THAT CHURCH HOW HAPPY ! INTO WHICH THE APOSTLES POURED OUT ALL
THEIR DOCTRINE WITH THEIR BLOOD ; where Peter had a like passion with
the Lord, where Paul is crowned with an end like the Baptist's " (ibid
c. xxxvi.)

The testimonies to the same effect contained in his Montanist
writings are much stronger :

" I find, by the mention of his mother-in-law, Peter the only one (of
the apostles) married. I presume him a monogamist, by the church, which,
built upon him, was about to confer every grade of her order on monoga-
mists " {De Monog., c. viii. ibid.)

"Heaven lies open to the Christian. . . . No delay or inquest will meet
Christians on the threshold,. since they have there not to be discriminated
from one another, but owned, and not put to the question but received in.
For though you think heaven still shut, remember that the Lord left here
to Peter, and through him to the church, the keys of it, which every one who

1 882.] THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 225

has been here put to the question, and also made confession, will carry with
him " (Scorp., xx., Ante-Nic. Libr.)

The chief heresy of the Montanists, as of the Novatians who
seceded later in the century, was undoubtedly in respect to this
very power of the keys, lodged primarily in the supreme pontiff
and also in the bishops in communion with him, by virtue of
which all sins of the baptized, however grievous, were remitted
on condition of penance. Consequently Tertullian accuses the
Catholic hierarchy of usurping a power which they had not
really inherited from St. Peter. He does this particularly in his
treatise On Modesty :

" ' But,' you say, ' the church has the power of forgiving sins.' ... I
now inquire into your opinion, from what source you usurp this right to
'the church.' If, because the Lord has said to Peter, etc., you therefore
presume that the power of binding and loosing has derived to you, that is,
to every church akin to Peter, what sort of man are you, subverting and
wholly changing the manifest intention of the Lord, conferring this per-
sonally upon Peter ? " (De Pud., c. xxi., A. N. L.)

We are not concerned to reconcile Tertullian with himself.
He is a signal example of the very fault with which he re-
proaches heretics. In his treatise on The Resurrection of the Flesh,
after laying down the principle that in argument the most gen-
eral premises must be first established, in order that reasoning
may proceed from them methodically to the particular points of
dispute, he says that :

"The heretics, from their conscious weakness, never conduct discus-
sion in an orderly manner. They are well aware how hard is their task.
. . . Under the pretence of considering a more urgent inquiry . . . they
begin with doubts. ... In this way, after they have deprived the discus-
sion of the advantages of its logical order, and have embarrassed it with
doubtful insinuations, . . . they gradually draw their argument to the re-
ception ..." of their own heretical dogma {De Resurrect. Cam., c. ii.)

This is precisely the course followed by Tertullian in his de-
fence of the errors of Montanism. He does not bring the dis-
puted questions to the test of the Catholic principles laid down
in his treatise on Prescription, but argues them from the author-
ity of " The New Prophecy " and by specious interpretations of
the Scripture. The application of his own Rule to the Montan-
ist errors — viz., the testing of them by priority, universality,
and apostolic doctrine handed down by the apostolic churches,
pre-eminently by the Roman Church — he evades by an inge-
nious distinction between " discipline " and " power ^' :
VOL. xxxv. — 15

226 THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [May,

" But I will descend even to this point of contest now, making a sepa-
ration between the doctrine of apostles and their power. Discipline gov-
erns a man, power sets a seal upon him ; apart from the fact that power is
the Spirit, but the Spirit is God. . . . ' The church has the power of forgiv-
ing sins.' This I acknowledge and judge more than you, who have the
Paraclete himself in the persons of the new prophets, saying, ' The church
has the power to forgive sins ; but I will not do it, lest they commit others
withal.' . . . For, in accordance with the person of Peter, it is to spiritual
men that this power will corresponderitly appertain, either to an apostle
or else to a prophet. For the very church itself is, properly and principally,
the Spirit himself. . . . He combines that church which the Lord himself
has made to consist in ' three.' And thus, from that time forward, every
number who may have combined together into this faith is accounted ' a
church,' from the author and consecrator. And accordingly ' the church,'
it is true, will forgive sins ; but the church of the Spirit, by means of a
spiritual man ; not the church which consists of a number of bishops " (De
Pud. ut sup.)

The sense is, that the power of Peter depended on his spir-
itual gifts, which were then in the three prophets. Tertullian
does not deny the external succession in the order of discipline
of the pope from Peter :

" If, however, you have had the functions of discipline alone
allotted you, and of presiding not imperially, but ministerially ; who
or how great are you that you should grant indulgence ? " The
prophets looked to Rome for sanction. Evidently Tertullian
considers that the granting of that sanction would have been de-
cisive, would have prevented the separation of the Montanists
from the church. The condemnation of the new prophecy, on the
other hand, in his view, entailed the loss of the gifts of the Para-
clete by the church of the Psychics or carnally-minded, whose
disciplinary and ministerial authority was therefore superseded
by the spiritual power of Montanus, the true successor of St.
Peter. He lays the blame at the door of the heresiarch Praxeas,
who taught that the Father became man and suffered in Christ.
With caustic and bitter satire he says that " Praxeas did a two-
fold service for the devil at Rome — he drove away prophecy
and brought in heresy ; he put to flight the Paraclete, and he
crucified the Father."

" This man prevailed on the Bishop of Rome (probably St.
Victor), who was on the point of acknowledging (jam agnoscen-
tem) the prophecies of Montanus, Prisca, and Maximilla, and by
that acknowledgment bringing in peace to the churches of Asia and
Phrygia (et ex ea agnitione pacem ecclesiis Asiae et Phrygiae in-
ferentem), . ¥ . to revoke the letters of peace already sent out "

1 882.] THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 227

{Adv. Prax., c. L, Allnatt). This, he says, he accomplished " by
importunately urging false accusations against the prophets
themselves and their churches, and insisting on the authority of
the bishop's predecessors' in the see." Tertullian asserts, however,
that Praxeas " had deliberately resumed his old (Catholic) faith,
teaching it after his renunciation of error ; and there is his own
handwriting in evidence remaining among the Psychics. . . .
We, indeed, on our part, subsequently withdrew from the Psy-
chics on our acknowledgment and maintenance of the Paraclete."

Having withdrawn from the communion of " Psychics" — i.e.,
Catholics — Tertullian asserts that " not recognizing the Paraclete
even in his special prophets, they no longer possess him in the apos-
tles either " (De Pud., c. xii.) Deprived of apostolic and pro-
phetic gifts, popes and bishops cannot claim for their purely
ministerial and disciplinary authority the seal of the Spirit, or
exercise " spiritual power." Therefore he insolently addresses
the pope in these terms : " Exhibit, therefore, even now to me,
Apostolic Sir, prophetic evidences, that I may recognize your
divine virtue, and vindicate to yourself the power of remitting
sush sins " (ib. c. xxi.)

It is a matter of secondary importance what were Tertullian's
opinions about the primacy of Peter and his successors, the hier-
archical constitution of the apostolic churches, the rule of faith
and discipline, or any other points of Catholic doctrine, from the
time that he abjured his first faith. Whatever remains of Ca-
tholic doctrine or language in his Montanist writings is either
the truth itself or a coloring and odor of the truth which the
Catholic Church taught him, and which he believed and de-
fended, before he was seduced by false prophets.

The matter of primary importance is the testimony which
Tertullian gives to what the Roman Church was, and what
she and the whole Catholic Church with her held and main-
tained. As Pilate's mockery of Christ proclaims his royal ma-
jesty, so Tertullian's scorn reveals the dignity of the Roman
Pontiff and the spotless purity of the Spouse of Christ. Hence,
as the Protestant Bishop Kaye observes, the errors of Tertullian,
in defending which he was obliged to expose the Catholic side
which he opposed, have incidentally given to his works the
extreme value which they possess. Another Protestant wri-
ter, Collette, says that he charges Pope Zephyrinus with " usurp-
ing, on the plea of being St. Peter s successor" a supreme power
and authority in the church. We have seen that he does not
charge him with usurping his place and pre-eminence as St.

228 THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [May,

Peter's successor, but his spiritual power. The charge of usurpa-
tion proves the claim, and the history of Tertullian and the Mon-
tanists its successful enforcement. Neander, in his History of the
Church, remarks that " very early indeed do we observe in the
Roman bishops traces of the assumption that io them, as suc-
cessors of St. Peter, belonged a paramount authority in ecclesiasti-
cal discipline ; that the cathedra Petri, as the source of apostolic
tradition, must take precedence of all other ecclesice apostolicce. . . .
In the Montanist writings of Tertullian we find indications that
the Roman bishops already issued peremptory edicts on ecclesi-
astical matters, endeavored to make themselves considered as the
Bishops of Bishops — episcopos episcoporum—?a\<\ were in the habit
of speaking of the authority of their ' antecessores ' " (Bonn's
ed., i. 296. See Allnatt, notes to pp. 15 and 105).

Reference is specially had in the above citation to the follow-
ing passage from that polemical and violent treatise, De Pudici-
tia :

" I hear that there has even been an edict set forth, and a per-
emptory one too. THE SOVEREIGN PONTIFF — THAT is, THE
BISHOP OF BISHOPS — issues an edict, etc." (c. i. A. N. L.)

With this we may bring to a close our analysis of Tertullian's
testimony, which the fascinating interest attaching to the man
himself and his writings has allured us into protracting to a
greater length than we intended.

1 882.] LOURDES IN WINTER. 229

LOURDES IN WINTER.

THE railway which crosses the south of France from Bay-
onne, on the Bay of Biscay, to Marseilles, on the Mediterranean,
approaches so close to the Pyrenees near the fashionable water-
ing-place of Pau that the shadow of the great outlying but-
tresses of the mountain-chain almost falls across the track. It
was after a long winter's journey under leaden skies and over
foggy plains that I reached this picturesque region on a sunny
afternoon, and saw the snow-peaks shining in the distance be-
hind the brown foot-hills which border the road. East of Pan
the railway sweeps around towards the south and describes a
long loop reaching far into the flank of the mountains ; and at
the bottom of this loop, just where the romantic Vale of Lavedan
opens the way to a mule-pass across the range into Spain, stands
the little city of Lourdes, one of the most striking of towns in
one of the most remarkable of situations. It is in a basin entire
ly surrounded by hills. From the railway which runs along
the northern edge of the depression, high above the city, we
can look down and see it all. In front of us the Gap of Lavedan
stretches away towards the south, and a. gave, or mountain tor-
rent, rushes through it with full volume, turning sharply near
the railroad to pursue its course past Pau to the river Adour ;
steep ridges, broken into fantastic forms, are piled on either side
of the Gap — one of the nearest peaks has an elevation of about
three thousand feet — and the vista is closed by vast sloping fields
of snow. This is one of the minor gateways of the Pyrenees.
Anciently it was a military position of importance ; and it is
now a road by which in the holiday season valetudinarians make
their way to the hot springs of Cauterets, and adventurous tour-
ists visit the wild cataract of Gavarnie, or the Breche de Roland
where, according to the legend, the famous Paladin clove the
mountain with his sword. But the principal objects in the front
of the picture are too imposing to permit the eye to rest long
upon the romantic background. Two hills, one of them a sharp
rocky prominence, entirely isolated, the other a spur from the
greater heights on the west, stand out in the plain at the bottom,
of the basin : the first is occupied by a gray old castle dating
from the time of the Romans ; the second is crowned by the
new pilgrimage church of Our Lady of Lourdes, erected over

230 LOURDES IN WINTER. [May,

the Grotto of the apparition. They look at each other, the an-
cient fortress and the modern sanctuary, half a mile apart, and
the gave flows between them. Separated by centuries of history
and the strongest possible contrasts of association, they are
strangely distinct likewise in situation and surroundings. The
church is the centre of a cheerful little settlement of piety, and
six or seven hospitals and convents, all of recent date, are dis-
posed near it in favorable positions on the slopes of the basin.
Around the castle, on the other hand, clings close the old town
of Lourdes, running up the break- neck sides of the hill as far as
the outer lines of fortification, and packing what is left of itself
into the smallest possible space below — a quaint relic of those
miserable days when the chief thing townspeople thought about
was military protection, and their last care was for comfort, and
light, and air.

I cannot say that I observed all this as I descended from the
train on a bright January day. The traveller who leaves the
railway at Lourdes in the dead season — there are no pilgrimages
in winter — has certainly other things to occupy his attention for
the moment than the charms of the landscape. Besides myself
and my companion, no strangers arrived that afternoon except
a nervous old lady with a little boy, and upon us four were at
once precipitated the runners of at least ten or twelve empty
hotels. I hurried to take refuge in the omnibus of my choice,
and while the porter was fetching the luggage I had leisure to
watch the rest of the pack, who were shouting around the old
lady : " Voila, madame ; H6tel de Rome, tout pres de la
Grotte ! " " Non, non, madame ; Hotel Latapie ; le plus pres de
la Grotte ! Le plus pres, je vous assure ! " " H6tel de la Cha-
pelle, madame ! Attenant a la Grotte ! " Even when we were
ready to start our own driver could not resist a temptation to
mingle once more in the fray ; he leaped from the box and made
a last despairing attempt to drag the old lady with us to the
Hotel Belle- Vue. We left her at bay. She had dropped all
her bags and bundles ; her hands were moving nervously ; the
frightened boy clung to her skirts ; and she looked from one to
another of her assailants with a puzzled face, in which it seemed
to me that a half-sense of humor struggled with profound anxiety
and bewilderment. The Hotel BeJle-Vue, in common with
nearly a dozen other houses of entertainment, several of them
large, stood wide open, but it had no guests. The table was
always spread in the salle-a-manger for diners who never came ;
and as it was rather cold and cheerless in that apartment, a

1 882.] LOURDES IN WINTER. 231

warm corner was prepared for us in a cosey little salon, where we
ate our modest but savory repast by a wood-fire, in the company
of an upright piano, a collection of canticles, some illustrated
books on Lourdes, and an odd volume of Dickens. The land-
lord, having nothing else to do, was perpetually rushing out
of a back-room, wiping his mouth with a napkin and crying,
" Bonjour, monsieur et madame ! " when he heard our feet on
the stairs. It was a comfortable house ; and I am always pleas-
ed when I think of the polite master, the cheerful mistress, the
obliging maids who brought us ducks' livers for breakfast and
smiled good-naturedly when they threw down an armful of wood
for the bed-room fire. The hotel being placed against the castle-
hill, it is only a step from the garret to the garden. When
you have mounted three flights of stairs you may pass from an
upper corridor out upon a terrace carved from the rock, with
a brick parapet, a rustic arbor, a few benches, and a few live
plants. High above, the grim fortress looks down upon you,
and directly over your head yawn the grated jaws of a machico-
lated gallery, whence in old times a shower of missiles or a tor-
rent of boiling pitch might have been precipitated upon you.
In summer the terrace, with its extensive view over the roofs
of the town, must be a pleasant place for an after-dinner cup of
coffee. Even in midwinter I found stray flowers in bloom there,
and salads untouched by the frost which had hardened the.
roads.

The castle is a monument of interest not only from its great
age but because, having been kept in use and repair down to the
present day, it presents a more or less complete example of an-
cient military architecture. But keeping it in order has perhaps
somewhat impaired its authenticity. Very little of the masonry
now standing is even as old as feudal times ; and the venerable
appearance of the keep and the principal towers has been de-
stroyed by the insertion of modern windows. Lourdes castle was
one of the strongholds of the Moors when they overran the
south of France, and it surrendered at last to Charlemagne more
than forty years after Charles Martel had crushed the Saracenic
invasion by his decisive victory on the Loire. Commanding the
junction of several important valley roads and the outlet of a
rich plain, its history throughout the middle ages is one of bat-
tles, forays, and sieges. Froissart chronicled its fortunes. In
the fourteenth century it was held by the English as a part, of
the ransom of the French King John after his capture by the
Black Prince, and they kept it fast through a long and famous

232 LOURDES IN WINTER. [May,

siege. In modern times it was a prison of state — Napoleon I.
caught a travelling British ambassador and shut him up in it —
and at last it was put to use as a barrack. Perched upon the top
of a precipitous rock, and approachable only by narrow and dif-
ficult passages, it was regarded as impregnable until the inven-
tion of long-range artillery exposed it to attack from the op-
posite heights. Its huge square keep seems to dominate the
whole country. The castle itself embraces an ample area on the
summit of the mount, and its battlements enclose on the eastern
side a courtyard shaded with stately trees where quarters have
been made comfortable for the small modern garrison. The out-
er walls, reinforced with small towers, are carried far down the
hill.

The chief part of the old city lies east of the castle — that is to
say, on the side furthest from the Grotto ; and as everything in
Lourdes at the present day seems to turn itself towards the scene
of the apparition, and all the life of the place to move that way,
it may be said that what was once the principal quarter has now
become the back of the town. A street of decent width runs
through it from the railroad station towards the opening of the
valley. This is the old highroad into the Pyrenees, and before
the building of the branch railway which now reaches half-way
up the Valley of Lavedan much travel passed over it to and from
.Cauterets, and other mountain watering-places as well — Luz, St.
Sauveur, Bareges, and Eaux Bonnes. Lourdes was a well-
known posting-station in those days, and it still derives some
profit from the carriage traffic, as one may see by the neat and
thriving appearance of one or two large inns on the main street,
whose open courtyards tempt the weary tourist. The street
spreads itself once and again into an irregular flace, faced with
houses rather better than the rest, and usually — I think always —
containing a stone fountain. Mingled with the antique buildings
are shops much better and brighter than one would look for in
a country town of five thousand people. The shabby mairie oc-
cupies one side of a small square, with the tricolor hanging over
the door and public notices pasted on the outer walls. Just be-
fore the high street resolves itself into a country road it passes'
through the Place du Champ Commun — or what we should call
the Common. On the one hand a pleasant grassy esplanade
looks down upon the gardens and meadows of the eastern val-
ley ; a part of it has been surrendered to a fine gray-stone Pa-
lais de Justice, not yet quite finished. On the other hand lies a
broad market-place, furnished with stone benches and symmetrical

1 882.] LOURDES IN WINTER. 233

rows of sycamores — a pretty place, no doubt, on a bright, busy
day when the trees are in leaf, but desolate enough when I saw
it, deep in mud and trampled by idle donkeys. In an odd little
sloping square of its own, set back a few paces from the main
street, is the parish church, built of stone roughly stuccoed, and
topped with a belfry — certainly not handsome, but possessing a
curious apsidal choir carried up exteriorly into the semblance of
a round tower, with a conical roof surmounted by an iron cross
and flanked by two little ear-like pinnacles. This part of the
structure is said to belong to the twelfth and thirteenth centu-
ries. The whole interior of the church has been renovated and
decorated in modern times, with more zeal for the glory of God
than knowledge of the laws of aesthetics. I went there on the
morning of a feast-day ; a solemn High Mass was beginning, and
a devout congregation filled the sacred edifice. The picturesque
head-coverings of the women— scarlet and blue and white and
black — made a striking effect of color; the altar blazed with
lights softened by a cloud of incense ; at the foot of the aisle
stood by far the most gorgeously attired beadle I ever saw, even
in a French church — a stately old man in a complete suit of scar-
let resplendent with gold lace, a plumed chapeau on his head, a
sword by his side, and, in place of the usual staff, an antique hal-
berd in his hand. The singing, by male voices, was antiphonai
and unaccompanied ; but there was a band in the gallery, com-
posed entirely, I think, of reed instruments and bass strings,
which played voluntaries during parts of the Mass. The execu-
tion was correct enough, but the effect was hardly musical. I
returned to the church again in the afternoon and it was still
full, the people kneeling in silence before the exposition of the
Blessed Sacrament. A new parish church was begun some
years ago on a grand scale, but the work has been stopped. By
going down a lane on the eastern edge of the town and peering
into some obscure courts you can see the unfinished walls and ex-
ercise your ingenuity in wondering why so costly an undertak-
ing should have been started in a place so unfavorable for its dis-
play.

But we Americans, who are used to elbow-room, must not
be surprised at the economy of space which is the rule in many
parts of Europe. It is common both in England and on the
Continent to see churches, palaces, and noble mansions pushed
into dark corners and hustled by the habitations of the poor.
The country is hardly less crowded than the town. I have
never seen in France or Italy the counterpart of one of our own

234 LOURDES IN WINTER. [May,

villages, where every house has at least a little plot of garden,
and the straggling street is adorned more or less with trees and
bordered at intervals with meadows and orchards. In the Old
World, however small the town, you will generally find the
stone houses leaning against one another, the doors flush with
the narrow street, a gutter under the windows, and no more ver-
dure than grows in Broadway. So it is here in the old part of
Lourdes. Only a very few of the best houses have anything
in the semblance of a garden, and not many can even boast of
a back yard. Here and there through an open gateway you
catch glimpses of a dull and damp enclosed court, perhaps with
a stable on one side and rambling overhanging galleries ; but
there is rarely a bit of shrubbery or a blade of grass. It is the
crowding and squalor of city tenements repeated in the midst
of the country. The streets which branch off from the main
thoroughfare are little more than close lanes, winding lawlessly
up and down the hillside, destitute for the most part of any
semblance of a footway, roughly macadamized, and pressed
upon so closely by the houses that the passer-by cannot help see-
ing rather more of the domestic interiors than he is likely to be
pleased with. Naturally these streets, traversed by cattle, sheep,
and pigs, are not clean ; but I know of French towns with pre-
tensions to elegance and fashion which are much worse. Upon
the whole the people seem to practise as much neatness as their
situation permits. The houses are all of one kind, plastered
with rough stucco and roofed with slate. Whoever wishes to
surpass his neighbor gives play to his extravagance by a man-
sard and an iron balcony. I observed only one house in Lourdes
which rose to the splendid luxury of a flight of door-steps.

The impressions of a passing stranger with respect to the
character of the people are not worth much, but I have met
with neither peasantry nor townsfolk who charmed me more
than those of this little sub-Pyrenean city. They seem to be
simple, pious, and polite. Physically they are superior to the
inhabitants of any other part of France I have visited. The
men, though not above the medium height, are strong and well
built ; they have swarthy complexions, black hair, regular and
prominent features, and a noble type of countenance. Even the
heavy clog — not the barbarous sabot scooped from a solid block
of wood, but a modified foot-covering made of a wooden sole
and heel-piece, with a leather vamp — cannot quite take away the
natural dignity of their carriage. Their peasant garb is not ill
suited to a handsome race. Trousers rather full, a waistcoat, a

1 882.] LOURDES IN WINTER. 235

short jacket worn open and sometimes ornamented with bright
buttons, a round woollen cap, called a berret, like that of the
Lowland Scotch, but much- broader in the crown, so that it tips
gracefully over one corner of the forehead — such is the costume
of the shepherds, herdsmen, and small cultivators, worn also in
a more or less modified form by men a little higher in the social
scale. The usual material is a stout woollen homespun, the
favorite color a rich reddish brown — not dyed, but the natural
hue of the fleece. The women are still better-looking than the
men. A pomegranate-red glows in their dark cheeks, and their
bright eyes gleam under the capulet, a covering so arranged as
to form a hood pinned beneath the chin, and a cape falling to the
waist. It is merely a square of cloth doubled down the middle,
the two folds being then sewed together at the upper edge. In
the great majority of cases the color is scarlet, though blue and
white are also used ; but whatever the color, the whole garment
is bordered with a narrow band of black. In such a head-dress
almost every woman looks well. The people seem to be sober,
quiet, and industrious. They trudge contentedly over the long
mountain paths, accompanied by the donkeys which are gene-
rally used here for carrying moderate burdens, especially of fire-
wood. Droll little creatures are these diminutive pack-animals,
not indocile, but capable of a sort of kittenish waywardness high-
ly amusing — to a by-stander — when the donkey is half hidden
by a large load. Horses, shaking a profusion of bells and wear-
ing collars of portentous size and grotesque shape, are used for
the heaviest work ; but perhaps the most interesting beasts of
draught are the cattle. Both sexes are put to the yoke. The
first time I saw a Lourdes cow-team — four mild-faced, pretty,
fawn-colored creatures, not much bigger than donkeys, yoked
by the horns, and carefully wrapped in white sheets, the ends
of which were tied around their throats, as if they had just taken
a bath and were afraid of catching cold — I thought it the most
comical spectacle the town afforded. But I was wrong, for I
saw afterwards several mixed teams of cows and donkeys. The
country about Lourdes is noted for the breed of small fawn-col-
ored cows. They are famous milk-givers, and they all wear
white sheets when at work.

There was a commotion in town one day, and, going out
presently, I found the butchers on their round from house to
house, sticking pigs at the domestic threshold wherever their
services were required. In this way of doing things, which
might have been advertised as Family Killing, or Every Home

236 LOURDES IN WINTER. [May,

its own Slaughter-House, there was an easy familiarity rather
startling to a stranger ; but perhaps it was an advantage that the
client made sure of his own pork. The executioners bore with
them a large trough, and no sooner had the victim uttered his
last squeal than boiling water was poured upon him and the
shaving and other operations of the post-mortem toilette were
performed immediately. All these deeds were done before the
house-door, where they certainly added something to the normal
dirtiness of the narrow street, besides interfering a little with
traffic ; but they were looked upon with high favor bv the chil-
dren of the town, who attended the ceremonies in great numbers.
In the afternoon I passed a single-room tenement whose open
door and window exposed a full view of the diminutive inte-
rior; and there, in the smallest possible chamber, close against
the bed, was the largest possible pig, newly killed and hung up
to drip.

Stepping out of the shadow of the castle and leaving the
crooked lanes, we cross the gave and enter another world. The
bottom-land between the town and the sanctuary is a smooth
meadow, resembling the rich grassy plains in the midst of the
hills to which, in New Hampshire and elsewhere, we give the
name of intervales. At the time of the apparition it belong-
ed to the municipality, and soon afterwards it was purchased
for the diocese by the Bishop of Tarbes. For a long distance
in front of the basilica nothing is allowed to encroach upon this
beautiful ground. Costly public works are going on at this side
of the town : roads have been improved, bridges have been en-
larged, the banks of the river have been faced with masonry,
the mill-race which used to flow in front of the Grotto has been
turned into a more convenient course, and improvements are in
progress which have already given not only to the surroundings
of the sanctuary but to all that part of the town which faces it
an aspect of singular elegance and neatness. There are two
approaches to the new quarter. One is a broad, substantial ave-
nue, with heavy stone retaining-walls, brought around the north
side of the castle-hill and carried across the gave by a new
bridge. The other, known as the Boulevard de la Grotte, is a
prolongation of the principal cross-street on the south side of
the castle. It is evidently the chief thoroughfare in the pilgrim-
age-season, for from the spot where it quits the old town down
to the barrier which marks the precincts of the sanctuary it is
lined with shops and booths for the supply of the wants and fan-

1 882.] LOURDES IN WINTER. 237

cies of strangers. Within the ample grounds controlled by the
priests in charge of the Grotto — the Missionaries of the Immacu-
late Conception — neither shops nor itinerant venders are suffered
to intrude. Although customers were so very rare at the time
of my visit, the merchants displayed their wares all day and the
pedlars infested the road. The long and gentle descent was
like a promenade through a fancy fair. At the appearance of a
stranger the dealers rose with one consent and cried afar for the
favor of a little trade. There was one young woman who used
to follow me every morning to the very barrier and beg me to
purchase, I forget what small objects out of her basket, for the
reason that she wanted to be married. The stock of the booths
consists principally of rosaries, medals, statuettes, and photo-
graphs ; but there are many articles also in colored Pyrenean
marble, in lapis-lazuli, in agate, in wood, in metal, and so on,
which are classed under the comprehensive designation of souve-
nirs of Lourdes. Of course it was natural that in a remote little
rustic town, suddenly become a resort of thousands of travellers,
a spirit of business enterprise should soon be awakened and poor
people who had never seen much money should catch eagerly at
the dazzling opportunity for profit. Nobody had a right to for-
bid them ; and, after all, what is the harm ? The sign Terrain a
Vendre, " Lots for Sale," stares at you now on innumerable vacant
lands. Even the relatives of the devout peasant child, Berna-
dette Soubirous, to whom the celestial vision appeared, are not
unconscious of the commercial value of the connection ; and
among the curious signs over the booths, in which a quaint un-
worldliness is mingled with a talent for advertising, not the least
remarkable are those which impart to the public certain bits of
personal history, as in the following examples :

OBJETS DE PIE"TE tenus par

SOUBIROUS,
FRERE DE BERNADETTE.

OBJETS DE PifiTfi tenus par
Blaisette Moura, tante de Bernadette.

Objets de Piete de N. D. de Lourdes.
TENUS par la SCEUR de BERNADETTE SOUBIROUS.

Objets de Piete.

JEANNE ABADIE,

Presente a la Premiere Apparition.

The dedicatory inscriptions over the booths, however strange
they may seem in our unaccustomed eyes, are in accord with the
pious usage of an older time, when religion was not kept put

238 LOURDES IN WINTER. [May,

away for Sunday. One sign, in English, reads : " To Our Lady
of Lourdes. Speciality of Statues. Pious objects in Gold and
Silver, Warranted." Another begins, " A la Protection de N. D.
de la Grotte," and ends with the promise of " prix fixe." A
dealer in terra-cotta images makes the announcement, which I
confess I found startling, of a " liquidation de vierges, etc.," or,
as we should put it, a " great sacrifice of virgins." But if there
is an incongruity in some of these advertising-boards, there is
surely no intentional irreverence, and we forget all about" them
as soon as we enter the quiet and decorous region of the sanc-
tuary.

The avenue which passes by the north side of the fortress has
few buildings as yet of any kind. It overlooks a deep depression
just at the base of the castle-hill, a wet and dirty hollow with a
mill-stream running through it, a few squalid cottages, and an
old mill built over the brook. It is a poor outskirt of the town,
which has suddenly been hemmed in by fine new structures, and
it looks ashamed and forlorn in such unsuitable company. It is
here that Bernadette lived. The house is a rude stone building
in the shape of an L, one arm of which is merely a dug-out, form-
ed against the side of the hill. When I first saw it the door of
this wing stood open, and there was a donkey inside looking
out. The other wing is of better but still very humble appear-
ance ; the open windows of the attic story disclosed what looked
like a decent guest-chamber ; and on the roof was a large sign-
board, with an inscription which may be thus translated : " Pa-
ternal Home of Bernadette Soubirous. Kept by her Brother.
Articles of Piety for Sale. Furnished Rooms to Let."

The meadow in front of the sanctuary church has been laid
out as a magnificent lawn of noble dimensions and graceful con-
tour, and down its middle stretches a broad double pathway, tra-
versed in the spring and summer by the processions of pilgrims.
At the head of the lawn the pathway encircles a marble statue of
Our Lady; at the foot it goes about a marble cross. The gave
passes under the road a little way beyond the lawn, and then
making a sudden bend to the left, at right angles with its former
course, it marks the northern boundary of the sanctuary-field.
Along its shady bank is another wide pathway, and the masons
are at work upon a stone parapet, cut in the shape of a seat with
back, which will give a delightful resting-place for the weary
and infirm. Several hundred feet of this wall have already been
completed. There is a thicket of trees and bushes at the head of
the lawn ; and then we come to the limestone hill — Massabielle,

1 882.] LOURDES IN WINTER. 239

or the " old rocks," it used to be called in the patois of the dis-
trict— in whose northern face is the Grotto and whose summit is
capped by the basilica. The Grotto fronts the river. Formerly
the canal or mill-race, of which frequent mention is made in the
narratives of the apparition, passed before the cave, uniting with
the river a few paces below. But, as I have already said, the
canal has been turned aside ; it is carried across the meadow by a
subterranean channel ; and all the area in front of the Grotto has
been cleared' and graded. An ample space next to the venerated
spot is covered with a pavement of artificial stone, and the same
composition has been spread over the floor of the cave itself
Nearly all readers of this magazine are probably familiar with
pictures of the Grotto. The principal cavity is thirty or forty
feet wide, about twenty feet deep, and twelve or fifteen feet high
at the front, sloping gradually towards the back. Just over it is
another opening, measuring perhaps six feet in height by two in
width, and communicating at the rear with the cave as well as
with a third and much smaller perforation in the front of the
cliff. It was in the second opening that the vision of Our Lady
appeared to the child Bernadette ; a celestial light encompassed
her, a blue girdle was around her waist, her feet touched the
branches of a wild rose which grew in a crevice of the rock. A
rose-bush grows there still, and I found it green in January, as
were also many of the vines and shrubs which cling to the rocks.
In the cavity is a life-size statue representing the apparition as
Bernadette described it — not in the attitude in which it first pre-
sented itself to her bewildered sense, with the arms hanging by
the side and the head inclined, but as she saw it six weeks later,
on the feast of the Annunciation, 1858, with hands clasped and
face turned towards heaven. The spring which the child, at the
bidding of Our Lady, uncovered by scraping away the dry soil,
flows from the left of the large cavern — the left as one looks in —
in a corner where the sloping roof meets the floor. For a foot
or two of its course the rill is protected by a wire grating to
keep out obstructions yet leave its source visible ; then it is led
by a covered conduit to a marble drinking-fountain outside the
cave. The water runs from the fountain in three perpetual
streams, and, falling into a marble basin, is conducted to a series
•of faucets, whence it may be drawn at pleasure by those who
wish to carry any of it away ; and finally, after supplying two or
three little bath-houses, it flows into the gave. A substantial iron
railing extends across the mouth of the Grotto, but its gates stand
ajar, and people pass in as they wish, to lay flowers before the

240 LOURDES IN WINTER. [May,

•
statue, or to add to the multitude of lights always burning in the

large iron candlesticks, or to remain awhile in prayer and medi-
tation within the enclosure. Four or five wheeled chairs at the
back of the cave bear records of the miraculous cure of grateful
cripples, and the rock is hung with at least two hundred crutches
cast away by the lame and infirm who have been healed at the
sanctuary. On the pavement outside are a few low benches
without backs ; at these and on the stone step before the railing I
always found a number of devout persons kneeling bare-headed
in the wintry air. The shrine, the lights, the praying figures,
are in full view of the railway passengers as the trains roll by on
the other side of the river ; but, screened by the trees, and the
rocks, and the broad intervening meadow, the quiet sanctuary
seems far away from the bustle of the town, and even the church
overhead is almost hidden from it. The steep, zigzag footpath
and the long, sloping carriage-road by which the basilica is ap-
proached are both too remote from the Grotto to disturb the im-
pressive seclusion.

The church is so placed that it looks towards the castle — that
is to say, its front is at a right angle with the front of the Grotto
— and the Grotto is almost directly under the chancel. To ob-
tain sufficient space for the building on the summit of the irre-
gular rocks, it was necessary to construct an artificial platform
by laying thick walls of masonry, which begin in some places at
the very base of the cliff and rise to the height of nearly one
hundred feet. Fortunately it was possible to do this without
disturbing that part of the rock which contains the Grotto. The
huge white wall has a certain air of solidity and magnitude, but
it undoubtedly mars the effect of the white marble church on top
of it, for it aggravates a fault inherent in the plan of the edifice,
which seems much too high for its width. It is indeed difficult
to resist the conclusion that the exterior of the church, despite
some admirable features, is an architectural failure, the result
having been by no means commensurate with the expenditure of
money, ingenuity, and pious enterprise. The basilica is usually
said to consist of two Gothic churches, one above the other.
The lower is styled the crypt, and is arranged in some similitude
to the subterranean vaulted chapels so common in old cathedrals.
It is not a true crypt, however, but a basement, being entirely
above ground. Neither is it properly a church. The whole
central portion of it is occupied by what appear to be solid walls
of masonry, corresponding in outline with the nave of the church
above. There are corridors on each side, containing confes-

i882.] LOURDES IN WINTER. 241

sionals and leading into a chapel in the apse, whose numerous inter-
lacing arches are hung with lamps half relieving the solemn ob-
scurity. Three altars are'set in as many bays, but practically the
vaulted chamber forms only one large chapel. The glory of the
basilica is the interior of the upper church. Arranged as a single
long and lofty nave, with a high clerestory and neither side aisles
nor transepts, it is simple as possible in design and owes all its
brilliancy to the splendor of extraneous decorations. The white
walls are hung with the silken banners brought by bands of
pilgrims from near and distant lands. 'Ensigns of the great
powers droop in the semicircle around the sanctuary, that of
the United States conspicuous in the foreground. A multi-
tude of swinging lamps hang among the standards. The rich
embroidered flags are suspended from the very roof; and we
lose the sense of disproportionate height in the profuse display
of a style of ornament to which high interiors are so well adapt-
ed. On the sides instead of aisles there are chapels, and a row of
chapels is carried around the apse behind the resplendent high
altar. The magnificent blaze of color produces an effect which
description can hardly exaggerate, and the spectacle must be-
come more and more lustrous as fresh trophies are added every
year, and the mementoes of the earlier pilgrimages, gradually
assuming the mellow tints of age, accentuate the display with the
force of contrast. The walls of the church and the long corridors
in the crypt are covered with marble tablets commemorating
cures and other favors obtained at the Grotto. I estimated the
number of these memorials to be about a thousand. A spacious
esplanade in front of the church commands a superb view over
the meadow, the town, the Grotto, and the valley of the gave, and
long terraced flights of steps, only the substructure of which is
now complete, will descend from it to the head of the lawn.

I have tried to give an idea of the outward appearance of
Lourdes at a season when it is not disturbed by the presence of
a crowd of strangers, who necessarily lend it an aspect not its
own. But I despair of making the reader sensible of the spirit
of piety and profound recollection which broods over the sanc-
tuary in these quiet days and fills it with a grace which must
touch even the casual tourist. Masses are said almost continu-
ously in the crypt every day from before sunrise till nearly noon,
and every day there is a large congregation, with a long line of
communicants. The peasant visits the church on the way to
work ; the housewife begins her daily routine by spending half
an hour at the altar; the townspeople go there often ^ and I have,

VOL. xxxv. — 16

242 ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. [May,

seen shepherds and herdsmen run in for a short prayer and hur-
ry off again at speed to catch up with their flocks and herds. In
front of the Grotto there are always people on their knees, silent
and absorbed. Voices are hushed, footfalls are soft, no sound is
heard but the plash of the fountain and the singing of the river.
We are far away from the world. We have come to a land
where people believe in God, and the signs of God's goodness
are all about us.

ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT
(A.D. 1781-82).

THE most momentous of all the sessions of the Irish Parlia-
ment was that which opened in the Irish capital in October,
1781. For a considerable period the popular discontent had
been made evident, and, now that the manhood of Ireland was
permitted to carry arms to guard their shores from invasion by
the French, men's thoughts centred on the acts and discussions
of the Lords and Commons. That fear of the Volunteers' bayo-
nets rather than Grattan's eloquence would decide the fate of
Ireland no one doubted ; yet all recognized, too, that just in pro-
portion as hireling place-holders should be bold or craven in the
parliamentary benches, in equal measure would be the English
dread of Irish valor and union. As Davis wrote in after-days :

" When Grattan rose none dar'd oppose

The claim he made for freedom ;
They knew our swords, to back his words,
Were ready did he need them."

When that section of the Irish people which had hitherto
sought to arrogate to themselves the sole representation of the
Irish nation, recognizing the will of a united people and en-
couraged by the sight of victorious patriotism across the Atlan-
tic, set themselves to burst the shackles which bound their mo-
therland and success of a real kind crowned their efforts, they
regarded her nationhood as eternally proclaimed, her rights and
freedom as perpetually secured. But when their hopes were
highest Irishmen should have seen that subtle dangers lurked
around, and they should have remembered that no danger is so

1 882.] ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. 243

terrible as in the hour of rashly presumed security. At the very
moment when the entrance of Ireland upon a new era seemed
certain it was palpable'' enough to those who could read the
signs that Ireland had need of a stern determination, of a bold
bearing and a firm hand, in order to secure the continued pos-
session of the rights won so bloodlessly ; and hence arose those
discussions from which, while seeking to give a brief account of
the routine transactions of an Irish Parliament, we shall have to
quote.*

On Tuesday, the 9th of October, 1781, the first meeting of the
Parliament which was destined to enact the freedom of their na-
tive land took place, and our reporter notes that " the number of
members present was much greater than has been known upon
the opening of any former session." The usual message having
been brought, with all customary formality, by the Usher of the
Black Rod, the members of the House of Commons repaired to
the House of Lords, where his excellency the lord-lieutenant,
the Earl of Carlisle, read his speech, made on behalf of his " sov-
ereign lord, the king." Every day had been making more and
more clear to the dullest minds that the battle of Irish indepen-
dence was about to be fought, and that it was to be decided out-
side the House and by men nerved to battle by the memories of
gross injustices, of a thousand wrongs. Lord Carlisle had not
long accepted the viceroy alty of Ireland ; his chief secretary
was one Eden, an open and avowed opponent of every national
aspiration ; and therefore little of interest attached to this open-
ing address. The Volunteers had not as yet spoken so plainly
that the English government could not dare to still make pre-
tence at the policy of " never minding," so that the noble earl's
address was a dreary mass of platitudes, conveying, however, in
the following words an assurance which no doubt brought smiles
to the faces of many of his auditors :

" It gives me the greatest pleasure to execute his majesty's commands
by assuring you, in his royal name, of his determination to continue the
most parental attention to the rising prosperity of this country, the true
interests of which are, and must ever be, inseparable from those of Great
Britain."

After the delivery of the speech from the throne the Com-

* Our quotations are from The Parliamentary Register ; or, History of the Proceedings and
Debates of the House of Commons of Ireland, the Fourth Session of the Third Parliament in
the Reign of his Present Majesty, This work, a kind of Irish Hansard, was published annual-
ly, while Ireland had a parliament to be reported, by an association of Dublin printers — viz.,
James Porter, of Abbey Street ; Patrick Byrne, of College Green ; and William Porter, of Skin-
ner Row.

244 ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. [May,

mons returned to their own House, and, the Speaker having
taken the chair, Mr. O'Neill moved a servile and laudatory ad-
dress in reply to the viceregal oration. The adoption of this
address was seconded by Mr. Holmes and supported by Sir
Samuel Bradstreet, recorder of Dublin, who, however, declared —

"That, as representative of the first city in Ireland, he thought himself
called upon to complain of the great neglect our trade had suffered ; that
while the most paltry privateers of the enemy continued to make depreda-
tions on our coasts, the executive government of Ireland could not com-
mand a single frigate to go in pursuit of them or to guard our channel
from those plunderers."

These remarks brought Mr. Fitzgibbon to his feet, who declar-
ed he deemed "this an improper time to enter on such a sub-
ject," and demanded, in amazement, " if the gentleman intend-
ed to pledge the House for the maintenance of an Irish navy."
The simulated amazement and indignation of Fitzgibbon brought
forth hot retort from Mr. Yelverton, who in turn asked :

" And pray why not an Irish navy ? Why should not the trade of Ire-
land be protected by ships under the command of the executive power of
Ireland, especially as Parliament has already provided for the expense ?
For one of the acts which grant the hereditary revenue to his majesty ex-
pressly declares it is granted for the protection of the trade of Ireland, but
it is applied to the support of that infamous list of pensioners who fatten
upon the national wealth while her dearest interests lie neglected."

Shortly afterwards Grattan rose, and, remarking that he did
not mean to oppose the address, commented on the absence of
any mention in it of " the word Volunteer — that wholesome and
salutary appellation, which he wished to familiarize to the royal
ear." One can imagine how " Farmer George," snuff-box in
hand, pacing the terraces of Windsor, must have marvelled at
the audacity of the Hibernian senator when he received report
of his slyly humorous thrusts, and at the rising fearlessness
of the leaders of Ireland's citizen-soldiers. Surely his majesty
must have wondered at the strange fact that in order to get the
address to his own viceroy passed it became necessary to ask the
House to vote its marked thanks to the Volunteers — dangerous
men who were already talking what, in the puzzled ears of the
poor Hanoverian monarch, sounded something like sedition, and,
worst of all, talking their treason with firelocks in their hands
and with clanking sabres at their sides. Indeed, the poor king
must have pondered uneasily over the turn of affairs in Ireland.

On the day following the opening — that is to say, on the roth

1 882.] ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. 245

of October — Bradstreet, the recorder, introduced, in union with
Yelverton, a Habeas Corpus Bill for Ireland, justly remarking
that until some such measure was passed into law and afforded
its protection "the liberty and safety of the subjects of Ireland
were insecure." The worthy recorder never dreamt that a cen-
tury later this same Habeas Corpus Act would be in the same
land counted but as waste paper when compared by its whilom
rulers with the depraved suspicions of any jealous or idle con-
stable. On the nth of October the members, with the Speaker,
carried the address to the Castle, whence, the wordy, if worth-
less, document having been read, they shortly returned to the
Parliament House. Here they assembled only to adjourn until
the 29th — a step which, however, they were not allowed to take
until Mr. Yelverton had made some remarks, reported as fol-
lows:

" He gave notice that immediately after the recess he would move
the House for leave to bring in the heads of a bill to regulate the trans-
mission of bills from this kingdom to England. At the present our consti-
tution was the constitution of England inverted. Bills originated with the
British minister, and with this House it only remained to register or reject
them. This was the miserable state of Ireland, and in this state it would
remain as long as a monster unknown to the constitution — a British at-
torney-general— through the influence of a law of Poynings, had power to
alter our bills. This, he said, was so generally admitted by every member
of the House that last session, when he moved for a modification of Poy-
nings' law, gentlemen urged that though this power lay in the hands of
the English attorney-general, yet it was never exercised to any bad pur-
pose ; but the declaration was scarcely made when an altered sugar bill
annihilated our trade to the West Indies. To prevent such an abuse in
future, and to relieve the constitution from this oppression, he would again
move the bill he had mentioned."

The House met again on the date fixed, on which day two
most important petitions were presented, one from the mer-
chants of Dublin, the other from the refiners of sugar, complain-
ing of the trammels and cruel disadvantages inflicted on Irish
trade through the astute use by English ministers of the pow-
ers conferred by Poynings' law. The consideration of these
petitions was, after some discussion, postponed to the following
Thursday, when Grattan in the course of a speech declared that
" though the crown of Ireland was inseparably annexed to the
crown of England, yet the king of England had no right to rob
the king of Ireland of the brightest jewel in his crown — his trade
—to embellish that of England." The patriotic party was de-
feated in the ensuing division, and, if only for that of one amid

246 ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. [May,

the four, it is interesting to note the names of the tellers. They
were Mr. Grattan and Sir Lucius O'Brien, Mr. Fitzgibbon and
Mr. Parnell. Strong feelings were being excited on both sides of
the House, and therefore it seems no way strange to come across
a report of what our newspapers of the present day would style
" a scene." Grattan, in the course of his remarks during the
debate on the merchants' petitions, had charged Eden, the chief
secretary, with being an avowed enemy of Irish trade — a charge
the truth of which Eden had indignantly repudiated, and, there-
fore, on the day following Grattan rose to substantiate his accu-
sation. But he had hardly done so when he was called to order
by the chief secretary, who asserted that past debates could
not be referred to. The Speaker, of course, impartial man that
he was, decided in favor of the government officer and ruled
against Grattan. Our report continues :

" Mr. Grattan, rising to reply, was called to order ; but, reluctantly yield-
ing, much confusion arose. Many members spoke to order. The Speaker
called to order. Mr. Eden expressed his wishes that more order should
prevail.

"The Speaker said it was only his duty to call the House to order when
they were proceeding wrong, but it was the business of the House to en-
force it. He appealed on this ground to Mr. Eden, who spoke in the
highest terms of the Speaker's conduct, and paid him every compliment for
the wisdom, ability, impartiality, and spirit of his behavior in the chair.

"Mr. Grattan still attempting to proceed, and to speak upon the sub-
ject of the Judges Bill, which was not before the House, Mr. English called
him again to order with some acrimony of expression ; but Mr. Grattan per-
sisted in proceeding, when Sir Boyle Roche called him again to order and
observed that he made use of language that was totally unparliamentary.

"Mr. Grattan immediately turned towards Sir Boyle and exclaimed:

" Thy gallant bearing, Harry, I could 'plaud
But that the name of Bravo stains the soldier. "

Upon which, amidst much confusion, the fire-eating baronet was
observed to leave his seat and utter; a whispered challenge in
Grattan's ear. The report continues : " The House took the
alarm, and, as is usual on such occasions, was cleared ; when the
Speaker called the gentlemen to him and insisted that the mat-
ter should subside, which they promised " — a precaution on the
part of Mr. Speaker by no means unwarrantable, seeing that be-
fore then, for lesser occasion, the sequel to hot debate in the
same House had been the measuring of blades or the clicking of
pistol-locks in some convenient spot in the Phcenix. On Tues-
day, November 13, Grattan made a long speech against the per-

1 882.] ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. 247

petual Mutiny Bill in force -in Ireland as distinguished from the
annual one adopted regularly in England. He declared that —

" He was not come to say what was expedient ; he came to demand a
right, and he hoped he was speaking to men who knew and felt their
rights, and not to corrupt consciences and beggarly capacities. He begged
gentlemen to tell him why and for what reason the Irish nation was de-
prived of the British constitution. He said the limitation of the Mutiny
Bill was one of the great hinges of the constitution ; and ought it, then, be
perpetual in Ireland ? We want not an army as Great Britain does ; for an
army is not our protection. Was your army your protection when Sir
Richard Heron told you you must trust to God and your country ? * You
want it not for defence, you want it not for ambition ; you have no foreign
dominions to preserve, and your people are amenable to law. Our duties
are of a different nature — to watch with incessant vigils the cradle of the
constitution, to rear an infant state, to protect a rising trade, to foster a
growing people."

Despite all the eloquence of Grattan and Flood, of reiterated
argument and expostulation, the national party was again de-
feated by the stolid phalanx of place-holders supporting gov-
ernment. The English ministry were determined to relinquish
not one iota of their intolerant claims until compelled to do
so, while that miserable section of Irishmen who play the poor
and servile part of West-Britonism held with all the tenacity
of angry despair to every olden position. Eloquence, reason,
or caresses alike were wasted ; nothing but the bayonets of the
Volunteers could open Ireland's path to freedom, nothing but
the sheen of their weapons illume the night of her slavery.
Through the length and breadth of the land a mighty spirit was
passing; the people, stirred from their lethargy of sorrow,
were becoming awake to a sense of their own strength.

In the case of Ireland it was not the furious struggles of a
hateful and heedless mob with which England had to deal ; she
was face to face with a nation mindful of past wrongs, angry at
present injustices — she had to deal with an entire people, patri-
cian and plebeian, gentle and ignoble, clamorous for the common-
est rights of men, vowed to dare all for free exercise of the right
to live and thrive on the spot of earth a beneficent Providence
had given them for their own. No lapse of time can consecrate a
crime, no seeming success extenuate a wrong. A wrong a wrong
remains, in spite of time or power ; and not all the centuries which
had passed since its first beginning, not all the forces which had
hedged it round about, had made English rule aught but wrong-

* A reference to the reply of the then chief secretary to the magistrates of Belfast, who
claimed protection for their town when Thurot's expedition menaced the coasts.

248 ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. [May,

ful in Irish eyes. The educated and wealthy Protestant resented
the intolerant interference of England with Irish commerce ; the
Catholic recollected the tales of the past his father had recounted
in their old and humble chimney corner, he recollected the hunt-
ed priest and the hedge-schoolmaster. Both classes alike had re-
solved to end for ever that " organized hypocrisy " which was
known as English domination. But if Ireland was to be freed it
should be by action outside the Houses of Parliament, where a
venal and shameless majority were ready at all times to barter
their birthrights as Irishmen for such mess of potage as the
English ministers might offer. Therefore it was that — as the
poet of a later and less lucky time tells us * — one morning in
February, 1782 —

" The church of Dungannon is full to the door,
And sabre and spur clash at times on the floor,
While helmet and shako are ranged all along,
Yet no book of devotion is seen in the throng.

" The church of Dungannon is empty once more —
No plumes on the altar, no clash on the floor ;
But the councils of England are fluttered to see,
In the cause of their country, the Irish agree."

We should, however, wander far from our proper task were
we to now seek to trace the course of the Volunteers or the ac-
tion they took to secure the freedom of their native land. Thurs-
day, November 22, an important debate arose in the House on
the question of the imposition of a prohibitory duty on English
refined sugars. At this period, and even for some years after
the Union, Ireland possessed a prosperous trade in refined sugars.
Many refineries existed in various parts of the island, the refin-
ers being amongst the wealthiest of the Irish merchants. It was
therefore necessary that, while high duties should be imposed
on sugars already refined in other countries, raw sugars not
yet refined should be imported at a low rate. Mr. Parnell sup-
ported the government propositions for peculiar reasons. His
theory was that the Irish refiners — then in the habit of buying
their raw sugars in the English markets from English merchants
and brokers — would, by the denial of more than a certain limited
protection, be driven to seek the establishment of a direct West-
Indian trade for Ireland. He thought, perhaps not wrongly, that
high protective duties seldom taught merchants the wisdom of

* Thomas Davis.

1 882.] ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. 249

seeking the cheapest market for their raw materials and were lit-
tle productive of economy or thrift. He seems to have over-
looked the fact that the tutelage or protection little needed by,
perhaps harmful to, the grown and stalwart man is essential to
the infant. The trade of Ireland needed both fostering and sup-
port. The patriotic party, it is needless to say, only urged their
proposals to have them rejected. On Tuesday, December 5,
Barry Yelverton, who should have moved his resolution relative
to Poynings' law, delivered a long speech beginning as follows :

"I had determined this day to bring- on a motion which I think it my
indispensable duty, at a proper time, to pursue — a motion of which I will
never lose sight until a mode of legislation utterly repugnant to the Bri-
tish constitution shall be done away ; but the melancholy intelligence re-
ceived from America has, for the present, diverted my attention from that
object and turned my thoughts into another train."

The " melancholy intelligence " which had so affected the weak-
kneed nationalist was the report of the surrender of Lord
Cornwallis and his army at Yorktown — intelligence which boded
more good than ill to Ireland : good which, however, to men still
half blinded by the glamour of the darkness of slavery, was as yet
not quite discernible. Yelverton's motion was one pledging the
House to support the king in his varied troubles and offering his
majesty honeyed condolences. Grattan, in the course of the dis-
cussion, asked :

" Will you send more armies to be slaughtered, more generals to be
made prisoners ? Will you urge on a frenzy that cannot enslave Ame-
rica but must ruin England ? . . . England has still the old hankering after
power ; . . . till she shall renounce all claim to control this country it
would be madness in Irishmen to support her ambition."

On a division Yelverton's motion was carried, but Flood rose
immediately and gave notice of a resolution relative to Poynings'
law: This resolution, which he supported in a magnificent ora-
tion, was rejected on the i ith of December. Events were moving
fast, however. On the i6th of February, 1782, "the church of
Dungannon was full to the door," and on the 22d of the same
month Grattan moved a spirited and patriotic address to the king,
delivering a bold and eloquent speech. He said :

" Ireland is in strength. She has acquired that strength by the weak-
ness of Britain, for Ireland was saved when America was lost. When Eng-
land conquered, Ireland was coerced ; when she was defeated, Ireland was
relieved. Have you not all of you, when you heard of a defeat, at the

250 ONE SESSION OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT. [May,

same instant condoled with England and congratulated Ireland ? . . . An
Irish army, the wonder of the world, has now existed for three years,
where every soldier is a freeman, determined to shed the last drop of
blood to defend his country. . . . The enemy threaten an invasion ; the
Irish army comes forward ; administration is struck dumb with wonder ;
their deputies, in their military dress, go up to the Castle, not as a servile
crowd of courtiers attending the lord-lieutenant's levee, but as his pro-
tectors ; while the cringing crowd of sycophants swarm about the treasury,
and, after having thrown away their arms, offer nothing but naked servi-
tude."

After speeches from Flood and Bushe and others, with weak
harangues from the government side, the attorney-general mov-
ed the postponement of the debate until the first of August.
" The cringing crowd of sycophants " caught eagerly at the
chance and voted in its favor. But a change was coming : steel
had proved itself a truer metal than gold, and Irishmen

" Remember still, through good and ill,

How vain were prayers and tears,
How vain were words, till flashed the swords
Of the Irish Volunteers."

The Dungannon declaration had done its work: the British min-
istry was changed. Lord Carlisle and Eden retired to their
native shores. Fox had been called to the councils of King
George, and the Duke of Portland was sent as viceroy to Ire-
land. Hence on the i6th of April the reporter whose services
we have availed ourselves of heretofore records that " the House
having met, the galleries and bar being crowded with spectators,
and every heart panting with expectation, about five o'clock,
when the Speaker had taken the chair," Hely Hutchinson, who
had been appointed chief secretary, read the historic message
from the viceroy yielding on behalf of the king all that Ireland
had demanded. It was a scene for defter pens than ours to re-
cord— a moment to be treasured in the memories of Irishmen for
centuries. Youth and beauty, rank and fashion, filled the gal-
leries of the senate house ; patriot valor guarded its portals.
Gr^ttan moved the Declaration of Rights ; it was carried — Ire-
land was free. The last rays of the setting sun flashing on the
bayonets of the Volunteers, coloring the walls of the Houses
of Parliament with the roseate and golden light, seemed God's
benison on man's work so manfully done and the harbinger of
a glorious future.

1 882.] A WAKE IN CONNEMARA. 251

A WAKE IN CONNEMARA.

THERE is nothing more characteristic of the temperament of
the Celtic race and the influence which the circumstances of
life and the effects of national history have had upon the Irish
branch of it, nor more misunderstood by its Saxon neighbors
from the contrast of their custom and temperament, than the
custom of the wake, once universal in Ireland, but now disap-
pearing with other national peculiarities of the people. There
is something peculiarly shocking to the Saxon habits of decorum
in the idea of a boisterous merriment about the corpse of the
dead, and it is attributed to an incurable shallowness of tempera-
ment and lack of deep feeling in those who practise it. It is
considered both an indulgence and a desecration, and there is a
total misunderstanding of its original purpose. Something of
the difference between the Celtic and the Saxon custom of
mourning, as exemplified by the solemn funeral of the one and
the wake of the other, is unquestionably due to the radical dif-
ferences in temperament, but much also to the hereditary diffe-
rence of circumstances that have made misery a constant compan-
ion with the one and an infrequent guest with the other. When
sorrow comes seldom the impulse is to endure it, and even make
much of it. When it comes often the struggle is to escape from
it and throw it off by every means in the power. The Saxon
people, comfortable and prosperous, paraded their misery ; the
Irish, unfortunate and suffering, endeavored to conceal theirs.
The purpose of the merriment of the wake was to distract the
mind of the mourners, to give them some relief from the other-
wise unendurable sorrow, and its characteristics were as deeply
sad to the sensitive observation as all jests that " do conceal the
wound." It was not an evidence of the lightness but of the
depth of feeling, and if the contrast was to be made there was
likely to be more real grief and pangs of suffering under the dis-
traction and tumult of the Irish wake than under the sober de-
corum and cold solemnity of the English funeral service. But
without any invidious comparison, and allowing the same
strength of natural feeling to all of humankind, the Celtic cus-
tom was merely the expression of its temperament and by no
means an evidence of want of feeling.

252 A WAKE IN- CONNEMARA. [May,

There has been so much of degrading caricature concerning
the Irish wake, as in regard to other national customs, in that
English literature which was for a long time the accepted ex-
ponent of Irish life, and which has been continued by such na-
tive writers as Maxwell, Lever, and Lover — who wrote mainly
for English audiences, and of a purpose or from natural exaggera-
tion drew more for effect than for truth — that there is a general-
ly false idea concerning its nature. There is a general impres-
sion that it is a scene of drunkenness, irreverence, and at best of
boisterous tumult ; that its substance is a wild riot and its fre-
quent conclusion a general fight. How false this is, and how
much it is resented by the Irish people, has been shown to the
American people in one way by the fact that the wake scene in
Mr. Boucicault's " Shaughraun " cannot be given before an Irish
audience without vigorous hisses and sometimes with more em-
phatic evidences of disapproval. The humors of the wakes as
described in the stock Irish novels like those of Maxwell and
Lover are no more natural or truthful than the vulgar comicality
of the stage Irishman is like the real wit of the peasant, or the
coarse humor of the music-hall songs is like the deadly pathos of
such expressions of native feeling as " The Night before Larry
was Stretched." The real wake is by no means devoted to mer-
riment in any sense. Even where the sorrow does not break
through the attempts to hide it, it is only the alternation of the
set lamentation — the song and story follow the keen* He is a
very dull observer indeed who does not feel the real pathos of
the wake, or whose heart-strings are not touched by the depth
of its expression of grief as a whole as well as in the weird and
wild sorrow of the keen. Such as it is, however, the wake is dis-
appearing, fading with the native language and other peculiari-
ties of the Irish people. Wakes have long been disapproved of
by the Catholic clergy, and in the greater part of Ireland have
been reduced to little more than a simple vigil around the dead.
In the west they still retain many of their predominant features,
or did before the last famine, which is said to have made such
changes, although the custom which used to prevail of accom-
panying the corpse to the grave with the keen along the road has
for some time been extinct, unless it be in some of the islands.

One late autumn I was a sojourner in a dwelling-place appro-
priately nicknamed " Mount Misery," which overlooked a dark,
undulating landscape, brown heath and black bog, with the
patch of a green field here and there, gray walls and sod-roofed

* The correct Gaelic orthography is caotne.

i882.] A WAKE IN CONNEMARA. 253

cabins, that lay between it and the low, dark banks and gray
waters of the great Lough Corrib. The house was an appro-
priate type of more than one to be found in the west of Ireland.
It had once borne the more hospitable title of the "Friar's
Head," and been inhabited for a generation or two by a family
of the inevitable Blakes, or Brownes, or Lynches of the pure Gal-
wegian stock. The house was not an old one, but probably had
never been finished, and in any event showed all the unredeemed
ugliness of premature decay. It was built of dark, gray stone in
the narrow and unrelieved style of architecture of the Georgian
era, and stood on a gentle eminence at a distance from the main
road. An empty and ruinous porter's lodge stood by the gate,
which hung heavily on one hinge, and an ill-trimmed and un-
thrifty plantation flanked the muddy avenue, leading to a bare,
furze-grown pasture that was once the smooth, green lawn in
front of the mansion. A few ragged evergreens surrounded the
house, whose barren nakedness, however, was not relieved by
the curtain of ivy which in that country of ruins so tenderly en-
wraps the wrecks of fortune and war and makes them an orna-
ment instead of a blot upon the landscape. The mansion was of
two stories^n height and its walls were substantial; but its roof-
tree had sunken from the horizontal; one chimney had blown
down and the other was ragged and visibly leaning ; and the up-
per windows were smashed in qr boarded up. The dog-kennels
were tenanted at will by a couple of pigs of the greyhound or
razor-back species. The extensive stables were now only occu-
pied by the poor old garran of the farmer and the doctor's bit of
a blood mare, with a piece cut out of her cheek where he had
driven her into a gate-post one dark night. Turf and manure
were piled against the walls of the house ; the garden showed
tokens of potato ridges and the stumps of gathered cabbages ;
and the stable-yard was a morass in which broken wheels and im-
plements showed like the grave-stones of departed prosperity.

Within the house the picture was not more cheerful or en-
couraging. The hall-door, carefully pried open, admitted you
into the entry, on one side of which was the living-room of the
family, once the great dining-room. The plastering had fallen in
great patches and the mouldings were knocked off. The table,
on which the circles of the hot tumblers of twenty years ago
were marked, was propped in one corner on the uneven floor.
The chairs were broken-legged and broken-backed, and the
dresser showed a meagre display of cracked earthenware. In
the great chimney-place a prematurely sad and ragged young

254 A WAKE IN CONNEMARA. [May,

woman watched the boiling of a pot over a dull and feeble flame,
holding a child in her arms, while a couple more disputed posses-
sion of the hearth with a dog and some guerrillas of fowls. The
tenant of the place was a " weak" — that is to say, poor — farmer,
who had lived there since the late Blakes, or Brownes, or Lynches
had succumbed to the combined evil effects of hunting, horse-
racing, and hospitality, and the estate had fallen into the hands
of a receiving attorney, who exacted a rent that left a very slight
margin above a steady diet of potatoes.

There were, however, two other inmates of the house — the
doctor, whose guest I was, and his boy. The doctor lived in the
rooms on the other side of the entry, once the drawing-room and
library, which he had fitted up with considerable comfort, al-
though in a somewhat heterogeneous way, the guns, books, fish-
ing-tackle, gallipots, and other miscellaneous effects of a young
bachelor doctor and sportsman being scattered about in consid-
erable confusion. He was himself the frankest and jolliest of
young fellows, fresh from the racket of the Dublin medical
schools, and full of abounding health and spirits. He was in
charge of a dispensary district of some twenty miles or more in
extent, and many was the long ride he had to lonely cabins in
the mountains around, where disease and poverty, lying on damp
straw pallets in darkness and cold, blessed the sight of his cheery
face. JTe was mighty with the gun on the hillside and in casting
the forty-foot line in the stream ; and if his mare Fanny had not
the strength nor the stride for the first place in a Galway hunt-
ing-field, he generally contrived to have a fair position at the
end of the run. He was indefatigable in teaching his boy, Andy
Ruadh, a red-headed imp about three feet in height, the accom-
plishments of a London tiger, which formed a most heterogene-
ous graft on the original stock of Connaught wildness ; and with
a monthly cargo of novels from the metropolis, a good con-
science, and the friendship of his nearest neighbor, the parish
priest, the days of his exile passed pleasantly enough until a
better appointment should come.

I had expressed the wish to attend a genuine old-fashioned
wake, and upon the first occasion — the death of an elderly farmer
in a townland about ten miles from " Mount Misery " — we set
forth. At about four o'clock Fanny was brought out and put
into the shafts of the jaunting-car. We balanced each other on
the sides, Andy climbed into his seat in the centre, and we flash-
ed through the avenue and out into the post-road. Rain is the
normal condition of things at this season of the year in Conne-

1 88 2.] A WAKE IN CONNEMARA. 255

mara, and we were not disappointed when the night fell in a
heavy mist, soon settling into the soaking deception of a fine
drizzle. With mackintoshes' buttoned tightly, and the coal of the
pipe burning dimly under the nose with that special gratefulness
both of warmth and fragrance that comes from tobacco in the
wet, we rolled along in darkness mile after mile over one of those
solid limestone roads which are a special wonder to an Ameri-
can, and for which he would be glad to exchange some of his
more pretentious paved streets. At long intervals we would pass
the light of a wayside cabin glimmering with a feeble halo
through the mist, and a dog would bark or a melancholy donkey
send his dismal hee-haw after us; but there were long stretches
of the darkened land without sign of life. Finally the car turned
into the mouth of a narrow boreen which Andy must have dis-
covered by instinct, and went floundering along through the
mud, stray branches of the hedge now and then giving us a
sharp splash across the nose or a wet tickle in the ear, until we
came to a long, low house at the foot of a great, dusky mass of
hill. The windows were streaming with light, and as we drove
into the yard we could see that the doorway was filled with dark,
quiet forms.

There was no sound of merriment, not even of voice, from
the house. All was still, as if in expectation, when there came
from it a long, piercing, mournful wail — u-lu-lu ! * It rose to a
high, tremulous cry, filling the misty air with an indescribable
chill, and sinking into a low moan. It was thrice repeated, and
then followed by a rapid recitation in Gaelic in a sustained key.
The cry seemed the last excess of anguish and lamentation, and,
although I know that in one sense it was artificial, it overcame
me with an actual shudder. It was the keen.

After the recitative had ceased way was made for us into the
room where the corpse lay. It was large though low, and
around the bare, rough walls candles were stuck up with lumps
of clay. Its only ornaments were a religious picture and a
faded lithograph of the " Liberator." In the centre a couple of
stools supported a coffin of unpainted deal. No glass protected
the white, wan features of the corpse from the tobacco-cloud that
filled the air, eddying around the candles and under the cobwebs
of the thatch. The principal mourners sat at the side of the
coffin, and consisted of the son, a stout farmer of fifty, and his
wife, and a half-dozen of children in youth and girlhood. The
room was filled, except in the space immediately at the head of

* Fhuil le luadh — that is, blood and ruin.

256 A WAKE IN CONNEMARA. [May,

the coffin, with all the neighbors for miles around, seated on
benches, stools, and turf kishes, or on the uneven floor. An im-
pressive quietude and solemnity reigned upon the countenances
of all. The faces of the assemblage were characteristic of the
locality. They were sharper in outline and wilder in expression
than their congeners of the south. Their features were more
regular, with darker complexions and hair, and less of the Mile-
sian outline. Some of them had the dark, flashing eye and the
regular oval of the Spanish face, and there was the carriage and
turn of the head of the dwellers of the mountain. They were
poorly clad, and few of the women had the comfortable long
blue cloaks of the southern farmers' wives, or the cap with its
frill of lace around the shining hair. Some of the men were
ragged beyond description, and the suggaun, or hay-rope, around
the waist was all that kept their garments in any degree of con
sistency. Several of the men, and women also, were barefooted,
although the night earth and air were both damp and chill.

The keener sat on a low stool at the head of the coffin.
When she had finished her recitative, as we entered, she had
drawn the hood of her cloak over her face, and a slight rocking
of her body gave the only sign of life. It was as if she were
meditating under the excess of grief. After a silent interval of
some minutes she threw back the hood of her cloak, revealing
the pale face of a woman of about forty, with a fixity of look as
of one in a trance. Without lifting her eyes from the face of the
corpse she repeated her tremulous cry and continued with a
rapid recitative, apparently addressed to the dead rather than
the audience, and then subsided again into silence. The follow-
ing is a literal translation of a portion of her invocation, and
characteristic of its entire language and substance :

U-lu-lu!
Ah ! he is gone ;

The sweet, clean old man is gone.
Happy was his face when he came to die ;
But his children lamented ;
His grandchildren lamented ;
There were tears and cries around him.
Ah ! he is gone,

He was honest ; he was true ; he was devout ;
His voice was low and kind ;
He wronged no man.

His cousins and all his relatives lament him,
All his neighbors lament him.
Ah ! he is gone.

1 882.] A WAKE IN CONNEMARA. 257

He is with the angels, above, above,

In brightness and happiness ;

We shed tears for him below

In darkness and sorrow.

May the winds blow soft on his grave;

May the turf grow green upon it,

As he sleeps with his fathers of many generations,

And pain and weakness feels no more.

Ah ! he is gone.

Uhla-uhla-gohla-goane !

As the keener continued silent the spirits of the company
were relieved from their tension. They began to talk and to
move. One or two got up and filled their pipes from a plate of
tobacco on the coffin, and there was a gradual relaxation of the
talk to gossip and joke. A little old man, wrapped in a gray
frieze overcoat much too large, for him, with a face like a with-
ered apple and a look of humor in his unfaded blue eyes, wiped
his dhudeen on his sleeve, and, handing it to his neighbor, com-
menced the recital of a story in Gaelic. He gave out his narra-
tive with much comic emphasis, drawing the sympathetic atten-
tion and laughter of his audience. The story was evidently well
known, but none the less pleasing on that account, the audience
anticipating with knowing smiles the jocose turns. The story
is a familiar one in the fireside legends of Ireland, and is a cha-
racteristic specimen of them. It is called " The Well at the
World's End," and its substance is as follows :

There was a king, who had three sons. Being taken grievous-
ly sick, he was told by a wise man that nothing could cure him but
a drink of water from a well at the world's end. His eldest son
volunteered to go and get the precious water over the seven seas
and seven lakes, and seven mountains and seven plains, that lay be-
tween it and the palace. On his way he met a poor old woman,
who asked an alms, but the stingy prince refused to give her even
a bit of bread. When he came to the castle in whose courtyard
was the well he blew his bugle, and out rushed a giant lion that
bit him savagely, but, on consideration for the old father, let him
go in. He went into a long hall, and there he found fifty knights
standing in armor and all sound asleep. On the throne was a
beautiful princess with a crown on her head, who told him
where the well was, and that if he did not get his bottle filled
and be out of the castle before the clock struck twelve it would
be the worse for him. He stayed so long gallivanting with her
that the clock struck and the knights woke up ; the castle-door
VOL. xxxv. — 17

258 A WAKE IN CONNEMARA. [May,

shut itself, and he was a prisoner. He was thrown into a dark
dungeon. As he did not return, the second son set off, but treat-
ed the old woman no better and met with exactly the same fate.
Lastly the youngest son set out, and he gave the old woman an
alms as well as kind words, and she bestowed on him a magic
cake. This he gave to the lion, who was too busy in eating it
to do him any harm. When he spoke to the young lady, and she
told him about the well, he went off and filled the bottle the first
thing, and returned to compliment her afterward. When the
clock struck twelve the knights did not wake, and the lady
showing him where the unfortunate princes were confined, he
released them and they all went home to the palace together,
where the king was cured, and the youngest prince and the lady
were married. " And if they didn't live happy together after-
ward, that you may."

When the shanachy * had concluded his tale, which was em-
bellished with many flourishes and digressions here omitted,
whiskey was passed around, and a Connemara Hebe appeared
before us bearing in one hand a bottle and in the other a tum-
bler with its bottom fixed in a stand of wood. Even in that
land of fair women I had not seen a more brilliant and strik-
ing face. Hardly more than sixteen, there was a fulness to her
figure and a bloom on her cheeks, as the Irish song says,

" Like the apple's soft blossom,"

which the kindly air of Ireland alone gives in purest perfection
to womankind. Her eyes were as dark and limpid as those of
Andalusia, and the regularity of her features and the darker
tinge of her complexion gave token of that Spanish blood that
still survives in unabated strength after so many generations
since its original introduction in Galway. There was a dimple
in her chin and in her cheek that gave piquancy to the regular
features, and her crown of hair was silky and fine enough to be
the " brag of Ireland." She was better dressed than some of
the rest, a silk handkerchief being pinned across her bust with a
silver pin of an antique shape, a clean cotton gown fastened to a
roll behind displaying a bright scarlet petticoat. " Plase, if you
plase," she said, dropping a decided curtsey ; and we took the
least taste in life of the pure element to her good health, which
she repaid with a smile half timid and half gay, and altogether

* Correctly, seanchiiidhc.

1 882.] A WAKE IN CONNEMARA. 259

innocent and bright, and rapidly withdrew. The mirth contin-
ued in various ways without becoming at all turbulent or even
boisterous. Occasionally some one would come in, cross himself
and pray by the side of the coffin, where the keener sat unmov-
ed like a statue of grief, and then rise up and join in the merri-
ment ; but at all times there were frequent ejaculations of sorrow
and sympathy, and a special endeavor to cheer and distract the
minds of the nearest mourners. The undercurrent of pathos was
visible under it all, and, strange as it may seem to some, the very
mirth and merriment did not seem incongruous with the pres-
ence of death, while it was far from being in any feature the irre-
verent festivity the wake is usually depicted. If such take place
in Ireland it has never been my fortune to see one.

An hour's stay in such a scene was enough to impress, it
vividly on the mind, and we withdrew. Our departure seemed
to arouse the keener, who had remained silent and motionless
since our entrance, and as we passed out into the thick, damp air
once more the long, wailing cry thrilled in our ears and haunted
our minds as we moved heavily down the lane.

It commenced to rain soon after we started, but fortunately
a hamlet with a decent country inn was not many miles away.
In a short time we were steaming before a roaring turf fire in
the best room, and buxom Mrs. O'Farrell shook her fist at Katty
to hurry up the laying of the table, and turned to smile on us
with two steaming tumblers, saying, " Drink that, my poor boys,
for fear the cowld would get into your hearts."

260 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL.

From the German of the Countess Hahn-Hahn, by Mary H. A. Allies.
PART IV.— APPARENT DIR^E FACIES.
CHAPTER II.

AN IMPORTANT DECISION.

PRETTY Georgiana Dambleton was threatened with consump-
tion. Her husband and mother-in-law took her to Ems, where,
later on, she was to try the grape-cure. Harry Griinerode was
also sent there by the doctors. He had always been weak and
sickly, and now at fifteen he did not seem to have power to de-
velop. He had a constant cough and was getting very thin.
His mother, whom it took a great deal to make anxious, roused
herself for her Benjamin's sake and went with him to Ems, even
though it cost her a sigh to leave her comfortable house in town
and her large establishment at Griinerode for a watering- place*
Sylvia, of course, accompanied her aunt. She welcomed every,
thing and anything which took her out of herself and distracted
her mind ; for she was still wavering about her future, and Octo-
ber, in the meantime, was drawing nearer every day. By that
month she would be obliged to make up her mind. Herr Gol-
disch, who had gone to New York on business, wrote to her be-
fore starting that he respected her feeling of delicacy toward Val-
entine's parents, that it strengthened his appreciation of her mind
and heart, and that he only begged her to let him have an an-
swer on his return in October. If she consented she would
make him truly happy, and he hoped to instal her at once at his
lonely fireside and to secure a kind mother for his forlorn little
boy. Lehrbach's examination was also to take place in October,
and sooner or later his appointment was to follow. So October
was to be the decisive month, and in spite of herself she often
thought of Bertha's superstition about the I3th. At eighteen she
had come to her uncle's house on that day, and at twenty-six
Lehrbach had proposed to her. What would happen on the next
1 3th of October? Did it not seem as if this day had a strange
and iron control over her destiny, so that it could not pass by

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 261

without bringing her some momentous change ? In proportion
as the glare of the world and its selfish enjoyment darkened the
light of supernatural faith Sylvia grew more disposed to believe
in a fate which rules the course of helpless man — a comfortable
creed for all weak and foolish people who wish to justify their
crimes and sins. There were times when Sylvia flattered herself
that Lehrbach was much too marked a man to tread the beaten
path. An exception would be made for him, and he would be
given a better place than fell to the common lot ; and were this
to be the case she would unhesitatingly decide in his favor.
Goldisch might be as kind and good-natured as he pleased to
her ; Lehrbach's affection had a very different charm about it,
and he himself was such that the mere thought of his looking
down upon her for her fickleness wounded not only her pride
but also her feelings. Her mental turmoil was to end in October,
Sometimes she sighed and wished herself in the quiet November
days, just as if she had not had her peace of mind in her own
hands. She fancied rather that some chance event or other
would push her, as it were, on to the right path. Meantime she
was delighted to be at Ems with Mrs. Dambleton and Ge9rgiana,
whereas the baroness groaned : " But, love, are you sure you
telegraphed for the little brown coupe the day$ before yester-
day ? "

" Yes, quite sure, Aunt Teresa," answered Sylvia.

" The day before yesterday, you see, and yet it has not come.
What is. the use of railroads, if they can't bring an empty car-
.riage when one wants it? But perhaps you did not say by ex-
press?" ,

" No, I didn't think of it But you know that my uncle is a
little particular about his carriages. You have already had the
blue caleche sent."

" Do be reasonable, love. It is quite impossible for me to
drive in the fearful hired carriages here."

" Well, you have got the caleche to go to. My uncle won't
understand what you can want with the coup6 in this dreadful
heat."

" Sit down then, love, directly, and write him word that I must
have the coupe" at oncejn case the weather changes. There is only
one drive here, up and down the Lahn, and sometimes there is a
foggy dampness in the air which is very bad for Harry ; so lose
no time about it, love. My writing myself here is impossible, for,
in the first place, the table is rickety ; and, in the second, they put
me up no red ink, and that blockhead of a John has not managed

262 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

to find out where it is to be had at Ems. I can't possibly write
without red ink. Yet Ems is thought a fashionable watering-
place ! Really, it is astonishing how much one has to do without
— even the ink one likes ! Did you remark what a most hideous
sofa-cushion there is in the drawing-room ? The sofa goes down
suddenly at each side. I can't invite any one to sit down
upon it. To be comfortable here one needs to bring furniture
for several rooms, and first and foremost one's own cook."

So grumbled the baroness, although she had some of the best
apartments at Ems and an excellent dinner every day, as she dined
with the Dambletons and not at the table-d'hote. She had been
beyond anything spoilt. Aurel came with Phoebe and Valentine
to see the baroness. Mrs. Dambleton was very friendly to Valen-
tine and avoided anything which recalled the past, so that there
was no appearance of constraint in the little circle. She express-
ed her feelings when she was alone with Sylvia: " I can't get over
my trouble at Valentine's having made my poor brother so un-
happy. He has had years of vexation and sorrow, and now he.
has a solitary life, all through her."

" Why did he marry her at all ? They were not suited to
each other in age, taste, sympathies, or feelings," said Sylvia, feel-
ing embarrassed.

" Alas ! how little a man knows a girl before he marries her,
and how much less she knows him. In her mind he is what she
has dreamed about, and in his she is what he likes to make her.
When you consider the extraordinary misapprehensions which
exist in this particular it is a wonder that so many marriages
turn out well, and a marvel why they turn out well. In spite of
great differences of age and character some marriages are very
happy, and others which are perfectly suitable very unhappy.
To be happy in marriage there must be good-will on both sides ;
and this is the chief thing, in my experience. If they are both
determined to do their own part the marriage is happy."

" Then you would say a mutual inclination is unnecessary? "

" If it is there, so much the better. It lightens many things,
but it carries some deceptions with it. Perhaps you think me
very matter-of-fact, but matter-of-factness only dies with us.
Poetry evaporates. If my brother could make a second mar-
riage grounded on reciprocal kindness, good intentions, and re-
spect, what a comfort it would be to me ! "

Georgiana and Vivian came into the room and the conversa-
tion took another turn. Sylvia did not know whether to be glad
or sorry. She had wanted very much to take Mrs. Dambleton

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 263

into her confidence and to ask her advice as to which of the two
men she should choose. But as she was certain that Mrs. Dam-
bleton would have been for* Herr Goldisch, consulting her seem-
ed to be unfair for Lehrbach, and she said to herself : " No, no-
body shall decide but I myself."

Towards the end of their stay at Ems Clarissa Lehrbach
wrote to Sylvia, pressing her, as she was so near, to go and see
them. The invitation brought Sylvia to an important decision :
she would go to see her old friends, but instead of one week she
would stay from four to six weeks, and the visit should serve as
a kind of novitiate which would prove to her whether or not
she had it in her to live on very little. There was a hard strug-
gle to bring the baroness to consent to so long an absence, and
Sylvia was obliged to enlarge upon Frau von Lehrbach's and
Clarissa's right to her gratitude — the one as the widow of her
guardian, the other as her old friend — before she won the day.
Happily Harry was somewhat better, and Aurel and Mrs. Dam-
bleton took her part. She was first to go with the baroness to
Heidelberg, whither Harry and Georgiana were ordered for the
grape-cure. The baroness settled herself down there as if she
had meant to end her days at Heidelberg, and then Sylvia re-
ceived a six weeks' leave of absence. Aurel and Phoebe, who
were to return to Paris, went a little out of their way to see
Sylvia safely to Frau von Lehrbach's, and in the meantime Val-
entine stayed with her mother.

In the course of years Aurel had become a tolerably dry man
of business, as his married life offered no scope for softer feel-
ings. He had never been remarkable for brains, and his abilities
were not above the average. Sylvia was at a loss to understand
her girlish love for him, and Mrs. Dambleton's remarks about
happiness in marriage struck her forcibly as very pertinent.
Perhaps ten years would change Vincent as completely as they
had changed Aurel, who seemed to retain nothing but his piety,
his good-nature, and his universal benevolence. Perhaps he had
never had more, and possibly she had deceived herself about him.
Might not the same be said of Vincent, and did not his love for
her make her credulous ?

Her mind was full of these bitter thoughts as she sat with
Phoebe and Aurel on a bench in the new promenade at Mainz.
They were just in front of the juncture, known as the schone Aus-
sicht, and which every stranger goes to see, where the Main and
the Rhine join their waters, and a fine view of the noble river
and its banks spread out before them. It was near the hour of

264 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

sunset; the glowing west formed a background of gold, against
which the old city with its cathedral and numberless towers
stood out in grave and majestic outline. Such an appearance is
characteristic of cities which have a great history and have
sprung from it, and not been made after the fashion of modern
towns. However much a city which is some two thousand
years old may have lost of its ancient splendor, and in spite of a
population indifferent to its claims to antiquity, it still retains a
certain grandeur of its own by the side of which all towns built
in the last few hundred years look small and pretentious, much
like an upstart in the presence of a noble lord.

Phcebe hastily sketched the view, whilst Sylvia looked sor-
rowfully from the grave city to the dancing waters, and from
the far-off limes on the hillside to the hazy summit of the Taunus,
which was glowing in the western light. A sound in accordance
with the lovely scene broke suddenly upon them. It was a bell,
two single tolls and then a peal — the evening Angelus. It seem-
ed like a signal, for every church and steeple rang out a solemn
chime, and above them all, over country and river, was heard the
great cathedral bell, which is reserved for eves of the highest
festivals, as an outward token of the deepest joy.

" To-day is only Friday ; what are the bells ringing for ? "
asked Phoebe, looking up from her drawing.

" To morrow Catholics keep the great feast of the Assump-
tion," answered Aurel.

" Oh ! yes ; of course I remember — the Emperor Napoleon's
feast-day," she said carelessly.

" How beautiful the voices of bells are, making a chorus from
heaven to suggest thoughts which are not of earth ! " exclaimed
Sylvia.

" Our man was just telling me how the story goes that at the
time that great bell was being melted some rich monasteries in
the place sent whole barrelfuls of silver coin to the furnace ; and
this, they say, accounts for its beautiful tone."

" What holy lavishness ! " Sylvia said.

" It's to be hoped that it's only a story," said Phcebe, who
went on busily drawing till the sun had set. Its golden bed chang-
ed to crimson red, and then to faint purple streaks which melted
into the ethereal sky. The evening star rose peacefully out of
its blue depths like an immortal hope after earth's deceptive
happiness.

Sylvia was walking along the railings, ostensibly to get a
cool breeze from the river after the oppressive heat of the day,

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 265

but really to hide a feeling of extraordinary sadness which had
come over her like that burst of night over earth and river.

"Why, Sylvia, are you crying?" asked Aurel, who had fol-
lowed her.

" The older I grow the sadder life seems to me to be ; for, we
may do what we like, we are in reality solitary and lonely crea-
tures, and there are times when one feels it acutely."

" I have known what it is, Sylvia. There is nothing for it
but plenty of occupation. Daily work deadens any over-plus of
feeling, Sylvia."

" We will go to the cathedral and see the Empress Fastraaa's
monument," said Phoebe, who had finished her sketch and closed
her album. She was tormented by jealousy, although Aurel
gave her not the slightest grounds for anything of the sort, and
felt herself quite in the shade by the side of so pretty and in-
teresting a girl as Sylvia. Their t£te-a-tete vexed her inexpressi-
bly. Sylvia broke it off at once, and they drove back- to the town
and got down at the cathedral.

It was fast getting dark, but the cathedral was still open, as
there were many people lingering by the confessionals. The
church was dimly lighted by single gas-jets and wax candles
scattered at the different confessionals which were occupied.
This had the effect of bringing out the mass of pillars, whilst the
shadow of perpetual darkness seemed to rest on the body of the
church. The cathedral at Mainz certainly appears with the
greatest effect under a dim light, which displays its beautiful pro-
portions and hides many disturbing points of detail. One won-
ders at the lofty ideal which must have been in the mind of its
architect, and which gave his blocks of stone their boldness and
harmony. No sound broke the stillness of the vast and dim
aisles; a footstep or the rustle of a -dress was lost in its size.
Only a little movement was observable in the side-chapels as the
penitents approached, or moved away from, the confessionals.

" It is just like a stance," whispered Phoebe in a querulous
tone. As soon as she had been to Fastrada's monument and de-
clared that it could boast of nothing but its eleven hundred
years — which is an undeniable fact — she was moving out to the
carriage. At the porch, as their hired man was opening the
door, Aurel said :

" Don't wait tea for me. I am going to stay a little while."

" Then I shall stay, too," said Phcebe in a tone of decision and
she went back into. the cathedral.

" And so shall I," added Sylvia.

:.o5 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

" Do as you like about it, Phoebe ; but have the kindness to let
me alone and drive back to the hotel, if you find the time too
long."

" Why, what on earth makes you want to stay such a time?"
she asked.

He did not answer and went into a side-chapel.

" He wants to go to confession, Phoebe," said Sylvia. " Let
him alone."

" Go to confession? What's the use of that? " she whispered
impatiently.

" It's what many Catholics do on the eve of great feasts."

" Do you want to go to confession, too, Sylvia?"

" I may," answered Sylvia in a low and hasty tone, and she
went into a side-chapel, where there was a black wooden statue
of Our Lady over the altar. She knelt down, and Phcebe seated
herself in the middle aisle, so as to keep an eye upon Aurel and
Sylvia in their respective side-chapels.

Aurel made his confession. If Sylvia had done the same it
might have affected her decision and brought her rest and
peace. She was once or twice on the point of getting up and
walking into the confessional. She hesitated, and fought with
herself, feeling at one moment as if she must do it, and at an-
other as if something held her back. She did not go to confes-
sion, but remained perplexed as before and let the easy oppor-
tunity of grace pass by. When Aurel and Phoebe were ready
she got up with red eyes and drove with them to the hotel, and
was no sooner there than she would willingly have returned to
the cathedral. But it was late ; Phcebe threw herself down ex-
hausted on a sofa, and Sylvia had to make the tea, after which
they said good-night. Sylvia was restless, and the evening was
dark and sultry. She went softly back to the drawing-room,
opened the balcony window, stepped out, and began to walk up
and down after her impetuous fashion. Her guardian angel
whispered to her : " You are at a turning-point of your life ; look
to it. You want to find out which way you ought to go, and to
do this with inward liberty of spirit you must put away from
you all love of self, vanity, and worldliness, humbly ask God for
light, and try to find out what he wants of you with a pure con-
science and a ready will." This was the voice which appealed
to her from a corner of her heart of which she was hardly con-
scious. It spoke softly and at intervals in the midst of other
voices which repeated in a hundred different tones, " Why do
you delay ? Throw yourself into love's arms. One day of it is

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 267

worth years of anxiety"; or, on the contrary, "Don't sacrifice a
good position to a passing p!ream " ; or, again, " You have com-
mitted no great crime. Why should you go to confession?
You gave it up many years ago. It would be a perfect self-tor-
ment to take to it again ; and if through it many unnecessary
demands are made upon you, you will be involving yourself in
worse indecision."

Wearied out in body and mind, she sank down on a chair near
the window and her thoughts ceased to take definite shape. A
crowd of vague and broken pictures passed through her mind.
Two o'clock struck from the cathedral. The night air blew a
refreshing breeze from the Rhine and cooled her burning fore-
head. The noise of the great river fell upon her ear in the deep
stillness. The bridge of boats to Castel with its lanterns lay
before her, and as she gazed at the narrow and shining path
across the water a strange thought struck her.

She could not fathom the depth of those waters, nor measure
their breadth in the darkness with her eyes, nor follow their
course. " Does not faith throw just such a bridge, narrow yet
firm and bright, across the deep and dark waves of human life ?"
she said to herself. " Are not the people who walk upon it to be
envied ? What would become of Aurel in his wretched married
life if he had no religion ? Faith cannot make him genial or at-
tractive, but it makes him conscientious in very trying circum-
stances. Oh ! why have / not got this faith ? How did I lose
it ? Was it because I did not use the means of grace which God
put into my power?"

A train puffed along at the opposite side of the street and
disturbed her cogitations. She left the balcony and the drawing-
room, and went to her room, where, tired out as she was, she
fell into a heavy sleep. When Sylvia and Phcebe appeared the
next morning Aurel had long been back from the cathedral.
They had only just time to breakfast before they started, and
that same evening Sylvia was with the Lehrbachs.

CHAPTER III.

A NOVITIATE.

SYLVIA was discomfited on the very outset by finding Frau
von Lehrbach no longer in her old house or in that large and
comfortable sitting-room where four years before they had been
so happy together. As a widow Frau von Lehrbach's means

268 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

were very narrow, and she was obliged to support Theobald,
who would have no settled profession for some time, whilst Vin-
cent did his very utmost not to be a burden to his mother and
not to get into debts which would cripple his future action.
Frau von Lehrbach, therefore, had taken some very small lodg-
ings. Mother and daughter lived in one room and slept to-
gether in another. They had their meals in an ante-room, next
door to which, on the opposite side, was a tiny room which Vin-
cent or Theobald slept in when they came home, and which was
now allotted to Sylvia. Clarissa made no secret of all these con-
trivances, but Sylvia quietly thought to herself that the small
rooms made the old-fashioned furniture, which had been thirty
years in use, look miserably shabby.

" So you see, dear Sylvia, why I asked you not to bring a
maid with you," Clarissa added.

" Oh ! it doesn't matter at all. One of your maids will help
me a little, I dare say," answered Sylvia.

"/will," said Clarissa cheerfully. "We have only one ser-
vant, and she is something far beneath a lady's maid."

" Goodness ! one servant for two persons ? O Clary ! I shall
be dreadfully in your way," exclaimed Sylvia anxiously.

" Not at all. But we won't make a fuss with you, as we
always fancy you belong to the place and are one of us."

Frau von Lehrbach was as kind to Sylvia as Clarissa, and
there was so deep a sympathy between mother and daughter
that it appealed once more to Sylvia's feelings, as on her pre-
vious visit, and did her good. But this was only one side of the
business. Formerly she had been very happy as a guest, but
she had never asked herself seriously whether she could make
herself permanently contented with a similar lot. Or if she had
then put herself the question she might have answered it
affirmatively, both because she was younger and consequently
more enterprising, and because the reality was so far removed
from her that she did not grasp all that it involved. But now it
was quite different. She looked the whole question resolutely in
the face, and asked herself : " Can a happy family life make me
contented to give up every comfort and to do with as little as
possible for the rest of my days ? "

Moreover, four years back this family life had come before
her in the heyday of its summer. Father and mother were still
alive in the full possession of their faculties ; the sons, with their
youthful energies, were at home, and Mechtilda, the bride, was
on the eve of her marriage. It was like a beautiful summer's day

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 269

when light and coloring are all around, sweet-smelling flowers
and songs of birds in the air, and the blue firmament in its clear
depths seems replete with hope. But now Sylvia saw the same
family under the shadow of poverty and mourning ; she found
Frau von Lehrbach so shaken by her husband's unexpected
death, and so anxious about her sons, that she had not yet re-
gained the peaceful equanimity of former days, whilst Mechtilda
had succumbed morally to the worries of household and children.
Of her two children one was very sickly, and she herself looked
wretched, thin and pale, and worn out. Her own four walls
absorbed her eyes, ears, and thoughts to the utter exclusion of
any other interest in life. The anxious work of housekeeping
on small means, which were complicated by the arrival of a
baby every year without a proportionate rise of income, pressed
upon her the more because her husband looked for a certain
amount of comfort and was much put out when he could not
get it. Sylvia took it all in with a sinking at heart, and one day
she could not help saying to Clarissa :

" In the name of goodness, Clary, what do people mean by
domestic happiness ? Mechtilda has got to look the picture of
misery, and Velsen like a penny-a-liner. Between kitchen and
nursery she wears herself out, and he doesn't make his suits or
his writing very lucrative. Then there are the children into the
bargain — one that can't talk yet, and the other that can't run
about, and each making more noise than the other, /certainly
am not made for this sort of happiness."

. " The married state never attracted me either," answered
Clarissa quietly. " Those who are called to it most certainly
have the grace to fulfil its heavy duties."

" But there are marriages where there is more money, which
must lighten these duties a good deal," said Sylvia.

" Certainly there are ; but here, and in our position, they are
quite the exceptions. And the first duty of marriage — sanctify-
ing one's own soul and those of all one's family — remains the
same. Indeed, it is a great question whether a brilliant position
is a help to it or not."

" You are just like your brother, Clary — so fearfully earnest ;
and you soar so high, as if worldly things did not exist, or at least
were not worth taking into consideration."

" Before God and in eternal life do you think they will have
any worth apart from our good use of them ? "

" I am talking of time, not of eternity. They are* as far apart
as heaven from earth, Clary."

270 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

" And 1 find it impossible to separate the two, Sylvia. The
poor little stream of time is always flowing to the great ocean of
eternity, and I am borne with the current."

" Does this view of the thing make you happy ? "

"Happy ! That is an ambiguous word, Sylvia."

" I know it is, Clary, Mechtilda says she is happy with all
her worries, and Martha says she is happy in her fearfully hard
convent. In my opinion happiness consists in being so perfectly
contented with one's lot that one would never wish to exchange
it for any other. Is this your case ? '

" Quite. Neither marriage nor the religious life has ever at-
tracted me. I am too independent, and I could not find room
in my heart for more than my parents and brothers and sis-
ters."

" And God," added Sylvia.

" Oh ! of course," exclaimed Clarissa eagerly. " God is the
keystone of all love, and one finds him in all its notes. It is only
where this is the case that any one can feel perfectly contented
with his lot, be it humble or brilliant.''

" I wish I had your calm heart and your generosity in living
all for others," sighed Sylvia.

" Indeed, it's no merit of mine, but a matter of grace. Only
ask God to send you abundance of grace," said Clarissa simply.

Again Sylvia sighed. She did indeed admire Clarissa's un-
selfishness, but she had not the generosity to pray for it. She
remarked that Clarissa nearly always went against her natural
inclination. Clarissa liked reading, music, serious conversation,
long walks in the surrounding country, which was very pretty,
and quiet hours before the " Hidden God." Instead of all these
things she was obliged to busy herself with housekeeping ; for,
small though their establishment might be, it necessarily re-
quired a ruling spirit. Music was given up, as Frau von Lehr-
bach's weak nerves could not bear the noise of a full grand piano
in the small room. It was nearly impossible to get any reading,
because Mechtilda, with an eye to her own comfort, was wont to
send one of her children to their grandmother's, and Clarissa had
to keep watch over the noisy creature and to see that her mo-
ther was not worried.

They spent the evenings regularly with Mechtilda, who was
tied to the house by husband, children, and ailing health. But
the evenings had not the cosiness of former years. Mechtilda
had become quite tiresome and could talk of nothing but domes-
tic matters, the state of the market, the stupidity of her servants,

. 1 382.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 271

and her own weak health. If any reading were attempted she
interrupted it at every moment. Either a child was crying in-
stead of going to sleep, and' she had to see what was the matter,
or the maid happened to drop a plate in laying the cloth in the
next room, and she would get up to ask about the breakage.
Then she would come back and grumble :

" Goodness gracious ! I wish we might eat off pewter
plates and dishes. These tiresome servant-maids would not be
always breaking them to bits."

" But," said Frau von Lehrbach, " they cost a fortune in the
first instance, so many china plates may be broken for the same
money."

" But I should be less worried, mother, and that is some-
thing," replied Mechtilda. After these interruptions the book
was not always resumed.

At supper-time Mechtilda's husband made his appearance,
and five minutes after the meal he hurried off. His first words
to Frau von Lehrbach would be, " Has the croaker been grum-
bling well to-day ? "

This was his way of alluding to his wife ; and although he
spoke in joke, Mechtilda did not see the fun of it. Velsen was
good and laborious, but he was uncouth, and he wounded Mech-
tilda's naturally quick and sensitive nature at every turn. For
all that they were fond of each other, and did all they could to
be happy together in spite of mutual rebuffs. But if Sylvia
had expected to find their marriage an ideal one, having a charm
about it greater than the scantiness of their means, after which
pattern she would go and do likewise, she was completely unde-
ceived. Their two hearts fed upon home-made bread, not upon
ambrosia.

Sometimes Clarissa was able to snatch an hour before supper
from her mother and sister for a walk with Sylvia. Generally
speaking, Mechtilda had all kinds of small things to be made
for the children, and she looked to Clarissa to help her in the
evening, or Frau von Lehrbach wanted a little reading out ; so
that Clarissa's hands were tied on all sides, and she never had
her time to herself. Yet she seemed not to notice it all any
more than she did the petty disagreements between her sister
and brother-in-law, or Mechtilda's querulous sighs and groans.
There was always a peaceful look in her deep blue eyes and
a good-natured expression about the firm mouth. Her whole
bearing spoke strikingly of a rest which was neither indifference
nor abstractedness. It was the higher peace of faith and charity.

272 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

She was one of those rare souls who, in the quiet of their hearts
and consciences, and unaided by external circumstances, come to
see that true happiness is to be found in God alone, and that it is
entirely independent of circumstances, position, or duty in life.
Sylvia looked up to her in wonder as to a being not of this world,
and might, perhaps, have felt sufficient confidence in her to ask
her advice, only she knew how fondly Clarissa clung to her bro-
ther and how much she thought of him. " Clarissa will look
down upon me," said Sylvia in perplexity to herself, " when I tell
her that Vincent has loved me for two years, that I have en-
couraged him and return his affection, and that I am doubting
now whether I won't take a rich man instead of him, who, good
and worthy as he is, does not inspire me with the smallest affec-
tion. -She will not think me good enough for Vincent, and will
despise me for preferring some one else to him ; and I really
cannot bear this from her."

After a week of her stay Sylvia was thoroughly weary of it.
Everything was so different from her usual habits. She could
not put on her fashionable dresses, .with their sweeping trains, in
simple rooms without carpet or waxed floors. It would have
been incongruous. And who was to look after her bows and
laces, and sleeves and finery, now that she lacked her faithful
Bertha ? She did not care for the trouble of it. She was accus-
tomed to read or sing or paint, and to find her dress all ready
by the time she wanted it, whether it was for going out or for a
dinner-party or a ball. Certainly as Lehrbach's wife she would
live a very retired life, and not mix with the fashionable world ;
but even supposing she had to give up her evening and ball
dresses, she was firmly determined neither to go about untidily,
as Mechtilda did, nor to make her own clothes, as Clarissa did.

" You and your busy needle are much to be admired, Clary,"
she said one day to her friend. " If your mother would only
read out to you, as she used always to do, I could understand
this perpetual sewing and not find it so hard. But to stitch for
ever without any break does indeed require much courage."

" As soon as ever mother feels strong enough we shall begin
our reading again, and for the present, Sylvia, we can talk to
each other and can listen to you sing ; and, besides, one can think
undisturbed at work. I don't dislike it at all."

" Thoughts are generally painful things," Sylvia sighed.

" That would be a sad business. No, I lay any painful
thoughts I may have at the foot of the cross or in the Five
Wounds, and then I go back to pleasant ones."

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 273

" Of course you think about saints' lives and such like holy
things?"

" Sometimes, but not always. We have read so much his-
tory and biography, and so many books on literature and art,
that I find perpetual matter for thought."

" Do you? I think such books are dry and uninteresting."

" Perhaps you do, Sylvia. Such books are not merely enter-
taining, and they require some concentration of mind to be en-
joyed. But after giving one's "self this much trouble it is so
interesting to follow man's course through time, to see great
struggles and intellectual battles, and creations of human and of
spiritual genius. One sees the noblest gifts misused, bloodshed
and downfall, the contrasts of greatness and decline, and above
all these ev.ents God, whose will it is to lead every man through
our Lord to his church."

" I might fancy I was listening to Vincent," said Sylvia mus-
ingly.

" I dare say you might. We are twins in sympathy, and oft-
en, instead of dwelling upon my own future when I am alone, I
think of his. I cannot think of anything for myself. I began
my life here, and I shall end it here in the midst of the small
things which are proportioned to my small capacity ; but I let
myself indulge in bold wishes and high-flown hopes about Vin-
cent, as there is ground for them, in my opinion. I fancy a time
must come when men will be wanted, manly characters who will
build up right and justice from ruins on the basis of eternal
truth ; and then I think that he will be among the number."

" Do you really think him so strikingly clever that he is
bound to have a brilliant career?" asked Sylvia eagerly.

" So strikingly clever? No ; for he is very independent and
has an unbending nature. Thus he has been through his law-
studies and will make a practical use of them, as he invariably
shapes his life to his principles. He will never be made into
a puppet which is set in motion by unsteady hands and put in
the way of all kinds of good things ; he will never purchase an
advantage at the price of his independence. I am not thinking
of what people call a brilliant career, which does not always go
with real virtue. But I do think that society is in a state of mis-
erable chaos which is only kept together by material power, and
gagged by wiles and deceit, and that perhaps at no distant day
these shackles will give way. Then the good, who are now lost
and powerless in the crowd, will come to the fore and restore
order and true liberty to our unfortunate world."
VOL. xxxv. — 18

274 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

" But, all the same, I should be glad for him to succeed as
well as possible with his examination," answered Sylvia. " You
seem to be thinking of rather hazy times, you know, which
would require a revolution amongst the people. My uncle is
sometimes angry and horrified at the mere possibility of such a
thing. In the meantime Vincent has to live as comfortable as he
can."

" His happiness is in God's hands," said Clarissa gently.
" Pray for him. God's grace and his own efforts are his sole
support amongst the numerous dangers and temptations of this
great world of ours."

Sylvia had it on her tongue to add, " He has my love," but
when she looked into Clarissa's truthful eyes she felt she could
not stand their scrutiny. 'Clarissa would have read her very soul,
and then have turned sorrowfully away at not finding there that
deep and unworldly love for Vincent which alone could have
made him happy. Poor and divided and fluttering creature that
she was, she was incapable of rousing herself and no longer
equal to the effort of concentrating herself upon even a human
affection. Still, she had a secret sympathy for goodness and
truth, but was not true to her instinct.

Sylvia was silent for a while, then she said : " Clary, you are
certainly made -to be Vincent's twin sister. I look upon you as
an extraordinary girl."

" Heaven preserve us ! What are you thinking about ? I
am a most ordinary individual, with nothing wonderful about
me except the habit of good habits," exclaimed Clarissa, laugh-
ing heartily.

" That's just it, Clary. You've acquired readiness in the
greatest virtues."

" I know nothing whatever about that," said Clarissa, getting
up from her work. " But now we've talked enough, or you
won't admire my readiness in cooking pancakes."

" O Clary ! this is what I call intolerable. You interrupt
the most interesting conversation to go to the kitchen," ex-
claimed Sylvia impatiently.

" Certainly I do. We must have something to eat. And
don't you know that St. Catherine of Sienna had wonderful
ecstasies in the kitchen ? Of course this won't be my case, but I
am equally certain that kitchen avocations won't harm my soul.
Duty never does."

" There you are, Clary — always thinking of your soul and
your duty. It is so hard ! "

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 275

" 'Tis only part of my goad habits. If we have our crucified
King and his divine promises before our soul's eye, Sylvia, it is
easier than you think."

" Oh ! dear," sighed Sylvia. " This means that I am to over-
come one difficulty by a greater one. What are you asking me
to do ? "

" I am asking for nothing, but God wants your soul ; this
much is positive." So saying, Clarissa went out of the room.
During Sylvia's stay she wrote to Vincent. She said to him :
"I can't tell you how grieved I am in my own mind about
Sylvia. All that was good and is good in her is losing ground
because she lacks the magnet of living faith which attracts, and
strengthens, and develops our good qualities. At times she
sees her need, but only by glimpses. It looks as if she were
afraid of acknowledging it to herself, for fear the avowal might
necessitate steps she had rather not take. We must use her
carefully and not require much from her. It is only indirectly
that one may hope to influence her, for she will not bear much
and makes very small attempts at anything herself. Indeed, she
is so accustomed to lead an outward life of show and appearance
that sometimes I have a painful feeling that she may not be per-
fectly sincere."

Vincent by no means shared this opinion of Clarissa's about
Sylvia. He looked at her with a first-love's tender eyes, and his
was a first love in real earnest. It was neither produced by a
vague need to love something nor was it the spurious offspring
of an overheated imagination. Strong, ennobling, and self-
sacrificing, it had grown up in his heart, and he pictured its fu-
ture action to be the eternal sanctification of two souls, who,
bound together by a deep sympathy, should tread the same path
and share life's thorns and roses. This was how he looked at
marriage. With him it was no enthusiastic figure of speech, but
a heart-felt need and a strong determination which Sylvia's
shortcomings by no means repulsed. They only made him feel
a greater need of perfection himself, in order that he might prove
a sure and faithful guide to her. Clarissa's reproaching Sylvia
with want of honesty affected him painfully ; for whilst Sylvia's
inward perturbation and the contradictory points in her char-
acter appeared to Clarissa — and rightly, too — in the light of a
want of truthfulness, Vincent accounted for it by her wishing to
be silent about their mutual relations, and possibly seeming, in
consequence, to be wanting in sincerity. It distressed him great-
ly to be the cause of the misunderstanding ; still, he was more

276 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

than ever determined not to tell his mother of his engagement
till he had an independent position. In her nervous condition it
would have worried her to death to weigh all the possibilities
of their engagement never coining to a marriage, and Vincent
meant to spare her this anxiety of mind. He wrote just a few
lines about Sylvia back to Clarissa, begging her not to expect
too great things of people. He said : " If you had only seen
Sylvia for one day as I saw her for months together you would
not accuse her, with her loving heart, of any want of lively faith.
She was an angel of mercy to us all when we were so ill."

As Clarissa read these lines she begged Sylvia's pardon men-
tally for her harsh judgment, but did not for all that fall into
her brother's view. She saw through Sylvia's character, or
rather through the feminine mind, better than he did. A wo-
man is made up of contrasts and contradictions, and is so strange
a mixture of lightness and energy, laziness and activity, super-
ficiality and depth, many colored tones of thought and perfect
simplicity, that often a man does not know how to take the enig-
matical creature. His judgment fluctuates between flattery and
a too unfavorable verdict. Still, Clarissa was far from wishing
to deny that Sylvia had been an angel of goodness, and that she
would be an angel again if opportunity offered ; but she remain-
ed true to her conviction that a solid piety would be the only
means of introducing harmony and order amongst the good ele-
ments which were smouldering in Sylvia's heart, and that un-
fortunately her friend did not possess this piety.

Vincent said in the same letter that he was on the eve of his
last examination, after which he meant to come and see his mo-
ther. Sylvia's heart beat quickly and anxiously at the thought
of meeting Vincent in the midst of his own family, for one thing
was certain : there was an elevation of feeling about him, a men-
tal soaring, which went far beyond her own conception of earthly
happiness. She knew his was the nobler sentiment, and some-
times she wished he would impart it to her, thus reconciling her
to the modest position which awaited her as his wife, and to-
wards which she felt an ungovernable disgust. But the ques-
tion whether she could make herself permanently happy on very
small means always plunged her back again in her sea of doubts ;
for though it was easy to grow used to a kind and loving hus-
band, it might be difficult to resign one's self to constant priva-
tion. She trembled at the thought of meeting Vincent under
his mother's roof.

Towards the end of September Baroness Griinerode left

1 8 32.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 277

Heidelberg and asked Sylvia to meet her at Frankfort, whence
they could travel home together. Bertha and a man-servant
were sent to fetch her.

" My goodness, miss ! how very odd your hair is done," ex-
claimed Bertha, after the first words of greeting. " Why^you
are quite flat on the top of your head ! What have you done
with the long, thick, fine plait of hair which made you look so
wonderfully interesting ? If there is no handy maid in the
house the town is not so God-forsaken as to have no hair-
dresser. Really, miss, I assure you you can't appear as you are
bdfore your aunt to-morrow. You' look quite different, and not
at all to advantage, miss. You see you can't get on without
your faithful Bertha."

Sylvia cast a furtive glance at the very diminutive glass
hanging over the drawers, at which Bertha called out in a tone
of profound scorn : " That thing there can't be called a toilette
glass. You must have a large one to see yourself from head to
foot, and a small one on the table, and a hand-glass to be able to
look at the back of your hair ; and here there is nothing of the
sort. Dreadful indeed ! "

" Don't be jabbering nonsense, Bertha. They are still in
mourning here, and they don't trouble themselves about the
fashions," said Sylvia, irritated by the loquacious girl's remind-
ing her of those elegant habits which she would willingly have
forgotten, if it had only been possible.

The following day Clarissa accompanied Sylvia to the station
and said tenderly : " How can I thank you for the pleasure you
have given me, and for your sacrifice in staying so long with
us?"

" There was no sacrifice in the matter, Clary."

" Oh ! yes, there was, and a great one too, Sylvia dear. Don't
you think I have remarked how uncomfortable our narrow
means have made you ? And still you stayed on. I fancy you
must have felt like a beautiful bird from foreign parts who falls
by accident into a dark and quiet wood. Now you are glad to
fly back to your golden cage."

" Did you find me so disagreeable, then?" asked Sylvia with
a touch of pettishness.

"On the contrary, you have been as nice as you could be,
both to me and to my mother. But for all that you are not
going to persuade either yourself or me that ours is the kind
of position you like, or would wish for or choose. You look
upon it as full of labor and toil. Now, can you deny it ? "

278 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [May,

" No, Clary, I am afraid I can't."

" And 'in spite of this you have been willing to stay with us
six weeks out of friendship. May God reward you, and may he
give you that which we all most need ! "

" Which is — " said Sylvia breathlessly.

" The knowledge of ourselves," answered Clarissa. " If we
only realize thoroughly what and who we are we shall become
humble, and God showers his best graces on humility."

" Oh ! if I were only like you," exclaimed Sylvia sorrow-
fully.

" You must look higher," answered Clarissa earnestly.
" Don't rest contented with sinning creatures. Loosen your
thoughts a little from earth and the things of earth, and heaven
will grow more accessible to you. And now good-by, dearest
Sylvia."

" O Clary ! shall we ever see each other again ? " exclaimed
Sylvia with emotion.

"Why not?" answered Clarissa calmly. "Even if death
came to separate us I should still look for our meeting in a place
where there is no sorrowful parting. We must pray and do
our best to get there."

They kissed each other, and Sylvia got into the train, which
moved slowly away. She held her head out of the window to
catch a last and lingering sight of Clarissa's tall figure in her
flowing mourning. When at last she could see her no longer
she leant back in the carriage, shut her eyes, and said to herself :
"The faithful creature wishes me self-knowledge. I think her
wish is fulfilled. I must give up Vincent."

TO BE CONTINUED.

1 882.] STRIVING. 279

STRIVING.

STAND on the snow-clad peaks of faith and see

The vaunting toilers in the vale below —
Men in pursuit of myth and phantasy,

Warmed into action by their passion's glow,

Striving in vain by rosy paths to go,
Yet know not whither ; straight before them lies

A foot-pressed path up toward the gleaming snow,
Through it ascending to the love-lit skies —
Ah ! no, the wondrous height dazzles their doubting eyes.

Some, on the self-plumed wings of private thought,
Soar to their little heights and call it bliss.

Entranced by rays of seeming wisdom caught
From earthly sources, some adore and kiss
Such as themselves ; nay, even the vile abyss

Of human sin is odorous with wreaths

That had been twined for heaven, serpents hiss

Where buds should bloom, and dying man bequeaths

To man contempt for Him who through his being breathes ;

Striving to prove mankind a cultured beast,

To drown the voice of the immortal soul,
Make life a wine-tinct, rose-crowned pleasure feast,

And cull the gifts, from God's own hand that roll

In rich profusion, Nature's meagre dole.
Thus would they fling the sacred name aside,

And yield to phantasms of the brain a sole
And blind obedience ; scorn the Crucified
And those who kneel to pray " O Father, be our guide."

280 NEW PUBLICATIONS. -[May,

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

PAX. Chronological Notes containing the Rise, Growth, and Present
State of the English Congregation of the Order of St. Benedict.
Drawn from the Archives of the Houses of the said Congregation at
Douay in Flanders, Dieulivart in Lorraine, Paris in France, and Lamb-
spring in Germany, where are preserved the Authentic Acts and Origi-
nal Deeds, etc. An. 1709. By Dom Bennet Weldon, O.S.B., a monk of
St. Edmund's, Paris. London : John Hodges, 24 King William Street,
Charing Cross. 1881.

This title is enough to show that the Chronicle and its editor are alike
very old-fashioned. The Chronicle is published in quarto, with red let-
ters on the title-page, and other quaint, antique forms. The Benedictine
Order is like a great circle within a greater, in respect to the Catholic
Church — a sort of great universal Christadelphian Ecclesia, to borrow an
appellation from a curious sect of this name existing in Jersey City, in-
side of the Catholic Church. It has its own hierarchy, rites, feasts and
fasts, breviary and laws, and has had a vast extension, a long history.
Cardinal Newman, in his exquisitely beautiful essay on " The Mission of
St. Benedict," assigns to it poetry as its characteristic mark, and it is in-
deed the embodiment of the poetry, romance, and child-like enthusiasm of
religion. Its annalists claim for it 37,000 houses, 30 popes, 200 cardinals,
4 emperors, 46 kings, 51 queens, 1,406 princes, some thousands of nobles
and bishops. It has had during its long existence many millions of mem-
bers and many thousands of saints, abbots and learned men.

The author of the Chronicle, Dom Bennet Weldon, an English convert
to the Catholic faith, was born in London in 1674, and died in 1713. His
notes embrace the period between Queen Mary and the death of James II.
They make a curious and interesting addition to that special class of his-
torical works now coming so much into vogue in England, which repro-
duce original, contemporaneous documents, and are therefore very trust-
worthy and life-like. The book has been carefully edited and»published in
an elegant style. An appendix has been added containing many particu-
lars concerning Benedictine religious houses of men and women, and lists
of superiors and subjects. The editor's Preface also is full of information
respecting important facts of modern Benedictine history. One fact is
specially worthy of mention — the active part taken by the monks to pro-
mote the art of printing when it was still in its infancy. The monks of
Mentz were foremost in Germany in encouraging printing, those of Subiaco
in Italy, and in England the monks of Westminster set up the first press,
their example being soon followed by those of St. Albans, Tavistock,
Abingdon, and Canterbury.

ALL FOR LOVE ; or, From the Manger to the Cross. By the Rev. James J.
Moriarty, A.M. New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co.
1882.

The title All for Love seems to have been suggested by that of Father
Faber's famous book, All for Jesus. It refers, however, not to the love of
man for Christ, but to the love of Christ for men, as exhibited in the work

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 281

of redemption. The manner of treating the subject is between the method
of meditation and that of spiritual conference. There is a thread of argu-
ment, but the main object is to 'awaken pious emotions. The hidden life
of Christ at Nazareth, the institution of the Blessed Eucharist, and the
Passion are the topics which seem to us those which are treated in the
best manner by the author. We are glad to quote the kind words he has
used concerning the Jews, near the close of his last chapter : " The reason
the writer has for dwelling at some length on this perfect realization of the
ancient figures and fulfilment of the prophecies is the desire which all
Christians ought to have for the conversion of that noble and grand old
Jewish race, from whom have sprung those whom we venerate most in the
world — Jesus and Mary. This great people were for long ages the sole
depositaries of God's truth, and we should pray that they may acknowledge
their Messias, Lord, and Redeemer, and be once more received into divine
favor."

The practical reflections with which the author directs the mind and
heart of the reader to imitate the example given us by our Lord in his
actions and sufferings are excellent and useful, particularly those with
which he concludes, and sums up the lessons of the entire Life and Passion
of Christ.

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS AND HER LATEST ENGLISH HISTORIAN. A nar-
rative of the principal events in the life of Mary Stuart, with some
remarks on Mr. Fronde's History of England. By James F. Meline.
(A new edition, with a new appendix.) New York : The Catholic Publi-
cation Society Co. 1882.

It seems only yesterday that the three favorite writers with the English-
speaking world were Carlyle, Kingsley, and Froude. In a certain class of
minds they had grown almost to the proportion of apostles. They were
supposed to represent the innate love of truth. Their mission, it was said,
was to demolish cant, sham, make-believe — hypocrisy, in fact, in its every
phase. Very strangely, they were as popular here in America as in Eng-
land ; perhaps more so — it was here that Carlyle's talents, such as they
were, obtained t*heir first real recognition. Yet all three of them were de-
fenders of absolutism, of Caesarism, of brute force. Their idols were, al-
most without exception, unyielding monarchs, oligarchies, military usur-
pers, or brawny athletes. The meek and lowly counted for nothing with
these writers. For oppressed peoples they had only scorn, and for the un-
happy poor, sneers. Accomplished facts, success, which are after all but
skilfully chosen synonyms for the immoral maxim that the end justifies
the means— these were the test which preachers of the so-called muscular
Christianity were to apply as the measure of the justice and the wrong-doing
of men or nations. With them success was virtue and misfortune vice.
They exemplified their new gospel of "thorough " by the lives of their
saints. Who were their saints ? Specimens of them are Henry VIII.,
Elizabeth, Frederick of Prussia, Catharine II.! The first Napoleon was
omitted from their martyrology, perhaps only because he was an enemy of
England.

And these writers were said to embody in a manner the genius of the
English nation, But how so ? The English constitution— an inheritance

282 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [May,

of Catholic times and teaching — has long been the model for other coun-
tries striving after free political institutions in which all the classes of the
commonwealth may come in for their due share of privilege and responsi-
bility. But the spirit which these writers embody is the spirit of modern
England, which has built up a vast empire by subjugating other races and
nations to its own will and interests. A true history of England since the
beginning of Protestantism will present an appalling array of atrocities :
chief among them Drake's sanctioned piracies ; the systematic oppression of
Ireland for three centuries ; the sale of thousands of Irishmen as slaves in
foreign parts; the persecution of Catholics in England itself; the ill-treat-
ment of the American colonies ; the cruel and perfidious conquest of India,
and its subsequent harsh government ; the bombardment of Copenhagen
without a declaration or notice of war ; the destruction during the Penin-
sular War of Spanish manufactures under pretence of keeping them from
the use of the French ; the Opium War against China; the wanton invasion
of the Boers' territory in South Africa. It is no wonder that readers bred
to an attitude of apology for such a system should have been prepared to
accept the new prophets of force as men of light.

But Kingsley came to an ignominious end when, after having posed as
an ardent worshipper of truth, his tergiversations brought down upon him
Newman's weight in the Apologia pro Vita Sua. The hollowness, the dys-
peptic cynicism of Carlyle were only recently made known to his admirers
through the indiscretion of his candid friend Froude in publishing the
Reminiscences — a book which is the master-key to all of Carlyle's railings.
As for Froude himself, fortunately it must be owned, he has been wonder-
fully indiscreet from the first. His History of England was not consistent
with itself in the attempt to make out that impiety, treachery, selfishness,
and brutality had brought blessings upon England. The late Colonel
Meline, in the volume now before us, showed Froude's unfitness for histo-
rical work. Froude, he says, " has fine perceptive and imaginative faculties
— admirable gifts for literature, but not for history ; desirable if history
depended on fiction, not on fact ; precious if historic truth were subjec-
tive." And again: "In matters of state Mr. Froude is a pamphleteer;
in personal matters he is an advocate. He holds a brief for Henry. ' He
holds a brief against Mary Stuart." " He is the declared friend or the
open enemy of all the personages in his history." Historians of Mr.
Froude's stamp are not content to take facts as they find them and arrange
them in the order in which they occurred. They make the facts " harmon-
ize " — with whatever thesis they are attempting to maintain. They have
theories to float, heroes to idealize, political systems to hold up for the ad-
miration or to point out for the contempt of the trustful reader. They are
endowed with that strange gift of " mind-reading," but, what is stranger
still, they read the most secret thoughts of people who have been dead and
buried for centuries, and they have no hesitation as to assigning with cer-
tainty motives for actions, even where intelligent contemporaries were un-
able to form an opinion as to the motives. The chroniclers of old used to
set down in scrupulous order whatever facts, or Supposed facts, had come
to their knowledge. But the chronicles they compiled were merely the
dry bones of history. Our philosophical historians, with great skill and
consummate art, build up about these bones the beautiful contours of real

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 283

flesh and blood ; and though the added beauty may not be exactly like the
original forms or colors, there is nevertheless the semblance of life. A
philosophical historian's narrative may not be truthful, but it is at least apt
to be picturesque.

Mary Queen of Scots and her latest English Historian was first published
in 1871, and at once attracted general attention. It was welcomed by Free-
man, Hosack, Agnes Strickland, and others as an extremely valuable con-
tribution to the criticism which Mr. Froude's shocking distortions of his-
tory had aroused among the learned in England. Shortly after its appear-
ance Mr. Froude made his celebrated visit to this country on a lecturing
tour, his subject being the English dominion in Ireland. He was ably an-
swered by Wendell Phillips and the Dominican friar, Father Burke, and
was shown to be "a pleader of a cause rather than an impartial historian."
At a lecture given in Boston Mr. Froude affected to challenge his critics to
a test of his own accuracy regarding Mary Stuart's history, and Col. Meline
was offered the columns of the New York Tribune for a rejoinder. Two let-
ters from Col. Meline were published in the Tribune, November 23, 1872, and
December 7, 1872, the second of which — containing also in substance the
first — now for the first time appears in a permanent form as an appendix
to this new edition of Mary Queen of Scots. In this appendix we read :

" It was the intention of the gifted author of Mary Queen of Scots to review Mr. Froude's
History of Ireland, but this and many other historical sketches contemplated or begun were
cut off by the cold hand of death. On August 14, 1873, after long and weary months of suffer-
ing, endured with the courage of the Christian soldier that he was, he yielded his soul to its
Creator with an humble yet confident trust in his loving goodness and mercy. Accomplished
scholar, brilliant writer, gallant soldier, refined and Catholic gentleman, he was indeed a loss to
the cause he loved so well. Requiescat in pace."

Several new works of interest on Mary Stuart have appeared since
Meline's death, but nothing that can change the effect of the fearful array
of evidences of Mr. Froude's dishonest methods in history which Mary
Queen of Scots and her latest English Historian first made known to the
general American reader. We are therefore extremely glad to welcome
this new edition. The whole of the myth of the " Reformation " is grad-
ually coming to be understood through the labors of a new school of criti-
cal writers, both Protestant and Catholic.

THE CATECHUMEN : an aid to the Intelligent Knowledge of the Catechism.
By J. G. Wenham. London : Burns & Gates ; New York : The Catho-
lic Publication Society Co. 1882.

This is an excellent work and cannot be too highly recommended.
There is nothing so important in the present age as that our Catholic
youth should be well instructed in their religion, and this can only be
done, at least in our large cities, by intelligent laymen devoting their time
and attention to this work. In spite of all that may be said in favor of
parochial schools, a large proportion of our children go to work at an early
age, and in consequence fail to receive the advantage of the careful instruc-
tion provided there. If these children are not looked after the church will
suffer great losses in the rising generations. There is one effectual way to
meet this need, and that is by well-organized and carefully-conducted Sun-

284 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [May,

day-schools or catechism classes. Certainly far more than a majority of
our Catholic youth of both sexes are at work by the age of fourteen, and it
is from fourteen to eighteen that they are able to receive an intelligent
knowledge and explanation of the faith. Nothing can ever take its place ;
sermons may do a great deal, but that intelligent understanding of our reli-
gion which can stand the test of the scepticism, materialism, and infidelity to
which it will be exposed in these times can be acquired only by a thorough
and systematic study of some of the larger catechisms, and this in its turn
can be secured only by making the catechism classes attractive and inte-
resting. That our Catholic youth will not avail themselves of such teaching
if offered is a false idea. If our intelligent laymen would interest them-
selves in this work there would be little doubt of results. And it is just
such manuals as Canon Wenham's that will enable them to do the work in
a competent manner. The Catechumen contains a short yet sufficiently
complete explanation of every point of Christian doctrine, and, as far as
we have examined, accurately theological without being dry or technical.
It is divided into four parts. Part first treats of religion in general, and
these chapters are exceedingly well written ; part second treats of the
Creed ; part third of the commandments ; and part fourth of the sacraments
and prayers. This arrangement makes it easy, from the table of contents,
to find information on any subject desired, and is also in conformity with
most of our larger catechisms. We recommend The Catechumen to all the
laity who desire to be informed concerning their religion, as the best book
of the kind in English that has yet come under our notice ; and certainly
no one who pretends to instruct others — for such is the duty of the real
Sunday-school teacher— should be without some such work.

CATECHISM MADE EASY. Being a familiar explanation of the Catechism o
Christian Doctrine. By the Rev. Henry Gibson. London*: Burns &
Gates. (For sale by the Catholic Publication Society Co.) 1882.

This is an explanation, question by question, of the catechism generally
used throughout England, and also formerly used considerably in Ireland.
Our Boston Catechism is substantially a reprint of the same, so that Father
Gibson's work will be of great assistance to those teaching this catechism.
But it will also be valuable to any teacher of catechism, since it follows the
division of the Creed, the Commandments, and the Sacraments. It would
have been better if the table of contents had been arranged more syste-
matically, and instead of making the number of the instruction, which is of
no importance, the most prominent thing, the subjects had been arranged
in a tabular form so as to strike the eye at once.

It is a similar work to The Catechumen, but the explanations are more
familiar and better adapted to smaller children ; it is also illustrated with
many examples, and, which we are pleased to see, many of them taken
bodily from the Holy Scriptures. As for the stories, so far as we have ex-
amined, they seem to be prudently selected and their authority generally
given. Altogether it is a very useful work, and the more of such books as
this and The Catechumen we .have in English, the easier and the better the
catechism can be taught to our children, whether by religious or laymen.
Canon Wenham and Father Gibson have done good service to the cause

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 285

of religious education, and we trust other priests engaged in the instruc-
tion of children will give to the world the benefit of their labors.

MEMOIR OF FATHER LAW, S.J. Parti. London: Burns & Gates. 1882.

Not quite a year ago the papers announced the death of Father Law
from fatigue and hardship incurred in the service of the Zambesi Mission,
and very general interest was awakened in his fate, the African continent
having of late much occupied the attention of the civilized world. The
father of the Jesuit missionary, the Hon. W. T. Law, having collected and
arranged the materials for his biography, gives us in this first part the
memoirs of his boyhood up to his fifteenth year. Mr. Law, the father, is a
younger son of the first Lord Ellenborough and a grandson of the famous
Bishop Edmund Law of Carlisle. Whether he is a relative of the more
celebrated William Law or not we do not know. After a short career in
the army he graduated at Cambridge and became a clergyman, holding
several benefices in succession and also having been at one time chancel-
lor of the diocese of Wells. Some thirty years ago he was received into
the Catholic Church, and now resides at Hampton Court. Besides his
son who became a Jesuit, several ladies of the Law family became religious,
and we hope to find in the second part of the memoir of Augustus Henry
Law some details of this most interesting event of the conversion of a
family so distinguished and estimable. The memoir, so far as it has gone,
is deeply touching, as a tribute from an aged and excellent father to the
memory of a good and noble son. It is a simple and domestic story, com-
posed mostly of family letters, in which we have found a great charm. It
reveals the interior of the best kind of English family life. It narrates the
childish history of the young Augustus as a schoolboy, and then tells in
his own artless and sprightly language the story of his first three years
as a midshipman on his first long cruise. It is a picture of a bright, ami-
able, and perfectly happy boy, innocent and pious from the beginning, and
also full of life and gayety. It is very pleasing to find a representation of
such a wholesome and pure school life, and, what is more remarkable, of
what seems to have been a very similar regime on board a man-of-war.
May the author of this Life be spared to complete the narrative of his son's
career in the navy, according to his intention, and to see the work he has
begun finished by a competent hand, recording the religious and priestly
history of Father Law. Such a book ought to do Immense good among
young people from its very attractive as well as edifying character.

LIFE AND TIMES OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS. Written by himself. Hart-
ford, Conn.: Park Publishing Co. 1882.

In the first part of this very interesting volume incidents are narrated
which read like those of a past age. One can hardly believe that there
could be a living witness to the deeds recorded against individual slave-
holders. Yet not only is there undeniable testimony of the utter baseness to
which were reduced many examples of master and slave in the olden time,
but the witness himself actually passed through the terrible ordeal. He
knows from personal experience how sharp and cruel was the master's
lash ; and the recital of his youthful adventures as a slave-boy in Talbot
County, Maryland, is both interesting and instructive. The daily life and

286 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [May,

condition of the slave cannot but give interest to a story told by the actor
in the scenes which he describes ; and the historical facts stated cannot
but prove of high value in the formation of a just opinion of the real status
of the actual system of slavery as it existed in the South.

In the amiable character of Mrs. Auld, who first taught the child-slave
his alphabet, we are presented with a picture said to have been by no
means uncommon in those days. On the other hand, the brutality to which
man, claiming to be civilized, may be reduced by a system is strongly por-
trayed in the cases of Gore and Covey. The incidents attending the escape
of Douglass are fully narrated, with names of persons and places given, so
as to make a very complete account of an event of much consequence both
to himself and his race.

Not without importance is the second part of the volume, containing a
record of the anti-slavery agitation, the men who led therein, the author's
visits to England, his meeting with O'Connell, and the expression of his
great admiration for that pre-eminent man.

His estimate of the great Emancipator we give in his own words :

"Until I heard this man I had thought that the story of his oratory and his power was
greatly exaggerated. I did not see how a man could speak to twenty or thirty thousand people
at one time and be heard by any considerable number of them ; but the mystery was solved
when I saw his vast person and heard his musical voice. His eloquence came down upon the
vast assembly like a summer thunder-shower upon a dusty road. He could stir the multitude at
will to a tempest of wrath, or reduce it to the silence with which a mother leaves the cradle-side
of her sleeping babe. Such tenderness, such pathos, such world-embracing love ! And, on the
other hand, such indignation, such fiery and thunderous denunciation, and such wit and humor,
I never heard surpassed, if equalled, at home or abroad. . . .

"In introducing me to an immense audience in Conciliation Hall he playfully called me
the ' Black O'Connell of the United States.' O'Connell was at this time attacked as opposing
American institutions because he denounced slavery. In reply he said: 'I am charged with
attacking American institutions, as slavery is called ; I am not ashamed of this attack. My sym-
pathy is not confined to the narrow limits of my own green island ; my spirit walks abroad
upon sea and land, and wherever there is oppression I hate the oppressor, and wherever the
tyrant rears his head I will deal my bolts upon it ; and wherever there is sorrow and suffering,
there is my spirit to succor and relieve " (p. 242)-

It is much to the credit of Mr. Douglass that he gratefully appreciates the
vast influence exercised by the Liberator against slavery.

The style of the »book is creditable, but not such as to warrant the
statement made in the introduction : " He has surmounted the disadvantage
of not having an university education " (p. viii.) This disadvantage can
be surmounted, if at all, only by men of genius belonging to an order far
higher than that to which Mr. Douglass will aspire.

As to the future of his race, the author makes it appear that there are
very good grounds to look for their rapid advancement. And one of his
grounds for this hope is worthy of consideration : " My hope for the future
of my race is further supported by the rapid decline of an emotional, shout-
ing, and thoughtless religion. Scarcely in. any direction can there be
found a less favorable field for mind or morals than where such a religion
prevails. . . . Instead of adding to faith virtue, its tendency is to substitute
faith for virtue, and is a deadly enemy to our progress." These words
necessarily refer to that form of Protestantism (known as Methodism) most
prevalent amongst the colored population.

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 287

On the whole, the book is not only worthy of perusal but of much
value for its contents, relating as they do to a most important period in the
history of the Republic, and revealing- in a peculiarly clear light some of
those deeply-hidden causes from which has sprung the present transition-
state of the nation.

MISSALE ROMANUM. Quarto, 1876; ditto, in small folio, 1882. Fr. Pus-
tet & Co., Ratisbon, New York, and Cincinnati.

A comparison between these two editions of the Missal will show what
great improvements have been effected in the second, a copy of which we
have just received. The quarto Missal is a very good one in respect to
size and type, especially for small altars and daily use. Through want of
sufficient care on the part of the proof-reader or the ecclesiastical exami-
ner, however, it contains several grievous typographical errors. In the
Preface of Pentecost it has sed in supernce virtutes for sed et. In the third
Mass for Christmas the title of the Gospel has Sequentia for Inztzum. In
the Mass of the Feast of Our Lady of Carmel the title has Joannem for
Lucam. In the Mass for the Feast of St. John Nepomucen the Collect has
lingtiam caitte dtscuttre for custodire. We have noticed other mistakes
also, but cannot now remember what they are. This leads us to observe
that altar-cards have frequently mistakes in words or punctuation, and
ought to be more carefully corrected before they are printed. In the
Credo, especially, there is a great variety of punctuation. Cructfixus est
pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato is one form, and nobis : sub Pontio Pilato passus,
etc., is another and the correct one. Even the Ordo is an uncertain guide.
The Feast of St. Raymond of Pennafort, displaced from its seat by the
Desponsation of the B. V. M., was assigned in the Ordo of 1881 to January
28, and in that of 1882 to February 9, as its fixed day, without assigning
any reason or authority. There have been so many variations and pal-
pable mistakes in the Ordo in past years that its character for accuracy
has suffered and needs to be rehabilitated. We speak of these things to
show that eternal vigilance is the price of correctness in all liturgical pub-
lications. Mr. Pustet has probably corrected in the later issues of his
quarto Missal the mistakes which had crept into the edition of 1876. We
have looked at the corresponding places in his new folio edition and
found them all correct. A general inspection of the whole which we have
made with the help of some other persons who are critical in such matters
has satisfied us that the description which the publishers have themselves
given of it in their advertisement is correct, and that they have spared no
pains to make it accurate, complete, and most convenient for use. Its
typography and general style of execution are excellent, particularly the
manner of printing the Canon. The title-picture, vignettes and initials,
and the twenty-six large woodcuts of Prof. Klein are in good taste and
pleasing to the eye of an amateur. The edition has several other editorial
and technical advantages. The proof-sheets have been submitted to the
Congregation of Rites, and revised under its direction, and both text and
chant have received its approbation. In its simpler form of binding, in
black roan with red edges, the Missal is of very reasonable cost, at $12;
and there are several more ornate styles of different prices up to $35,
which is the cost when bound in blue ornamented calf covers with gilt

288 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [May, 1882

clasps and corners. We have no fault to find with the copy we have re-
ceived, bound in black roan with red edges, except the marbled lining of
the covers, which is too much like the style of a school-book, and would
look better if exchanged for a white or black lining.

The Roman Missal is a wonderful and beautiful thing, and in this new
edition of Mr. Pustet it has been put into an exterior form which is quite
suitable to its sacred dignity and creditable to the publishing firm of which
he is the head.

EPITOME EX GRADUALI ROMANO, quod curavit Sacrorum Rituum Congre-
gatio, redacta a Francisco X. Haberl, magistro capellae musicae in eccle-
sia cathedrali Ratisbonensi. Sumptibus Frederici Pustet. 1882.

Of late years a desire to introduce some of the proper of the Mass has
been manifested by many of the pastors of our large city churches, and it
is to meet this want that Mr. Haberl has edited the above-mentioned work,
containing as it does, in a distinct volume, the Masses which are celebrated
on the Sundays and principal feasts of the year. The work is an epitome
of the Graduale issued by Messrs. Pustet & Co. which has already been no-
ticed in this magazine ; we have nothing, therefore, to add but our good
wishes that its success may lead to such a cultivation of taste as to de-
mand the complete and uncurtailed office in the church's music.

ORIGINAL, SHORT, AND PRACTICAL SERMONS FOR EVERY FEAST OF THE
ECCLESIASTICAL YEAR. Three Sermons for every Feast. By F. X.
Weninger, S.J., Doctor of Theology. Cincinnati : C. J. H. Lowen, 208
Sycamore Street. 1882.

These sermons form the promised addition to the series for Sundays
previously noticed in this magazine. They are written in the same plain,
practical, and forcible style, and are somewhat longer, which is, we think,
an improvement. Over thirty feasts are selected, many others, therefore,
being included besides the holidays of obligation. This volume, like the
one preceding it, will certainly be a valuable addition to this important
class of literature, and will be highly welcome both to clergy and people.

EUROPEAN BREEZES. By Marie J. Pitman (Margery Deane). Boston : Lee & Shepard. 1882.

JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. (American Statesmen.) By John T. Morse, Jr. Boston: Houghton,
Mifflin & Co. 1882.

THE POPE AND ITALY. Translated from the Italian by Alexander Wood, M.A., F.S.A. Lon-
don : Burns & Gates. 1882.

STEPHANIE. By Louis Veuillot. Translated from the French by Mrs. Josephine Black. Dub-
lin : M. H. Gill & Son. 1881.

CAGLIOSTRO : A Dramatic Poem in Five Acts. By Edward Doyle. Printed for the author by
W. B. Smith & Co., New York.

A HAND-BOOK OF CHARITY ORGANIZATION. By the Rev. S. Humphreys Gurteen. Buffalo :
Published by the Author. 1882.

THE SOLDIER'S COMPANION TO THE SPIRITUAL EXERCISES. Compiled by the Rev. J. Red-
man, D.D. London: Burns & Gates. 1882.

MANUAL OF ST. MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL; or. Quis ut Deus? By Father Sebastian, of the
Blessed Sacrament. Dublin : M. H. Gill & Son. 1882.

THE GIRL'S BOOK OF PIETY AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME. By the author of Golden Grains. By
Josephine M. Black. Dublin : M. H. Gill & Son. 1881.

EIGHTEENTH ANNUAL REPORT AND ANNIVERSARY OF THE WORKING-WOMEN'S PROTECTIVE
UNION. New York : The Working-women's Protective Union. 1882.

STORIES OF THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS. By Elizabeth M. Stewart, authoress of Lord Dacre of
Gilsland, Cloister Legends, etc. New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXXV. JUNE, 1882. No. 207.

METHODIST MISSIONS IN HEATHEN AND CATHO-
LIC LANDS *

THE Sixty-third Annual Report of the Missionary Society of the
Methodist Episcopal Church, for the year 1881, makes a portly
volume of three hundred and thirty-three pages crammed with
interesting figures and facts. It covers the missionary opera-
tions of this society in all parts of the globe during the last
year, and affords some indications also of the work of the same
society in past years. The Methodist missionary field is a very
extensive one. Its motto is that of John Wesley : " The world
is my parish." The cover of the volume is illustrated by a very
badly executed map of the two hemispheres, showing Asia, Afri-
ca, most of Australia, a large portion of North America, and the
heart of South America in deep mourning. These black spots
on the world's face are probably intended to indicate the places
where the light of Methodism and of Christianity has either
never shone or has been quenched. And unquestionably, to a
Christian eye, the waste is indeed a dark and dreary one. The
fact stands to shame us that, with all the physical and mental
superiority of the white races that claim to be Christian, the
greater portion of the world and of men are left out in the exte-
rior darkness. They do not know Christ, and cleave as closely to
idolatry and superstition as though the Redeemer of man had
never been born into the world.

* Sixty-third Annual Report of the Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church,
for the year 1881.

^Copyright. REV. I. T. HECKER. 1883.

2go METHODIST MISSIONS. [June,

Why this is so and should be so is not the present purpose of
inquiry. What is sought here is an examination of what the
Methodist Missionary Society is doing to spread the light of the
Gospel abroad. Certain it is that large sums of money are an-
nually contributed towards this as towards other Protestant mis-
sionary enterprises. The people who contribute so liberally to-
wards the dispensation of the Gospel and the conversion of the
heathen do so from the very best of motives — from a spirit of
true zeal and Christian charity. No amount of failure daunts
them or shakes their faith in the goodness of the work. Time
and again not Catholics only but Protestant journalists and
writers have exposed the hollowness in great measure of Protes-
tant missionary effort. But the lesson is lost or thrown away.
It is charged, and with reasonable show of truth, that these for-
eign missions, on which such vast sums are annually expend-
ed, serve for little else than to afford snug berths for the mis-
sionaries and their wives ; that the heathen are not converted,
or at least that no practical impression is made on the masses to
whom these comfortable, well-to-do married apostles and their
families are sent. But all to no purpose : there are the heathen
to be converted ; here are the missionaries to convert them, and
.here the sinews of war in the shape of means. That seems to
embrace the general presentation of the entire matter to the well-
meaning persons who keep these enterprises afloat. Under such
circumstances it is worth while to examine the facts and figures
regarding the missions and the missionaries set forth in this
sixty-third annual report.

Financially the report is a flourishing one and speaks for the
earnestness of the people in this work, which to practical yet not
unsympathetic minds seems futile and wasteful. The winter of
1 88 1 was a very rigorous one, and much of Methodism lies
.among the poor :

" In large sections of the church," says the report, " great distress pre-
vailed for months, and the usual church and revival work was prevented.
. . . When it seemed almost impossible to secure the necessities of life it
could not be but that our collections should feel the drought. Special ef-
forts were made to present the missionary cause, and our people half
forgot their losses in their generous support of this important and im-
perilled interest. The result was a grand advance of $74,994 17 for the year,
which has already been expended in the work."

The General Missionary Committee advanced on the appro-
priations of the previous year, and the wonder of the report is
that they did not advance " another hundred thousand dollars in

1 882.] METHODIST MISSIONS. 291

their appropriations." Perhaps the committee was advisedly
cautious ; but in spite of all. drawbacks the report states trium-
phantly : " We are pressing1 toward one million dollars a year
for missions for our Methodism." Now, let us see what is done
with the million dollars, and what the generous-hearted people
get in return for their money and their zeal in the cause.

The appropriations for Methodist missions for the present
year amount to the highly respectable sum of $752,262. Of this
$327,327 go to foreign missions, with which the present article is
chiefly concerned ; the rest to domestic missions of various kinds.
The foreign missions are divided up among Africa, Central
America, South America, China, Germany and Switzerland,
Scandinavia, India, Bulgaria and Turkey, Italy, Mexico, and
Japan. Of these respective fields for missionary zeal and aposto-
lic work China receives the largest apportionment, amounting
to $70,357; India comes next with $62,759; then follows Scandi-
navia with $45,926; Japan, $38,281; Mexico receives $30,000;
Italy, $25,000; Central and South America, $13,250. Thus it will
be seen that our charitable friends, the Methodists, kindly set
apart $68,250 for the conversion of the Roman Catholic heathen,
which is more than they give to India, ten times more than they
bestow on Africa, and only a little less than they devote to the
children of the Celestial Empire.

To begin with the country that receives the largest appropria-
tion : The headquarters of the Chinese mission is at Foochow,
where, according to the report, a mission was begun as long ago
as 1847. All the missionaries reside at Foochow. To the un-
initiated the report is here a little confusing. The names of
five gentlemen are set down as "missionaries," and the names of
five ladies, the wives of said gentlemen, as " assistant mission-
aries." There are also four " missionaries W. F. M. S." — cabalis-
tic characters that stand for the " Woman's Foreign Missionary
Society." These missionaries are of the devout female sex, and
are, at date of last report, unmarried. A recapitulation, how-
ever, of the working force of the mission gives only 3 mission-
aries, with 2 assistant missionaries, 4 missionaries of the Wo-
man's Foreign Missionary Society, 77 native preachers, and 44
native teachers. Such is the result, as regards missionary force,
of thirty-five years of Methodist missionary labor in Foochow
and its district.

These figures were for 1880, the reports for 1881 not having
arrived at the time of going to press. The members — native
and foreign combined doubtless — number 1,468, with 697 proba-

292 METHODIST MISSIONS. [June,

tioners. The children baptized are 676 ; the adults, 169. There
are 19 day-schools with 193 scholars, and 29 Sabbath-schools to
accommodate 934 scholars. The churches are 15, with an esti-
mated value of $9,150. The estimated value of the parsonages is
$3,450, and of the schools, hospitals, and other property $40,200.
There was collected for the Missionary Society $185 96; for
other benevolent societies, $22 60 ; for self-support, $650 46 ; and
for church- building and repairs, $317 03. The report from Cen-
tral China is in keeping with this. The members number 46 and
the probationers 44. There are three churches, with an esti-
mated value of $5,500, while the four parsonages are set down as
worth $12,500, the school, hospital, and other property dwindling
away to $2,500, and the collections for self-support amounted to
precisely $15 92. North China makes a little better showing. It
boasts of 210 members and 151 probationers, with church pro-
perty worth $11,700, and parsonages worth $33,000. It will be
observed that the parsonages are worth nearly three times the
churches. The schools and other property are estimated at
$12,700, and $130 02 was collected for church support. Thus
after thirty-five years' labor all the Methodists, native or foreign,
in all China do not number two thousand, and for their benefit
an appropriation of over seventy thousand dollars was made for
the present year.

The reports accompanying the statistics are very meagre as
regards facts. The Rev. N. Sites writes cheerfully from Foochow
that " incidents of triumphant Christian deaths are multiplying."
The Rev. F. Ohlinger writes more at length from the Foochow
district. He states that his city charge " has enjoyed a healthy
revival, affecting first and chiefly the large percentage of luke-
warm members with which the charge had been burdened for
many years " — a significant admission. He also reports " a num-
ber of conversions from heathenism " — number not stated. A
large portion of his " report " is devoted to the " death-bed ex-
perience " of Sia Heng Ho, a brother of one of the native preach-
ers. The Chinese are an intelligent people and are alive to the
value of instruction. An increase of five students to the Biblical
Institute is reported. This is not surprising, inasmuch as the na-
tive students at the Institute " receive about $2 20 per month
each from the Missionary Society, besides the grant of books,
room-rent, tuition, and incidentals free." The report adds the
cheering assurance that " a change for the better is readily notic-
ed in the outward appearance of these young men after subsist-
ing for a season on the Missionary Society's! rice." And here

1 882.] METHODIST MISSIONS. 293

leaks out a little secret indicative of a great deal as to the Chinese
converts. The Rev. Mr. Ohlinger deprecates putting any bait at
all, in the shape of money and rice, in the way of the young men.
" This support is sufficient to tempt many who by entering the
Institute do the church an irreparable injury." The tendency is
"to draw unworthy young men." The Chinese persist in look-
ing upon " the Christian Church as a grand undiscriminating
charity establishment." He gives the instance of a woman, ac-
quainted with his mission for fifteen years, who said to him : " I
will attend services whenever it does not rain if you will admit
my son into your college free of matriculation and tuition." A
well-to-do, middle-aged man put the case before him with all the
skill of an American politician. " I have heard the Christian
doctrines till I am satiated," said this blunt "probationer."
" Now, Sing Sang, what will you pay me (of course you pay
others) to become a Christian ? It is money I want to see next."
And Mr. Ohlinger adds by way of comment : " We are prayer-
fully seeking a solution of this old and vexing problem."

The missionaries succeeded in establishing last year for the
•first time an Anglo-Chinese College, with the Rev. F. Ohlin-
ger in charge. That reverend gentleman states by way of re-
proach and warning to his own body : " Infidels, sceptics, and
Romanists have already begun the work we have so long neg-
lected, and are materially doing it in their own way and for
their own ends." They have forty-five students in the college,
eager apparently to learn the English tongue and taking Metho-
dism in as a side-dish. In speculating what would become of
these young men without the college Mr. Ohlinger says :

"A pretty large class would become Christian preachers, barely able
to read the Bible in their own classic style, trembling when confronted by
the pupils of infidel and Roman Catholic Europeans, everywhere denounc-
ed as propagators of ignorance, unable to converse with the bishop who
ordains them, to say nothing of participating in the great council of the
church that sends them forth."

It is to be presumed that Mr. Ohlinger knows of what he is
writing. Methodism has been in the country thirty-five years ;
the college is in existence just a year ; of what kind, then, are the
majority of the Chinese Methodist preachers who figure on the
lists of the reports?

The Rev. D. W. Chandler, who is in charge of the Hok-
Chiang district, is " able to report a little progress in many de-
partments of work." Of another district (Ing-Chung) he writes
that he does not expect that " the statistics will show any mate-

294 METHODIST MISSIONS. [June,

rial increase in any department of work." Of the entire mission
in Central China Rev. V. C. Hart, the superintendent, reports :
" We found at the beginning of 1881 the whole field as destitute
of laborers, yea, more destitute than in 1875, when we first for-
mally asked to take up these cities." The Rev. Mr. Bagnall, su-
perintendent of another district, reports : " As the weather per-
mits we go on the streets and to the water-side to sell books and
tell of God's free gift." He also reports the baptism of two men
within the year. He visited several cities in which a Protestant
missionary had never been ; and in one of these, Ch'ong Ren,
was a Catholic chapel. The Rev. Mr. Lowry, superintendent
of the mission in North China, concludes his report by saying :
" We feel the need of a fresh baptism of the Spirit. We are sur-
rounded by discouragements and annoyed by constant vexations,
which combine to rob us of our early enthusiasm and zeal."

It will be seen from this that Methodist missionary enterprise
in China has been crowned with anything but success, and an
apportionment of over seventy thousand dollars is bestowed on
things set down as churches, circuits, and so forth that, if all
were rolled into one, would not constitute a respectable country
parish. But if this is true of China what shall be said of Africa,
where Methodist missions commenced as far back as 1833 ? The
Rev. J. S. Payne opens in a most dismal strain : " The report of
this first of the Foreign Missions of the Methodist Episcopal
Church, for the year 1881, cannot but fall far short of the deep
interest which the work in this section of the world awakened in
former years. The work has not been prosecuted with the vigor
of those years." The African race has shown itself especially
open to the influence of Methodism ; yet in all Africa the church
numbers only 2,044 full members, with 141 probationers, after
fifty years of labor. The value of church property is $33,434-
The comparatively small apportionment set apart by the com-
mittee for the conversion of the African heathen seems fully jus-
tified by the result. The truth is, Methodism has not touched
Africa any more than it has China.

There is a story told of the " good old times " in Ireland,
when the Catholic people were taxed to support a Protestant
Establishment that had no following worthy of name, of a Pro-
testant curate and Catholic parish priest who became neighbors
and friends. The Protestant curate was a very worthy gentle-
man, who drew his annual salary and his tithes with becoming;
zeal and regularity, in return for which he had hardly half a
dozen souls in all to care for, the people of his parish and dis-

1 882.] METHODIST MISSIONS. 295

trict being Catholics. But on the annual episcopal visitation it
was necessary to make some show before the bishop. Accord-
ingly, on the Sunday when the bishop attended services the
worthy curate borrowed a congregation for the time being from
the surplus of his friend the priest, and the bishop went away
delighted at the flourishing condition of the church in that
quarter.

It seems that our friends the Methodists, in their zeal for
making a show and justifying expenditure, do not so much bor-
row congregations as hire them. They treat them like Hood's
negroes. As no quantity of scrubbing-brush, soap, and flannel
will wash them white, they gild them. The inducements held
out to the Chinese have been already noticed. Mr. Hollett said
to the Liberia Conference, convened at Monrovia in January,
1881, that if the Conference resolved on pushing the work of
conversion it would be well to avoid, among other practices,
" the unfortunate custom of some of the early missionaries of hir-
ing the natives to attend church and school." Mr. Harman,
presiding elder of the Cape Palmas district, writes : " The work
of our church has been greatly retarded in some places, and at
other points virtually stopped," in consequence, as alleged, of
." pecuniary embarrassments." Nevertheless, in the church at
Cape Palmas " there is a most glorious revival going on " ; " sin-
ners seem to be deeply concerned about the salvation of their
souls," and it is satisfactory to be assured that " the number of
mourners is increasing every night."

Before inquiring into the Methodist efforts in strictly Catho-
lic countries let us see whether their missions in India and Japan,
which may be regarded as more or less legitimate fields for
Methodist operations, have been better rewarded than those in
China and Africa. The mission in North India was begun in
1856. The report opens with the statement that "the year past
has been one of special encouragement in the North India mis-
sion, and of some numerical increase."

Well, matters do look a little more flourishing in India,
chiefly, perhaps, because there is a larger resident English-
speaking population in India than in China or in Africa. The
number of Sunday-school scholars reported is 11,996. Unfor-
tunately, the proportion of native to foreign scholars is not
given ; but even suppose all to be native, it is only a drop of
water in an ocean. The presiding elder reports : " We cannot
afford to employ an American who, as a workman, is in nowise
superior to the native preacher on an adjoining circuit, while he

296 METHODIST MISSIONS. [June,

costs the society eight times as much as the native brother
does." Of the 7,501 pupils in his schools about 6,000 are " non-
Christians." " Some of the leaders of these classes are already
Christians, and others are inquirers." Evidently they take
pretty much any they can catch. " Multitudes in the caste are
talking of the religion, and many do not hesitate to state that
they will soon become Christians " — for a consideration, it is
to be feared, as in China and Africa.

At Bareilly " the year has been one of trial," writes Rev. T.
J. Scott, " through the evil conduct of a few members. Satan
troubled us greatly — the evil-doers were cut off." In the Buda-
on circuit the Rev. Mr. Hoskins states of the Chumars that "at
first they feared to study, lest they be outcasted ; but by employ-
ing men from among them as teachers, on an average pay of
three rupees per month, and by requiring these teachers, with
the more promising of their scholars, to attend the school in the
mission compound for three hours daily, we have secured con-
stant progress in study for both teachers and pupils." In plain
English, these men were willing to be engaged at a salary of
three rupees a month. This reads very much like the Chinese
and African practice of hiring converts. These people are not
Christians, even of the Methodist stripe, and the report does not
present them as Christians. In the same way they employ Hin-
du and Mohammedan boys to act as " collectors," paying them
" at the rate of one rupee per hundred for the average attendance
of the month, and to each pupil is given a Scripture-verse tick-
et." " The masses of the people are as obdurate as ever," writes
the Rev. J. E. Scott. " Hindus are still joined to their idols,
Mohammedans 'still read the Koran and pray four times a day,
and that good time when the halo-crowned missionary can sit
under a palm-tree, with anxious crowds flocking about him
earnestly inquiring the. way to heaven, in these regions has not
yet dawned." All the reports from the various circuits and dis-
tricts go to confirm this honest avowal of the Rev. Mr. Scott.
There is no Methodism in India save what is imported. One
missionary recommends to give the natives plenty of magic-lan-
terns. It seems they will sit spellbound watching the illusion
for hours, and the stories of the Bible and of our Lord's life are
thus cleverly presented to them. The total number of members
for North India in 1881 was 1,666, and of probationers 1,128.
The estimated value of churches was $59,327 ; of parsonages,
$72,795 ; of schools, hospitals, etc., $94,230. In southern India
about one-seventh of the members are set down as natives, the

1 88 2.] METHODIST MISSIONS. 297

whole number being 1,335, with 686 probationers. Japan has
478 members and 160 probationers ; the value of churches being
$6,250, and of parsonages $23,000. Such is the result of Metho-
dist missionary effort in this land of from twenty to thirty mil-
lions since 1872. Rather a long way after St. Francis Xavier.

The Mexican missions were set on foot in 1873. Bishop Mer-
rill has episcopal supervision over them. They have nine mis-
sionaries, with eight assistant missionaries in the shape of eight
wives of the missionaries. The Woman's Foreign Missionary
Society has five missionaries, all unmarried. There are two or-
dained native preachers and five unordained, with ten local
preachers. Such is the Methodist missionary staff, male and fe-
male, sent out for the Methodization of the Catholics of Mexico.
The country has been divided up into eight " circuits," each
with its special missionaries, the city of Mexico being the centre.

The report opens by stating that the " mission during the
past year has been called to suffer persecution even to martyr-
dom." This means that the missionaries created disturbance in
various places by their abuse of Catholicity, and had to suffer in
consequence. Our good friends must make some allowance for
human nature. The Mexicans are a hot-blooded people, and are
probably not beyond resenting the tirade of insults to their faith
and deepest convictions in which missionaries of this kind usual-
ly indulge. In one instance it appears that one of their preach-
ers, a Mexican, and his companion were assailed and died from
the wounds received. Particulars of the fray, however, are of
the vaguest description, and the history of similar occurrences
leads one to receive all such accounts with grave suspicion so
far as " martyrdom " goes. Protestant missionaries are assaulted
in no Catholic country, unless they provoke assault by habitual
ruffianism. They are simply regarded as natural curiosities.

After nine years of labor what has been accomplished in
Mexico and what are the prospects? Superintendent Drees
considers these important matters in his report. These past nine
years he sets down as " the heroic age of Protestantism in
Mexico — a time of baptism in fire and blood, of mobs and vio-
lence, of fanatical hatred and obloquy." Rather a warm begin-
ning ; and Superintendent Drees waxes warmer as he goes on to
enumerate some of the obstacles to Methodist and Protestant
progress in Mexico, chief among which, of course, is what he
mildly describes as " the deadening, brutalizing influence of
Romish dogma and practice over the mind and conscience of
the masses of the people." This is just an instance of the ruffian-

298 METHODIST MISSIONS. [June,

ism that brings on its own head the invited penalty of its vio-
lence. Mr. Drees goes on to speak of" the great prevalence, al-
most unrestrained, of ignorance and personal and social vices,
such as lying, drunkenness, impurity, lack of respect for the mar-
riage tie, and infidelity to the conjugal union." Why, one
would think Mr. Drees was describing the genera} moral condi-
tion and social aspect of his own Methodist-ridden Massachusetts
or Connecticut, or other States of the Union. Mr. Drees also
finds it difficult to attract people to Methodism away from what
he graciously calls the " religion-made-easy of Rome, taught to
satisfy the conscience with religious forms, clothed with external
pomp, but devoid of all spiritual life and power." He com-
plains, too, that " the prestige and power of wealth and social
position are still held by the Roman Church " in Mexico. The
strong tendency of educated men he declares to be " toward
scepticism, rationalism, and irreligion," so that if they reject or
recede from Catholicity they have only a smile of scorn for
Methodism. Then, again, as usual, " the financial provision for
the work of the mission has never been commensurate with its
opportunities and just demands." On the strength of all which
facts Mr. Drees finds " abundant ground for encouragement and
for deep gratitude to God." Mr. Drees must be a Methodist
Mark Tapley.

The Rev. J. W. Butler, in charge of the Mexico city circuit,
cautiously admits that " it may seem that the statistics for this
circuit do not show a very large increase over those of last
year," but he can report " a great improvement in the general
stability of the church, as well as increased evidence of true
spirituality in our members." It is at least pleasing to be as-
sured of that ; for doubtless the members stood in need of such
improvement. The reverend gentleman modestly attributes this
advance chiefly to "the efficient work being done by Mrs. But-
ler among the women." " The Bible-woman supported by the
Woman's Foreign Missionary Society devotes at least six hours
per week to her work, which consists in systematic visitation,
reading the Scriptures in the homes of the people, distribution
of religious tracts, and inviting people to the services." The
arduousness and importance of this Bible-woman's labor will be
at once manifest, the more so when it is considered that " Mrs.
Butler's personal example has been such an incentive to her."

The total number of members in all Mexico is set down
as 338 ; the number of probationers, 398. There are 16 day-
schools with 544 scholars, and one "theological" school with

1 882.] METHODIST MISSIONS. 299

one teacher and six students. There are 8 churches, whose
estimated value is $51,050, the value of the parsonages being
$46,800, and of the schools and other property $12,665. It is
to be hoped the Committee on Foreign Missions will consider
that a cheering exhibit of nine years of evangelical work. The
reports are uniformly doleful, and testify to hopeless opposi-
tion and repugnance on the part of the people. The mission-
aries have attempted to bag converts in the usual style by kid-
napping children. Orphanages have been established for this
purpose, but the superintendent reports : " We have as yet not
had the satisfaction of seeing any such results as were the prime
motive for their establishment." There are, it appears, legal
difficulties in the way of " securing the necessary control of the
children." Most of the children received are too young to judge
whether or not they will eventually go to swell the small Metho-
dist army in Mexico; while " most of those who were received
at a more mature age have been occasion of great sorrow to
those who labored for their good."

The mission in South America was begun as long ago as
1836. It has three missionaries, with their wives as assistant
missionaries, and three ladies of the Woman's Foreign Mis-
sionary Society. The work is divided between the natives and
the English-speaking immigrants whose children " are natives,
adopt the language of the country, and, unless converted, will
sink deep into the prevailing evil ways." The English ele-
ment is pronounced as, " in the main, the best " of the immigra-
tion, though " the vices of Englishmen (especially drunkenness)
are considered by the natives as the ripe and legitimate fruits of
Protestantism." During the year the superintendent procured
leave of absence, and his post of " pastor, editor, and superin-
tendent" was filled by his wife, Mrs. Wood.

Not a line that these men write from their various missions
but breathes the bitterest hatred of Catholicity, which many of
them put on a level with paganism. And yet they are surprised
that Catholic peoples do not welcome them. " God grant," says
the report from Montevideo, "that the demons of priestcraft,
petty tyranny, and anarchy may be shorn of their power, that
this work may go forward ! " And this sort of thing is constant-
ly interlarded with pious cant and appeals for support. We are
informed from Buenos Ayres that " Brother Thomson continues
to be a power in the land," and that " Mrs. Thomson earns, by
efficient labor, her right to the title of assistant missionary, not-
withstanding heavy family cares," and that " mention should be

300 METHODIST MISSIONS. [June,

made also of Brother Thomson's venerable mother, a patriarchal
princess in Israel, who presides over a class of ladies." Taken
all in all, the Thomson family must be a very remarkable one in
Buenos Ayres. In Rosario de Santa F6 " the missionary, Bro-
ther J. R. Wood, being away a large share of the time, ... on
several occasions the pulpit was occupied by Mrs. Wood, Miss
Goodenough, and Mrs. Clemens," doubtless with goodly effect. In
points further inland it is stated that " Romish parents bring
their children to the missionary for baptism instead of taking
them to the priests." To which the only comment necessary
is that there is a vast amount of lying in this world.

The mission in Italy was begun in 1872. Bishop Foss has
episcopal supervision, and Leroy M. Vernon, D.D., is presid-
ing elder. " The pre-eminent urgent need of our church in
Italy now," writes the superintendent, " is respectable places
of worship, plain yet genteel chapels, having at least the
general aspect and character of a place of Christian worship,
of a house of God." "The most striking event of the year-
— indeed, perhaps of the entire history of this mission — was
the conversion of Monsignor Campello." Then follows a de-
tailed account of this worthless man's so-called conversion to
Methodism. Its effect is graphically described as " like the
explosion of a bombshell on the threshold of the Vatican," and
much more of the same effusive style of eloquence. The world
knows what these " conversions " mean, and the kind of priests
who profess to abandon Catholicity for Protestantism of any
kind. Eminent men have at times fallen from the church, but
not into Protestantism. But this poor battered creature was
eminent in no sense, save for a scandalous life. And the final
abandonment of the cassock by such a man is glowingly set
down as " the most striking event of the entire history of the
mission " !

The superintendent claims to have begun " a very auspicious
work among the soldiers of the Italian army in Venice . . .
with the encouragement and covert co-operation of some of
the higher officers." The report ends with a flourish as to the
present condition and future prospects of the mission in Italy,
and with the following statistics : one foreign missionary and one
assistant; 13 native " ordained preachers " and 6 unordained ; 708
members and 311 probationers (these members, it is to be pre-
sumed, include the English-speaking Methodists in Italy) ; the
number of children baptized was 20; number of churches 2, at an
estimated value of $26,500, the parsonage being valued at $6,500.

1882.]

METHODIST MISSIONS.

301

For self-support was collected $216, and the number of volumes
printed during the year was precisely one.

A recapitulation of the net results of Methodist missions in
distinctively Catholic countries, covering a long series of years
and a vast amount of expenditure, shows :

COUNTRIES.

Foreign
Missionaries.

Assistant
Missionaries.

Native
Preachers.

Members.

Probationers.

Value of
Churches.

Value of
Parsonages.

Collected for
Self-support.

Italy

i
8
3

i
7
3

13
3

708
338
224

3"
398
274

$26,500
51,050
55,ooo

$6,500
46,800
16,000

$216 oo

1,584 74
3,817 oo

Mexico

South America

Grand total

1,270

983

$132,550

$69,300

$5,617 74

Annual appropriation for missions in Catholic lands (1882), $68,250.

These figures speak for themselves as to the extension and
actual condition of Methodist missionary work among Catholic
peoples. After a range of nearly half a century of labor they
can point to 1,270 members and 983 probationers in all — " But a
ha'porth of bread to all this quantity of sack." The society's
work in heathen lands is about equally successful with that in
Catholic lands ; and to further such magnificent results the
Methodist conference appropriates $327,327. According to the
Independent (March 23, 1882), "a large number of Methodist
Episcopal conferences reported last year losses of members and
probationers, varying from tens to thousands," here at home.
Would it not be better to look after these breaches at home than
to spend $68,250 yearly on a number of members scattered over
the face of the earth, who, if collected together, would not fill a
church of respectable size ? Still, of course, if Methodists are
willing to continue squandering their money in this foolish
fashion that is their affair. To the average common-sense mind
it will look like very profitless labor, save in so far as it pro-
vides homes and salaries for a dozen missionaries with their
wives as assistant missionaries. And notwithstanding the de-
crease in membership here at home there has been an increase
of 334 churches and of more than $2,000,000 in the value of
church property, as also very large increases in the list of
benevolent collections ; which goes to show that while the
Methodist body is falling off in membership it is making a
decidedly closer alliance with the mammon of iniquity. Per-

302 METHODIST MISSIONS. [June,

haps the zeal for souls is possibly yielding a little to the zeal
for dollars.

In addition to these Catholic territories a domestic French
mission, with headquarters at New Orleans, was put on the list
this year ; but beyond an appropriation of $200 no further men-
tion is made of it, save the desire long entertained " to enter
France itself." Nine thousand dollars were set apart for the
field in New Mexico, which was opened in 1850 and has Bishop
Bowman and a corps of fourteen missionaries (nine American
and five Mexican) at its head. The American members and
probationers number 175, and the Mexican members and proba-
tioners 305. There are 7 day-schools, with 211 scholars; 3
American, 4 Mexican, and 3 " mixed " churches dedicated. The
reports have a discouraging sound.

It is useless to go any further into the minutiae of the Metho-
dist missions, foreign or domestic. The reports vary little in
character. The total number of members and probationers in
the foreign missions for the year 1881 is set down at 36,909. It
does not follow at all that probationers become, or are allowed to
become, members, any more than it follows that members always
continue. As the Independent says of the Methodist Church here,
" the statistics of probationers are so variable that they confuse
the result. . . . Give them in a separate column for what they
are worth, but do not count them in the totals as members."
But granting even that they were all members in good standing,
the Methodist Episcopal body in this country could only point
in all the world to 36,909 members outside itself. This is the
grand result since 1821. From 1821 to November i, 1880, the
aggregate disbursements of the Society for Foreign Missions
were $5,684,106 68; and, as the preface proudly states, the
Methodists are " pressing toward one million dollars a year for
missions for our Methodism." " For missionaries for our
Methodism " would perhaps be nearer the truth.

It is needless to moralize on these facts and figures presented
by the society's own report. After half a century of trial they
stamp as a dead failure Methodism as a missionary force. It
has not touched the heart of a single people. It has brought
no converts worthy of mention into its own body ; and this
with means at its disposal that no Catholic missionary could
ever dream of commanding. Compare it with the ten years' mis-
sion of a St. Francis Xavier, and where does it stand ? The one
moral of the whole subject is that apostles rather than money
are needed to convert the world to Christ.

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 303

STELLA'S DISCIPLINE,
x.

WITHOUT a word of comment Ferroll pulled out his watch,
gave one glance at it, and said quickly but quietly :

" We shall have time to catch the twelve-o'clock train, if you
will come home at once and change your dress."

She started to her feet, and was turning blindly to rush away
when he seized her hand and stopped her.

" I must get something to put around you," he said.

" No, no ! No need to wait for that. It is only a few steps,"
she answered.

As this was true and time was pressing, he did not insist on
staying to procure a wrap, but, drawing her hand within his
arm, led her without delay through a side entrance into the
street, crossing which they soon reached their destination.

As they entered the hall both looked up at the tall clock, the
ticking of which reminded them that it was there.

" Oh ! it is nearly twelve o'clock," cried Stella in an agony.
" I shall not get to the station in time ! Let us go at once — let
us go at once ! My dress makes no difference."

" The train is not due till 12.20, and that clock is always fast.
We shall have full time," answered Ferroll. " Only be quick in
changing your dress while I order the carriage. I will see if I
can find a servant to send to you."

" Never mind that," she answered, running up-stairs.

The gas was burning low in the room she entered, and, at-
tempting to turn it up, in her nervous haste she turned it off,
leaving herself in darkness. Shaking her hands and exclaim-
ing with impatient terror, she groped about in search of a box
of matches which she knew was somewhere about. " Some-
where!" she kept repeating to herself as she knocked over
toilet-bottles and stumbled against chairs, consuming precious
minutes before she at last succeeded in finding them. Just as
she lighted the gas again the clock struck twelve.

" O — h ! " she cried despairingly, and began, as well as the
trembling of her hands would permit, to unfasten her dress, but
stopped on hearing Ferroll's step upon the stairs.

304 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [June,

"Are you ready?" he called to her as he approached the
door.

" I will be there in an instant," she responded.

Looking around desperately, she snatched up an ulster which
chanced to catch her eye, seized a hat and veil, and ran out to
him.

He was surprised to see her still in her ball-dress, but, shock-
ed by her white, scared look, ventured no remark on the sub-
ject. Leading the way down-stairs, he paused an instant before
leaving the house to put the ulster on her and to place her hat
on her head. She had been carrying both in her hand. A mo-
ment later they were in the carriage, dashing furiously along
toward the station.

Before they were half way there the distant rumble of the
train as it was approaching became audible. Stella grasped her
companion's arm with a force that almost drew an exclamation
of pain from him.

" Don't be alarmed. We shall be in time," he said encour-
agingly.

But the rush of the train grew clearer and louder every sec-
ond ; they could hear the stroke of the engine now, and knew
by its diminishing speed that it had nearly reached the station ;
now the whistle sounded.

Stella uttered a sharp cry. " I shall be left ! I shall be left ! "
she exclaimed distractedly.

" No ; here we are ! "

He put out his hand and unfastened the carriage-door, and,
the instant they drew up with a jerk at the end of the station-
platform, flung it open and sprang to the ground, Stella follow-
ing him almost before he could turn to assist her. A train was
standing puffing and snorting before them, and he was leading
Stella toward it when he bethought him that this was the wrong
direction for the engine of the train he was looking for to be.

" Where is the down-train ? " he asked rapidly of a negro boy
standing near.

" Yonder, sir, in front, the other side of this one," was the
reply.

Ferroll seized Stella's hand. " We must hurry," he said.
" It stops only three minutes."

Before his last words were uttered they were literally run-
ning down the long platform. As they started Stella's train
caught on a splinter of the flooring and held her fast, but Fer-
roll tore it off with an audible rending of silk, and, to prevent a

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 305

repetition of the accident, carried it with one hand, while with
the other he grasped Stella's fingers, and they ran on. Both ut-
tered a silent ejaculation of thanksgiving when they came to the
end of the train that shut them off from the one they were seek-
ing ; side by side they sprang from the platform to the ground,
crossed the intervening track, and found themselves at last beside
the down-train, which, fortunately, was still stationary. Ferroll
was out of breath himself and Stella was gasping when he half-
lifted, half-dragged her up the high steps to the platform of the
first car they came to.

She pressed his hand with a look of gratitude more expres-
sive than words when he had placed her in a seat. " Give my
love to Gertrude," she commenced falteringly, " and —

" I am going with you," he said.

" Oh ! pray do not. I have caused you trouble enough al-
ready. Indeed I can go alone perfectly now."

" But — " he began in a tone of remonstrance, then checked
himself, said " Very well," and left her.

Retiring a little distance behind, he flung himself into a seat
with a deep breath of relief as the train, with a sudden move-
ment almost like the bound of an impatient horse, was off.

Stella sat like a statue where she had been placed. So long
as she was goaded on by the necessity for action she had been
able to exert herself and to control her thoughts somewhat. She
felt perfectly nerveless now, and her brain was in a whirl.

" An accident which may prove fatal — an accident which may
prove fatal — an accident which may prove fatal—

If she had possessed the muscular power to lift her hands she
would have held them over her ears to shut out the sound of
these terrible words that seemed ringing through them. An ac-
cident ! What sort of accident? The term represented only one
idea to her mind — fire. Oh ! was her mother writhing in the in-
describable agonies caused by burning? Or perhaps — but no;
that thought was too horrible ! She turned from it with an inar-
ticulate gasp which would have been a cry, if her tongue had not
been like lead in her mouth. A strong, convulsive shudder seiz-
ed her ; she shook so perceptibly that Ferroll noticed it, sprang
up involuntarily and made a step forward, but stood still then,
doubtful whether to go to her or not.

He thought it no wonder that she was cold. A ball-dress is
not very well adapted to the exigencies of night travel in Janu-
ary, even in a warm climate and we^l-heated car ; and the wrap
she wore was a very light one. Mr. Ingoldsby was much con-
VOL. xxxv. — 20

306 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [June,

cerned, therefore, as, standing tall and solitary in the aisle of the
car, he looked across two or three seats, the occupants of which
Avere reclining doubled up in various attitudes of slumber, to
where she sat bolt upright and shivering.

His precipitate movement when he left his place disturbed
his opposite neighbor, a young man who was dozing uneasily,
with his feet resting on the arm of the seat and his head and
shoulders propped against the side of the car. With something
like a groan of discomfort he made a little change in his position,
and was about to compose himself again to his slumbers when,
by an impulse, he opened his eyes and looked at the figure stand-
ing motionless near him. As he looked his eye quickened with
recognition.

" Ingoldsby ! " he exclaimed.

Ferroll turned at the sound of his name, and took the hand
which the other, who had started to a sitting posture, held out,
shaking it warmly.

" Haralson ! I am delighted to see you. Where did you drop
from ? How are you ? " he said.

" I am on my way home from Richmond, and I am as stiff as
.a poker," answered Mr. Haralson categorically.

He pushed back the tumbled little crisps of light-brown hair
from his very handsome forehead, and with a grim"ace of impa-
tience tore off a white silk handkerchief that was tied carelessly
.about his throat.

" How warm it is ! " he exclaimed — " quite a different tem-
perature from the one I left a few hours ago. And how uncom-
fortable it is to try to sleep on one of these seats ! But I can't
stand being stifled in a sleeping-car in this latitude."

" I wish I had happened to get into the sleeping-car," said
Ferroll, turning his head to glance at Stella. " But we were
fortunate to have hit this one ; we might have struck the smok-
ing-car."

Seeing that his [friend's glance had followed his own with an
expression of curiosity, and now fixed itself with surprise on his
evening dress, he leant over and explained where "and on what
errand he was going; then, having despoiled Mr. Haralson of a
heavy overcoat which had made that gentleman's pillow, and the
handkerchief just taken off, he rather hesitatingly approached
Stella.

"Forgive me "for disturbing you," he said very gently, "but
pray let me try to make^ you a little less uncomfortable than I
am sure you must be. You are chilled. Come nearer the stove."

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 307

Stella, yielding more to the tone than the words, allowed him
to lead her to a seat beside the stove. As he was tying- the
handkerchief around her neck and buttoning her ulster, which
hung carelessly open, she said :

" I am not cold, but oh ! I am so wretched."

The words seemed to burst from her lips suddenly, almost
without volition on her part.

"It is natural that you should be distressed," said Ferroll
kindly ; " but you are more alarmed than 1 should be were I in
your place. There is always so much excitement felt about an
accident, particularly at first, that one must allow a wide mar-
gin for exaggeration of speech."

" Do you think so ? " she said eagerly.

" I really do."

" But the telegram ? " she suggested in a tone of sickening
apprehension.

" That was written and sent hastily, no doubt. Who sent it,
by the way ? "

" Our family physician, Dr. McDonald. That is why I am so
alarmed."

" What sort of man is he — sanguine or despondent generally
about his patients?"

" Very despondent."

" And you allow yourself to be so frightened ? Why, my
dear Miss Gordon, I feel quite reassured since you tell me this.
Stop and think a moment, and you will remember that the
greater number of accidents you ever heard of were considered
worse at first than they afterwards proved to be. A slight one
is thought serious, and a serious one desperate, as a rule. And
since Dr. McDonald is not, you say, a cheerful man in the way of
viewing medical matters, I have no doubt he has unintentionally
exaggerated the gravity of this accident. Try to go to sleep, or
you will be quite exhausted when you reach M— - at daylight."

He tucked her up carefully in the overcoat and left her a
little comforted. Recalling what he had said, she thought it
very reasonable ; and, moreover, the first stunning effect of the
shock being over by this time, there came a natural reaction of
hopefulness. She had never in her life had a serious grief or
misfortune, and was therefore unable to realize the possibility of
such a thing. Then FerroH's care had made her very comforta-
ble in a bodily sense, and the excitements , of the evening, both
pleasurable and painful, had greatly tired her. Without any
premonition sleep fell suddenly on her eyelids.

STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [June,

An hour afterwards she was awakened by the sound of the
whistle as the train drew up at a station. There was the usual
slight stir among the slumbering passengers, a few sleepy excla-
mations and sighs, a few words exchanged, and then everybody
became silent and still again.

Everybody but Stella. She had slept soundly and was re-
freshed ; and the moment she was awake her first alarm returned
in full force. She felt impatient of the loss of an instant's time,
and it seemed to her that the prescribed three minutes for the
stopping of the train were lengthening themselves indefinitely.
Could it be only three minutes, she wondered presently, since
she had been wakened by the whistle and the sudden cessation of
movement ? Surely it was more than that. She started up, and,
bending toward the light, examined her watch. It had stopped.
Rising from her seat, she looked about her in search of Ferroll,
but he was not to be seen. She walked to the door at the rear
end of the car and glanced out. Darkness and the sleeping-car
were all that met her sight.

Turning, she passed between the two rows of seats and their
unconscious occupants to the opposite door ; and at last her
perseverance was rewarded. As she pulled the door noiselessly
open she heard Ferroll's voice inquiring in a tone of con-
cern :

"And how long shall we be detained ? "

" She'll be up in about a quarter of an hour now. The con-
ductor's this minute got a telegram," was the reply of a train-
hand who was passing the car as he spoke.

Ferroll stood just outside the door, but with his back to it, so
that he did not see Stella, and she was about to address him
when a puff of cigar-smoke floated into her face and another
voice near him exclaimed :

" Just my luck ! The same thing happened as I went on.
Ned Southgate, who was on his way to Baltimore to take the
Allan Line steamer, was very much afraid he would lose his
passage, we were so much behind-time. By the way, what has
Miss Gordon done with Gartrell? You know, of course, that
she broke with Southgate on Gartrell's account."

" Did she ? " said Ferroll in a tone evincing no great interest.
" I have little acquaintance with her ; never met her until about a
week ago. She is a friend of my sister, whom she has been visit-
ing. That is all I know about her."

" It is a wonder you don't know a good deal more after being
in the same house with her a week," remarked Mr. Haralson.

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.

" She has the character of being a consummate flirt and co-'
quette."

" He who runs may read that," said his friend. " But flirt-
ing or being flirted with is a thing not at all in my line."

"She didn't pay you the compliment of riddling you,
then ? "

" No," answered Ingoldsby, with a slight laugh. " I fancy
she had as much on her hands as she could attend to before I
appeared upon the scene. She made mincemeat of poor Tom
and half a dozen others, I believe."

" I should like to exchange broadsides with her," observed
Mr. Haralson, in a tone which indicated that he had no fear of
what the result in that case would be as regarded himself. " I

went to M twice on purpose to see her, but she was from

home both times. She must be out of the common to have
tackled Gartrell successfully."

"She would need to be so much out of the common to have
done that," said Ingoldsby, " that I am incredulous of the alleged
fact. Gartrell is the last man in the world not to be able to hold
his own with any woman in an affair of this kind. That he
could be made a fool of by a girl like this — almost a child — is
inconceivable. It is much more probable that he was trifling
with her than she with him."

" There's no telling," said Mr. Haralson, sending another
whiff of smoke into Stella's face as she stood unconsciously
riveted to the spot, forgetting for the instant even her anxiety
about her mother in the pungent mortification she felt at hear-
ing herself spoken of in such a manner. " Brant. Townsley, who
was my informant in the matter, don't believe that she discarded
Southgate, as reported. He thinks the hitch was the other way,
though he says he could not make Southgate admit this. But
he suspects that she did reject Gartrell."

Stella stayed to hear no more. Softly closing the door,
which she had been holding very slightly ajar, she returned in
haste to her place beside the stove with an additional and all
but intolerable pain gnawing at her heart. The sense of morti-
fied vanity of which she had been sensible when she heard Fer-
roll's laugh at Mr. Haralson's question, and knew by its ring of
amusement that, though he was too dignified to say so, he had
perceived her attempt to captivate him, was lost in a much
stronger emotion — remorse for the anger and coldness she had
shown to her mother. Haralson's careless, gossiping remarks
about Southgate and Gartrell brought it all back so vividly to

310 STELLA" s DISCIPLINE.. [June,

her recollection, and she saw so plainly now how entirely the
whole affair — her quarrel with Southgate and her mother's ad-
vocacy of Gartrell's suit — had originated in her own inordinate
vanity and self-will.

She was reclining very much as Ferroll had left her, with her
eyes wide open and fixed in a sort of hopeless gaze on vacancy,
when he came to her side a few minutes afterwards, followed by
a servant carrying a salver.

" What is the matter that we are stopping so long ? " she ex-
claimed in a despairing tone when she saw him.

" The train from the other direction was not on time," he ex-
plained ; "but it will be up in a few minutes now, the conductor
says. I scarcely regret the detention, since it has enabled me to
get you some supper. If you do not take something," he added,
seeing her about to decline it, " you will have a violent headache
to-morrow after such a night as you have passed. Let me pre-
vail on you to drink this coffee, at least."

She received the cup he offered, and drank the coffee as if it
had been a draught prescribed by a physician, but shook her
head when he further suggested a biscuit.

" I feel as if food would choke me," she said.

The remaining hours of the night seemed to her interminably
long. Yet when the end of her journey was approaching, when
suspense would soon be succeeded by she knew not what hor-
rible certainty, she almost wished to prolong even her present
suffering. She felt faint to the tips of her fingers. When Fer-
roll joined her, as the train began to slacken speed, it was al-
most a matter of doubt with her whether she would be able to
rise from her seat and walk out of the car.

It was just after daylight as, more supported than led by her
kind escort, she left the train.

" Come into the waiting-room a minute," Ferroll said, " and I
will get you a glass of water."

She was permitting him to take her there — for she almost
feared, as he did, that she might faint — when a gentleman ap-
proached hastily.

" Stella ! " said her father's voice, and she turned with a scarce-
ly articulate cry of " Papa ! "

"Your mother is a little better," Mr. Gordon said at once,
in answer to the unspoken question in her eyes.

" Thank God ! " she exclaimed, and a flood of tears, the first
she had shed, poured suddenly down her cheeks. But she con-
trolled herself almost immediately and said :

1 882.] STELLA' s DISCIPLINE. 311

" This is Mr. Ingoldsby, papa. You must thank him for me,
he has been so very, very ki'nd."

XI.

LATE in the afternoon of the day before Mrs. Gordon was
driving near a railway track, and her horses, which were young
and not thoroughly broken to the sound of the steam-whistle,
ran away. Had she remained quietly in her seat no harm would
have happened to her, as the driver soon succeeded in control-
ling the animals. But being alone in the carriage and extremely
frightened, she managed to open the door and throw herself
out.

She fell heavily to the ground, striking her head against the
sharp edge of a stone, which cut a deep gash in her temple near
the artery, causing profuse loss of blood ; added to which one of
her ankles was so bruised and fractured as to make it a question

with the medical men of M , the principal of whom were

soon surrounding her, whether immediate amputation of the
limb was not absolutely necessary.

Havipg decided, on a hasty consultation upon the spot
where the accident occurred, to defer such an extreme measure,
for the time at least, the unfortunate ilady was conveyed home
slowly and with great difficulty. It was not considered safe to
administer an anaesthetic, and hours Fpassed before she could be
brought under the influence of opium. At last, however, her
groans of agony ceased to rack the ear of her husband, and then
he remembered Stella.

Just as the thought of her occurred to him his sister-in-law,
Mrs. Rainsforth, laid her hand on his arm and said :

"That poor child, Roland! Have you telegraphed to her
yet ? "

" No, I did not think of her until a minute ago," he answered.
" I will ask McDonald, who is going home for an hour or two,
to call at the office and send a message. If it is too late for her
to receive it in time to take the night train, it will be delivered
very early in the morning."

" It is a good thing that she has escaped all she would have
suffered if she had been here this evening," remarked Mrs.
Rainsforth, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes-y

" Yes ; I am glad she was not at home," responded Mr. Gor-
don.

312 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [June,

Dr. McDonald went farther than this in his feeling on the
subject the next day. He wished that she had not been per-
mitted to come home, and bluntly suggested to her father and
her aunt that she should be sent to the house of the latter, and
kept there, he added emphatically, as long as Mrs. Gordon con-
tinued in her present critical state.

" I have no patience with such folly ! " he said angrily to
Mrs. Rainsforth, as they stood together beside Stella's bed the
morning after her return. " If she don't choose to make herself
useful, as she ought, she might at least keep quiet and not be
distracting your attention and mine from the care that her mo-
ther's desperate condition requires."

" Hush, hush, doctor ! " said his companion a little indignant-
ly. " She will hear you. You must remember what a shock it
was to her to find her mother in such a state."

Before the doctor could reply Stella opened her eyes, that
looked large and hollow out of a face as white as marble, and
fixed them on Mrs. Rainsforth's. " O Aunt Isabella ! is mamma
no better?" she said faintly.

" Not much, my dear," replied her aunt, pushing the hair
back gently from her forehead ; " but I hope you are. Won't
you try and take some breakfast this morning ? "

" Yes. I heard what Dr. McDonald said," she went on meek-
ly. " I suppose I ought not to have been so weak — but — "

" You could not help it," said Mrs. Rainsforth soothingly.
" We all know that."

" I will try to — control myself. Can't you give • me some-
thing?" she asked, looking up at the doctor wistfully. "I feel
so faint."

" I'll send you a draught," he answered ungraciously. "But
you must stop crying, and take your breakfast if you want to
gain strength."

" I will," she answered.

" How long have I been at home? " she inquired of her maid
presently while trying to. take a little food. " Only since yes-
terday morning ! It seems to me a century instead of twenty-
four hours ! "

She felt as if she was in a horrible dream. All seemed indis-
tinct, inconsistent, incredible, yet she knew it was a monstrous
reality. She could dimly recollect having made a terrible scene
at her mother's bedside when, on entering the darkened cham-
ber, she had found Mrs. Gordon lying colorless, motionless, un-
conscious of her presence, deaf to her passionate adjurations.

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 313

She could see as through a mist the fiery glance of Dr. McDon-
ald, and feel the fierce grip of his bony hands as, seizing her by
the shoulders, he forcibly removed her from the room, asking
harshly, while hurrying her along, if she " wanted to kill her mo-
ther," that she was acting in this irrational manner ! Then came
a succession of confused memories of having been rescued from
the irate physician by feminine tongues and hands, and, with
much expression of sympathy and no slight resistance on her
part, taken to her own room ; of frantic grief and hysterical
weeping ; of her father's standing beside her with a glass of wine
which he insisted on her drinking, and which turned out not to
be wine after ail when she did drink it, but a draught bitter as
the tears she was shedding ; of being very sleepy and struggling
against the influence of the opiate she had been made to swal-
low ; of waking from deep unconsciousness with horrible sensa-
tions of nausea and exhaustion, and being sent off to sleep again
by another anodyne, from which sleep she was now just awa-
kened.

Very dark to Mrs. Gordon's household were the days which
followed — days lengthening into weeks, until more than a month
passed before the physicians gave any definite hope that her life
was safe.

In all this period Stella, having once recovered from the
stupefaction of her first shock, was capable and energetic, untir-
ing in her devotion to her mother ; for the first time in her life
forgetting herself utterly in thought for the sufferer. Anxious
waitings for the appearance of the doctors, solicitous pains in
the preparation of bandages, and all the numerous cares required
by desperate illness occupied fully each minute as it came and
went ; and when she could snatch a few hours for sleep at irregu-
lar intervals overwearied nature sank at once into dreamless and
refreshing slumber.

But after the crisis was past, when the medical opinion pro-
nounced that the danger was over, that time, care, and patience
would restore to Mrs. Gordon the use of her ankle and re-estab-
lish her general health (which was very much deranged by the
shock to her nerves and the quantities of opium she had been
obliged to take), then came to Stella the inevitable reaction after
such unusual and prolonged exertion — bodily exhaustion and a
listlessness of spirit amounting almost to despair.

Worldly, shallow, and selfish when in health, Mrs. Gordon
was intolerably irritable, egotistical, and exacting now. She de-
manded constant amusement, yet was capricious and hard to

3 14 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.. [June,

please about it ; and she resented as an outrage and cruelty the
slightest contradiction of her will or opinion. Still suffering
severely, it seemed as if she was determined that every one
around her should, though in a different way, suffer also.

Stella's patience and temper were sorely tried. The change
from a life of absolute freedom and unchecked indulgence to
what she felt a galling bondage, this subjection to the fretful
caprices of her mother, had been so sudden that she often asked
herself how it could be possible that she, Stella, the petted and
spoiled child, whose every whim was wont to be gratified as
soon as expressed, should have fallen on such evil days ! She
was weary even unto death of the existence that had closed
around her ; and nothing but a vivid remembrance of the re-
morse she had already endured for her conduct to her mother
enabled her to support it uncomplainingly.

But when at length Mrs. Gordon, finding her unquestioning-
ly submissive in everything else, began to agitate the subject of
Mr. Gartrell's suit — evidently expecting submission here, too —
Stella's spirit revived and asserted itself.

" If you think it likely, as you say, mamma, that Mr. Gar-
trell has any idea of offering himself again, it would be an act of
friendship in you, who seem to have so great a regard for him, to
warn him not to think of it," she said one day in reply to some
suggestion on the subject from her mother.

" But why ? " cried Mrs. Gordon sharply. " You cannot pos-
sibly expect ever to make a more advantageous marriage."

This was an argument that had been so often repeated that
Stella's patience was threadbare at the sound. A spark of vivid
anger leapt to her eyes, and bitter words were on her lips, when
the entrance of a visitor — a kindly gossip who pleased herself
and lightened the tedium of Mrs. Gordon's sick-room by com-
ing often to sit with her — prevented the threatened explosion of
wrath. Heartily glad of the respite afforded by Mrs. Austin's
presence, Stella hurried to her own room and sat down to think.

" This is but the beginning," she said to herself. " It will go
on and on interminably, I know. And am I sure that I shall
have the resolution to resist the constant persecution I must ex-
pect ? I feel angry now and quite capable of defiance ; but I am
afraid it may be with this as it has been with so many other
things lately. I grow so tired of being always on the defensive,
always on a strain of resistance. After all, my temper is not so
bad as it used to seem. I find it easier to yield a point than to
take the trouble to contest it. If I had ever been taught how to

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 315

control myself I think I might have been different always. But
it is too late now to regret what is past. There is no good in
thinking of it."

She rose abruptly, went to a set of bookshelves, and began
carelessly to look for something to read. Chance, perhaps — or
perhaps her guardian angel — directed her attention to a small
black volume which she had not seen for some time, the very
existence of which, in fact, she had forgotten. It had been
thrust back to the wall out of sight, on the top of some larger
books, in taking out one of which it was displaced and fell to the
floor at her feet.

As she stooped to pick it up her heart gave a quick, painful
bound. It was a Manual of Devotion to the Sacred Heart, which
had been given to her by Southgate.

XII.

LATTERLY her mind had been so fully occupied with other
things that she had thought of Southgate rarely if at all. But a
throng of recollections crowded on her now. How well she re-
membered the expression of his face, the intonations of his voice,
the very words he had spoken, when he gave the little Manual
to her, and begged her to use it and to try to realize that there
was another world than this which alone seemed to engross her
thoughts ! How earnestly he had endeavored to rouse her to
some sense of devotion, some recognition of the fact that she
possessed a soul ! And how signally he had failed in the at-
tempt, seemingly !

Had he really failed ? " That which thou sowest is not quickened
except it die first " said the great Apostle of the Gentiles. The
seed so laboriously cast upon a soil which had never been loos-
ened by early culture lay tdead until the ploughshare of afflic-
tion passed and broke the crust of selfishness that made the
surface of Stella's character. But when her thoughts were
drawn from the sole consideration of her own wishes, will, and
pleasure by grief at her mother's accident and sympathy with the
suffering it entailed, the apparently lifeless 'germs became vivi-
fied, and slowly, imperceptibly even to herself, they had been
growing.

She had often found in the atmosphere of her lover's presence
a certain calm of spirit which she attributed at the time to the
pleasure that presence gave her, but which now she began to

316 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.. [June,

understand was the reflected tranquillity of a soul unruffled by
worldly thoughts and interests. " Oh ! " was the aspiration of her
soul at this moment, " for one hour of that calm, that peace, which
she had known for so short a time, but remembered with such
inexpressible longing." Sitting down, she opened the Manual at
the first fly-leaf, on which she knew Southgate had written her
name. She wanted some tangible association to bring him, as it
were, close to her — not as a lover, but as an influence, a guide to
her tired spirit. Beneath her name and the date appended was
transcribed a verse from Isaias, to which he had directed her at-
tention, she recollected.

"Is it not beautiful ?" he said.

" ' A man shall be as when one is hid from the wind, and hideth
himself from a storm ; as rivers of waters in drought, and the shadow
of a rock that standeth out in a desert land] " she read aloud.
Then, after a momentary pause, " Very beautiful, very poeti-
cal," she replied. " But to tell you the truth, Edward, I do not
quite understand its significance."

" Is it possible you do not ! " Southgate had exclaimed, with
such a shocked expression of countenance that she laughed
heartily.

Looking at this magnificent prophecy now, she not only un-
derstood but felt it deeply. As suddenly as the rays of the sun
flash over the earth when day dawns in the tropics,' the light of
faith illuminated her hitherto unenlightened mind. She prayed
that night before she slept, not merely with her lips but with
her heart ; the next morning she rose and went to early Mass ;
in the afternoon she went to the priest. In a word, she became
from this time in reality what before she had been in name only
— a Catholic.

The change in her was very great, She grew gentle and pa-
tient in manner, quiet and resolute in character, habitually cheer-
ful instead of capriciously gay.

But though noticeable from the first, the transformation was
gradual. The science of the saints is not acquired in a day. It
is with pain and struggle that the soul casts off the habits and
tramples upon the impulses of the natural man. Like a child's
first tottering attempts to walk, or the faltering steps of one who
has been ill almost unto death, are the first efforts of a newly-
awakened conscience in the paths of holiness. Spirit and flesh
are at war, and sometimes the one and sometimes the other gains
a momentary advantage.

Thus it was with Stella. There were brief seasons when

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.

she was ineffably calm and happy ; but oftener she was all but
despairing, all but inclined to turn from the narrow, rugged,
steeply ascending path which bruised and wounded her silken-
sandalled feet to the broad, smooth way that sloped so gently
downward and was so familiar to her tread. One thing by
which she was particularly discouraged was her disinclination
to devotional practices and reading. She was subject to constant
distractions during prayer and meditation, and even while as-
sisting at the Holy Sacrifice.

" You need not be discouraged by this," her confessor said
when she laid her trouble before him, "or at all surprised.
Read the lives of the saints and you will find that on the road to
perfection of life, as in everything else, the first steps are always
the hardest. Have patience, and the way will grow more easy
and your strength will increase. If you encountered no difficul-
ties where would be your merit ? You must distinguish, too,
between wilful transgressions and those errors and shortcom-
ings which result from our natural human infirmity. Call upon
Our Lady for her all-powerful help. Even among the saints her
special clients are pre-eminent in holiness. I think you told me
that you have The Spiritual Combat f Well, it is exactly what
you need. Study it daily. Most of all, remember the dream of
St. Simeon Stylites. Dig deep, deep, deep your foundation of
humility." •

Reassured and reanimated by such counsels as these, Stella
pressed on with fervor in her spiritual life. But many times she
found the cross very heavy.

So long as Mrs. Gordon was confined to her own room, and
obliged to restrict herself, as regarded social amusements, within
certain limits laid down by her autocrat for the time, Dr. Mc-
Donald, matters were not so bad. She had lady friends in num-
bers, and, for a part of each day at least, Stella was relieved by
some visitor from the duty of entertaining the exigent invalid.
But the moment that it was possible for her to be moved — even
before she could help herself by the aid of crutches — she migrated
to the back drawing-room, which she had caused to be fitted up
temporarily as a chamber. Here, reclining on a sofa placed im-
mediately before the folding-doors that opened into the front
drawing-room, and flanked by an immense cretonne screen, she

received all the world of M (all her world), individually and

collectively, with rapturous delight at her emancipation from
what she called her late solitary confinement. And unsparing
as her demands upon Stella's time and attention had been from

318 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [June,

the first, she was now, if possible, more unreasonable than ever
in requiring her constant presence.

The motive of this soon became obvious. Among her ear-
liest and most frequent visitors was Mr. Gartrell ; and Stella
found herself the victim of a tacit conspiracy between her mother
and this pertinacious suitor to commit her to an apparently vol-
untary acceptance of his attentions again.

Miss Gordon's health was suffering, he feared, for want of
exercise ; she was looking pale, he was sorry to perceive, Mr.
Gartrell said, with respectful interest, the first day he was ad-
mitted to a personal interview with Mrs. Gordon, at which in-
terview Miss Gordon was compelled most unwillingly to assist.
Might he be permitted to suggest a drive? His horses were
at the gate ; would not Mrs. Gordon support his petition by her
influence ?

Mrs. Gordon smiled graciously.

" By all means go, Stella," she said. " A breath of fresh air
will do you good. Put on your things and go at once, my dear,
while it is early and the sun is warm."

But Stella excused herself. " You are very kind, but I assure
you my health is not suffering," she said to Mr. Gartrell ; " and "
— turning to Mrs. Gordon — " if you can spare me, mamma, I will
go and answer some letters that have been haunting me for a
week past."

She had to encounter a storm from her mother on Gartrell's
departure, and many succeeding storms as the days and weeks
dragged on without that gentleman's making any progress what-
ever in her favor. He was as much in earnest in his determina-
tion to win his suit as Mrs. Gordon could possibly desire. But
he did not make himself in the least degree disagreeable in con-
sequence. After receiving one or two distinct rebuffs he let
Stella alone, to all appearance. He discontinued asking her to
ride or drive, he never joined her if he met her walking, yet at
the same time managed to convey to her, by a certain tone of
manner imperceptible to any one but herself, the expression of
his unalterable resolve to make her his wife in the end.

Meanwhile his regard for Mrs. Gordon manifested itself al-
most daily in the elegant forms of flowers, fruits, books, or more
substantially in fish and game. And that lady, deeply touched
by these evidences of his eligibility as a son-in-law, was in despair
and in rage at her daughter's obstinate folly in having lost, as
she supposed, such a. parti.

Naturally she attributed this folly on Stella's part to a lin-

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 319

gering regard for her faithless lover — it was by that title that
Mrs. Gordon was in the habit of designating Southgate in her
frequent allusions to him ; and the Catholic faith was so insepa-
rably associated with Southgate that her dislike to him soon
began to cause with her a feeling of enmity toward the church
strongly in contrast to the passive good-will she had heretofore
entertained toward it. The change in Stella from frivolous
worldliness to earnest piety vexed and disgusted her beyond
measure ; and she never let pass an opportunity to express her
opinion on the subject, either privately or publicly.

She supposed, she said dryly one day when Mrs. Allen, Gar-
trell, and two or three other people chanced to meet at one of
her informal afternoon receptions, or " teas," as she called them
after the English fashion — she supposed Father Darcy disap-
proved of social amusements in any form, as Stella had quite
dropped out of the world since she put herself under his " direc-
tion " (pronouncing the last word with emphasis), she believed it
was called.

" Oh ! I am sure Father Darcy has nothing to do with Stella's
remaining at home," said Mrs. Allen, who had brought thisi ani-
madversion on her young friend by scolding her for not going
out more. " She was too good a child to leave you when you
were so ill, and one could not expect it of her. But now that
you are almost well again, and do not, I suppose, need her to
read to you at night, she ought not to forget the rest of the
world entirely. I hope, my dear," she added, turning to Stella,
" that I shall see you at my soir6e to-morrow night. We have
missed you very much all this long time that you have been
absent."

" I will come, thanks, with pleasure," said Stella pleasantly.
She felt inclined to laugh at the discomfiture visible in her mo-
ther's countenance at having had the tables completely turned
upon her ; for Mrs. Allen's friendly reproaches in the first place
had been directed much more against Mrs. Gordon than herself,
the selfishness of that lady in keeping her daughter in such close
attendance on her being generally talked of and condemned.

XIII.

" I FEEL as if it was selfish to leave you, mamma," said Stella
the next evening, entering her mother's room after she was dress-
ed for Mrs. Allen's soiree. " I think I will write an apolo—

" Nonsense ! " interrupted Mrs. Gordon languidly. " There

320 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [June,

is no reason why you should not go. The McDonalds and your
father will be here presently to play whist."

And in fact, as she spoke, Dr. McDonald and his wife were
ushered in, Mr. Gordon making his appearance an instant later.

After salutations and inquiries had been exchanged the whist-
table was wheeled to the side of the invalid's sofa, seats were
arranged, and the rugged face of the doctor looked almost be-
nign as he shuffled the cards, and, casting for deal, had the plea-
sure of finding that fortune favored himself. While his great
brown hand flashed round and round in a short circle, dealing
with great rapidity, his wife's eyes followed Stella, who, having
seen her mother's comfort and amusement for the evening thus
secured, was leaving the room.

There was something of compassion as well as admiration in
Mrs. McDonald's kindly gaze ; and Mr. Gordon, glancing up by
accident, caught the expression and involuntarily turned to see
what had caused it.

For the first time then he noticed that Stella, as Gartrell had
remarked, looked pale and — as Gartrell had not remarked — a
little thin ; and for the first time it occurred to him with a sense
of self-reproach that her health had suffered from her long and
fatiguing attendance upon her mother.

" I ought to have paid some attention to this," he thought,
and, beginning to consider what he could do to correct the evil,
was so preoccupied in mind during the first game that was
played as to excite the wonder and dissatisfaction of his wife and
the doctor ; perceiving which he put the matter out of his
thoughts for the time and applied himself to his cards.

But he did not forget it, and a second examination of Stella's
face at the breakfast-table the next morning added to his con-
cern.

" What are you looking at, papa ? " she said at last with a
half-laugh, observing that his eye rested on her face again and
again with an expression of grave scrutiny. " Is anything the
matter with my face or my dress ? "

She glanced down over her person while speaking.

" Yes," answered her father, smiling lightly as he saw her
look of rather startled surprise at this reply. " Your face is
much paler than it ought to be, and your dress is a little loose
on you, I observe. You have lost flesh."

" Is that all ? " she said lightly. " It is nothing to look grave
about."

" You have been too closely confined to the house and have

i882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.

321

endured too much fatigue since your mother's accident," Mr.
Gordon went on. " I am afraid your health has suffered."

" Not at all, I assure you', papa."

" You feel quite well? "

" Perfectly well."

" Yet it seems to me that, in addition to your pallid looks, you
move languidly. I noticed this last night, and again when you
came down-stairs awhile ago."

" I have felt a little languid lately, since the change of sea-
son. But I am not alone in that. Evervbody is feeling the ener-
vating effect of the spring temperature."

Mr. Gordon was silent for a few minutes, then resumed :

" You need change of air, and rest," he said decidedly.

" It is impossible that I can leave mamma," Stella answered.
" Please don't say anything about it, papa. Indeed I am quite
well."

" You may be so at present, but you will not remain well if
such an unaccustomed strain upon your strength continues much
longer. I must find some way of putting a stop to it."

" I beg that you will not say anything to mamma on the sub-
ject ! " said Stella earnestly, looking quite distressed. " Pray do
not, papa ! "

" Since you request it, I will not," he answered. " But I can-
not permit such a state of affairs to go on. Think of it and see
if you can suggest a remedy. Meanwhile I will talk to the doc-
tor about it,"

The opportunity to do this occurred sooner than he expected.
He had scarcely entered the private room of his law-office on
going down-street that morning, and had not settled himself to
work, but was still thinking of Stella's pale face and languid
eyes, when one of his clerks knocked at the door and informed
him that Dr. McDonald wished to speak to him.

" I was just wishing to speak to you" he said, as the doctor
entered and shut the door. " Sit down. Nothing is the matter,
I hope?"

" No, not exactly. Would it be very inconvenient to you to
leave home for six months or a year ? "

Mr. Gordon seemed as much surprised as it was possible for
a man so dignified and self-contained to look. " It would be in-
convenient, certainly," he answered after a momentary pause,
** but in a case of necessity I could disregard that."

" I think it would be well, then, for you to take Mrs. Gordon
and Miss Stella to spend the approaching summer in Switzer-

VOL. XXXV. — 21

322 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [June,

land or the Bavarian Highlands, and the winter in France or
Italy."

" But is Mrs. Gordon in a condition to undertake such a
journey?" his hearer asked doubtfully. "She has scarcely left
her sofa yet, and don't seem to be able to do much in the way
of walking, even across the room, with her crutch."

" There it is ! " said the doctor. " She will never learn to use
her crutch and move about enough to regain her strength unless
she has a motive for exertion — is, in a manner, compelled to ex-
ert herself. It won't do for her to remain in this climate during
the summer ; and I have been trying for some time past to
think where she had better go. Now, there is nothing like an
ocean voyage to restore tone and vigor to an impaired constitu-
tion. 1 thought of the Bermudas. But it is easier to go to
Europe than to get there ; and, in fact, it would be better in
every way — with the advantage, too, that it would do Miss
Stella as much good as her mother."

" Ah ! Stella," said Mr. Gordon quickly ; " I was intending
to consult you about her. I am not very observant, or I should
have noticed before last night how thin and pale she is looking.
Her strength has been overtasked.5'

" A little, perhaps, but not seriously. Still, it would be well
to give her relaxation in time ; and this plan I propose seems to
me the best thing that could be done, if Mrs. Gordon will con-
sent to it."

" Have you spoken to her on the subject ? What does she
think of it ? "

" No ; I have not mentioned it to her yet. I thought I would
first speak to you."

" Ascertain what she thinks of it. I suppose you will see her
this morning ? "

" Yes, I am on my way now to your house."
" Very well. If she will go, settle with her what time it is
likely she may be able to travel, and I will make my arrange-
ments accordingly."

Though it was, as he had said, inconvenient to him to leave
home, Mr. Gordon, having made up his mind to do so, was more
and more pleased with Dr. McDonald's suggestion the more he
thought of it. To have an ailing, fretful wife was new and not
at all agreeable to him, and the re-establishment of her health
was an object for which he was glad to make any sacrifice. In
addition to this he felt that Stella's health certainly needed at-
tention, and would, the doctor assured him, be greatly benefited

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 323

by the voyage ; and for himself, he was not disinclined to a tem-
porary change from his usual'laborious life.

Somewhat to his surprise he found, on going home, that
neither Mrs. Gordon nor Stella regarded the scheme favorably.
The first was subdued to reluctant acquiescence by the doctor's
strenuous, in fact peremptory, arguments ; and Stella, in conse-
quence of the medical dictum that change not only of air but of
continent was absolutely necessary to the recovery of her mo-
ther's health, refrained from the expression of her opinion. But
the feelings of both were exceedingly opposed to the idea of
going to Europe, and, strange to say, for the same reason — an ap-
prehension, in the first place, of meeting Southgate, and, in
the second place, of being suspected of going there to meet
him.

Mrs. Gordon was silent as to this reason and its corollary —
despair of ever obtaining Gartrell as a son-in-law ; but when Mr.
Gordon requested Stella to tell him why she seemed so averse
to the plan proposed by Dr. McDonald she replied frankly and
truthfully.

" I scarcely think Mr. Southgate himself would think any-
thing of the kind ; he is not a vain man," she added, seeing by the
expression of her father's face that he considered this objection
reasonless. " But I am sure the gossips here will make ill-natured
remarks ; and I am coward enough, I confess, to shrink from giv-
ing them the opportunity."

" But I suppose you would not think it well to sacrifice the
restoration of your mother's health to this fear of gossip ? " said
Mr. Gordon.

" No, certainly not, papa. You know I have not said a word
voluntarily on the subject. You asked the point-blank question
why I did not like the idea of going, and I could only tell the
truth."

" Is this your only objection ? "

" Yes. Otherwise I should be delighted at the prospect."

" You may set your mind at rest, then, about the gossip you
are afraid of. Southgate will not be in Europe when we get
there or while we are there. He has already gone to Jerusalem
to spend Lent, and intends remaining in the East two or three
years."

" Ah ! " said Stella in a tone of evident relief. " I am glad of
that, if you are sure that it is so."

" There can be no doubt of it. I met Brantford Townsley
this morning with a letter in his hand which he had just received

324 ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. [June,

from Southgate, who was starting for Jerusalem the day he
wrote."

" I am very glad," said Stella again. " And when shall we
start, papa? "

Her face was quite bright now.

" As soon as your mother is able to travel. The doctor thinks
she will be well enough in six weeks to undertake the voyage.
That will bring us to the first of May — a very good season for
crossing the ocean."

TO BE CONTINUED.

ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA, THE OPPONENT OF

NESTORIUS.

NEARLY two thousand years ago a Roman emperor had or-
dered a census to be taken of his subjects in a district of the
East. Among those who obeyed the imperial edict were a man
and woman from the poorer class. Unable to obtain shelter in
the crowded hostelry of the little village in which they were to
register their names, they sought it in a neglected cave on the
outskirts of the town ; and there the woman — a young Jewess —
was delivered of her first-born, a son. Had the census-takers
been aware of this new subject of their imperial master his birth
might have figured in their returns. Almost born in the street,
and coming into the world, as so many other subjects of the
Roman sway, amid the vulgar surroundings of want and obscur-
ity, he still counted a unit, and the most distinguished person on
their lists was only that. But this lender babe, who wailed and
shivered in the encircling arms of his maiden-mother, was the
Almighty God, at whose fiat the world had sprung forth from
the abyss of nothing ; who had fashioned that emperor who
would have enrolled him as his subject, and that fairest product
of his creative power, the holy Mother from whom he drew his
human substance. The Author and Fount of all being had as-
sumed the nature of man ; and as in later years he walked the
streets of Jerusalem or sat on the slopes that verged to the rip-
pling waters of Genesareth, a passer-by could have turned and,
pointing out the humble figure to his companion, have said with
truth : " That man is God ! " Even to the pagan mind the ap-

i382.J ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. 325

pearance of one of their numerous deities in their midst would
have been startling-. But this was no Olympian Jove descended
among mortals with some questionable aim ; no Vulcan flung to
earth in rage ; no Apollo in graceful exile. It was the Second
Person of the august Trinity, the only-begotten of that divine
Father whose very name the Jews, in deepest reverence, forbore
to utter. Here, then, was the most profound mystery confront-
ing1 the intellect of man ! Why had he come ? How could he
come thus ? The direct answer to the first of these queries is
simple enough, while the endeavor to solve the other has led to
some of the darkest heresies that have marked the gradual de-
velopment of Christ's mystical body, the church. When, a few
weeks later, the Holy Babe was presented in the temple by his
parents, ut sisterent eum Domino (Luke ii. 22), a reverend man of
Jerusalem named Simeon received the Child into his arms, and,
blessing God for having allowed his aged eyes to see the Salva-
tion of the Lord, applied to the Infant these words of Isaias :
Ecce,positus est hie in ruinam et in resurrectionem multortim in Israel,
et in sigmun, cui contradicetur (Luke ii. 34, Isaias viii. 14). Fear-
ful and mystic words ! That he who was the Eternal Truth
should be for a " sign to be contradicted " ; that he who, in the
yearnings of his divine love for the highest good of his creatures,
had become one of themselves in very truth — that he should be
set for the fall of many in Israel ! But that so it was ecclesias-
tical history has shown in every century from the days of the
apostles down to our own. Scarcely had Christ yet left the
earth for heaven when St. John the Evangelist wrote : " Even
now there are many Antichrists " (i Epistle John ii. 18). The
same evangelist says in his first Epistle (iv. 1-3) : " Dearly be-
loved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they
be of God ; because many false prophets are gone out into the
world. By this is the spirit of God known : every spirit that
confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is of God ; and
every spirit that dissolveth Jesus is not of God ; and this is Anti-
christ, of whom ye have heard that he cometh, and he is now
ready in the world : " — thus making the mystery by which the
Son of God assumed the nature of man the touchstone of the
faith, the shibboleth of the true Christian. And, in truth, the
nobler and more sublime the intellect that bends in unquestion-
ing belief before this truth, the more noble is its submission ; for
the seeming impossibility of such a union is more patent to the
philosophical than to the vulgar mind. How the Eternal God
could have united the rational and bodilv nature of humanity to

326 ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. [June,

his sacred Person so that it was possible to predicate with truth
of the individual Christ what was proper to each of the united
natures — the human and divine — is beyond the ken of human in-
tellect. For this reason this vital article of Catholic verity has
been attacked in every way. Man has dared to " divide " Christ,
either reducing him purely to his own level of simple humanity,
or else, despoifing the human race of the glory of having had its
nature elevated to the immense dignity of personal union with
Divinity, by declaring that Christ was no man, but God alone.

We have remarked that the direct answer to the question
why Christ came is sufficiently simple. That answer is, to save
mankind. But man is a free agent, and the scheme of salva-
tion must include his perfect, though voluntary subjection to his
Creator — a condition which involves the unquestioning subjuga-
tion of man's higher faculties to the commands of God. Faith,
then, is the very soul of the Christian, the form which makes
him such. Christ's mission, therefore, was to redeem the human
race ; the mode by which he effected it was the divine sacrifice
" in the place called Golgotha," in which he was at once High-
Priest and Victim, and by teaching mortals the way to God.
The fittest conception, then, of Jesus Christ as Redeemer of the
world is that of a God-Man offering the all-atoning Sacrifice of
Propitiation —

" Breaking his body on the tree of shame,
With the deep anguishing of all its chords "

— and of a divine Teacher come to instruct men not merely by
word but by the sublimest example of theory or belief reduced
to act. His school consisted of twelve men, drawn for the most
part from the humblest states of life, who were to continue his
work after him, who were commissioned to teach \viih the same
authority as himself. To them he made known the New Law-
one more sublime and less material than the old Hebraic code,
in which he had led by the hand, as it were, the seed of Abra-
ham, and had determined all things by weight, and by law, and
by measure, and had spoken to the soul almost constantly
through the medium of some distinctly visible and material form.
Consequently the all-important lesson of salvation was to be
transmitted from one divinely commissioned body of men to an-
other, and so on " till the crack of doom," that men might listen
•to their words and be saved. Now, had all men, from the days
of Jesus Christ until the end, been filled with the ardent faith

1 882.] ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. 327

of the apostles ; if this vivid faith, as perfectly reasonable as it
is sublime, had been the common feeling among Christian menr
heresy would never have lifted its loathsome front in the pre-
cincts of the church. There would have been no choice (al'peffts)
in what we would believe ; the one sole point to be determined
would have been : Has the church taught this truth or no ?

But the Incarnation, and the lofty truths which emanate from
it as rays of light are thrown out by a brilliant, furnished mat-
ter for the highest philosophy. It became then the duty of the
teachers in the church of God to show that no effort of reason
could prove that any point of Christian verity involved what
reason could not admit. Despite the desperately material bias
of the pagan, and even Jewish mind, the study of philosophy was
pursued by them with exceeding ardor. Thought was active
in its struggle for truth. The human mind delighted in grasp-
ing the subtle problems which life contained. Christianity then,
when it was first published, was regarded much in the same light
as any great school of philosophy — as a system which naturally
entered into rivalry with the lofty conceptions of the Academy,
the stern tenets of the Porch, the encyclical dogmatism of the
Peripatetics, and the voluptuous egoism of the Epicureans.
And, in truth, it was the highest philosophy. In all the other
systems truth cropped out here and there amid a waste of fal-
lacy and ignorance ; here in the school of Jesus of Nazareth it
beamed with the steady radiance of the sun, pure, unmixed, en-
tire. Many minds, as a consequence of this attitude, looked on
the doctrines of Christianity as theses to be proved, and were not
slow in presenting difficulties that seemed to bear against them.
That there were difficulties, and such as a cultivated intellect
would most readily perceive, is beyond doubt. The student of
theology to-day, when these tenets have weathered the assaults of
centuries, when so many points have been hedged about by the
anathemas of councils and riveted into eternal stability by the
authoritative voice of the supreme head of the church, is well
aware of the subtlety and difficulty attendant on a lucid exposi-
tion and defence of certain truths, especially such as are deeply
rooted in the " dark brightness " of the Godhead. A carelessly
formulated expression may be the unwitting utterance of some
cardinal heresy. How much more was intellectual effort neces-
sary for the doughiy champions of Catholic truth in the defence
and proof of such positions when the deposit of faith had not
yet been systematized, if we may so speak, by a sharp and scien-
tific method, before the subject-matter of belief had crystallized

328 ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. [June,

into clear and symmetrical form ! Even ivords that in the early
days of the church would have conveyed beyond a doubt an or-
thodox meaning would, if employed in the same connection to-
day, as indubitably be redolent of heresy.

The nobility and dignity of a doctor of the church may, then,
be easily conceived — the glory of a mind qualified by nature and
assisted by grace to shape the intellect of its brothers, to bring
forth Christ amid the chaos of unbelief or firmly establish him
in the wavering soul of the hesitating Christian. No higher vo-
cation was possible, save martyrdom ; and even here the only
difference was that the teacher of God bore witness to the truth
by living., while the martyr of Christ attested its divine force by
dying. It was the mission of the Redeemer, and his loving pro-
vidence had bestowed it on his children in the Spirit.

Our object in these preliminary remarks has been to show,
first, that Christianity, in the earlier days of its being, was a
natural battle-ground for debate, and this not that the deposit of
faith has been augmented with the growth of years, or that
Christ's mystic bride began her triumphant career with the ig-
norance of a child, but from the character of the truth to be
conveyed and the disposition of the minds which were to receive
it ; secondly, to show that the Incarnation of our divine Lord
Jesus Christ was not only the corner-stone on which was builded
the glorious fabric of the New Law, but was also the stumbling-
block for many a believer too wise in his own conceit ; third-
ly, that the functions of a teacher or guide to human minds in
the beautiful paths of Catholic verity were such as made a doc-
tor of the church an object dear to God and " among the fore-
most men of all his time." We may now apply these principles
to the special points demanded by the scope of this paper.

Nestorianism was a cancerous growth of heresy which ate
into the body of Christ's bride, the church, in the first half of
the fifth century ; and the hand which deftly cut away the cor-
roding sore was that of St. Cyril of Alexandria. Nestorius, a
Syrian monk of the laura of St. Euprepius, near Antioch, dared
to " divide Jesus," despite the apostle's thrilling cry that such an
one as this was " not of God." He was a disciple of the famous
Theodore of Mopsuestia, and undoubtedly was affected with
much of the taint which clung to that distinguished man, who
was an able and voluminous writer and gifted with a personal
magnetism which made his influence immense. Nestorius was
himself possessed of much popular eloquence, and this, with his
ascetic mode of life, procured him his subsequent honors in the

1 882.] ST-. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. 329

church. He became a priest of Antioch, and on the death of
Sisinnius, Bishop of Constantinople, was raised by Theodosius,
the emperor, to the episcopate of that city. In his first sermon
after his consecration he addressed to the emperor the following
words : " Give to me, O Emperor, a land purged of heretics, and
I will give to thee heaven ; overthrow with me the heretics, and
with thee will I overthrow the Persians." But eloquence and
pride have often formed the aureola of an heresiarch. If Origen
erred we would fain weep over his fall as that of an angel of
God entrapped in the toils of Lucifer. But the systematic cun-
ning and self-love of Nestorius, joined to the peculiar iniquity of
his defection, leave us no power to compassionate his ruin. In
the days of pagan Rome the crimen lessee majestatis was the high-
est offence in the criminal code. In the light of Christian Rome
the same is true, not of outraged country but of a blasphemed
Deity. Heresy is this crime, and Nestorius was guilty of it in
the most flagrant manner — false to his God, false to his flock,
false to his friends. This sacrilegious prelate wished to wrest
from the most Blessed Mother her glory of glories, the highest of
her names of praise. To achieve this end he ruthlessly assailed
the divine Word, who had assumed humanity within the sacred
cloister of her womb. " Lo ! a virgin shall conceive and bear a
son," was the prophecy of Isaias, whose lips had been purified
with living fire from heaven, that he might utter this chaste
truth (Isaias vii. 14). The Angel Gabriel, the loftiest of the
messengers of God, said to the Blessed Maiden: "The Holy
Thing that shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God "
— Quod nascetur ex te Sanctum vocabitur Filius Dei (Luke i. 35).
But this recreant monk declared that the Son whom Mary bore
was as mere a mortal as himself, who in his mature years was
made the dwelling of the Word, the Temple of God. Plato
thought the soul was united to the body as a rider is mounted
on his steed ; and Nestorius would have had it that the Second
Person of the Trinity was united to human nature by no closer
bond. The man Christ with whom the Word was joined, though
fully constituted in his own personality, became the instrument
of the Word, perfectly subservient to the will of the Son of
God, worthy himself of being a Son of God through the dig-
nity thus bestowed upon him, but not by right of birth. The
union was accidental, not substantial, and there was a duality
of person as well as nature in the individual Christ. An imme-
diate consequence from these premises is that the Blessed Virgin
was XpiffTOToxo?, not Qeoroxo?, and Nestorius contended that

330 ST. CYRIL OF ALEXAN-DRIA. [June,

to call her Mother of God, except as a mere exercise of pious
rhetoric, was to be little better than a pagan.

The spirit of the apostles, who venerated in the highest de-
gree the Mother of their divine King, lived in the hearts of the
laity of the fifth century, a sacred heritage, a soothing grace.
The base infidelity of their shepherd did not mislead his flock.
They arose in a whirlwind of indignant wrath and demanded
redress. Nestorius met the protests of the faithful by inflicting
the severest corporal punishment on such as dared to give voice
most boldly to their outraged piety. Far from withdrawing his
heresy, he scattered letters through the East and West, and en-
deavored to indoctrinate the monasteries of Egypt with his er-
rors. But on a watch-tower of the church dominating, as it
were, both East and West there was a keen-eyed guardian of
Christ's honor and of his church, who grappled at once with
this son of darkness. ;St. Cyril of Alexandria was a man in
whom the abhorrence of heresy which characterized the Disciple
of Love was joined to the fiery zeal of Peter and the restless en-
ergy of Paul. Alexandria was one of the great patriarchates of
the Eastern church. The city itself was worthy of its founder,
of him who conquered the world. In all that goes to make the
city was it great. The galleys that rounded the pharos, that
wonder of the world, found this superb centre of civilization
stretching before them its magnificent sea-front, gleaming with
the snowy marble of the Serapeium, the Csesareum, and Mu-
seum, whose majestic masses were sharply defined against the
intense blue of the rainless Egyptian sky. It was a little world
in itself. Greeks, Egyptians, Jews, each had their own quarter ;
and strangers from every land assembled there, for it was a prin-
cipal port for commerce, a fountain-head of pleasure, and given
to sounding the deepest wells of truth with the plummet of its
intellect. But we shall consider it only as the episcopal seat of
St. Cyril, as one of the great ecclesiastical centres. Many are
the names of distinguished bishops and celebrated workers in the
church of Alexandria prior to St. Cyril's incumbency. Pantse-
nus, the glorious convert and head of the schools of the cate-
chism which St. Mark the Evangelist had founded ; his famous
disciple and successor, Clement of Alexandria; the magnificent
Origen, also an indefatigable worker in the schools ; St. Alexan-
der, who convened a council against Arius in A.D. 320 ; St. Atha-
nasius, grand in his dignity of doctor, who called the Council of
Alexandria, which determined the force of the word hypostasis
and condemned the notorious heresiarchs, Sabellius, Paul of

1 882.] ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. 331

Samosata, Basilides, and Manes, who had assailed the Incarna-
tion— such are some of the names that shine out on Alexandria's
illuminated page of ecclesiastical history, brilliant with the blaze
of genius, refulgent with the mellower glow of sanctity. St.
Cyril, then, entered on an office which the talent and merit of his
predecessors had made conspicuous ; and .his life and toils in this
vineyard of the Lord added another potent name to that distin-
guished roll. He was consecrated on the i8th of October, A.D.
412, three days after the death of the previous incumbent, his
uncle Theophilus, and was then in his thirty-sixth year. It was
seventeen years later when he wrote his Letter to the Solitaries,
which must be considered as his first appearance in the lists as
the opponent of Nestorius. His enemies would have it that St.
Cyril was at best a violent, hot-tempered man, and many do not
hesitate to dub him an arrogant, ambitious prelate, lusting for
power, and not to be deterred even by an occasional wholesome
effusion of blood. The Catholic need scarcely be informed that
such a character is hardly one to have been raised by the church
to her altars as an object of veneration for Christendom. But it
is not our object to consider St. Cyril save as the opponent of
Nestorius, and any analysis of his character except such as affects
this view of him, or any reference to other works which occu-
pied his vigorous mind, is beside our purpose. After Nestorius
had spread his false doctrine among his own flock through the
agency of two creatures of his, Dorotheus, a bishop, and Anasta-
sius, a priest, he scattered his new views, as we have said,
through the monasteries of Egypt by means of letters. The
Nile region counted its monks by tens of thousands, most of
them men of simple manners and yet simpler faith, whose daily
bread was prayer and the food which Christ breaks to the chil-
dren of his spirit. To shatter the faith of such was like " poison-
ing the wells." Falling as these monks did under the jurisdiction
of Cyril, he would not have been the man he was had he failed
to perceive the need of counter-action. He composed a doc-
trinal letter in which he addressed them thus :

" I know your life is a shining and admirable one, nor am I ignorant
that your faith is in every wise whole and uncontaminated ; but I am not a
little troubled since I hear that certain deathly rumors are spread among
you, and that there are those who would fain tear down your simple faith,
since they dare to call into question whether it be lawful to call the Sacred
Virgin the Mother of God. It were better, in sooth, to abstain entirely
from questions of this kind, and not to meddle with matters which are ab-
struse and not clearly seen through even by those gifted with the most

332 ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. [June,

solid judgment and strongest minds. For these more subtle points are be-
yond the reach of the simpler."

He then goes on to state that it is his object, since the poison
has been already introduced among them, to set forth a few
points which may enable them to repel further attacks, and
even lead back to the truth any that these errors might have
seduced. He then proves, partly from the authority of St.
Athanasius and partly from reason, that the Blessed Virgin
truly merits the name of Mother of God. He next evinces from
the Nicene Creed and the Holy Scriptures, by clear, terse argu-
ments, that Christ is God, and, in conclusion, exhibits the manner
of the union between human nature and the Word. He thus for-
tified them fully against the evil teachings of Nestorius, but did
not once mention his name. This letter was carried to Constan-
tinople and threw Nestorius into a rage. He prevailed on one
Photius to answer it. Cyril, on the receipt of this answer, wrote
his first letter to Nestorius, in which he " handles him with
gloves." He says " he has learned from several worthy men that
Nestorius is highly offended with him on account of his letter to
the monks, and confesses to his surprise at Nestorius for not re-
flecting that the trouble has been occasioned by his own words
(or some person's), not by the Letter to the Solitaries." Then, al-
luding to the errors that had been taught, he adds : " It was my
duty to ill-brook such things as your lordship said (or did not
say, for I can scarcely believe that you uttered them)." He
then says " he is obliged to request some explanation from Nes-
torius, as the Bishop of Rome, Celestine — whom these doctrines
had reached, he knew not how — had bade him seek from Nesto-
rius if he were their author or no." The whole tone of this
letter is eminently conciliatory. There is no " pushing Nesto-
rius to the wall," no " hitting him when down." But he signifi-
cantly adds in conclusion, as if fearing that consideration and
charity might be mistaken as concession or pusillanimity : " But
let your lordship hold this as sure : that we are prepared to en-
dure chains-and prisons, and anything of the kind, nay, even to
imperil life itself, for the faith of Christ ! " Nestorius met this
almost gentle letter by a reply that considerably weakens our re-
spect for him even as a belligerent. After taking pains to de-
clare that he wrote chiefly to escape the importunities of a priest,
Lampon, he adds :

"Although not a few things have been pointed out by you that are
hardly in keeping with fraternal charity (for we should speak with modera-

1 882.] ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. 333

tion), yet we write with an unruffled mind and acquit ourselves of the task
of answering your letter with charity. How much good it is going to do
us to have complied with Lampon's urgency experience will show."

This tone of injured innocence convinced the patriarch that
it must be " war to the knife." In his answer, therefore, the
zealous prelate, without losing his temper, starts out with the
avowal that ill-will accruing to one from the performance of a
sacred duty is not worthy of consideration, and then begs Nesto-
rius to avoid the scandal that comes from perverting the divine
truth. Then, as if to show clearly the " causa teterrima belli,"
he sets forth in a few pages of forcible Greek a masterly exposi-
tion of the Catholic doctrine of the Incarnation, basing his proofs
on the decrees and teaching of the Council of Nice. All of Nes-
torius' casuistry is thoroughly shown up by his keen insight, and
he concludes by beseeching him as a brother, in the presence of
Christ and the holy angels, to abjure his errors. As to the reply
of Nestorius, it smacks of the most intolerable complacency.
He quotes Scripture and the Fathers to show that he is quite
right and that Cyril is quite wrong ; and he has the effrontery to
blandly add that he, " as a brother, gives him this advice : to study
the Fathers more deeply, and he will then see that they have
never said what he imputes to them." Cyril, in the meantime,
had written a treatise on the disputed points in the form of a
letter to the Emperor Theodosius, and two others, of which the
first is very lengthy, to Eudoxia and the saintly Pulcheria, all
three letters bearing the title, De Recta Fide. For, unfortunately,
Nestorius was supported by the court and several ecclesiastics.
The patience of the Alexandrian patriarch seems to be on the
wane in his next communication to his erring colleague, as he is
decidedly brief and decidedly strong. Here it is :

" I could not believe that you would so blaspheme. I warn you to give
over such strife, for you are not strong enough to fight the God who was
crucified for you. I need not tell you what befell the Jews, his enemies ;
nor the heretics Simon Magus, the Emperor Julian, and Arius. But I
warn you the church will not tolerate your insolence against God. You
know that this church is that against which the gates of hell shall not pre-
vail, and that no one ever braved her with success. Look out, then ! "

In this letter Cyril drops the title of dignity which he had
punctiliously employed at least a dozen times in his first letter,
the " Pietas Tua," as if the words carried a lie with them. Nes-
torius retorted not a whit abashed, and in his reply to him Cyril
again shows something of the man that lay beneath his episco-

334 ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. [June,

pal purple, beginning in this wise : " Were you not a bishop
none but your relatives and friends would ever have known
you," and then goes on to state that he deals with him only as
a prelate wofully derelict in his most sacred duties. Nestorius
was pricked to the quick and disdained any response ; nor would
he receive the messengers of Cyril, who, by his command, lin-
gered a month in the hope of obtaining an audience of him.
Seeing, however, that he was in the hands of a man of dogged
purpose and untiring zeal, Nestorius sent a letter to the pope,
declaring his opinions. Hearing of this, Cyril also addressed a
letter to the Bishop of Rome, in which he described the state of
the whole question, adverting to the anxious feeling which these
new doctrines occasioned to the Western, and especially the
Macedonian, bishops. From this letter we quote the following
remarks about Nestorius:

" He thinks himself wiser than us all, instead of concluding that, since
the orthodox bishops of the whole world and the laity believe Christ to be
God and confess that the Virgin who begot him is the Mother of God, he
who alone questions this must be wrong. But puffed up with pride and
abusing the power of his see to lay snares for all men, he thinks he can
make us and everybody else fall in with his views."

Cyril speaks here with as much plainness as he can, and we
see at once that his tempered expostulations with Nestorius were
the result of a divine charity. But now he is dealing with the
guardian of the whole fold, and he paints the false bishop in his
true colors. This judgment of Nestorius has an added force if
we read the estimate of him made by Socrates, the Alexandrian
lawyer, who wrote on ecclesiastical history. His testimony may
be accepted the more readily as he was rather severe on St.
Cyril himself, and consequently not likely to be influenced
by his opinion:

" From a perusal of the works of Nestorius," he says, •' I find him an
ignorant man of but little ability. The expression ©eoroxoS is a perfect
bugbear to him on account of this ignorance. For although he has a
naturally eloquent tongue and is hence thought learned, he is not so in
point" of fact, and he has not deigned to learn the writings of the old in-
terpreters. Through his insolent conceit in his volubility and elegance
of language he has both entirely neglected the old writers and has come to
regard himself as superior to them all " (book vii. c. 32).

Cyril entrusted this letter to Posidonius, as well as a succinct ac-
count of the teachings of Nestorius. The pope, on the receipt of
this letter, and having learned the correctness of Cyril's report

i882.] ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. 335

from Nestorius' own statement of his views, convoked a synod,
and the bishops indignantly called for the condemnation of Nes-
torius as the author of a new heresy more blasphemous than
any of its predecessors. Celestine accordingly wrote to Cyril,
reprobating Nestorius as worse than a hireling, inasmuch as he
did not abandon his sheep but rended them himself ; and he
commends the laudable fidelity and zeal of the Bishop of Alexan-
dria, approving of all he had written or done with regard [to
Nestorius.

" Let him be forgiven if he amends," he says, " for we would rather he
should return and live, provided he destroy not the lives committed to
his charge. But if he is obdurate let him be openly condemned. ' Sit
aperta sententia perduranti ! ' You will, then," he concludes, " carry out this
sentence with rigorous vigor (rigoroso -vigore), the authority of our see be-
ing joined to your own and you acting in our stead ; so that within ten
days from your monition he either condemn the evil teaching of his
written profession, and hold, with our Roman Church and yours, and uni-
versal devotion, the faith in Christ's nativity, or else understand that he is
in every way cut off from our body."

The pope adds at the end of his letter that he has communicated
his sentiments on this point to the bishops of Antioch, Jerusalem,
and Macedonia. Cyril, thus armed with the highest power a
mortal could wield — that entrusted by Jesus Christ to his church
and its supreme pastor — wrote anew to the Bishop of Constanti-
nople. The tone of his letter shows he is mindful of the "rigor-
ous vigor " enjoined on him by the Bishop of Rome. He had
convoked a diocesan synod, and writes in his own name and that
of the synod. He tells Nestorius that his teaching is doing
harm everywhere, and bids him abjure his new beliefs within the
ten days prescribed by Rome, or else that he and his opinions will
cease to have any place among the bishops and priests of the
church. After an exhaustive dissertation upon the points at-
tacked by Nestorius he adds : " You must accept these things,
and, without craft or subterfuge, be one with us in our belief."
He had expressly declared in a previous part of the letter that
it was not enough for Nestorius to avow his adhesion to the
Nicene Creed, as he failed in a right understanding of it, and such
an act of faith would be merely nominal, since his interpretation
of the Creed was " insincere, perverse, and preposterous." He
indicates what he is to do very clearly, for he says: " What you
must condemn and execrate with anathema are the points sub-
joined." St. Cyril then gives a summary of the errors of Nes-
torius under twelve heads, and as each concludes with an an-

336 Sr. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. [June,

athema they are known as the Twelve Anathematisms. We will
quote the first two. The first runs thus : " If any one does not
confess that Emmanuel is true God, and that hence the Blessed
Virgin is the Mother of God (for she begot the Incarnate Word ol
God according to the flesh), let him be anathema ! " The second
is : " If any one does not confess that the Word of God the Father
is united to the flesh in his personality (xa& vTtoGTaaiv), and to-
gether with his flesh is one Christ, the same, namely, at once God
and man, let him be anathema ! " Even if it were possible (which
it is not) to suppose that Nestorius had acted in good faith up to
this time, after this official condemnation truth and justice held
out but one course to him — that of at once subscribing to the
anathematisms, humiliating as the measure was. The other
alternative was that of presenting a brazen front to the anathe-
mas of Christ's vicar and rallying his party beneath the banner
of plain, unvarnished heresy. The unhappy bishop followed the
voice of his pride and refused to submit. The emperor, Count
Candidian, the commander of the imperial forces, Count Ire-
nseus, and one of those blighted beings who are so invariably a
part of Oriental intrigue, the eunuch Chrysaphius, prime minister
to the emperor, whom Pulcheria on her accession to the throne
was obliged to execute for his misdeeds, were all partisans of
the recusant bishop. John, too, who ruled the patriarchate of
Antioch, still clung to him with the feelings of regard they had
shared of yore when both were simple monks in the laura of St.
Euprepius, and by his influence secured as an ally of Nestorius
the erudite Theodoret, Bishop of Cyrus. The warning which
St. Cyril had sounded in the ear of Nestorius about the fate of
enemies of Christ and heretics had failed to stir his soul, and now,
with insensate hardihood, he met the solemn anathemas of the
church as formulated by Cyril with twelve anathemas in rebuttal
of them, and then threw himself at once into an active policy of
aggression. The Constantinopolitans who had withdrawn from
him were made to feel the utmost exercise of his vindictive
power. He also attacked the monks whom he had failed to
seduce, and poured into the ear of the weak Theodosius a
steady stream of calumny against the Bishop of Alexandria. By
this stubborn resistance Nestorius gave full force to the papal
excommunication, and from that hour was ecclesiastically dead.
But a corpse, though hardly an active agent, may be a potent
source of offence, as Nestorius proved. He sent Cyril's anathe-
matisms to John of Antioch, and entreated him to induce Theo-
doret and Andrew of Samosata to brand this Alexandrian op-

1 882.] ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. 337

ponent with the errors of Appllinaris and Arius. Strange to
say, these prelates lent themselves to this iniquity and wrote to
Cyril as desired. Their letters met with a prompt reply. In-
deed, besides the doctrinal works ex professo which the heresy
of Nestorius elicited from Cyril — to wit, a long treatise in five
books on the points impugned ; a dialogue between himself and
Nestorius on the right of the Holy Mother to the title of
GsoToxoS ; a separate treatise against such as denied it to her;
and an elaborate evolution of his Twelve Anathematisms which
he delivered before the Council of Ephesus — besides all these
labors the amount of correspondence entailed on Cyril by reason
of this defection of the Byzantine prelate was simply enormous.
Scarcely any one who was sufficiently prominent to make his
espousal of Nestorian error a scandal to those about him failed
to receive a vigorous letter; while corporations and communi-
ties who were exposed to danger from such teachings were also
the recipients of an earnest doctrinal missive. There is some-
thing touching in this eminent churchman's prodigious energy
and zeal in behalf of the injured Mother of God. But he was
now to wage a warfare that would throw yet greater splendor
round his name. Nestorius clamored for an oecumenical coun-
cil, and Theodosius favored his demands. The blinded bishop
thus directed against his accursed head the most powerful wea-
pon the church can wield against her foes. It was determined
that a council should be held. Through the condescension of
Celestine, Nestorius was allowed to retain possession of his see
till the council should have closed — nay, more, if he were to
retract, was to be allowed a seat in the synod with the assem-
bled bishops. By one of those coincidences not unworthy of the
historian's notice this Third General Council of the church was
to be held in that city of Ephesus to which the Evangelist St.
John had repaired three hundred and twenty-two years before,
when, on Nerva's accession to power, he had been allowed to
leave his rocky place of exile among the Sporades. Tradition
declares, too, and the Ephesine fathers alluded to this fact, that
she who beneath the shadow of the cross was bequeathed to us
as a mother through the person of the Beloved Disciple passed
the last years of her life with him at Ephesus. In that city,
then, where the stiffening fingers of the Apostle of Love had
traced the proofs of his Lord's divinity against Ebion and Cerin-
thus, the same truth was destined to be asserted by the church
of God against the wretched Nestorius.

St. Cyril was appointed by Pope Celestine his chief legate.

VOL. XXXV. — 22

338 ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. [June,

Although three other legates were sent by the Supreme Pontiff,
it was rather to bear special instructions to the council than to
control its sessions, for a formal injunction was laid on St. Cyril
to act as the president of the entire conclave. The legates were
two bishops, Arcadius and Projectus, and a priest, Philip, who
had precedence of all the prelates save Cyril. After the celebra-
tion of Easter the bishops began to gather at Ephesus. Nearly all
were men of learning, and many metropolitans. Cyril brought
about fifty Egyptian bishops — not too large a proportion, if
the importance of his patriarchate be considered. Nestorius,
with an immense suite, including Count Candidian, was already
there, this haste on his part being due to a desire of winning to
his side some of the fathers before the council began. The num-
ber of prelates soon amounted to two hundred, drawn from every
side, as may be inferred from this remark of Cyril's in his Apolo-
getic: "The Roman Church has borne witness to the upright-
ness of my faith, as well as this holy synod, gathered, if I may so
speak, from every land under the sun " — " ex universe, ut ita
dicam, orbe qui sub ccelo est." John of Antioch and his clique
dallied on the way and were not on hand for the first sessions
of the council. In a letter he wrote to Cyril apologizing for this
delay he says that during their journey of thirty days himself
and his brother bishops had allowed themselves so little repose
that several of the bishops were seriously prostrated by fatigue
and some of their animals had actually died. Judging from
what Cyril said to the clergy of Constantinople in a letter subse-
quent to the council, the veracity of this statement is very ques-
tionable. After mentioning his own haste to be present in due
time he says he waited for John sixteen days, despite the protest
of the synod, the fathers declaring that the Bishop of Antioch
had no wish to be present, as he feared Nestorius would be de-
posed and discredit fall on his church of Antioch, from which he
had been drawn. To continue in his own words : " That this
suspicion was well founded the issue clearly showed ; for he put
off his arrival, sending forward some of his Eastern bishops with
the message, ' If I am late proceed with what you have to do.' "
Cyril appointed the 22d day of June as that on which the coun-'
cil should be formally opened. He deputed four bishops to wait
on Nestorius and cite him to appear. He at first signified his
willingness to do so, but the next day sent in a protest against
the opening of the council before the arrival of several bishops
who were still expected. Though this protest bore the signa-
ture of sixty-eight bishops, they were doubtless of damaged re-

1 882.] 57*. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. 339

pute, as Cyril paid no attention to the remonstrance, but opened
the council at the time appointed. Count Candidian exerted
himself in vain to prevent this. The fathers were too well aware
that his authority only extended to the maintenance of order in
the synod. Before beginning- it was thought advisable, in ac-
cordance with the canons, to cite Nestorius a second and a third
time ; but the bishops waited on him with no better result than
being roundly abused by the guards who surrounded the here-
siarch's lodging. They accordingly at once entered on their
labors. The special instructions of the papal legates were that
no debate on Celestine's condemnation of Nestorius would be
permitted. We may now again quote from Cyril's Apologetic :

" The sacred synod having assembled, it established Christ, as it were,
its Confessor and Head ; for the venerated Evangel having been placed on
a throne, sounding this only in the ears of any unworthy priest, 'Judge
with just judgment' (Zach. vii. 9) — settle this contest between the holy
evangelists and the opinions of Nestorius — with the common assent of all,
condemned his teachings and showed forth the purity and beauty of evan-
gelical and apostolical tradition ; and thus the might of truth prevailed."

The first thing done was to read St. Cyril's second letter to-
Nestorius and the heresiarch's reply. It will be remembered
that in this Cyril had exposed clearly and fully refuted the erro-
neous doctrine of Nestorius, and that the answer had been a stub-
born maintenance of his views, coupled with the impudent advice^
to Cyril to " study the Fathers more deeply." Upon hearing

these letters read the fathers of the council voted by acclamation'

f
for the condemnation of Nestorius, uttering anathemas against

himself, his works, and all who communicated with him or failed
to anathematize him. Sentence was formally pronounced upon
him thus :

" Obliged by the sacred canons and the epistle of our Holy Father
and colleague, Celestine, Bishop of the Roman Church, we have been nec-
essarily driven, not without tears, to pronounce this melancholy sentence
against him. Therefore our Lord Jesus Christ, whom he has insulted by
his blasphemies, deprives him through this holy council of the episcopal
dignity, and declares him excluded from every assembly and college
of priests."

One hundred and eighty-eight bishops, and later several
more, signed this solemn condemnation and deposition of the
Bishop .of Constantinople. The work of this first session kept
the council occupied the entire day. The townspeople, in the

340 ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. [June,

meantime, had been anxiously awaiting- its decision. When the
session was concluded, which was not till nightfall, and it be-
came known that the Blessed Mother of God was vindicated, the
populace abandoned itself to the utmost joy. The bishops were
borne triumphantly to their abodes on the shoulders of the men ;
the women scattered flowers upon their heads and strewed them
before their feet ; while the evening air grew heavy with fra-
grant perfumes and burnt incense. The city itself was brilliant-
ly illuminated and the shrines of the ©SOTOHO? blazed with my-
riad tapers. It was a carnival of holy joy. But Satan was not
disheartened nor was Nestorius crushed. The following day
the sentence of the council was made known to him by a letter
in which he was addressed by the title of the " New Judas." It
was heralded through the town and placarded on the walls.
Candidian tore the placards down and the letters from the synod
to Theodosius were intercepted by him. Nestorius wrote a
fiery letter to the emperor, full of calumny, declaring that the
decision was attained by violence and sedition, and demanding
another council, from which the bishops hostile to him should
be excluded. Count Candidian confirmed these reports. At
this time John of Antioch and his attendant bishops arrived. In
a letter which this prelate had sent to Nestorius when his here-
tical teachings had excited the attention of his ecclesiastical su-
periors, he clearly showed that his sympathy was for the man,
Nestorius, not for his doctrine. He virtually told him " not to
run his head against a wall." He assumed it as clear that Nes-
torius believed all that the Catholic invocation of Mary as the
Mother of God implied, and that it was merely the name which
offended him ; whereas we have seen that the heresiarch was will-
ing to tolerate the name, if the belief it supposed was denied.
Consequently John of Antioch cannot but be deeply blamed by
posterity for the course he now adopted. Cyril, in his Apolo-
getic (we have always quoted from the Apologetic to Theo-
dosius), says : " He arrived, hastily left his travelling-carriage,
and, still covered with the dust of the road, held a synod with
his companion bishops and condemned all the bishops of the
council as worthy of excommunication, and offered a worse
affront to Memnon, Bishop of Ephesus, and myself, calling
us Arians and Apollinarists, and declared the decrees of the
general council void." Theodosius, in the meantime, hear-
ing absolutely nothing from the fathers of the council, whose
letters had been intercepted, and receiving from so many
sources reports of sedition and violence, sent an order for the

1 882.] ST. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. 341

imprisonment of Cyril and Memnoh. The synod of Ephesus,
however, went on. John of Antioch, thrice cited and thrice
a recusant, was excommunicated in contumaciam. The Holy
Ghost had cast down Nestorius and his ecclesiastical support-
ers. Mother-wit enabled the venerable prelates to trick the
wily Count Candidian and the vile Chrysaphius. A faithful
messenger, disguised as a mendicant, succeeded in getting to the
emperor, bearing the true reports of the council concealed in a
hollow staff. Letters were also sent in this way to the clergy
and faithful of Constantinople. The citizens, on receiving these
letters, waited in a body on the emperor, headed by the monk
Dalmatius, who for half a century before had never left the
walls of his monastery. Theodosius received them in the church
of St. Mocius, and, doubtless already influenced by his holy sis-
ter, Pulcheria, was moved to assent to their righteous demands,
awakening at length to a sense of his duties as a Catholic prince.
Cyril and Memnon were at once released, the decrees of the
council ratified, and Nestorius was ignominiously returned to
St. Euprepius and his monk's frock. But the wretched man
died hard. He profaned the holy cloisters by his impious here-
sies, so that he had to be relegated to an obscurity yet more
profound, and was banished to a dismal quarter of Upper Egypt
and afterward again to Elephantina. From this forsaken spot,
two years only after his condemnation, he passed to his judg-
ment by a miserable death. Cast down from his lofty position
as a conspicuous bishop of the church, he who had been the
friend of an emperor and his court, who had numbered distin-
guished prelates as his allies, who had stood .before the universe
a Lucifer in combat with God's church, passed^into obscurity,
execrated by the flock he had tried to seduce and overwhelmed
by the curse of his outraged Redeemer. But " the evil that men
do lives after them." A dozen centuries have rolled away, and
yet the Orient counts thousands of unhappy souls in bondage to
the errors of Nestorius. Within the past few months, in the New
York Sun, sandwiched between an item proudly enumerating the
thousands of boots and shoes made at the military prison at
Leavenworth, Kansas, and one in which there was the ever-ac-
ceptable skit at New England " culture," was the following para-
graph : " Ten thousand Nestorian Christians residing in the Per-
sian provinces devastated by the Kurds have sent a petition
to the Grand Duke Michael asking permission to emigrate to
the Caucasus." Ages ago worms battened on the heresiarch's
corpse, and yet his errors prey upon souls to their perdition even

342 5T-. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. [June,

to this hour. What wonder that the church of God grapples
with heresy as she does — the tender mother battling for the chil-
dren of her heart !

Time does not permit of our following out the course of
events* ip regard to John of Antioch. Suffice it to say in brief
<fthj(9£ £ Vear later he submitted to the conditions requisite for his
reinstatement — viz., anathematized Nestorius ; subscribed to his
deposition ; recognized his successor in the see of Constanti-
nople, Maximian ; and finally, bitterest blow of all, signed a con-
fession of faith drawn up by the noble soul who had pursued
the errors of Nestorius to the topmost of his bent — St. Cyril of
Alexandria. This battle for the truth of Christ was the great
glory of Cyril's life. Thirteen years passed before the Master,
of whom he wrote so well, called him to gaze upon the ineffable
beauty of Eternal Truth in the celestial courts, but they were
not filled with the rapid action of the years of his prime. He
stands grandly outlined against the intellectual splendor of Alex-
andrian thought, a Christian warrior. All about him breathes
the man ; all was virile, strong, unyielding. The gentler virtues
which cling as inseparably to* the memory of his glorious con-
temporary, the Bishop of Hippo, as the perfume to the flower,
do not seem to have entered largely into his adamantine soul, nor
were they wanted for his work. The wavering policy of the By-
zantine court, the treacherous diplomacy of the Alexandrian pre-
fects, the wrangling hordes of Jews, the hypocritical subtlety of
Neo-Platonism, the fervid contention which seemed to seethe in
the city of Alexander — all these were not to be opposed by melt-
ing mildness or yielding humility. Boldness of action, keenness
of foresight, unhesitating resolution, and a grip that nothing save
victory or death could relax — these were traits that could alone
act like oil upon the troubled waters of the patriarchate of Alex-
andria in the fifth century, and all these Cyril had. Even his
writings breathe the same qualities, though tempered by a reve-
rence for Christ that knew no bounds, and a sense of duty that his
soul could no more have shaken off than his corporal life could
have been maintained without respiration. He was a man of
God, a teacher of his fellow-men, a leader in the camp of his
divine King, and his glory shall never fade. " Quicumque glo-
rificaverit me, glorificabo eum : qui contemnunt me ignobiles
erunt," said the Lord to the high-priest Heli ; and these words
have seldom been more amply verified than in Nestorius of Con-
stantinople and Cyril of Alexandria.

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 343

THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE.

FRAGMENTS FROM AN ANCIENT IRISH EPIC..

BY AUBREY DE VERB.

INT ROD UCTOR Y.

NOT a little of the earlier and nobler Irish literature is essentially epic in character, and viv-
idly illustrates Ireland's ' ' Heroic Age " as it existed just before the Christian era. The most re-
markable of its remains is the Tain Bo Cuailgni. According to an ancient tradition, we owe the
preservation of this great pagan monument to the generous sympathy of a Christian Saint.
Professor O'Curry thus records it : " Saint Kiaran, the founder of the church of Clonmacnoise,
who died in the year 548, wrote this story with his own hand into a book which was called the
Leabhar na h-Uidre" and adds that a large portion of his work is preserved in a copy " written at
the same Clonmacnoise by a famous scribe named Maelmuire, who was killed there in 1106."*
That copy of St. Kiaran's version is still extant in the Royal Irish Academy, as well as a copy of
a later version included in The Book of Leinster — a book written about A.D. 1150 ; but no transla-
tion of either has yet been published, though several exist in MS. Both those early versions are
chiefly in prose ; but they were evidently compiled out of some yet earlier and poetic version, and
their most important parts retain the metrical form.

On the preliminary part of this famous prose-poem the following " Fragment" is founded.
It is not a translation ; but its incidents are substantially authentic, and I trust I have every-
where kept close to the spirit of the original. That original possesses characteristics, especially
the combination of the quaint and the humorous with the impassioned, which strikingly contra-
distinguish it from the earliest literary remains of other nations. Compared with these heroic
Irish legends the Scandinavian Eddas are modern, at least in their present form ; while in their
best passages the Irish possess a grace and strength that remind us of the earliest Greek legends.
Prof. O'Curry well remarks : "The Tain Bo Cuailgne is to Irish what the Argonautic Expedi-
tion or the Seven against Thebes is to Greek history."

FRAGMENT I.

THE CAUSE OF THE WAR.

ARGUMENT.

Meave, Queen of Connacht.t and Ailill her husband, waking one morning, fell into a dis-
putation, each claiming to be the worthier of the two and the wealthier. Their Lords decide
that King and Queen are happy alike in all things, save one only— namely, that Ailill possesses
the far-famed white Bull, Fionbannah. Meave, hearing that Conor Conchobar, King of Uladh,|
boasts a black Bull mightier yet, is fain to purchase it, but cannot prevail so far. She therefore
declares war against Uladh. There meets her Faythleen the Witch, who prophesies calamity,
yet promises that, in aid of Meave, she will breathe over the realm of Uladh a spirit of Imbe-
cility. This she does ; yet Cuchullain, unaided, afflicts the whole army of Meave by exploits
which to him are but sports. Fergus, the exiled King of Uladh, narrates the high deeds of
Cuchullain wrought in his childhood.

* The Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, vol. iii. p. 403.
t Now Connaught. \ Now Ulster.

344 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE, [June,

IN Cruachan, old Connacht's Palace pile,
Dwelt Meave, the Queen, haughtiest of woman's kind,
A warrioress untamed that made her will
The measure of the world. The all-conquering years
Conquered not her: the strength of endless prime
Lived in her royal tread, and breast, and eye,
A life immortal. Queenly was her brow ;
Fulgent her eye ; her countenance beauteous, save
When wrath o'er-flamed its beauty. With her dwelt
Ailill, her husband, trivial man and quaint,
And early old. He had not chosen her :
She chose a consort who should rule her not,
And tossed him to her throne. In youth her Lord
Was Conor Conchobar, great Uladh's King :
She had not found him docile to her will,
And to her sire returned. The August morn
Had trailed already on the stony floor
Its fiery beam when, laughing, woke the King:
He woke, awakened by a roar that, shook
The forest dews to earth, Fionbannah's roar,
That snow-white Bull, the wonder of the age,
Who, born amid the lowlands of the Queen,
Yet, grown to strength, o'er-leaped her bound, and roamed
Thenceforth the leaner pastures of the King,
For this cause — that his spirit scorned to live
In female vassalage.

That tale recalling

King Ailill laughed : his laughter roused the Queen :
She woke in wrath : to assuage her Ailill spake :
" Happy and blest that dame whose lord is sage !
Thy fortunes, wife of mine, began that day
I called thee spouse ! " To him the Queen : " My sire
Was Erin's Ard-Righ.* Daughters six had he :
I, Meave, of these was fairest and most famed !
This Cruachan was mine ere yet I saw thee ;
And all the Island princes sued my hand :
I spurned their offers : three things I required —
A warrior proved, since great at arms am I ;
A liberal hand, since lavish I of gifts ;
A man not jealous, since, in love, as war,
There where I willed I ever cast mine eyes.

* Chief-King.

1 8 82.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 345

These merits three were yours: I beckoned to you :
Dowered you with ingots thicker than your wrist ;
Made you a king, or kingling. What of that ?
I might have chosen a better ! Yea, I count
My greatness more than yours!"

With treble shrill

Ailill replied : "What words are these, my Queen?
My father was a king: my brothers kings :
My hoards are higher heaped than yours ; my meads
More deep, more rich."

In anger stormed the Queen ; —
In rushed her lords, and stood, a senate grave,
Circling the couch : and while, each answering each,
Ailill and Meave set forth in order due
The treasures either boasted, kine or sheep,
Rich cornfield, jewell'd robe, or gem-wrought car,
Impartial weighed the lists in equal scale,
And 'twixt them found in value difference none.
Doubtful they stood. Anon rolled forth once more
Fionbannah's roar; and, leaping from his bed,
King Ailill shouted : " Mine, not thine, that Bull!
Through him my treasure house out- vaunts thy house ;
My worth exceeds thy worth ! " Then forward stepped
Mac Roth, the Connacht herald, with this word :
" Great Queen, the King of Uladh boasts a Bull
Lordlier than ours, a broader bulk, and black,
Black as the raven's wing. In Dard's charge
That marvel bides, the ' Donn Cuaitgne ' named
Because his lowings shake Cuailgne's shore,
The southern bound of Uladh. Privilege
He hath that neither witch nor demon tempt
That precinct where he feeds." Loud cried the Queen,
"Fly hence, Mac Roth ! Take with thee golden store,
But bring me back that Bull ! "

Next day at eve

Before the tower of Dare stood Mac Roth
And blew his horn ; and Dar6's sons with haste
Flung the gate wide. The herald entered in
And spake his message. Proudly Dare mused,
" Great Meave my friendship sues " ; and made a feast,

346 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [June,

And, when the wine had warmed him, spake : " Mac Roth !

Cuailgne's Donn is Conor's Bull, not mine ;

Yet, though the king should hurl me outcast forth,

To Meave that Bull shall go, and bide a year.

Tell her the Donn is manlike in his mind,

And not like Bulls. Long summer eves he stands,

Or paces stately up the mead and down,

Eyeing the sports, or listening, glad at heart,

The martial music." Thus he pledged his faith:

But Dare's sons at midnight, each to each,

Whispered : " The king will chase us from the realm,

For Meave he hates, and well he loves the Donn " ;

And stood next morn beside their sire, and spake :

" Mac Roth is gone a-hunting : ere he went

He sware that you had yielded him the Donn,

Fearing his sword." Then Dar6's heart was changed ;

And loud by all his swearing gods he sware,

" Cuailgn6's Donn shall ne'er consort with Meave,

Nor with her kine : " and on the gate he set

His Frolic-Fool, waiting Mac Roth's return ;

And charged him with this greeting : " Back to Meave !

Thy Queen she is, not Uladh's ! Bid her know

Our Donn and we revere Fionbannah's choice,

Her Bull, that leaped her fence and swam her flood,

Spurning the female rule ! "

Then turned Mac Roth

His car; and sideway shook one hand irate,
And homeward lashed the steeds. He reached the gates:
And instant upon all who heard his tale
Descended battle-rage : and Meave, the Queen,
Sent forth her heralds, east, and west, and south,
Summoning her great allies. Erin, that day,
Save Uladh only, stood conjoined with Meave,
Great kings, and warriors named from chiefs of old,
Sons of Milesius ; for King Conor's craft,
And that proud onset of the Red Branch Knights,
Year after year had galled their hearts. 'Twas come,
The day of vengeance ! In their might they rose
From Eyrus' vales to utmost Cahirnane,
From Oileen Arda on to Borda Lu,
And where the blue wave breaks on Beara's isle,
And by the hallowed banks of Darvra's lake

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 347

Where, sad yet solaced by one conquering hope,

In swan-like shape the Children Four of Lir

Had conquered pain by song. Embattled came

The sons of Magach, and the Manes Seven,

With countless more. From Olnemacia's wastes

Came Tuachall and Adarc. Eiderkool

Marched, ever shrilling songs and shaking spears;

And, mightier far, with never-slumbering hearts,

And eyes that stared through long desire of home,

Uladh's three thousand Exiles, driven far forth

When Conor Conchobar, despite his pledge,

Slaughtered the Sons of Usnach. At their head

Rode Fergus, Uladh's King, ere Conor yet

Had filched his crown.; and Cormac Conlinglas,

King Conor's bravest son. That host the Queen

To Ai led, where Ai's four great plains

Shine in the rising and the setting sun,

Gold-green, with all their flag-flowers, meres, and streams :

There planted she her camp; thence ever rang

Neighing of horse, and tempest song of Bard,

And graver voice of Prophet and of Seer

Who ceased not, day or night, for fifteen days

From warnings to the people, " Be ye one " —

Yet one the people were not.

Meave, the while,

Resting upon those great and growing hosts
Her widening eyes, rejoiced within, and clutched
The sceptre-staff with closer grasp, and heaved
Higher her solid, broad, imperial breast,
Amorous of battle nigh at hand. Yet oft,
Listening those bickerings in her camp, she frowned :
For still the chieftains strove ; and one, a king,
Briarind, had tongue so sharp, where'er he moved
A guard there girt him round, lest spleen of his
Should set the monarchs ravening each on each.
" The hand of Fergus," mused she, "that alone
Might solder yonder mass ! Men note in him, -
His front, his eye, his stature, and his step,
The one time King of Uladh. Held he rule —
He shall not ; for my will endures it not !
He props my war because, long years our guest,
His honor needs not less ; with us he marches

348 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [June,

Athirst for vengeance and his native land,

Yet scoffs^our cause, and sent, spurning surprise,

To Uladh challenge loud." As thus she mused

Sudden eclipse there fell on Ai's plains,

And onward-creeping shade: and Meave revolved

That dread Red Branch in act and counsel one ;

And, brooding thus, with inner eye she saw

No longer men, but skeletons of men

Innumerable in intertangled mass

Burdening the fields far spread. Awe-struck, she cried,

" On to Moytura where the Prophet dwells " ;

And at her word the charioteer with scourge

Smote the broad-breasted steeds : and lo ! what time

Keenliest the noontide splendor blazed, behold,

Right opposite upon the chariot's beam

There sat a wondrous woman, phantom-faced,

Singing and weaving. Shapely was that head

Bent o'er her web, while back the sun-like hair

Streamed on the wind. One hand upreared a sword ;

Seven chains fell from it. Sea-blue were her eyes ;

And berry-red her scornful lip ; her cheek

White as the snow-drift of a single night;

Her voice like harp-strings when the harper's hand

Half drowns their pathos. Close as bark to tree

The azure robe clung to that virgin form

Sinewy and long, and reached the shining feet.

Then spake the Queen : " What see'st thou in that web ? "
And she, " I see a Kingdom's destinies ;
And they are like a countenance dashed with blood.
Faythleen am I, the Witch." To her the Queen :
" I bid thee say what see'st thou in my host,
Faythleen, the Witch ! " And Faythleen answered slow :
" The hue of blood ; sunset on sunset charged."
Then fixed that Wild One on the North her eyes,
And IVIeave made answer : " In those eyes I see
The fates they see ; great Uladh's realm full-armed,
And all that Red Branch Order as one man."
Faythleen replied : " One man alone I see ;
One man, yet mightier than a realm in arms.
That Watch-Hound watching still by Uladh's gate
Is mightier thrice than Uladh : on his brow
Spring-tide sits throned ; yet ruin loads his hand.

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 349

If e'er Cuchullain rides in Uladh's van,

Flee to thy hills and isles ! " Meave bit her lip :

But wildly sang the Witch : " Faythleen am I,

Thy People's Patron 'mid the Powers Unseen :

Beware that Youth, invisible for speed,

Who hears that whisper none beside can hear,

Sees what none other sees: before whose eye

The wild beast cowers, subdued. Beware that Youth,

Slender as maid, whose stature in the fight

Rises gigantic. Gamesome he and mild ;

To woman reverent, and the hoary hair;

Nor alms he stints, nor incense to the Gods ;

Yet, when the storm of anger on him falls,

Pity he knows for none. No pact with him !

Back to thy tents, and march to-morrow morn.

The clan of Cailitin shall aid thee well:

It hates that Youth, and fights with poisoned darts.

To Uladh I, above that realm to spread

Mantle of darkness, and a mind that errs,

And powerlessness, and shame."

Due north she sped,

Far fleeting, wind-upborne, 'twixt hill and cloud,
To Uladh's cliffs ; and thence with prone descent
Sank to the myriad-murmuring sea, wine-dark,
And whispered to the Genii of the deep,
Her sisters : then from ocean's breast there rose
A mist, no larger than a dead man's shroud,
That, slowly widening, spread o'er Uladh's realm
Mantle of darkness, and an erring mind,
And powerlessness, and shame.

The Queen returned :

She reached her host what time the sunset glare
With omnipresent splendor clasped it round,
Concourse immortalized. Thereon she gazed,
High standing in her chariot, spear in hand :
Her, too, that army saw, and raised the shout :
But Fergus, as she passed him, spake: " Not yet
Know'st thou my Uladh, nor the Red Branch Knights—
And one man is there mightier thrice than they."

Meantime within Murthemney's land its Lord

350 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [June,

Cuchullain, musing like a listening hound,
For many a rumor filled that time the air,
Sat in remote Dun Dalgan* all alone,
Chief city of his realm. On Uladh's bound
Southward that lesser realm dependent lay
Girt by a racing river. Silent long
He watched : at last he heard a sound like seas
Murmuring remote, and earthward bowed his head,
And said, "That sound is distant thirty leagues,
And huge that host" ; then bade prepare his car,
And southward sped, counsel to hold as wont
With Faythleen nigh to Tara.

Eve grew dim

When lo ! a chariot from the woods emerged
In hot pursuit: an old man urged the steeds,
A gray old man that chattered evermore
With blinking eyes that ceased not from amaze.
That sight displeased Cuchullain ; ne'ertheless
He stayed his course, and Saltain soon drew nigh,
Clamoring, " O son — and when was son like thee? —
Forsake not thou thy father ! In old time,
Then when some God had laid on me his hand,
Dectera, my wife, immured me in my house
Year after year; and weighed the lessening dole:
But thou, when grown to manhood, from her place,
Albeit to her who bare thee reverent still,
Plucked'st that beast abhorred, from the dust
Lifting thy poor old father." At that word
Cuchullain left his car, and kissed his sire,
And soothed his wandering wits with meat and wine;
And spake dissembling : " Lo, these mantles warm !
Prescient, for thee I stored them : night is near;
Lie down and rest." Thus speaking, with both hands
Deftly he spread them forth ; and Saltain slept:
Then, tethering first the horses of his sire,
Lastly his own, upon the chill, wet grass
He likewise lay, and slept not.

On at dawn
They drave ; but Faythleen, witch malign and false,

* Dundalk.

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 351

That oft through spleenful change her purpose slew,
Had broken tryst ; and northward they returned.
Next morn Cuchullain clomb a rock tree-girt
And kenned beyond the forest roof a host
Innumerable, the standards of Queen Meave,
And Fergus, and the great confederate Kings.
The warrior eyed them long with bitter smile ;
Few words he spake : " At fifty thousand men
I count them." To his father next he turned :
" Haste to Emania! Bid the Red Branch Knights
Attend me in Cuailgne. I till then
Hang on the Invader's flank, a fiery scourge."

Then answered Saltain : " Be it! Northward I ;
But Dectera, thy mother and my wife,
Till thou art by my side I will not see ;
For dreadful are her eyes as death or fate,
And many deem her mad." He spake, and drave
Northward ; nor ceased from chatterings all day long,
Since, like a poplar, vocal was the man
Not less than visible. Meantime his son
Took counsel in his heart, and made resolve
To skirt, in homeward course, that eastern sea,
The wood primeval 'twixt him and the foe,
Still sallying night and day through alley and glade
And taming thus their pride.

Three days went by :

Then stood Cuchullain where great wood-ways met;
And lo ! betwixt four yews a warrior's grave,
The pillar-stone above it. O'er that stone
In blithesome mood he twined an osier wreath,
Ciphering thereon his name in Ogham signs:
For thus he said : " On no man unawares
Fall I, but warned." The hostile host approached
That spot ; and halting, wondered at that wreath :
Yet none could spell that Ogham. Last drew nigh
Fergus, and read it: on him fell, that hour,
Spirit of might ; and loud he sang, and long :
He sang a warrior's praise, yet named him not :
He sang : " From name of man to name of beast
A warrior changed ; then mightiest grew of men !
And, as he sang, the cheek of Meave grew red.

352 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [June,

Next morn Neara's sons outsped that host,
Car-borne, with brandished spears ; and ere the dew
Was lifted, came to where Cuchullain sat
Beneath an oak, sporting with blackbirds twain
That followed him for aye. He stretched his hand
Towards them, and cried : " Away, for ye are young ! "
In answer forth they flung their spears : he caught them,
And snapp'd them on his knee ; next, swift as fire,
Sprang on the youths, and slew them with his sword,
A single stroke; then loosed their horses' bits ;
And they, with madness winged, rejoined their own,
Bearing those headless bulks. Forth looked the Queen ;
Beheld ; and, trembling, cried : " It might have been
Orloff, my son ! "

That eve, at banquet ranged,
The warriors questioned Fergus : " Who is best
Among the Uladh chiefs ? " Ere answer came
King Conor's son self-exiled, Conlinglas,
Upleaping cried : " Cuchullain is his name ;
Cuchullain ! From his childhood man was he !
On Eman Macha* ever was his thought,
Its walls, its bulwarks, and its Red Branch Knights,
The wonder of the world." Then told the Prince
How, when his mother mocked his zeal, that child
Fared forth alone, with wooden sword and shield,
And fife, and silver ball ; and how he hurled
His little spears before him as he ran,
And caught them ere they fell ; and how, arrived,
He spurned great Eman's gates, and scaled its wall,
And lighted in the pleasaunce of the King,
His mother's brother, Conor Conchobar ;
And how the noble youths of all that land
There trained in warlike arts, had on him dashed
With insult and with blows; and how the child
This way and that had hurled them, while the King,
With Fergus in a turret playing chess,
Gazed from the casement, wondering.

Next he told

How to that child, Setanta first, there fell
Cuchullain's nobler name. To Eman near

Armagh.

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 353

There dwelt an Armorer — Cullain was his name —

That earliest rose, and latest with his forge

Reddened the night. Mail clad in might of his

The Red Branch Knights forth rode: the Bard, the Chief

Sat at his board. One day, when Conor's self

Partook his feast, the Armorer held discourse:

" The Gods have made my house a house of fame:

The craftsmen grin and grudge because I prosper:

The forest bandits hunger for my goods,

Yea, and would eat mine anvil if they might : —

Trow ye what saves me, sirs ? A hound is mine

(At eve I loose him) lion-like, and fell ;

Red blood of many a rogue is on his jaws:

The bravest, if they hear him bay far off,

Flee like a deer ! " Setanta's cry rang out

That moment at the gate, and, with it blent,

The baying of that hound. " The boy is dead ! "

The concourse cried in horror. Forth they rushed —

There stood he, bright and calm, his rigid hands

Clasping the dead hound's throat! They wept for joy :

The Armorer wept for grief. " My friend is dead !

My friend that kept my house and me at peace:

My friend that loved his lord ! " Setanta heard

Then first that cry forth issuing from the heart

Of him whose labor wins his children's bread —

That cry he honors yet. Red-cheeked he spake:

" Cullain, unwittingly I did thee wrong !

I make amends. I, child of kings, henceforth

Become thy watch-hound, warder of thy house."

Henceforth the " Hound of Cullain"* was his name,

And Cullain's house well warded.

Stern of brow

The Queen arose: " Enough of fables, Lords!
Drink to the victory ! Ere yon moon is dead
We knock at gates of Eman." High she held
The crimson goblet. Instant, keen and clear,
Vibration strange troubled the moonlit air;
A long-drawn hiss o'er- ran it: then a cry —
Death-cry of warrior wounded to the death.
They rose : they gazed around : Upon a rock
Cuchullain stood. Mocking, he said in heart,

* Cu, in Irish, means hound.
VOL. XXXV. — 23

354 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [June,

" I will not slay her ; yet her pride shall die ! "

Again that hiss : instant the golden crown

Fell from her head ! In anger round she glared :

Once more that hiss long-drawn, and in her hand

The goblet shivered lay ! She cast it down ;

She cried : " Since first I sat, a Queen new-crowned,

Never such ignominy, or spleen of scorn,

Hath mocked my greatness ! " Fiercely rushed the Chiefs

Against the aggressor. Through the high-roofed woods

Ere long they saw him like a falling star

Kindling the air with speed. Anon, close by

He stood with sling high holden. At its sound

Ever some great one died.

The morrow morn

Cuchullain reached a lawn : tall autumn grass
Whitened within it; but the beech-trees round
Were russet brown, the thorn-brakes berry-flushed :
Passing, he raised his spear, and launched it forth
Earthward : there stood it buried in the soil
Half-way, and quivering. Loud Cuchullain laughed,
And cried: " It quivers like the tail of swine
Gladdened by acorn feast ! " then drew the rein,
And with one sword-stroke felled a youngling birchr
And bound it to that spear, and on its bark,
Silvery and smooth, graved with his lance's point
In Ogham characters those words, " Beware 1
Unless thou knowest whose hand these Oghams traced
Twine yonder berries 'mid thy young bride's locks,
But spare to tempt that hand ! "

An hour passed by :

The army reached that spot. Chief following Chief
Drew near in turn ; yet none could drag from earth
That spear deep-buried. Fergus laughed : " Let ber
Connacians ! Task is here for Uladh's strength ! "
Then, standing in his car, he clutched that spear
And tugged it thrice. The third time 'neath his feet
Down crashed the strong-built chariot to the ground,
Splintered. The Queen, wrath-glooming, cried, " March

on!"

The host advanced, disordered. Foremost drave
Orloff, Meave's son. That morning he had wed

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 355

A maid, the loveliest in his mother's court,

And yearned to prove his valor in her eyes.

Sudden he came to where Cuchullain stood

Pasturing his steeds with grass and flower forth held

In wooing, dallying hand. Cuchullain said,

" The Queen's son this! I will not harm the youth,"

And waved him to depart. The stripling turned,

Yet, turning, hurled his javelin. As it flew

The Swift One caught it ; poised it; hurled it back :

It pierced that youth from back to breast: he fell

Dead on the chariot's floor. The steeds rushed on,

Wind-swift, and reached the camp. There sat the Queen

Throned in her car, listening the hosts' applause —

In swoon she fell, and lay as lie the dead.

Once more the invaders marched, nor knew what foe
Was he who thus in mockery thinned their ranks,
Trampled their pride ; who, lacking spear and car,
Viewless by day, by night a fleeting fire,
Dragged down their mightiest, in the death-cry shrill
Drowning the revel. Fergus knew the man,
Fergus alone ; nor yet divulged his name,
Oft muttering, " These be men who fight for Bulls ;
I war to shake a perjurer from his throne,
And count no brave man foe." Again at feast
Ailill made question of the Red Branch Knights:
Fergus replied : " Cuchullain is their best:
I taught him arms ! Hear of his Knighting Day !

" Northward of Eman lies a pleasaunce green ;
The Arch-Druid, Cathbad, gazer on the stars,
While there the youths contended, beckoned one
And whispered : ' Blest and great shall prove that youth.
Knighted this day ! Glorious his life, though brief! '
That hour Cuchullain stood beyond the wall
South of the city, yet that whisper heard !
He heard, and cried : ' Enough one day of life,
If great my deeds, and helpful.' Swift of foot
He sped to Conor. ' I demand, great king,
Knighthood this day, and knighthood at thy hand ! '
But Conor laughed, and answered : ' Thou art young r
Withhold thyself three years.' That self-same hour
Old Cathbad entered, and his Druid clan,

356 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [June,

And spake : ' King Conor ! by my bed last night

Great Macha stood, the worship of our race,

Our Strength in realms unseen. " Arise," she said ;

" To Conor speed : to him report my will:

That youth knighted this day is mine Elect !

I, Macha, send him forth." She spake and passed :

Trembled the place like cliffs o'er ocean caves :

Like thunder underground I heard her wheels

In echoes slowly dying.'

" Stern and still

King Conor stood. Unmoved he made reply :
1 Queen Macha had her day and ruled : far down
Doubtless this hour she rules, or rules in heaven:
I rule in Eman and this Uladh realm :
I will not knight a stripling ! ' Prophet-like
Up-towered old Cathbad, and his clan black-garbed.
This way and that prophetic bolts they rolled
Three hours ; and brake with warnings from the stars,
And mandates from the synod of the gods,
The King's resolve. Then cried that King, 'So be it !
Since Crods, like men, grow witless, be it so!
The worse for Eman, and great Macha's land —
.Stand forth, my sister's son ! ' He spake, and bound
The Gassa, and the edicts, and the vows
Of that famed Red Branch Order on the boy,
And gave him sword and lance.

" An eye star-keen

That boy upon them fixed ; then, each on each,
Smote them. They snapp'd in twain. Laughing, he cried
•* Good art thou, uncle mine ; but these are base :
I need a warrior's weapons ! ' Conor signed :
Then brought his knaves ten swords, and lances ten ;
Cuchullain eyed them each, and snapp'd them all,
The concourse marvelling. ' Varlets,' cried the King,
* Fetch forth my arms of battle! ' These in turn
Cuchullain proved : they brake not. Up they rolled
A battle-car : Cuchullain leaped therein :
With feet far-set he spurned its brazen floor,
That roared and sank in fragments. Chariots twelve
Successive thus he vanquished. ' Uncle mine,
Good art thou,' cried the youth ; ' but these are base !'

iS82.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN HEAVE. 357

King Conor signed, ' My car of battle ! ' Leagh
The charioteer forth brought it, with the steeds :
Fiercely Cuchullain proved that car: it stood :
Curtly he spake : * So, well ! The car will serve !
Abide ye my return.'

" He raised the reins :

He called the coursers by their names well-known:
He dashed through Eman's gateway as a storm.
Far off a darksome wood and darksome tower
Frowned over Mallok's wave. Therein abode
Three bandit chieftains, foes toman. Well pleased
Those bandits eyed the on-rushing car and youth,
Sagacious of their prey. Arrived, with jibes
He summoned them to judgment: forth they thronged,
They and their clan. He slew them with his sling,
The three ; and severed with his swords their heads,
And fixed them on the chariot's front. His mood
Changed soon to mirthful. Fleeter than the wind
Six stags went by him, stateliest of the herd ;
Afoot he chased them, caught them, bound them fast
Behind the chariot rail. Birds saw he next,
White as a foam- wreath of their native sea,
Spotting the glebe new-turned : a net lay near:
He caged a score : he tied them to his car
Loud-wailing and wide-winged. To Eman's towers
Returned he then with laughter: at its gate
The King, great chiefs, gray Druids, maids red-cloaked,
Agape to see him — on his chariot's front
The grim heads of those bandits ; in its rear
The stags wide-horned ; and high o'erhead the birds!"

The murmur ceasing, spake King Conor's son :
" Recount the wonder of those fairy steeds
That drag Cuchullain's war-car." Fergus then,
Despite Queen Meave, that plaited still her robe
With angry, hectic hand, the tale began :
" Cuchullain faced those cloudy cliffs that break
The ocean billow. Inland, on that height
Glittered a blue lake, whitening in the blast,
Pale plains around it. From beneath that lake
Emerged a steed.foam-white. Cuchullain(saw,

358 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [June,

And straightway round that creature's neck high-held

Locked the lithe arms no struggles could unwind.

That courser, baffled, clothed his strength with speed :

From cliff to cliff he sped : cleared at a bound

Inlet and rocky rift ; nor stayed his course,

Men say, till he had circled Erin's isle.

Panting then lay he, on his conqueror's knee

Resting his head ; thenceforth that conqueror's friend,

His ' Liath Macha.' Gentler souled is she,

1 Sangland/ that wild one's comrade. As the night

Sank on those sad, red- berried woods of yew,

Loch Darvra's girdle, from the ebon wave

She issued, darker still. Softly she paced,

As though with woman's foot, the grassy marge

With violets diapered, and laid her head

Upon Cuchullain's shoulder. In his wars

Emulous those mated marvels drag his car :

In peace he yokes them never."

Fergus rose :

" Night wanes," he said, " and tasks await my hand ":
Passing the throne he whispered thus the Queen :
" The Hound of Uladh is your visitant
Both day and night." The cheek of Meave grew pale.

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 359

THE ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY.

ST. CYPRIAN.

ST. CYPRIAN belonged to the generation next following that
of Tertullian, like him had his abode in proconsular Africa, and
in several respects resembled him as strikingly as he differed
from him in others. He was born early in the third century
of heathen parents ; filled an honorable position in the enjoy-
ment of opulence, and famed as an orator, at Carthage, during
his early manhood, and was converted to Christianity about the
year 246 through the influence of a priest named Csecilius.
He was made a deacon and a priest soon after his baptism,
and was elected and consecrated Bishop of Carthage in 248.
He was put to death as a martyr of Christ in 258. Cardinal
Newman has drawn his portrait in a very life-like manner in Cal-
lista. His place is first among the ante-Nicene Latin Fathers,
although he would have been second to Tertullian, if the latter
had not lost the place of honor. His intellect was less keen
and vigorous but better balanced, his character similarly fiery
and independent yet controlled by greater patience and temper-
ed by a gentler disposition, his didactic teaching — prescinding
from all errors in the writings of both these great men — is fuller
and sweeter, and his rhetoric more polished, though as a writer
his power is less than that of the one whom he called his " Mas-
ter." Cyprian differs more widely still from Tertullian, in that
he was a saint, and a great one, not only a panegyrist of martyr-
dom, but himself an illustrious martyr.

What is the most wonderful in St. Cyprian's character and
life is the suddenness with which he was transformed from a
Roman gentleman of rank, holding the opinions and living the
free life of a pagan, into a fervent and perfect Christian and a
truly apostolic prelate. Another extraordinary feature in his
career as a bishop is the fulfilment of such a great work as it
contained, arid its glorious crowning by martyrdom, in so short
a space of time. Only two years intervened between his bap-
tism and his consecration, and only ten between his consecration
and his triumph. This rapid transit from the state of a catechu-
men through that of a lay Christian, of a deacon, and of a priest,

360 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [June,

to the episcopal throne of Carthage, while it enhances our ad-
miration of the man and his talents and virtues, excuses also
the errors of judgment and the mistakes into which he fell in
his dissension with Stephen, the Roman pontiff.

Cyprian filled the see next in importance to that of Rome in
the West, and not inferior to any in the East except those of the
patriarchs. Carthage was the only metropolitan see in north-
western Africa, having under it besides its own province, in Cyp-
rian's time, two others, Numidia and Mauritania, over which
their senior bishops presided in lieu of metropolitans. His actual
authority and influence were greatly increased, for a time, by the
persecution to which the Roman pontiffs were subjected, so that
no less than five of them succeeded each other during his own
short episcopate ; as well as by the existence of an anti-pope
and a schism at Rome. As by ordinary right he was second to
the pope, by an extraordinary necessity he became, as it were,
his protector and the coryphczus of Catholic unity. As a sign
and a signal reward of his eminent services to the Roman
Church, his name has been placed with that of St. Cornelius in
the Roman Canon of the Mass. Nevertheless his opposition to
Pope Stephen on the question of baptism has occasioned his be-
ing regarded as a champion of episcopal independence against
papal supremacy. Thus he is cited as a high authority by both
sides in the controversy concerning the Roman primacy, each
side giving a different explanation both of his history and his
doctrine.

St. Cyprian was undoubtedly a most thorough high-church-
man. He was this not merely in the sense of teaching the visi-
bility of the church, the truly sacerdotal character of the minis-
try, and the divine institution of the episcopal polity in the
church, but also the strict Catholic unity of the episcopate and
the necessity of communion with one definite and exclusive ec-
clesiastical society, known and recognized of all as the Catholic
Church, as an indispensable condition of salvation. The follow-
ing passages quoted from his treatise on Tlie Unity of the Church,
written A.D. 251, will abundantly prove the truth of this state-
ment : *

"One church, in the Song of Songs, doth the Holy Spirit design and
name in the person of our Lord : My dove, my spotless one, is b^^t one ; she is
the only one of her mother, elect of her that bare her.

" He who holds hot this unity of the church, does he think that he holds

* All the citations from St. Cyprian's works are made from Mr. Thornton's translation in the
Osford Library of the Fathers.

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 361

the faith ? He who strives against "and resists the church, is he assured
that he is in the church ? For the blessed apostle Paul teaches this same
thing, and manifests the sacrament of unity thus speaking : There is one
body, and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling ; one
Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God. This unity firmly should we hold and
maintain, especially we bishops, presiding in the church, in order that we
may approve the episcopate itself to be one and undivided. . . . The epis-
copate is one ; it is a whole, in which each enjoys full possession. The
church is likewise one, though she be spread abroad, and multiplies with the
increase of her progeny : even as the sun has rays many, yet one light, and
the tree boughs many, yet its strength is one, seated in the deep-lodged
root ; and as, when many streams flow down from one source, though a
multiplicity of waters seems to be diffused from the bountifulness of the
overflowing abundance, unity is preserved in the source itself. Part a ray
of the sun from its orb, and its unity forbids this division of light ; break
a branch from the tree, once broken it can bud no more ; cut the stream
from its fountain, the remnant will be dried up. Thus the church, flood-
ed with the light of the Lord, puts forth her rays through the whole
world, with yet one light, which is spread upon all places, while its unity of
body is not infringed. She stretches forth her branches over the univer-
sal earth, in the riches of plenty, and pours abroad her bountiful and on-
ward streams ; yet is there one head, one source, one Mother, abundant
in the results of her fruitfulness.

" It is of her womb that we are born ; our nourishing is from her milk,
our quickening from her breath. . . . He can no longer have God fora
Father who has not the church for a Mother. . . . Think you that any can
stand and live who withdraws from the church, and forms himself a new
home and a different dwelling? . . . Let no one think that they can be
good men who leave the church. . . . These are they who, with no ap-
pointment from God, take upon them of their own will to preside over
their venturesome companions, establish themselves as rulers without any
lawful rite of ordination, and assume the name of bishop, though no man
gives them a bishopric. . . .

" Neither let certain persons beguile themselves by a vain interpreta-
tion, in that the Lord hath said : Wheresoever two or three are gathered to-
gether in my name, I am with them. . . . How can two or three be gathered
together in Christ's name who are manifestly separate from Christ and
from his Gospel ? ... It is of his church that the Lord is speaking; and in
respect of those who are in his church he says, etc. . . . One who comes
to the sacrifice with a quarrel he calls back from the altar, and commands
him first to be reconciled with his brother, and then, when he is at peace,
to return and offer his gift to God. . . .

" Of what peace, then, are they to assure themselves who are at enmity
with the brethren? What sacrifice do they believe they celebrate who
are rivals of the priests ? Think they Christ is still in the midst of them
when gathered together, though gathered beyond Christ's church? If
such men were even killed for confession of the Christian name, not even
by their blood is this stain washed out. Inexpiable and heavy is the sin of
discord, and is purged by no suffering. He cannot be a martyr who is not
in the church ; he can never attain to the kingdom who leaves her with

362 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [June,

whom the kingdom shall be. . . . Whosoever is separated from the
church, such a man is to be avoided and fled from. Such an one is sub-
verted and sinneth, being condemned of himself. Thinks he that he is with
Christ who does counter to the priests of Christ ? who separates himself
from the fellowship of his clergy and people? That man bears arms
against the church, he withstands God's appointment; an enemy to the
altar, a rebel against the sacrifice of Christ, for faith perfidious, for religion
sacrilegious, a servant not obedient, a son not pious, a brother not loving,
setting bishops at naught, and deserting the priests of God, he dares to
build another altar, to offer another prayer with unlicensed words, to pro-
fane by false sacrifices the truth of the Lord's sacrifice."

The error into which Cyprian was betrayed with the best
faith in the world, sprang from an extreme and partial applica-
tion of these high-church principles to the decision of one prac-
tical question concerning the validity of baptism administered
by schismatics. The Catholic doctrine and discipline respecting
this sacrament presents an exception which seems anomalous,
considering the positive and exclusive commission to baptize
which Christ gave to the apostles. By virtue of that commis-
sion, as the church always held from the beginning, the right and
power of baptizing devolved primarily on their successors, the
legitimate bishops, by whose authority alone priests and deacons
could lawfully confer the sacrament. We should naturally infer,
if left to our purely logical induction, that no baptism could
be valid except that which was administered by one who was
ordained and who exercised the power of his order lawfully in
the church. There is no direct proof from the Scriptures, or
from positive testimony of those who were coeval with the apos-
tles, that the apostles sanctioned lay baptism in cases of neces-
sity. We are absolutely dependent on the authority of the
church, which would be insufficient were it not infallible, for our
knowledge and belief of the fact that Christ instituted the sacra-
ment of baptism without making anything essential to its validity
except the due application of its matter and form with the re-
quisite intention to a capable subject, by any person whomso-
ever. The Africans do not appear to have denied the validity of
baptism by a Catholic layman in a case of necessity. Tertullian
distinctly testifies to the lawfulness of this practice and to its ex-
istence. Cyprian, however, with the other African bishops, fol-
lowing in the footsteps of his predecessor, Agrippinus, denied
the validity of all baptism which was given and received out of
the communion of the Catholic Church. His opinion was sus-
tained by one great Eastern prelate, Firmilian of Caesarea in
Cappadocia, and by other Eastern bishops. Throughout the

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 363

church generally, both before and after Cyprian's time, the bap-
tism of some heretical sects' was rejected, on account of the cor-
ruption of the form or the intention. He and his party, when
they argued for the unconditional rejection of the baptism of all
schismatics, took another ground. They affirmed that there
could not be a sacrament in any separated sect, because no such
sect, and no sectarian, could have, and therefore none such could
give, the Holy Spirit or any grace. Bishops, priests, and deacons
ordained in the Catholic Church, when cut off from her com-
munion, being totally separated from Christ and the Holy Spirit,
lost all power to be ministers of grace while they were in that
state, and consequently all their acts were null and void.

The mistake into which the Africans fell was easy and excu-
sable. The baptism of most of the heretics before the middle of
the third century was invalid or doubtful, and they had no pre-
tence to valid orders. Consequently, converts from these sects,
unless they had once been members of the Catholic Church,
were put in the same category with heathen catechumens.
Hence it was easy to fall into the opinion that all baptisms and
ordinations in sects were null and void. To those who held this
opinion, and who believed that it was founded on the genuine
apostolical tradition, the contradictory doctrine and a discipline
in accordance with it must necessarily appear to be very wrong
and dangerous. In such a matter Scripture and tradition need-
ed an authoritative expositor, whose decision should be final, in
order to settle differences and disputes among Catholics. In re-
spect to baptism, the Roman Church assumed at once the pre-
rogative of determining the principle on which its validity must
be decided in all particular cases. The question with which we
are at present engaged is, whether/in opposing the pope at this
juncture, St. Cyprian, the African bishops, Firmilian, and the
other bishops of their party denied and resisted in principle
his supremacy in the church. That they were wrong in their
opposition is certain. The universal church assented eventually
to the judgment of the pope in respect to baptism. And al-
though it took a much longer time to determine clearly, in re-
spect to ordination, the difference between that exercise of the
power conferred by the indelible character of order which is
simply valid, and that which is regular and lawful, it was decid-
ed finally in the sense opposed to the opinion of St. Cyprian, and
which we have styled the extreme high-church doctrine. There
can be no doubt that St. Cyprian would have submitted to the
judgment of the pope, if it had been sustained by the concur-

364 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CEXTURY. [June,

rent judgment of a plenary council like that of Aries in 314, as
his successor in the see of Carthage did, together with his suffra-
gan bishops. He did not wish to break the bond of communion
with the Roman Church or to impose his own rule as a test of
orthodoxy. St. Augustine conjectures that he may have sub-
mitted his own judgment in the end, excuses his error on the
ground of his holy intentions, and expresses the belief that what-
ever sin he may have committed was expiated by his martyrdom.
All these things go to show that, in so far as his conduct does
manifest an opposition to the pope's claim of authority in princi-
ple, he was in error. But the main question is, whether he in-
tended to oppose the pope as one usurping an authority not his,
in the sense of his universal primacy, or as making a wrong and
unjust use of an authority rightfully vested in his office. We
concede without difficulty that Cyprian was misled, in defend-
ing a false position, into acts and language tending in their strict-
ly logical consequences to impair the essential power of the pri-
macy of the Roman pontiff. But we maintain that they do not
imply a denial of the primacy itself, that they directly prove
the fact that the pope himself claimed supremacy in the full
sense of its Catholic definition, and that they are inconsistent
with the saint's own formal doctrine, as well as in strong con-
trast with the spirit and tone of his conduct toward the Holy
See during all the rest of his episcopal administration.

So far as action is concerned, Cyprian, with the eighty-five
bishops composing his Second Council of Carthage, reaffirmed
a decision of a former council which Pope Stephen had con-
demned.

In language he makes formal charges of error and tyranny
against Pope Stephen. In his Letter to Pompeius he accuses
Stephen of " error, in that he endeavors to uphold the cause of
heretics against Christians and against the church of God," of
having written things " arrogant or extraneous or self-contradic-
tory, which he wrote without due instruction or caution." He
says that " whereas the several heresies have several baptisms
and divers sins, he, communicating with the baptism of them all,
has heaped up the sins of all in one mass into his own bosom."

" Why," he exclaims, " has the unyielding obstinacy of our brother
Stephen burst out to such a pitch that he should contend that sons are
born to God even from the baptism of Marcion, of Valentinus also, and
Apelles, and of the rest who blaspheme against God 'the Father? and
that he should say that remission of sins is given there in the name of

J882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 365

Jesus Christ, where blasphemies are. uttered against the Father and against
Christ our Lord God ? "

In his opening- address to the Council of Carthage, exhorting
his colleagues to express their opinions on the subject-matter of
the judgment which Pope Stephen had sent to him as the rule of
discipline to be observed by the bishops under his jurisdiction,
he very plainly denies the authority of that judgment, though he
does so in an indirect manner.

" For," he says, " no one of us setteth himself up as a bishop of bish-
ops, nor by tyrannical terror forceth his colleagues to a necessity of obey-
ing ; inasmuch as every bishop, in the use of his free liberty and power, has
the right of forming his own judgment, and can no more be judged by an-
other than he can himself be judged by another. But we must all await
the judgment of our Lord Jesus Christ, who alone has the power both of
setting us in the government of his church and of judging of our acts
therein."

The words used by St. Cyprian, taken in a strictly literal
sense and alone, might be understood as an assertion of the
absolute independence of every bishop from every kind of higher
ecclesiastical authority. They cannot, however, be taken in this
sense. For this would involve a denial of the authority of every
tribunal which could judge any cause of a bishop, or make any
decree in matters of dogma or discipline having a binding force,
even an oecumenical council. St. Cyprian cannot be supposed to
deny the authority of councils. The gist of his statement lies in
its protest against a tyrannical exercise of jurisdiction by one
bishop over other bishops, with immediate reference to the de-
cree of Pope Stephen annulling the decision of a former council
and abrogating the rule of discipline established by the former
Carthaginian primate, Agrippinus, with his colleagues. This
protest against an exercise of episcopal power over bishops in
respect to matters in which they themselves are responsible, as
judges and rulers in the church, only to the Lord, cannot be in-
terpreted as levelled against all archiepiscopal pre-eminence of
honor and power in the Catholic hierarchy. St. Cyprian was
himself the Carthaginian primate, and there were metropolitans,
exarchs, and patriarchs in his day, exercising by an undisputed
right a real jurisdiction over their respective suffragans. St.
Cyprian did not reclaim against the jurisdiction of the Roman
pontiff, as his own immediate patriarch, over the African Church,
or as universal primate over the universal church. If the letter
ascribed to Firmilian, exarch of the Pontic diocese, be authen-

366 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [June,

tic, which is doubtful, that prelate used much stronger language
against St. Stephen than did Cyprian. Yet not a word of this
letter can be construed into a denial of his primacy. The resis-
tance of these great prelates to the pope implies no more than
this : a refusal to recognize the full extent of power which he
claimed by virtue of his primacy, and the justice of its exercise
in one particular instance.

The storm was momentary. The dispute between two
saints was speedily terminated by the martyrdom of both, first
of Stephen, and soon after of Cyprian. After this we hear no
more of dissension between Rome and Carthage, the Africans
having receded from their position respecting the rebaptizing of
heretics, and both churches uniting in a common warfare against
the two dangerous schisms of the Novatians and the Donatists.
Firmilian's doctrine did not prevail in the East. Both in the
East and in the West general consent and the decisions of coun-
cils made the criterion of the validity of baptism not its adminis-
tration within or without the communion of the Catholic Church,
but the preservation of the essential matter, form, and intention
of the sacrament.

We come now to St. Cyprian's formal and express doctrine
concerning the primacy of St. Peter and his successors, the Ro-
man pontiffs.

St. Cyprian practically recognized this power as actually and
legitimately existing in the person of the pope, by appealing to
it and invoking its exercise a short time before he became him-
self embroiled in a controversy with this same power. Marcian,
bishop and metropolitan of Aries, in Gaul, had associated himself
with the anti-Pope Novatian and his schism. Faustimis, bishop
and metropolitan of Lyons, with other bishops, had withdrawn
from communion with him, and had written a letter to St. Cyp-
rian, as the most eminent prelate after the Roman pontiff in the
West, soliciting his aid and concurrence in taking efficient mea-
sures for the deposition of Marcian. Marcian had himself sent let-
ters and messengers to Cyprian, soliciting his countenance and re-
cognition, which he had refused, in concert with many of his suf-
fragan bishops, on the ground that " by none of us could he be re-
ceived to communion who had attempted to set up ... an adul-
terous chair ... in opposition to the true priest, to Cornelius."
All these things are recounted by Cyprian in a letter to Stephen,
whom he earnestly exhorts to take the matter in hand and to cause
Marcian to be deposed and another bishop elected in his place.
There was no primate in Gaul, and therefore no bishop superior

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 367

to Marcian who was a metropolitan, who could convoke a plenary
council and cite him to appear before it for judgment. Cyprian
was incompetent to interfere in a case which was beyond the
limits of his jurisdiction. Evidently he was written to as one who
for many reasons had a more powerful influence at Rome than
any other prelate, and in response to this appeal did exert all his
influence to induce the pope to exercise his supreme power.

" Wherefore," he writes to Stephen, " it behooves you to write a very
full letter to our fellow-bishops in Gaul, that they no longer suffer the fro-
ward and proud Marcianus ... to insult our college. . . . Let letters be
addressed by thee to the province and to the people of Aries, whereby,
Marcianus being excommunicated, another may be substituted in his room
(quibus Marciano abstento alius in locum ejus substituatur). . . . Signify
plainly to us who has been substituted at Aries for Marcianus, that we
may know to whom we should direct our brethren, and to whom write."

If it is objected that this exercise of power over a metropoli-
tan in Gaul argues no more than patriarchal authority in one of
the greater dioceses into which the universal church was divid-
ed, we reply that the patriarchal authority is itself a portion of
the dignity of the primacy, whether exercised by the Bishop of
Rome in person or by the bishops of Alexandria and Antioch
with delegated jurisdiction. The source of all pre-eminence in
the episcopal, which is the continuation of the apostolical, col-
lege, is the primacy of Peter in the apostolate, which he trans-
mitted in its fulness to his successors in the Roman See. St.
Cyprian distinctly teaches this doctrine of St. Peter's primacy
and its transmission to the Roman bishops, in many places. In
fact, Rothe and other Protestants regard him as the inventor of
the theory of the Roman primacy, one of those desperate expe-
dients to escape from the evidence of historical testimony which
explodes of itself when exposed to the air. To ascribe to him its
invention is to confess that he proclaims and maintains it. We
have already proved that the primacy existed before Cyprian
was born. He did, nevertheless, argue for it more fully and
earnestly than any who went before him. There were two dis-
tinct occasions which called out this special effort to bring into
clear light the strict unity of the Catholic Church by an argu-
ment from the primacy of Peter and the chair of Peter in the
Roman Church. One was the dangerous schism of the Nova-
tians, who with unparalleled audacity attempted to seize upon
this chair. Another was that decision of Pope Stephen which
seemed to Cyprian to imperil the foundation of Catholic unity

368 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [June,

in the See of Peter. Against the anti-pope who was an invader
of the chair of Peter, and against the pope who seemed not to
maintain it inviolable by any contact of heretical profanation,
Cyprian appealed to the principle of the One Church and the
One Chair, founded on the One Rock Peter, admitting no rival
church, or bishop, or baptism of heretics or schismatics.

St. Peter the Rock. " Peter, whom the Lord chose first, and upon
whom he built his church " (Ad Quintuni). " For that there is both one
baptism, and one Holy Ghost, and one church, founded by Christ the Lord
upon Peter, through an original and principle of unity ; so it results that
since all among them is void and false, nothing that they have done ought
to be approved by us" (Ad Januar.) " There is one God, and one Christ,
and one church, and one chair, founded by the word of the Lord on the
Rock " (xliii. ad plcb^)

St. Peter the Key-Bearer and Chief Pastor. " The Lord saith unto Peter,
/ say unto thee that than art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church,
and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the
keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall
be bound in heaven, and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in
heaven. To him again, after his resurrection, he says, Feed my sheep. Upon
him, being one, he builds his church ; and though he gives to all the apos-
tles an equal power, and says, As my Father sent me, even so send I you ; re-
ceive ye the Holy Ghost : whosesoever sins ye remit, they shall be remitted to him ;
and whosesoever sins ye retain, they shall be retained ; yet, in order to manifest
unity, he has by his own authority so placed the source of the same unity
as to begin from one. Certainly the other apostles also were what Peter
was, endued with an equal fellowship both of honor and power ; but a com-
mencement is made from unity, that the church may be set before us as
one " (De Unit. 3).

The Roman Bishop Peter's Successor. " Cornelius, moreover, was made
bishop by the judgment of God and his Christ . . . when the place of
Fabian, that is, when the place of Peter, and the rank of the sacerdotal
chair were vacant " (Ad Antonin)

The Roman Church the Mother of Churches, the Principal Church, and the
Centre of Catholic Unity. " Seven " is " the sacrament of a full perfection " :
"Seven days," "seven spirits," " sejren golden candlesticks"; "Seven
columns in Solomon upon which Wisdom hath builded her house "; "The
barren hath borne seven " ; " And in the Apocalypse the Lord directs his
divine commands and heavenly instructions to seven churches, and to
their Angels, . . . that so a designed appointment might have its fulness."

St. Cyprian, in this part of the treatise from which we are
quoting, enlarges upon the martyrdom of the Seven Machabaean
brothers and the heroism of their mother. In allusion to this
mother of martyrs, with her seven children, he goes on to speak
of seven churches, that is, of all the episcopal sees included in
the communion of the Catholic Church, as the children of the see

1 882.] ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. 369

of St. Peter, which existed in him from the time when he receiv-
ed the primacy, and which he located in Rome.

" To the seven children there evidently is conjoined also their mother,
the origin and root ; which afterwards bare seven churches, herself having
been founded first and alone, by the voice of the Lord, upon a Rock" (Ex-
hort, ad Mart.) " The church, which is one, and was by the voice of the
Lord founded upon one, who also received its keys. She it is who alone
possesses the whole power of her Spouse and Lord "—/>., that church which
is in communion with the See of Peter. " We," writes Cyprian to Pope
Cornelius, " furnishing all who sail hence with a rule, . . . have exhorted
them to acknowledge and hold to the Root and Womb of the Catholic
Church. . . . We determined to send epistles to you from all, everywhere
throughout the province, that so all our colleagues might approve of and
hold to thee and thy communion, that is, as well to the unity as the charity
of the Catholic Church " (Ad Cornel, xlviii.)

" For these too it was not enough ... to have set up for themselves,
without the church and against the church, a conventicle of their aban-
doned faction. . . . After all this they yet, in addition, having had a
pseudo-bishop ordained for them by heretics, dare to set sail, and to carry-
letters from schismatic and profane persons, to the chair of Peter, and to
the principal church, -whence the unity of the priesthood took its rise, remem-
bering not that they are the same Romans whose faith has been com-
mended by the apostle (Rom. i. 8), to whom faithlessness can have no access"
(Ad Cornel, lix.)

The Roman pontiff presides over the Catholic Church, and those who are
not in his communion are cut off from the chiirch. " Whoso says that any-
one can be baptized and sanctified by Novatian must first show and prove
that Novatian (the anti-pope) is in the church or presides over the church.
For the church is one, and cannot be both within and without. For if
it is with Novatian it was not with Cornelius (the true pope). But if it
was with Cornelius, who by a legitimate ordination succeeded the Bishop
Fabianus, and whom, beside the honor of his priesthood, the Lord glorified
also by martyrdom, Novatian is not in the church. . . . 'And therefore
the Lord, intimating to us that unity cometh of divine authority, declar-
eth and saith, / and my Father are one. To which unity bringing his
church, he further saith, There shall be one flock and One Shepherd. But if
there is one flock, how can he be numbered as of the flock who is not in the
number of the flock ? or how be accounted a shepherd who, the true shep-
herd remaining and by successive ordination presiding in the Church of
God, himself succeeding to no one, and beginning from himself, becomes an
alien and profane? . . . Core, Dathan, and Abiron, .. . because, trans-
gressing the ministry of their station in opposition to Aaron the priest,
. . . they claimed to themselves the privilege of sacrificing, stricken of
God, they forthwith paid the penalty of their unlawful attempt. . . . And
yet those had made no schism, nor gone without in shameless and hostile
rebellion to the priests of God ; which these now do who, rending the
church, and rebels against the peace and unity of Christ, attempt to set up
a chair for themselves and to assume the primacy " (Ad Magnum).

There are other testimonies to the primacy during the latter

VOL. XXXV. — 24

370 ROMAN PRIMACY IN THE THIRD CENTURY. [June,

half of the third century. In fact, the epoch of Constantine and
of the First Council of Nicaea falls within the third century of the
church, which began to exist on the Feast of Pentecost, A.D. 29 or
30. The period which closes with the martyrdom of St. Sixtus II.
of Rome, and St. Cyprian of Carthage, A.D. 258, embraces, there-
fore, only two hundred and twenty-eight years from the founda-
tion of the church, one hundred and ninety-one from the death of
St. Peter, and one hundred and fifty-eight from the death of St.
John. All the testimonies we have cited, except those of St.
Cyprian, belong to the first and second centuries of ecclesiastical
history, and St. Cyprian himself to the beginning of the third.
During this period twenty-three successors of St. Peter sat in his
chair, all of whom were saints, and all probably, certainly almost
all, martyrs. It is the period of the infancy of the church and
of the Roman primacy, yet the whole organic structure and all
the features of the One, Holy, Catholic, Apostolic Church, found-
ed by the Lord upon Peter, are plainly discernible. We hope to
show this more fully and in greater detail hereafter. What has
thus far been proved suffices to verify and justify, for the entire
period between A.D. 67 and A.D. 258, the declaration made about
two hundred years later by the papal legate Philip at Ephesus :
•" No one doubts but that Peter, the exarch and head of the
apostles, pillar of the faith, and foundation of the Catholic
Church, received from our Lord Jesus Christ the keys of his
kingdom, and power to bind and loose sins, and that even to the
present time he lives and exercises these judicial powers in his
successors."

The heathen emperors, from Domitian to Diocletian, had a
presentiment of, and a secret shuddering before, that mysterious
rival power which was destined one day to take possession of the
Lateran Palace. St. Cyprian says that the Emperor Decius
" would with much more patience and endurance hear that a
rival prince was raised against himself than a bishop of God
established at Rome " (Ad Anton.) Would the emperor have
feared so much one who was merely the chief pastor over forty
presbyters, and perhaps forty thousand Christians, mostly of the
poorer classes of the people ? A rival prince was a rival for the
possession of his whole empire. His fear of the Bishop of Rome
as a more formidable rival must have come from his knowledge
that he already possessed a spiritual sway over a church coter-
minous with the empire and extending beyond its bounds, a do-
minion whose majesty threatened to cast one day that of the
emperors into the shade.

1 882.] PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. 371

PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT.*

IT is frequently regarded as an evidence of superior culture
among- such of us as claim to be travelled people to decry, in an
amiable and condescending way, everything in our own country
which belongs to the province of, art. They like to intimate
that in our eagerness to do honor to our great men by statue
or picture we sometimes come nearer to burlesque than to por-
traiture. While protesting against the spirit of such criticism,
we are yet forced to admit that it has some show of justice as we
recall certain lamentable instances of such mistaken zeal. In this
connection the late Mr. Charles Sumner used to relate, with a
relish only less than that of his hearers, an incident in the visit of
Thackeray to Washington in 1853. In company with the novel-
ist, whom he regarded as an " artist by birthright," and whose
judgment upon matters of art he held to be beyond question, he
had gone over the routine of sight-seeing, had heard his guest's
discriminating verdict upon the paintings of the Capitol, and was
driving towards his own residence by way of Pennsylvania Ave-
nue when it suddenly flashed upon him that he must not let
Thackeray see a certain figure which lay upon their route. " He
had not yet been at my house," said Mr. Sumner, " and my chief
anxiety was to coach him safely past that Jackson statue. The
conversation hung persistently upon art matters, which made it
certain that I was to have trouble when we should come in view
of that particular excrescence. We turned the dreaded corner
at last, when to my astonishment Mr. Thackeray held straight
past the hideous figure, moving his head neither to the right nor
left, and chatting as airily as though we were strolling through
an English park. Now, I know that the instant we came in sight
of poor Jackson's caricature he saw it, realized its accumulated
terrors at a glance, and, in the charity of his great heart, took all
pains to avoid having a word said about it. But he was a man
of rare consideration."

True as it is that such instances are to be found here and
there, and that there are comparatively few, even among the
best, which do not suggest the artisan rather than the artist, yet
the sentiment which lies back of their production — a sentiment as

* Original Portraits of Washington, including Statues, Monuments, and Medals. By
Elizabeth Bryant Johnston. Boston : James R. Osgood & Co. 1882.

372 PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. [June,

old as humanity itself — deserves not ridicule but respect. The
very least of our temptations as a people is that of falling into
any extreme of hero-worship. In truth, the danger seems to be
of rather an opposite nature — that in the absorbing pursuit of the
practical and material the higher and nobler part of life be over-
looked and forgotten. Better, it would seem, to keep something
typical of reverence for the great deeds of the past, even though
the form be crude and imperfect, so that the very sense of that
imperfection may compel to a fitter expression of the nation's
homage. Perhaps the day is nearer than we dream. Certain it
is that since the opening of the National Academy of Design in
1826 the subject of art, in all its varied forms, has come to occupy
a much larger place than formerly. It has been admitted that
the most glaring defects to be deplored belong more particular-
ly to what some one has called the " monumental yearnings of
the Americans," and that in other branches of art there is per-
haps not quite so large ground for fault-finding. In support of
this concession it is only necessary to recall the marvellous ra-
pidity with which schools of design have been springing up, well
equipped, in all our large cities during the last score of years.
Everywhere they are sending forth pupils to Rome, the mother
of art, the home of religion, and, as Erasmus says, "Communis
omnium gentium parens." And though it be sorrowfully true
that the ages of faith are past, and with them much that is high-
est and holiest in the realm of art, yet under the fostering care
and sunny skies of southern Europe many noble works by Ame-
rican hands are yearly brought to our shores, bearing their mes-
sage of beauty and refinement. In the homes of the wealthy
private galleries, no longer filled with manufactured " gems of
the old masters" palmed upon good-natured incompetency by
thrifty brokers, nor furnished in canvas by the square yard, but
adorned with genuine originals by native artists, are now the rule
rather than the exception. There should be an inspiration in the
broad extent of this young, fresh existence here in the West to
develop, as of necessity, a distinctive school of art. We have
had poets, word- painters, whose songs and stories have made
vivid the scenes of forest, plain, and sierra ; scientists whose
achievements have lightened the burdens of life ; philosophers,
and statesmen, and warriors whom older civilizations have rec-
ognized in their respective spheres. What hinders us that we
shall not build up a school of art with something of the origina-
lity, freedom, and truth which characterize European schools?
There is no suggestion of inferiority in the comparison of Ame-

i882.] PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. 373

rican students abroad with those of other countries. Indeed,
up to a certain point the balance is rather in their favor. The
quick intelligence which has made America a leader in invention
and practical application of mechanics is in nowise backward
in comprehending those principles of art which lie within the
range of acquisition. But she has yet to prove that her busy
brain and skilful hand can kindle the sacred fire and unlock the
hidden secrets, the divine mysteries of the golden days of art,
revealed only to the magic power of genius. The eager, restless
life of her people has left them hardly time to realize their own
capabilities, and the struggle for national existence is only past
by a century. The Old World required ages of preparation be-
fore it gave Raphael to reign undisputed in the kingdom of art,
and the culmination of the art idea among the Greeks was the
gradual development of a nation's creative powers. As well
might we expect the maturity of manhood from an infant of days
as conclude that because America has not yet achieved any
grand revelation in art there is no possibility for her in the fu-
ture. True progress in national, literary, and artistic life implies
training, and the cultivation of art in a large degree depends up-
on the literary as well as the ethical education of a nation. The
artistic temperament is ours by rightful heritage. The mingled
current of descent, the ceaseless influence of thought, of inter-
course, of association by travel, tend to unity of mental status ;
but we have still- to cultivate that delicate artistic moderation
which shuns alike a depraved realism and a vapid sentimental-
ism. Exuberance of expression is the fault of youth ; repression
comes with age.

In certain fields there has been already accomplished by
American artists work which needs no apology, and the best
examples are found in the line of portrait-painting — a branch of
art which we are disposed to put upoh a higher plane than that
usually assigned to it. In the landscape the painter is allowed
a latitude of interpretation by which he may convey something
of his own personality to the spectator. The thought impressed
upon his own mind is translated into color, shape, and motion,
through the medium of which it speaks to other souls. But the
work of portraiture is of necessity hedged in by restrictions
which are inviolable. The true artist is not merely a copyist, an
imitator ; he must not simply transfer to his canvas the features
of his subject. He seeks to make the eye speak with a living
force, to give expression through his work to the life within, as
light shines through an alabaster vase, softened, elevated, spirit-

374 PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. [June,

ualized, yet clearly and really the reproduction of his subject.
And sometimes, unhappily for the artist, his baffled search fail-
ing to descry this " inner light," he is forced to turn prosaic
reality into poetic fancy or else find his work rejected. An
amusing incident in point occurred lately within our own ken.
A foreign sculptor of repute and ability was commissioned to
make a portrait in marble of a lady, a leader in fashionable life,
wealthy, amiable, and commonplace to the last degree. He
finished the work, but so ennobled was it, so informed with the
soul that was in the artist and not in the subject, that it was an
almost angelic face that looked out of the pure marble. With-
out the slightest suspicion of the fact that the original was stand-
ing beside it, the question was put in all sincerity as to what
saint it represented. It might have been taken for St. Elizabeth
of Hungary. The inspiration afforded by certain grand charac-
ters in history has wrought itself in every age into the art-life of
nations, so that, in allegory or in real likeness, the canvas and the
marble speak to the heart with greater power than the printed
page. The character of Washington was so impressed upon the
mind of the great sculptor Canova that, although he never saw
our first President, he made the one statue in which criticism
could find no flaw. It was at once a poem, a history, and a
prophecy. In the volume which suggested this paper it is re-
produced from contemporary engraving, and goes far to remove
an impression, which many share, that the likeness was not suffi-
ciently accurate. A comparison with other portraits acknow-
ledged as correct affords convincing evidence to the contrary.
The figure, slightly above life-size, is seated in an attitude sug-
gestive of bodily repose and of earnest thought. The cuirass,
elegantly wrought and worn over a handsome tunic, reminds
one of the defensive armor lately put off, and the flowing folds
of a rich mantle falling from the shoulders have a singularly
graceful effect. The sheathed weapon of antique form, lying
with the sceptre under the right foot, signify that the end of
war and the revival of the reign of law have enabled him gladly
to cast them aside. The benignant expression which seems to
have impressed itself more strongly upon the features of Wash-
ington as he advanced in years is beautifully brought out. The
firm hand, holding the pen as he writes upon a tablet which rests
upon the left thigh, has just traced the words, " George Wash-
ington to the people of the United States : Friends and fellow-
citizens." Here he pauses, his full heart seeking for words
strong enough to speak the great thoughts that throng upon

i882.] PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. 375

him. The classic style of the whole composition is admirably in
keeping with the sculptor's "heroic conception of Washington,
and is equally worthy of the moral grandeur of the subject and
the genius of the artist. The loss sustained by the country in the
destruction of this magnificent memorial in the burning of the
capitol at Raleigh is one utterly irreparable, and its only com-
pensation is found in the preservation of the sculptor's design by
the engravings of Bertini and Marchetti. Canova may be said
to have created a school of art. After profound study of the
best models of antiquity, in connection with that of anatomical
principles, he became dissatisfied with a certain coldness, a lack
of softness of finish and delicacy of treatment, in the greater part
of the statuary regarded as the standard antique. Convinced
that there was another and a higher path in art than that fol-
lowed by the artists of his day, he decided upon those charac-
teristics which mark the highest order of Greek art as his mod-
els, and proceeded to develop his own ideas. He encountered
opposition, of course, as every true advance in art or in science
must, but he conquered. The late Cardinal Wiseman,* whose
knowledge of art was both rare and great, says of Canova's
monument of Clement XIV., that it " took the world of art by
surprise; and his return to the simple beauty, the calm atti-
tudes, the quiet folds, the breadth and majesty of ancient works
soon put him at the head of a European school." f Canova's in-
dustry was indefatigable, and the list of works produced in the
space of fourteen years, when at the height of his fame, presents
an almost incredible number. Always of a deeply reverent
spirit, he determined, upon the return of Pius VI. to Rome, to
raise at his own expense a colossal statue to religion in com-
memoration of the event. He only waited for the site to be ap-
pointed. Everything was in readiness to begin the work, when,
through the intervention of rival influence and envious machina-
tions, the permission was withheld. Thwarted, but in nowise
discouraged, he still kept to his resolve. He designed a build-
ing for his native place which, combining the features of the
Pantheon and Parthenon, should be worthy to enshrine his
Christian memorial. The heavy expense entailed by so large
a scheme forced him into labors far beyond his strength, and in
a short time the inevitable result became manifest. He died,

* Mr. M. Digby Wyatt, Slade Professor of Fine Art, in his course of lectures delivered at the
University of Cambridge in 1870, and published under the title of Fine Art, p. 57, speaks of
Cardinal Wiseman as one " whose powers of exposition on matters of art were as rare and great
as his taste for and knowledge of the subject."

+ Recollections of the Last Four Popes, p. 153.

376 PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. [June,

worn out with unremitting exertions, at the age of sixty-five,
having produced in those last years of pain and weakness some
of the finest of his works, among them the statue of Washing-
ton.

The monument to the first President executed by Thomas
Crawford for the State of Virginia will bear comparison with
any work hitherto produced by either native or foreign artists.
The author of Original Portraits of Washington fitly says of it :
" The memorial at Richmond, so replete in truth, grace, and
sentiment, would do credit to people centuries older in art.
The history it records, the principles it honors, and the gratitude
it expresses present lessons which, if heeded, must foster true
national strength." * Of the standing figures of Washington
the one, perhaps, which is most entirely pleasing in its mingled
simplicity and dignity is that by Sir Francis Chantrey.

It would be impossible in the space afforded us to do more
than advert to a few of the busts, statues, and monuments which
the career of Washington has inspired, but before we pass on to
consider some of the distinguished painters who have skilfully
traced his lineaments we must dwell for a moment on the his-
tory of the unfinished shaft at the federal capital. Perhaps no
instance can be found in the annals of commemorative art which
presents a parallel to the extraordinary delay, opposition, and
vandalism that have been connected with this structure. From
the day of the first President's death to the present the project
has been periodically brought before the people, often with the
most encouraging prospects of its consummation, only to be laid
aside again and again until the whole country grew weary of its
very name. At length in 1848 a design on a colossal scale was
selected, and the corner-stone was laid with pomp and ceremony.
The work was begun at once, and for a time progressed so rap-
idly as to satisfy the most exacting and to restore in a measure
public confidence in the enterprise. When^ after six years, ad-
ditional funds were required Congress was asked for a suitable
appropriation, which was promptly accorded by the House of Re-
presentatives. The sum of two hundred thousand dollars, which
had been fifty years before appropriated for the like purpose but
never used, was at once voted. Unfortunately for the national
credit, personal rivalries among the managers brought influences
to bear upon the Senate which defeated the measure, and for more
than twenty-five years the unfinished shaft stood, in silent but
eloquent protest, a target for universal jest. At length, as the cen-

* Original Portraits of Washington, p. 177.

i882.] PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. 377

tennial year was approaching, public interest became so strongly
aroused as to compel Congress to take effective steps towards the
completion of the work. Under new management the enter-
prise bids fair to be carried on steadily, and within a reasonable
time it may be expected that this memorial will stand complete,
typifying, in its severe simplicity and towering height, the char-
acter of him whose name it bears. The significance of such a
tribute lies in something beyond the fact that the National
Monument is to be the loftiest column in the world. It em-
bodies the veneration not only of the American people in the of-
fering of a stone from nearly every State in the Union, but from
many foreign nations who have wished to testify the honor in
which they hold the memory of Washington. In 1854 the late
pontiff, Pius IX., sent a stone which was inscribed " Rome to
America." It was taken from the Temple of Concord, valuable
as an antique of rare beauty, and still more as a messenger of
good-will from the chief pastor of Christendom to the young
republic of the West. Unhappily there existed at this period
an unusual spirit of political bitterness towards Catholics. The
arrival of Archbishop Bedini to our shores as nuncio of the
Holy Father was the signal for a wanton outbreak on the part
of the followers of Mazzini, Garibaldi, and the Carbonari of
Europe, aided by the speeches of their orator Gavazzi. A party
of political proscription, then holding secret meetings in Know-
Nothing lodges in various cities, was laboring to keep alive the
hatred which their policy engendered against their Catholic fel-
low-citizens. Emissaries of the party at the seat of government
were ready and willing to display their partisan zeal. The block
sent by the late pope was placed, with others intended for the
same purpose, under shelter and in the care of a watchman.
Soon after its arrival, on a certain dark morning in March, a num-
ber of men surrounded the building, warning the custodian to
keep quiet if he would escape harsh treatment, forcibly remov-
ed the block through an opening which they made in the side at
which it lay, carried it off to a steep place on the river-bank, and
dashed it to pieces. The brave guardian of the national pro-
perty had with him a double-barrelled gun, which he could have
used effectively at any moment during the removal of the stone,
for the marauders were in full view from his watch-box. The
perpetrators of this act of vandalism were never discovered, and
we suspect that no very strenuous efforts were made to bring
them to justice. The author of Original Portraits of Washington
gives a full account of the affair taken from the National Intelli-

378 PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. [June,

gencer of March 8, 1854, and adds : " A rebuke to the spirit that
led to this outrage is found in an order issued by Washington
November 5, 1775. He refers to a report that preparations had
been made to burn the pontiff in effigy, and sternly says : ' The
commander-in-chief cannot help expressing his surprise that
there should be officers and soldiers in this army so void of com-
mon sense as not to see the impropriety of this step.' " *

Without consideration of the large number of copies in oil,
and engravings which meet one at every turn, there are a good
many original portraits of Washington by artists of every de-
gree; so numerous, indeed, are they as to suggest a suspicion of
personal vanity in the Father of his Country, f Among them all
we find none more pleasing than those by American artists, and
the most beautiful miniature ever painted of him is that by
John Singleton Copley. He is represented at the age of
twenty-five, and in the exquisite delicacy of touch and of color-
ing one recognizes the hand of a master. There is a certain soft-
ness of expression verging upon tenderness, a far-away, almost
wistful look in the clear eyes, traceable, we believe, in no other
picture, which attracts one with an irresistible charm, and there
are infinite possibilities of feeling, of the hopes and dreams of
youth, in the noble face. The contrast of its quiet simplicity
with another miniature taken later in life by a French countess,
which represents him as the most artificial of laurel-crowned
heroes, is markedly in favor of the first. The name of Copley is
one worthy of honor as having been among the earliest to gain
recognition abroad and at home. At the age of seventeen he
was already known, although he had had only the most meagre
instruction. Shortly before the beginning of the Revolution he
obtained means to go to Italy, and there gave his whole heart to
the study of his profession, drawing his inspiration from the
works of Titian and Correggio. At the conclusion of peace he
went to London, where his success was so well assured that he
became permanently resident there, although he seems never to
have lost his love for his own country. One of his most ambi-
tious efforts is the " Death of Lord Chatham " — a beautiful picture,
which we saw some years ago in the National Gallery of London.

Another American who attained distinction in both hemi-
spheres was Charles Wilson Peale, whose name is associated

* Original Portraits of Washington, p. 231 .

t The author of Original Portraits says : " This is an unjust conclusion ; for the truth is
developed that the American hero was made a martyr to the devotion of his friends at home and
his admirers abroad " (preface, p. vi.)

i882.] PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. 379

with many stirring scenes of Washington's day and with no less
than fourteen portraits of Washington himself. One of these,
now in the possession of an English nobleman, was sent as a pre-
sent to the Duke of Wiirtemberg, by a messenger who carried
secret despatches to the Hague by the packet Mercury. The
ship was captured by a British frigate, and the passenger threw
his despatches overboard, " which act was observed by a British
sailor, who sprang into the sea, and secured the papers. All of
our affairs with Holland were thus exposed, and in consequence
England declared war. Capt Keppel, commander of the frig-
ate, claimed the portrait as a personal prize, and presented it to
his uncle, Admiral Lord Keppel, who had known Washington
when the young Virginian was an officer in Gen. Braddock's
campaign."* Another of his pictures is said to have been in the
possession of Louis XVI. The characteristic of Peale as an ar-
tist may be comprehended in the word literalness. Always con-
scientious, his pictures bear the stamp of truth, and, while one
realizes a lack of the deepest artistic insight, one feels that he has
given the real, every-day presentment of his subjects. This prac-
tical turn of mind has a value of its own for historical reference,
for in matters of detail, costumes, and surroundings his pictures
leave nothing to be desired. It may be safely predicted that
these points will be more highly estimated as the years go on.
His life was full of variety ; his energy was unlimited and found
continual expression in occupations seemingly the most opposed
in character.

Next in age to Peale, but second to none in artistic rank,
is Gilbert Stuart, who belongs to the coterie which drew in-
spiration from the rocky shores and green hill-slopes of Rhode
Island. His faculty of reproducing faces from memory serv-
ed to distinguish him at an early age and formed the ground
for his decision to adopt the career of a painter. He became a
pupil of Benjamin West, who, with all his great and good qua-
lities, was nevertheless capable of some small jealousies in the
sphere of his profession. Stuart related once to a sitter the fol-
lowing anecdote, with a genial sort of triumph over his old mas-
ter that bears no trace of malice : " It was the custom, whenever
a new governor-general was sent out to India, that he should be
complimented by a present of his majesty's portrait, and Mr.
West, being the king's painter, was called upon on all such occa

sions. So when Lord was about to sail the usual order was

received. My old master, who was busily employed on one of

* Original Portraits of Washington^ p. 9.

380 PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. [June,

his ten-acre pictures, thought he would turn over the king to
me. ' Stuart,' he said, ' it is a pity to make the king sit again for
his picture ; there is the portrait of him that you painted — let me

have it for Lord . / will retouch it and it will do well enough.'

So the picture was carried down to his own room, and at it he
went. He worked at it all that day. The next morning,
' Stuart,' said he, ' have you your palette set ? ' ' Yes, sir.'
' Well, you can soon set another ; let me have the one you have
prepared. I can't satisfy myself with that head.' I gave him
my palette, and he worked the greater part of that day. In the
afternoon, ' Stuart,' says he, ' I don't know how it is, but you
have a way of managing your tints different from any one else ;
here, take the palette and finish the head.' ' I can't indeed, sir,
as it is ; but let it stand until the morning and get dry, and I will
go over it with all my heart.' I went into his room bright and
early, and by half-past nine had finished the head. When West
saw it he complimented me highly, and I had ample revenge
for his ' It will do well enough.' " Stuart was intensely patriotic
and a great admirer of Washington, and so strong were these in-
fluences upon him that he resigned his brilliant prospects in
England and returned to America in 1793. Two years later he
completed the famous picture of Washington known as the
Athenaeum portrait, which has ever since held the highest place
among his works. It was intended for a full-size picture, but
the head only was finished. It is now on the walls of the Aca-
demy of Fine Arts in Boston. A portrait of John Q. Adams, the
last work of his busy hand, shows the richness of perfected
powers and the enthusiasm of the true artist. Death arrested
the work after the completion of only the face, and the figure,
with the drapery, was entrusted to one eminently fitted for the
task — the gifted Sully.

The name of William Dunlap deserves a higher place in the
history of American art than it is ever likely to hold ; for while
he achieved comparatively little himself as a painter, he did
more than perhaps any man of his day to forward the cause of
art in this country and to bring into notice the genius of others.
His ingenuous confessions of youthful idleness and regrets for
precious years thrown away tend to create a feeling of indul-
gence rather than of condemnation. The admirable literary
style which he possessed would lead one to a shrewd suspicion
that, after all, his true vocation lay rather in the sphere of the
pen than of the pencil. His valuable work, which is become very
rare, entitled Arts of Design in the United States, contains almost

1 882.] PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. 381

the only reliable information now accessible as to the lives and
works of the pioneers of art in this country, and to him is largely
owing the establishment of the National Academy of Design, in
which he was intensely interested. He also wrote a valuable
History of the American Theatre, from which later writers on the
histrionic art have derived much information as to our early
drama. At the ripe age of fifty-one years he devoted himself to
painting as a profession ; and whether or not his success was due
to his having attained reputation by other modes, he found him-
self fully recognized and appreciated. His failures in earlier life
he attributed in part to a fatal reticence, a sort of moral paraly-
sis which used to seize upon him at some critical moment when
a moderate degree of self-assertion might have launched him
upon the tide of success ; and partly to the laisscr-aller habits
engendered by a rather luxurious and indulgent home-training.
He refers with pardonable pride to the fact that the commander-
in-chief accorded him sittings for a picture by request of a com-
mon friend, leaving us to infer that he would never have had the
courage to ask such a favor himself. He says : " This was a
triumphant moment for a boy of seventeen, and it must be re-
membered that Washington had not then been ' hackneyed to
the touches of the painter's pencil.' I say a triumphant moment,
but one of anxiety, fear, and trembling. I was soon quite at
home at headquarters. To breakfast and dine, day after day,
with the General and Mrs. Washington and members of Con-
gress, and to be noticed as the young painter, was delicious."
The naivete with which he tells the story only serves to increase
one's regret to learn that the picture was at best but a carica-
ture, although the fact must be urged, on the other hand, that the
artist had at that time never had a lesson. Dunlap's unbounded
admiration for Washington is evident in every allusion to him
throughout his writings, and he seems anxious to counteract the
prevalent impression that his hero was a cold or undemonstrative
man, probably holding in his own sunshiny nature an idea that
something unlovable attached to such a character.

In comparing the culture of the ancients with that of the
moderns Mr. 'Matthew Arnold, whose mind is so enamored with
the cultus of the Greeks that he has become pagan in thought
and expression,* makes the underlying difference between the

* Thus in his Monody on Arthur Hugh Clough he says :

" Bear it from thy loved, sweet Arno vale
(For there earth-forgetting eyelids keep
Their morningless and unawakening sleep
Under the flowery oleanders pale)."

382 PORTRAITS OF THE FIRST PRESIDENT. [June,

two civilizations to resolve itself into a question of sanity — a cha-
racteristic which he extols in the former, and the lack of which
he deplores in the latter.* The insanity of modern criticism is
possessed of a mania which is able to destroy, but which is im-
potent to construct. The iconoclast rejoices in the work of de-
struction visible in every sphere of mental activity, and the na-
tional images of our own country have not escaped the sceptical
spirit that proclaims, with Sainte-Beuve, that history in the
main consists of a set of fables in which the world agrees to
believe ; with James Anthony Froude, that England's Eighth
Henry was a model of public virtues ; with Professor Beesly,
that Catiline was an exemplar of patriotic devotion ; and with
Judge Holmes, that Shakspere was a dramatic mouthpiece of
the bribe-taking Bacon. In conclusion we may remark that the
character of Washington, in spite of ribald jests and idle rumors
which one constantly encounters in the newspaper press of the
period, has stood the test of searching analysis. Excepting a
few English critics like Carlyle, whose chief disparagement of
Lafayette was that he could not get beyond the " Washington
Formula," foreign writers as well as foreign artists have done
ample justice to the memory of the first President of the re-
public. First among European nations, Catholic France eldest
child of the church, has taught the sons of St. Louis to venerate
a name which always enkindled the eloquence of Montalembert,
and whose " glory," says Chateaubriand, " is the patrimony of
civilization."

* This thought is not original with Mr. Matthew Arnold. Goethe, his great master, before
him had said: " Classisch ist das Gesunde, Romantisch das Kranke " (Spruche in Prosa, "jte
Abtheilung).

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 383

THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL.

From the German of the Countess Hahn-Hakn, by Mary H. A. Allies.

PART IV.— APPARENT DIR^E FACIES.

CHAPTER IV.

O SACRED HUNGER OF PERNICIOUS GOLD !

WHILST Baroness Griinerode was at Ems and Heidelberg,
and more solicitous about Harry's body and bodily welfare than
she had ever been about the souls of all her other children put
together, the baron came to an important decision concerning
Edgar. He was now two-and-twenty, and a spendthrift on so
startling a scale that he thereby incurred his father's high dis-
pleasure. His leaving his son without money did not mend mat-
ters. Edgar found plenty of Jews who were willing to lend him
thousands upon thousands of thalers, for they knew well enough
that, albeit Baron Griinerode was very rich, and respected, and
looked up to, he was not immortal. So Edgar lived as if he had
millions at his command ; and as this propensity is wont to pro-
duce a kind of imbecility, he took the most extraordinary fancies
into his head, which were utterly incapable of giving pleasure to
him or any one else.

The baroness had scarcely got back or had time to consult
the housekeeper, butler, and cook, and had not even seen Tief-
fenstein and Isidora, when the baron came to her, summarily dis-
missed the cook, and then said impatiently, as he flung himself
into an arm-chair : " Don't pay so much attention to kitchen and
cellar, my dear."

" So much attention, love ? No, only enough to make the
servants feel that they are not the masters. They are too apt to
think that they need not consider money in a rich house. I am
of a contrary opinion, for where should we be if I did not keep
so large a household as ours in order ? "

" You are quite right, my dear, and I look up to your talent
in this particular. But I am really provoked that whilst the
father is making a little bit of money with the sweat of his brow,
and the mother is trying to husband it carefully — apropos ! " he

384 THE STORY OF A PORTIONESS GIRL. [June,

said suddenly, interrupting himself, " you have got through a
tearful quantity of money, my dear. I wrote you my mind, but
I must repeat it now : you can't keep the money in your pocket
when it is a question of your comfort and your person. What
extravagance, for instance, to want two carriages to be sent to
Ems! "

" I should have used them for Harry, love, and I only had
the caleche after all."

" I should think so, my dear. Wanting the coupe was a
whim a la Edgar. And now I come back to what I was saying.
Edgar deserves to be locked up. But as that is impossible, 1 am
going to send him off to the other hemisphere."

" Send him where ? " exclaimed the baroness, and she jumped
up from the sofa in her fright.

" I myself don't quite know, but this much is certain : he
shall go to Asia and America on a merchant ship."

" But what a fearful thought, love! Perhaps he will be ship-
wrecked."

" He will certainly be shipwrecked in another sense if he
stays here ; and perhaps we, too, for the boundaries of extrava-
gance are nowhere."

" We, too ! What exaggeration, love ! "

" Acts of folly can bring about what is nearly impossible, my
dear; and can anything beat his last mad extravagance? He
goes and takes the circus for the evening, paying as much as if it
had been full, on condition that nobody else shall be allowed en-
trance, and the company is obliged to give a full performance for
him and his dog, who represent the public. Now, I put it to
you, isn't this frenzy ? Three weeks ago he got up some races
for his friends entirely at his own expense ; there were horses
and prizes, and I don't know what besides. He paid for every-
thing. He is positively raving, you see, and he shall be sent to
sea. Sea-sickness, salt meat, and hard beans will set him to
rights, and in a few years' time he will come back to us a reason-
able member of society."

" A repulsive remedy, love."

" Repulsive or not, I know that I am weary of the foolish
youngster's tricks. If it goes on it really might bring dishonor
on my firm. I thought of keeping my intention from you till
Edgar was on board, but you might have reproached me with
want of confidence, and I know well enough that we are of the
same mind, although you may feel it hard at times. Of course
you must keep it a dead secret, for if Edgar got wind of the

i882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 385

matter he would slip off, and that would cause greater talk. He
must and shall go — so much is clear; and I think you will see
it, too."

" I shall have to be on my guard to keep it from the poor
fellow," sighed the baroness.

" And I, too, not to show the anger and vexation which I feel
at being so treated by our children. Not one of them gives us
any pleasure. If I had not Sylvia to cheer me up I should have
to find some amusement out of doors like a young fool."

" Don't speak in this fearfully light way, love. It doesn't
become a man of sixty-four."

" Sixty-four, indeed ! Why, that's no age for a man," laughed
the baron, and he went off to think about Edgar's campaign.

Sylvia, too, had made up her mind and carried it out. She
had written two letters, one which went to Vincent von Lehr-
bach by the town post, the other by the general post to Herr
Goldisch. Thus Vincent heard of Sylvia's return to the capital.
His heart beat wildly with joy as he opened the envelope and
saw her name. It was the first letter she had ever written to
him, but after he had read its contents a nameless feeling took
possession of him. It was as follows :

" DEAR VINCENT : Let me speak to you simply and openly as to my
best friend, and forgive me for being honest with you, as, alas ! I must give
you pain, but only a little pain now to spare you a lingering sorrow here-
after.

" My six weeks' stay with your kind mother has opened my eyes about
my practical usefulness in daily life, and, much to my confusion, I must
own that I am not able to do one-half what you would have to require of
your wife. I do not understand housekeeping, and should not be at all
clever about keeping house on a small scale. If my parents had lived
things would have been quite different, and it would have been better for
me in every way. I should have learnt to make a little do, and not have
minded scanty means. But unfortunately the last ten years in my uncle's
house have got me entirely out of the way of poverty and given me tastes
and habits which have taken root so completely that I cannot drag them
up without much suffering to myself. But I can't bear the notion that- you
might remark my suffering, let it make you sad and look down upon me in
consequence, or find me a burden ; and so, dear Vincent, I consider that our
promise to each other is no longer binding. Neither your family, nor mine
suspects our engagement, and I think it best for us both to avoid anything
which might remind us of it, and not to meet again. I say nothing of the
inward struggle which has torn my peace of mind for the last few months,
nor of the inexpressible gratitude which I shall ever feel for your unsel-
fish love. SYLVIA VON NEHEIM."

Vincent read the letter over two or three times. Could

VOL. XXXV. — 25

386 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

Sylvia have written it — Sylvia, who wished for nothing but
love, liberty, and bread ? There was not the slightest trace of
any such wish. Why was it? How could the change in her be
accounted for ? It was certain to be some scheming on the part
of her relatives. She had once said that they wished to keep
her with them always as a companion. But the notion was pre-
posterous. It was as clear as day that some exterior influence
had been at work to make Sylvia write that letter, and it was
important to get to the bottom of it. Her future and his happi-
ness were at stake, and they were not to be sacrificed to the des-
potical whims of her relatives. He would recover himself, turn
quietly over in his mind the reasons which might have affected
Sylvia, and amongst others her possible shrinking back from
great poverty, and then he would go to see her. At the time he
was so overwhelmed with business relating to his examination,
and which consequently could not be put off, that he was obliged
to work half the night several times in order to get a spare mo-
ment. This press of occupation was opportune as serving to
calm down the intensity of his feelings.

Sylvia's mind was immensely relieved and her conscience
quieted after she had thus put an end to her irresolution by
breaking with Vincent and writing to tell Herr Goldisch that
she was ready to accept his offer, but that she feared opposition
from her relatives. She herself had been shy about broaching
the subject to them. Several days passed without a word or
token from Vincent, and her spirits rose in proportion. She
supposed that his examination was over and that he had gone
home. Slight pricks of conscience mingled with her satisfaction
on receiving a letter from Herr Goldisch in which he told her in
a few hearty words of his speedy return from America, thanked
her for her favorable answer, and bade her not to trouble herself
about her relatives. He would take everything upon himself,
lose no time in following his letter, when he would at once claim
Sylvia. She was pleased at this prospect and tried to quiet her
mind by making excellent resolutions to be a good wife and a
kind mother to little George, fancying that she was at last recon-
ciled to a fate which she had so often qualified as hard and
wretched. At Aurel's side she might have had many a rude
awakening out of her youthful dreams concerning him. As wife
to a selfish man of Tieffenstein's character she could not have
reckoned upon any real happiness, and she would have had to
nurse a discontented and embittered worldling. She would not
.think of Vincent. Though her feelings lacked depth to return

i882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 387

his love, or even to understand it, she was perfectly alive to the
difference between the two 'men, and distinguished Lehrbach's
love from Goldisch's good-natured kindness. " But my marrying
Lehrbach was an impossibility," she sighed, " for one can't be ex-
pected to give up everything except the necessaries of life. It
would have made both him and me wretched."

" Herr von Lehrbach wishes to see you, miss," said a servant.

Bewildered, speechless, and trembling with emotion, Sylvia
got up, but determined not to see him.

" He is already in the morning-room," added the servant.

" How very stupid you are, John ! " stammered Sylvia.

" You had given orders, miss, that he should always be
shown into the morning-room at once."

" Oh ! say that I am ill, or busy, or anything you like."

" As I showed Herr von Lehrbach in, miss, he asked if you
were well and strong, and I said, ' As well and lively as possible.'
Perhaps, miss, you would like me to say that this time doesn't
suit you, and that you beg Herr von Lehrbach to come to-mor-
row morning."

" To-rnorrow," repeated Sylvia in a mechanical way, and the
servant was going away with this answer when it struck her
that perhaps Herr Goldisch would be coming to-morrow, or
even that very day, and she said in a determined tone, " Wait a
minute, John ; leave it as it is," and hurried to the morning-room.
John threw open the door for her.

" Herr von Lehrbach," she said, speaking in a quick and
forced tone, whilst her expression betrayed irritation and uneasi-
ness, " I had begged you to spare us both this meeting, as I have
acted with full deliberation, and anything we can now say must
be difficult and painful."

"Is this how we meet?" said Lehrbach, not taking the least
notice of Sylvia's words. " I can't understand it at all, Sylvia.
What has happened ?"

He stood before her and gave her a searching look, which
she tried to evade by taking a chair, so as to escape being face to
face with him, and said uneasily :

" I told you in my letter what had happened."

" But you did not tell whose influence made you write that
letter," said" Vincent, taking a chair and seating himself on the
opposite side of the little table upon which her arm was resting
and supporting her head, so that they were once more face to
face.

" I wrote under the influence of my own feelings after staying

388 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

with your mother," she answered, beginning to fear that she
might betray her anxiety.

" And were these feelings powerful enough to get the better
of your wish for love, liberty, and that quiet domestic happiness
which every woman desires in her heart? I can't believe it,
Sylvia, and I never will believe it. I suspect you are hiding
something or there has been foul play."

Sylvia turned scarlet, then deadly pale. A guilty conscience
is not slow to imagine that the whole world is aware of its sins,
and Sylvia fancied that Vincent knew the truth. Vincent notic-
ed her painful embarrassment.

" Your looks tell me that I am right, Sylvia. Oh ! do speak,"
he said beseechingly.

" There has been no foul play," she exclaimed with constraint.

" Well, what is it, Sylvia? In your letter you called me your
best friend, to whom you could speak openly ; so do it now, for
I am sure you have no truer friend in the world than I. Be
honest with me ; I have a right to it. You have accepted my love
for the last two years. I don't know whether you returned it,
Sylvia, and your letter makes me doubtful about it, but I do know
this : you accepted my love, and when a man has had God be-
fore his eyes in his love, and has bound himself to another by a.
promise which is to stretch over this life, he ought not to be
cast off suddenly for a whim. So tell me honestly who it is that
is making you break the engagement we entered upon two years
ago."

" Nobody," answered Sylvia in a tone of determination. " I
explained my conduct in my letter, and I must beg you to end
this painful conversation."

" Are you determined, then, to go on living in this way ? Do
you mean to stay in this house, where your soul is ill at ease, and
where you yourself are suffocating and crying after ' liberty and
bread ' ? " Sylvia wanted to get up, but he stretched his hand
across the little table and laid it on her arm. The touch seem-
ed to tame her, for she remained sitting, and he said very calmly :
" You don't answer. Well, Sylvia, I will" answer for you, as
your confusion betrays you. It tells me more than I had sus-
pected when I began. This is your real motive : you have had
a better offer, and as in your eyes riches and happiness have be-
come synonymous, you have accepted it."

" Yes, that's it," exclaimed Sylvia, almost glad that her un-
bloody torture saved her the trouble of avowal and was thus
coming to an end. " But do not be angry with me. You must

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 389

believe that my judgment, not my heart, has decided in the
matter."

" So much the worse," said Vincent very gravely. " One
can't put much confidence in so cool and calm a calculation.
And who may it be that your judgment has favored ? "

" An excellent and respected man, though no longer a young
one — Herr Goldisch."

" He is a rich relative of your cousin Valentine's, isn't he ? "

" Yes," she said in a low tone, and she blushed scarlet, for
again the torture was beginning.

" Are your relatives in favor of the marriage ? "

" I don't know. . . . As yet they know nothing about it," she
stammered in painful confusion.

" And why do you keep it from them, if Herr Goldisch,
though he is not a young man, is respected and — rich ? "

Deadly anxiety closed Sylvia's lips, for she suddenly real-
ized the impression the whole truth would make upon Vincent.
Once more he bent his eye so steadily upon her that she had not
the courage to attempt a shuffling evasion. All at once a change
came over Lehrbach's calm face, as if he had made a dreadful
discovery, and he said in a voice that trembled with emotion :
" Where can I have got the terrible impression that this Herr
Goldisch is your cousin's husband ? I fancy I heard something
of a divorce."

" You did. Last summer he got a divorce from Valentine,
and as he is a Protestant he may marry again if he pleases."

" But you, unhappy Sylvia — you are a Catholic," exclaimed
Vincent mournfully, " and don't you know that the sacrament of
matrimony is binding for life?"

" Yes, of course, for and between Catholics. If Herr Gold-
isch were a Catholic he could not think of marrying again, nor I
of becoming his wife ; but as a Protestant he is free, as Protes-
tants have not got the sacrament of matrimony, or at any rate
they do not look upon it in the same light."

" Oh ! that's just the misery of it," exclaimed Vincent, deeply
moved : " they have neither got it nor do they understand it.
But, Sylvia, we are not talking of Protestants now ; we are con.
cerned with you. The church prohibits you from such a connec-
tion as unlawful and no marriage at all, because Herr Goldisch's
lawful wife is still living, and he cannot have two wives at
once."

" Yes, yes, that's how the church views it. But just consider
that I am not in the least going against her, as we do not mean to

390 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

be married by a Catholic priest," exclaimed Sylvia, troubled at
his emotion.

" But what you say is simply dreadful. Do you suppose that
you would be given absolution if you mentioned what you are
on the point of doing? " asked Lehrbach sharply.

Again Sylvia blushed guiltily, for the notion of seeking abso-
lution had never come into her head. How many years had
passed by since her last confession! Somehow she had never
been a free agent in the Easter season. Either she had been
going about or seriously engaged, and she would never have
dreamt of going to confession at any other time. At that very
moment she secretly resolved not to allow herself to be disquiet-
ed, for she was committing no crimes, and therefore had no
need of confession; but she nevertheless felt some twinges of
conscience at the recollection of her sins of negligence and omis-
sion. Whilst these thoughts were passing silently in her mind
Lehrbach said in a kinder tone :

" O Sylvia ! how utterly wretched you make me by cutting
yourself off so entirely from the church. The very essence of my
love was to bring you nearer to the church and to her heavenly
teaching, and to see you soaring above the things of time. That
is all over now, and you are no longer the Sylvia that I loved.
You have allowed earthly goods to swallow up the heavenly
ones. You have grown to be the slave of money, and its lust,
that curse of the world, is contaminating your soul. You are
sacrificing your religion, your church, your honor and hap-
piness, and my faithful love for this monster. You are hum-
bling your own liberty and independence of spirit, for you
cannot so much as conceive happiness apart from money and
what it gives. This worship of money blows through the world
like a sirocco, and it is lamentable to see what a demoralizing
effect it has on characters, minds, and souls. O poor, poor
Sylvia ! "

Half-moved and half-wounded in her pride, she was strug-
gling with the hot tears as they ran down her cheeks. " I am
not so bad as that," she said.

" I will believe it if you do not marry Herr Goldisch. You
may be certain that I am speaking disinterestedly, as I see only
too clearly that our views are a greater wall of separation be-
tween us than our circumstances. But when I am far away I
should be glad to have a peaceful recollection of a woman I have
so deeply loved."

" That is like the friend of my childhood," she said with

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 391

emotion; "but I cannot get -out of my engagement now, as I
have given my word."

A scornful look passed over his face, but he restrained it as
he thought to himself that Sylvia had never made htm a formal
promise.

" The friend of your youth will not survive your denial of
your church and of your faith," he said with iron gravity.
" Farewell, Sylvia."

He was very pale but firm and composed as he stood before
her, and he gave her a sorrowful look as he put out his hand and
repeated in a soft tone :

" Farewell, Sylvia ! "

A pang of anguish shot through her heart, as if she suddenly
realized what she had lost by preferring mammon to this man.
She grasped his right hand and said humbly : " Don't de-
spise me."

" Far be it from me to do that. I pity you. Farewell."

With a gentle shake of the hand he was leaving her, but he
had not got to the door before Sylvia called out in a tone of
misery : " O Vincent ! do speak one word of comfort to me."

" What can I speak comfort about ? "

" About my being unhappy, for I fear I shall not be able to
forget you," she exclaimed in a despairing tone.

" Unhappy creature ! what misery you are preparing for
yourself. But calm yourself ; you will forget me, and I wish
that you may with all my heart. And now let me add one last
word of parting : do not forget God, do not forget your own
soul."

Thus he left her. Sylvia hurried up to her room, threw her-
self on to the chaise-longue, and wept again over a fate which
forced her to give up this man, the only one she had ever re-
spected, the only one whose influence would have made her
better. But in spite of herself the secret voice of conscience told
her plainly enough that her fate was nothing more nor less than
the consequences of her own miserable and unworthy conduct,
and that, whatever Lehrbach did or did not, she ought to despise
it from the bottom of her heart. God in his mercy had never
ceased to offer her grace to overcome her own weakness, and she
had always let it fall to follow the enticements of the world.

392 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

CHAPTER v.

BEHIND THE FAMILY CURTAIN.

ISIDORA, dressed in a most fashionable morning-dress, was
sitting in an elegant boudoir. Everything around her was nice
and pleasant, but she herself looked as cross and disagreeable as
possible, and her face was pale and drawn. By her side Tieffen-
stein was sitting, or rather lying, in an arm-chair, and whilst she
talked he was tapping his boot with his walking-stick in an un-
meaning and listless sort of way. There was no trace of his
former good looks. The fearful wound on his head had lost him
his right eye and part of his forehead. His long sufferings had
changed his hair from raven black to a few gray locks, and a
nervous twitching of his features added to his disfigurement.

" Nobody in their senses can make out why it is you are al-
ways to be found at the Jockey Club."

With these words Isidora finished up a long sermon to her
husband about economy, domesticity, and other virtues which
she thought desirable for him.

" If every reasonable being had the felicity of knowing you
they would understand my fondness for the Jockey Club. A man
is obliged to go out if he has a tiresome wife," answered Tieffen-
stein coolly.

" But you can't pretend to make me believe that you have
nice, clever talks at the club," she said scornfully.

" At least they are not wrangles, and that in itself is refresh-
ing to me."

" Whose fault is it that I am unutterably wretched? " exclaim-
ed Isidora angrily. " Your coldness and insensibility drive me
wild, for I have loved you passionately, and because you push
me away my sorrow shows itself sometimes in complaints which
are thoroughly well deserved."

" If a woman loves her husband passionately the first thing
she should do is to make herself pleasant to him, for otherwise
her worship soon becomes a great nuisance."

" You are an ungrateful wretch. You calumniate your sex.
You are — "

" Not one of these things," he interrupted in the same cool
manner. " It's a man's way to feel small and brief gratitude for
a passion which may be part of his wife's nature and exceedingly
tiresome to him. On the other hand, a man appreciates his wife

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL.

393

more and more as time goes on-, if she makes his home pleasant
for him, and is able to talk sqnsibly, to read a book worth read-
ing, to give an opinion and good advice, and if she knows how to
attract pleasant people to her house that her husband likes to
see and with whom he can have somewhat different conversa-
tion to that which he may expect to find at the Jockey Club. A
wife's burning passion is a very insipid thing, but a nice, plea-
sant wife is a priceless treasure."

" Any one would see that I cannot ask Sylvia to the house."

" I did not allude to Sylvia, nor was I even thinking about
her. This childish jealousy, which very often goes hand-in-hand
with a mad love, is too intolerable," he said, with an expression
of the deepest scorn. " If you only would believe that a man's
house becomes a perfect hell when the demon of jealousy and
contradiction dressed up in woman's clothes lives in it ! "

He got up and went to the door.

" Do you really mean to go to your Jockey Club, and get cold
and be ill again ? " exclaimed Isidora. " It is raining in torrents.
Do stay at home. Just look how nice everything is."

" Not everything," he replied impatiently, opening the door.
On the threshold he met his mother-in-law with a perturbed face
and red eyes. " Good-morning," he said in scornful astonish-
ment. " What has happened to make you come out at ten
o'clock in the morning? Has Monsieur Lacuillere deserted your
kitchen ? "

" No bad news, mamma, I hope ? " asked Isidora.

" O children ! what things are put upon one," sighed the
baroness, collapsing on to a sofa. " We had a dreadful evening
of it yesterday. Just listen. First of all there came a letter
from Valentine, telling us that she wanted to marry a Spaniard
who has been victimized by the last revolution ; that he was a
Duke de San Roque y San Yago, but as poor as a church-mouse,
as befitted so distinguished an exile ; and that consequently she
begged her father to make her allowance three times what it is,
or, better still, ten times as much again. We telegraphed at once
to Aurel for more particulars, and whilst we were talking about
her mad scheme Goldisch, who has been here for three days,
and whom we were certainly expecting to dinner, came in, but
in a very different way to what we had expected."

" How in a different way ?" exclaimed Isidora and Tieffen-
stein.

" He came in with Sylvia on his arm," pursued the baroness.
" I fancied in my simplicity that he had met her at the door and

394 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

was bringing- her up, so imagine ray amazement when he said in
a solemn tone that he was introducing Sylvia to us as his bride,
and that he hoped this and wished that, and I'm sure I don't
know what all. And S}4via kissed me very affectionately and
asked for our blessing."

" How cool of Sylvia to force herself into Valentine's place ! "
exclaimed Isidora, exasperated.

" That's what your father said. He was very much over-
come and reproached them both so violently that I was positive-
ly trembling with fright and anxiety. But Goldisch remained
perfectly calm and said, very gently indeed : ' You are wrong to
reproach me now with my divorcing your daughter after taking
my part in the whole matter and praising my considerateness.
My being a Protestant enables me to go a step further than you
think right. But you knew that all along, and as you said no-
thing whatever about Catholic principles when I married your
daughter I am utterly amazed to hear you bring them up now all
of a sudden.' "

" Goldisch is perfectly right," said Wilderich.

" No, he is wrong. Marriage is indissoluble," exclaimed Isi-
dora.

" If you think so I wonder at you both for marrying Protes-
tant husbands."

" A girl in love reckons upon lasting feelings," said Isidora.

" Well, then, Valentine was cured pretty quickly of any such
expectation," replied Wilderich, with a scornful laugh ; " and for
the matter of that she is on the point of doing the same as Gold-
isch, only with this difference: first of all he is authorized by
his religion to marry again, whereas she is forbidden to do so by
her church ; and, secondly, he has made an excellent choice, and
she a bad one."

" I might have expected you to have nothing but praise for
any matter which touches Sylvia," said Isidora sharply ; " but it
makes me very angry to hear you condemn my sister's choice in
this peremptory way."

" A Duke de San Roque y San Yago will certainly not be a
grandee of the first water. Perhaps he is a duke of St. Roch, for
good St. Roch was a mendicant, if I'm not mistaken."

" You are outrageous ! " called out Isidora angrily.

" My goodness ! don't be always quarrelling," groaned the
baroness.

" That is part of our daily life. But what happened after
that?" asked Wilderich indifferently.

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 395

" What happened was that Goldisch retained his composure
till Sylvia began to cry at being reproached by the baron with
ingratitude. That roused Goldisch and he said : ' People don't
call their daughter ungrateful for leaving her home to follow her
husband, even supposing they do not care about the marriage in
itself. In this matter they leave her to please herself, and I don't
see why you should reproach your niece in this way.' My hus-
band answered : ' Without being her father I have treated her
as a daughter.' ' And for that,' Goldisch said, ' she has given
you more happiness than both your daughters, and has been the
life of your house.' '

" What insolence ! " cried out Isidora. " I only hope you
stood up for your daughters, mamma."

" Stood up for them, love ? Why, I couldn't get a word in. I
only kept saying to Sylvia : ' But, love, how shall I get on with-
out you ! You are my right hand. I must give up altogether.' "

" You might have said something besides that, mamma," re-
plied Isidora impatiently. " Goldisch must draw the conclusion
that you want to prevent Sylvia's marriage out of interested
motives."

" Make yourself easy, Isi. I also said to her: ' But consider,
Sylvia, my love, that you are a Catholic, and consequently must
see that Goldisch has got a wife already.' '

" And what did she say to that, mamma?"

" She kissed me and said affectionately : ' Dear aunt, isn't it
very odd that this is the first time in ten years you remind me
of my being a Catholic ? And it doesn't affect us, either, as Gold-
isch is not a Catholic and is consequently free to marry again.'
I replied : ' When married people are separated it is possible that
they may think better of it and go back to each other. But if
one of the parties has married again, that makes an insuperable
obstacle against it ; and yet where there are children it is so very
desirable. Wouldn't you have a scruple to stand between Val-
entine and Goldisch?' 'Oh! of course,' she answered, 'and I
spoke of it at once and before anything else to Goldisch. But he
gave me his word of honor that such a thing would never enter
his mind, and that I was to set my conscience as much at ease on
the point as he had done.' '

" What a fool ! " said Isidora angrily. " Does she not know
that she, too, may be put aside, and that it would be extremely
disagreeable for her to see a third wife in her place ? "

"Sylvia has nothing to fear; she is good and clever," said
Tieffenstein.

396 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

" That's what I think," remarked the baroness. " I should be
very willing to let her have a husband, if it were only not Gold-
isch."

"Would you? Have you ever been so willing before?"
asked VVilderich sharply.

" Oh ! certainly, of course, if only she were not so wonderful-
ly useful to me," said the baroness, with a touch of constraint.

" But, mamma, don't put it like that ; it sounds too selfish,"
exclaimed Isidora impatiently.

" But it's the simple truth," said Wilderich.

" And how did the scene end, mamma ? "

" In this way : Goldisch declared he had no time to waste,
and that his house was quite ready ; that next Monday he would
be marri'ed quite quietly to Sylvia and go off immediately after-
wards, for he was longing for a home life. Sylvia dried up her
tears and agreed to everything. What was to be done ? I
promised to get a suitable bridal and travelling dress, and I must
go at once about it. Will you come with me, Isi ? But it was
dreadful at dinner — the baron in the worst possible temper,
Sylvia not herself, so there was nobody to enliven things. Gold-
isch has never much to say for himself, and yesterday he did not

open his mouth. If General Z had not given us a detailed

account of his warlike feats for the ninety-ninth time there would
have been dreadful pauses as in a convent. Well, then, early
this morning Aurel's telegram came. He knows nothing about
Valentine's concerns or the Spanish duke, and doesn't believe in
him one bit. He will make inquiries and send us all details.
How on earth will it end ? If Valentine would only bestow her
affections upon a fellow-countryman, an honest German ! One
can't get at foreigners."

" Really, mamma, Goldisch is an ' honest German,' but Valen-
tine is so unreasonable and whimsical. She always wants to
have and to be something out of the way. I should like her to
marry this duke, or whatever he is, or she will be taking to an
Iroquois or a native of Kamtchatka."

" Be quiet, you prophetess of evil ! " exclaimed the baroness.
" Where is Dorilda? Send for her, and then put on your things.
We will try to divert our minds by doing a work of charity, and
for that ungrateful Sylvia, too ! We must find her two beautiful,
two exquisite dresses." %

" That shows common sense and kindness," said Wilderich,
laughing.

" In one way you are much too indulgent to Sylvia, mamma,"

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL, 397

said Isidora fretfully. " You don't need to give her any nice
dresses ; let Goldisch do it, as he is so immensely rich. But in
another you are unjust for grudging her her marriage. She
doesn't want to be an old maid, and who can be angry with her
for not wanting it ? At twenty-eight, with waning good looks,
no money, and many disappointments, a Croesus makes her an of-
fer, and she, forsooth, ought to refuse it, in order to write twelve
notes a day for you, do your commissions, look over your ac-
counts, and amuse papa for the rest of her days ! Do be fair to
her. I never admired Sylvia or cared about her as much as all
of you, but I must take her part in this business whilst you are
blaming her, for I think it is a fearfully hard lot to be a com-
panion all one's life."

" What are you saying, Isi? She was a daughter to us."

" Without any prospects which soften a daughter's state of
dependence."

" Nevertheless, Isi, her pitching upon Valentine's husband is
exceedingly unpleasant. Indeed, it is unlawful from a Catholic
point of view."

" Now, mamma, you gave up the Catholic point of view long
ago. Valentine's son will be brought up a Protestant, and so
will Dorilda. You never dreamt of stipulating that your grand-
children should be brought up Catholics, although the Catholic
Church makes it a duty of conscience in mixed marriages. No,
my good mother, you may have had Catholic principles when
you were young, but you have not got them now, still less has
papa. Valentine has nothing of the sort, either ; her point of
view is a distorted kind of sentimentality, mine is rationalistic,
and Edgar's is unrationalistic. As to Aurel, he always had a
weak character and a narrow understanding, and these kind of
people keep their Catholic views. But we have emancipated
ourselves, so you ought not to make them the ground of your
displeasure at Sylvia's step."

"There's nothing equal to a logical head, mamma," said Wil-
derich scornfully. " You and I can really learn a great deal
from Isidora in this particular. She is as clear as a winter's day
and as logical as two and two make four. Come here, Dorilda,
and kiss your grandmamma," he exclaimed as he caught sight of
the little girl coming into the room.

The little creature, with her father's fine features and her mo-
ther's disagreeable expression, was obstinate, as all spoilt children
are. She remained standing in the doorway, and looked about
her defiantly with her dark eyes.

398 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

" How funny it is to see a little shrimp of four years old so
defiant ! " exclaimed Isidora, much amused.

" I never see the beauty of obstinacy," said the baroness,
shaking her head.

" Neither do I," called out Tieffenstein. " Now, then, Doril-
da, one, two, three, and away."

Dorilda stood stock-still and gave a searching yet timid look
at her father, who said again :

" Onwards, march ! " ,

But as Dorilda showed no signs of obeying him he ran up to
her, held her up in the air, and covered her with kisses, exclaim-
ing : " Just wait a bit, you sly little recruit. You shall teach me
manners."

Dorilda resisted the powerful caresses which are so distaste-
ful to children, and set up a howl. Isidora rushed to rescue
her from her father's hands, calling out: "Just look how he is
worrying my child, mamma."

Tieffenstein, who was very tall, held the child high up above
his head, and said between fits of laughing : " My child isn't a bit
frightened. My child likes being in this lofty position."

But Dorilda, who was suspended above her father's head,
fancied her small life endangered and shrieked for help. Isidora
began to cry, and the baroness stopped her ears. All at once
Wilderich set down Dorilda and said very gravely : " Oh ! what
a dreadful scene. One must really take to' one's heels. Good-
by " (this was said to the baroness).

Thereupon he left the room and betook himself to the Jockey
Club to give out Sylvia's engagement as the latest news. But
nobody took much interest in it. She had been so long on the
scenes that she was viewed with general indifference.

" An old maid's turn of fortune doesn't interest me," said one.

"Who can get enthusiastic over a beauty of thirty?" said
another.

" If she would only stay here and give us good dinners ! But
as it is, let her take herself off," remarked a third.

" The worthy nabob has no rivals to fear now," said a fourth.

"Who knows ?" conjectured some one else. "The fairy is
certainly gone off as a young lady, but she may perhaps make a
fine woman."

" She will be rich, at all events," said a sixth, " and that is
more desirable, because it's more lasting."

" May she be happy ! " said Tieffenstein at length.

" Ho, ho ! do you still rave about her? "

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 399

" Of course he does," somebody answered for him. "An old
love never grows rusty, you know."

" When a man has been through what I have, and when he
looks as I do, you may as well talk of his being enthusiastic as of
a donkey playing the flute. I mean you make him painfully
ludicrous. But for the very reason that 1 have done with enthu-
siastic ravings I wish Sylvia von Neheim solid happiness," re-
plied Tieffenstein.

" Hunting will begin at Weldensperg next week, won't it ?"
asked a new-comer, and the conversation turned upon the inte-
resting topic of the number of wild boars in the Weldensperg
forests.

Tieffenstein sat down to a game of chess, but with his mind
full of other things. He thought to himself : " Why was my
future hidden from me ? Why did I not know that a bullet
would make me into a disfigured cripple, cut short my military
career, and alter my position in society ? If I had only known
it beforehand I would have got a civil appointment and have
married Sylvia. She would have made me so comfortable that
I could have done without some luxuries, the more readily es-
pecially now that my bad health shuts me out from society. To
be tied up to Isidora instead of Sylvia is indeed exchanging
Rachel for Lia, as I once said to Xaveria."

He quite overlooked the fact that it was his sad experience
alone which had opened his eyes to his own unworthy behavior.
His companion called out " mate ! " triumphantly, and Tieffen-
stein said with a sorrowful laugh : " Quite right. I am complete-
ly mated, and never am worth anything."

But in that he was mistaken. If neither the world had been
his idol nor he the idol of the world he might perhaps have been
a good man. Thanks, however, to the idol-worship, he was
nothing more than a working officer, and a working officer is by
no means necessarily an honest man.

In the meantime Dorilda was screaming herself hoarse, and
blue in the face. Isidora fetched eau-de-cologne, salts, and eau-
de-melisse, called the nurse down, and was in as great a state as
the child.

" O mamma ! the fright will give her cramp, or convulsions,
or perhaps epilepsy," she cried out.

" Heaven preserve us ! Don't disquiet yourself, that's all.
You are upsetting both yourself and the child by your unneces-
sary anxiety."

400 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

"What! am I not to be anxious over ray only child's suffer-
ing? My heart is not so stony as that."

And Isidora went on with her remedies. They produced no
effect, so that the baroness had recourse to hers and said :
" Would you like a sugar-plum, Dorilda? "

" Yes," exclaimed Dorilda, quieting herself at once.

" Oh ! thank goodness she can speak. I was afraid of her
suffocating," exclaimed Isidora.

" You must be quiet, Dorilda, for if you shriek so you won't
be able to eat sugar-plums," pursued the baroness, producing a
pretty bonbonniere out of her pocket. Dorilda was quite paci-
fied, and with glistening eyes she sprang from Isidora's. lap and
went over to her grandmother. Not a little proud of her sys-
tem of education, the baroness gave her daughter a detailed lec-
ture on the propriety of humoring children in their fits of naugh-
tiness, and adding that sweetmeats were the best means there-
unto.

Then Dorilda and her bonbonniere were handed over to the
nu»se, and mother and daughter drove off to Mile. Gen6reuse,
the fashionable modiste, to look after Sylvia's dresses.

CHAPTER VI.

POISONED SWEETS.

SYLVIA was standing before her large looking-glass. It re-
flected a pretty picture back — that of a tall and graceful bride in
white silk, with wreath of myrtle in the rich, fair hair and a long
lace veil. It was Sylvia herself, and it was in no dissatisfied
mood that she gazed at her own likeness, rendered still more in-
teresting by a slight touch of melancholy.

" Well, miss, you do look lovely — too lovely," said Bertha, en-
raptured. " I really can't tell you how beautiful you are, but I
know it's a real shame that such a lovely bride should have such
a quiet wedding. The whole place and everybody in it should
have a chance of looking at you."

" I have already told you several times, Bertha, that Herr
Goldisch, good and sensible man that he is, has given up all dis-
play out of proper consideration for this house, and that I am
quite of his mind."

" Indeed, he is good ! " exclaimed Bertha, with a revival of
ecstasy. " I certainly owe it to you, miss, but it is wonderfully

1882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 401

good of him to give me the means of marrying after all this
time. It is fearful, miss, to be engaged for eight years without
any chance of marriage at the end, and you and Herr Goldisch
have helped me out of my trouble, for which I shall always be
deeply grateful."

" You deserve it, Bertha, after serving me so well for ten
years."

"Yes, just ten years to-day, miss. On the I3th of October,
1858, you came to this house quite alone in a black merino dress
and crape veil, and on the I3th of October, 1868, you are stand-
ing here as a bride, wearing a dress worth many pounds, and you
will go out into the world as the wife of a rich, kind gentleman,
Herr Goldisch, who will give you a beautiful home. It cures
me of the superstition about the I3th, for if Frau Valentine Gold-
isch is to marry a Spanish duke, as they are saying in the
house, she may be well contented with her lot, too."

" Everything is ready now, Bertha. Give me my gloves and
leave me alone," said Sylvia somewhat shortly, for Bertha's
words called up unpleasant recollections.

She set herself down at her dressing-table and passed the ten
years in review. She remembered how, young and inexperienc-
ed, the sorrows and joys of her father's house had been taken
away from her, and she had been left to the kindness of her
native place, and then how, naturally disposed to piety and good-
ness, her lot had been cast with unsympathetic relatives. The
world had surrounded her, pushed her on, borne her up, petted
and flattered her, and she saw with what difficulty her better
nature, which had been fostered by her early education, had
tried to resist the torrent. It had found support in her innocent
liking for Aurel, who shared her feelings and views, but like a
weak reed this prop had given way, bent and broken by a cur-
rent of worldliness.

She saw the growing influence on herself of circumstances
and surroundings. They had drawn her more and more to out-
ward things, estranged her first from the church and then from,
a practising faith, placed her in a sea of distractions and pleasures,
without settled plan in her life,, or serious occupation, or proper
training of mind, judgment, and character. It had been a per-
petual idleness, disguised by brilliant development of her musical
talent, novel-reading in foreign languages, and, note-writing for
her aunt. She saw how vanity and self-seeking had grown in
proportion as the consciousness that she charmed dawned upon
and flattered her. Thu's had been the state of things at the time

VOL. xxxv. — 26

402 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

of her affair with Wilderich von Tieffenstein. The world petted
them both because they were its slaves, unknown to themselves ;
and when grave questions arose worldliness parted them, and
Sylvia, who wished to love and be beloved, was thrown off as
not possessing that which the world most prizes — money.

Then she saw how two rude deceptions of this nature had
acted upon her heart like a withering night-frost. She might
have become humble and detached herself from the faithless
world, and perhaps this had been the very design of Almighty
God in his mercy. His lovingness was ever mindful of her, and
he had offered her constant opportunities of grace, whilst she
was forgetting him and resisting them. Pride, not humility,
had taken root in her heart ; she had deemed herself deserving of
a better fate, had hated her dependent position without striving
after inward liberty, and had longed to be loved rather for the
sake of inspiring a faithful and enduring love than to love in re-
turn. And she had found the object of her desires — a true love,
but clothed in the garb of sacrifice. She had come across a man
generous enough to love her soul more than anything else in her,
and who, in the strength of his affection, purposed to carry the
powers of the world before him and to triumph over the conflict-
ing elements in Sylvia's heart. It was two years that day since
he had spoken, and now she was going to the altar with another.
And for the sake of this other, whom she did not love, she was
giving up her faith, giving up Vincent, Clarissa, and all who
ever spoke to her of God and strove to win her for eternal
things. Why was this ? The reason of it was that her soul had
become languid and indolent, and earthly-minded in the atmos-
phere of a worldly life, and that she had forgotten, or, worse still,
despised, her heavenly calling. A few heavy tears rolled
down Sylvia's cheeks as she saw all this in her mind's eye. She
longed to accuse herself in confession of the guilty follies of so
many years, and to bear witness to the truth by confessing to
God's Representative, with hearty contrition and firm purpose of
amendment, those offences against his eternal love which were
still on her conscience. She long-ed to hear the words of absolu-

tion spoken over her by God's priest — those heavenly words
which really accomplish all they promise — and then to welcome
the Blessed Sacrament into her purified and contrite heart, so as
to receive all the grace contained in the sacrament of matrimony.
But it was a vain longing. She was on the point of committing
grievous sin. No priest had power to bless her as she stood be-
fore the altar to take a hand which was not free. As the sun is

1 882.]. THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 403

never so beautiful as when about to set, so now she saw the
graces of the sacraments stand out in strongest relief before
they disappeared in her soul's dark night. " It is too late ;
heavenly food is not for me. I have been fed for too long on
poisoned sweets," said Sylvia to herself, breathing on to her
handkerchief and then passing it across her eyes to hide all
traces of tears.

The baroness came into the room. Sylvia hastened up to
her, kissed her affectionately, and promised to be a kind mother
to. Valentine's little boy. The baroness was easily moved. " I
wish from my heart, love, that you may be happier than poor
Tini," she said. " But I could wish still more that you were
marrying a Catholic, who looks upon marriage as indissoluble.
You must understand how much 1 feel this, but I won't reproach
either you or Goldisch."

" I will always be a good daughter to you, dear aunt."

The baron remained perfectly unmoved. Sylvia thanked
him for all his kindness, and, looking as black as a stormy night,
he answered : " That's all very well. I may do what I will for
my children, I have no pleasure in any of them, neither in my
own nor in the adopted one. They are selfish creatures, who
go their own way and don't trouble themselves about their pa-
rents."

" You will soon be reconciled to my way, I feel convinced,
dear little uncle," said Sylvia in her playful tone.

He answered nothing. It cost him too much to lose the slave
who amused him so well.

They drove to a Protestant church where ten years previous-
ly the same clergyman had married Valentine to the same man.
There was a breakfast afterwards, and then came the parting
hour. Everything was got through quickly and without much
display of feeling. There were a great many people at the rail-
way waiting-room, and in the confusion a young man passed
close up to Sylvia, who was sitting beside Goldisch at a window,
looking now into the room, now out on to the platform, and
comparing the scene to the one she had witnessed on her first
arrival at the capital. The young man brushed past a velvet
dress, and turned quickly round to say, " I beg your pardon."
Then he recognized Sylvia, bowed politely, and disappeared in
the seething crowd. Stunned and bewildered as if she had seen
a spectre, Sylvia sat and stared after him. She did not want to
be reminded of the past.

" Wasn't that Herr von Lehrbach ? " asked Herr Goldisch.

404 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

" Yes, it was," replied Sylvia faintly.

The doors were thrown open. Goldisch led Sylvia by the
arm to the train. They got in ; Sylvia was alone in the world
with hi-m and for him. Whilst their train was flying northwards
another was taking- Vincent westwards to his mother ; and soon
afterwards Baron Griinerode and Edgar took the Paris train.

" I have got leave of absence for you," said the baron to his
son after Goldisch and Sylvia had bade farewell. " You are to
come with me at once to Paris. If I succeed in making that
silly creature Valentine listen to reason by removing her bodily
from the scenes, this adventurer, who gives himself out, Aurel
says, as a Spanish duke and a sufferer in the last revolution,
may be troublesome, and you can fight with your fists better
than I."

Edgar preferred travelling on his own hook and with like-
minded comrades to pleasure trips in his father's society. But
knowing how much his aptitude for getting through money
had excited the baron's wrath, he resolved not to give him a
further cause for annoyance, and therefore complied. His mo-
ther burst into tears in wishing him good- by, and kissed him
again and again.

" Don't be so easily touched, mother," said Edgar carelessly.
" We shall be back in a few days with Valentine, the fanciful
creature ! There is nothing to cry about."

"Good heavens! who knows how it will end with you all?
Harry is more delicate than ever, and perhaps you will never
see him again."

" Don't worry yourself needlessly," he exclaimed, throwing
her off impatiently to go after his father.

" We are going to Havre first," the baron said in the train.
" I have just had a telegram telling me that Valentine wanted to
embark there for California."

" What absurd nonsense ! " exclaimed Edgar. And enscon-
cing himself comfortably in a corner of the carriage, he went
fast to sleep.

When they reached Havre the baron at once inquired for
the Charmante Gabrielle. She was already lying at anchor and
on the point of sailing for California, so they hurried to the
harbor.

" First inquire if Valentine is on beard," said Edgar, as the
baron was preparing to get from the boat on to the ship, where
he seemed to be expected.

" So as to give her the chance of escaping us ? " said his fa-

1 882.] THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. 405

ther harshly. " No, I am not going to agree to that. Get up
and let us have a good search/"

The captain received them most politely on deck and took
them down to the cabin. There the baron said with iron calm-
ness to his son: " Now, this merchant vessel is bound for Cali-
fornia, Japan, and Madagascar, not with Valentine on board, but
with you. She returns to Europe in two or three years' time,
so you will be able to unlearn money-spending at your leisure.
All your expenses are paid, and the captain has orders to give
you as much as the sailors earn for your pocket-money, which
is a great deal more than you deserve."

" What atrocious tyranny ! " cried out Edgar, beside himself
with rage.

" In three years' time you will be grateful to me," replied the
baron coldly. " Now farewell ; behave yourself properly and
come back all the wiser for your sail round the world."

He left the cabin, and as Edgar was on the point of rushing
after him two big sailors blocked up the way, barring the door
like iron fixtures. In mute and raging despair Edgar threw
himself on the floor and asked himself whether he had not better
take a leap overboard and thus end his days. But he had no at-
tractions that way, and finally decided in his mind that three
years of wretchedness were preferable to suicide. Hatred of his
father, who had treated him so cruelly and so falsely, was his
predominant feeling.

Gloomy and brooding, the baron returned to Havre and then
to Paris. For whom was he working? Who would inherit the
fruits of his labors? The thought left him no peace, because the
answer which forced itself upon him was this : " For a childless
son, a banished son, and a dying son ; for a daughter who had
made an unhappy marriage, and another who was living on the
world in misery." These were his children ! His whole life had
been directed towards securing them brilliant positions in the
world. Yet what pleasurable anticipation did they give him ?
What joyful hopes might he found upon them ? Not one. In
all probability at his death his name, and fortune, and firm
would fall to pieces ; and this was all he had to show for his life.
What would it profit him to have lived for these things?

There was great joy at Frau von Lehrbach's over Vincent's
return. He had received one of those appointments which only
the best men are entitled to expect, and the honor encouraged
his mother and made her hopeful. She found her son grown to
man's maturity, and was justified in looking to him to take his

406 THE STORY OF A PORTIONLESS GIRL. [June,

father's place to Theobald as an experienced friend and wise
counsellor. Vincent's appointment considerably diminished her
anxiety about her son's prospects, and it vanished, too, of itself
in proportion as her mind regained the equilibrium which her
husband's death had temporarily disturbed.

" Follow in Vincent's footsteps," she would say to Theobald,
who had finished his studies and wished to pursue the same pro-
fession as his brother ; " be like Vincent, have God before your
eyes, and you will be a joy to me."

" You are like your father — good, and strong, and clear-mind-
ed," she would say to Vincent. " You have God before your
eyes. Oh ! remain always as you are now in the midst of the
temptations of the world."

Clarissa's spiritual eye rested tenderly on her mother and
on Vincent, the two beings who engrossed her soul's whole
powers of loving. Hers was a love which had never known a
selfish thought or an earthly desire. " Pray for him, mother
dear, that he may always be the joy of your life," she said ear-
nestly.

" YeS, mother," said Vincent, " the world is rushing on into
the darkness of the powers of evil and into the shadows of death
which spring from its own corruption. But a mountain of light
rises in its midst, and rays of light shine forth from it on
life's dark stone and enlighten every man that honestly wishes
to see. The mountain is the church with her means of grace.
She grows in light and strength, and power and peace, in pro-
portion as the world loses ground and standing-point and be-
comes darker and more miserable. I will be faithful to her and
live for her higher interests, and I will love and forward her di-
vine mission, and so I shall become what you wish to see me. I
feel that a conscientious discharge of my duties is only daily
bread to me ; it does not quench my soul's thirst. I must seek
that which will quench it in a higher sphere, and I thank God
for having shown me the way to it in making me a son of the
church."

A letter was brought in for Clarissa.

" It's from Sylvia," she exclaimed joyfully, and broke it open.
But a sorrowful " oh ! " burst from her lips when she had read
it. Vincent seized hold of it and read aloud :

" My dear, kind Clary, you shall have my first note from my
new home. I only want to tell you that I was married the day
before yesterday, and to ask you not to forget your loving
friend, SYLVIA GOLDISCH."

1 882.] HARD WORDS FROM HOLY LIPS. 407

"That surely cannot be her cousin's husband, can it?" ex-
claimed Frau von Lehrbach.

"Yes, it is. I saw them going off," replied Vincent calmly,
putting the letter back on the table. His struggle was over.

" What a dreadful note ! How short, and cold, and stand-off
it is! It sounds like a farewell for life," exclaimed Clarissa.

" And that's just what it is, and Sylvia wanted it to be so
understood," said Vincent. " She felt that she ought to tell her
friend what has happened, but she meant you to see that she did
not wish for an answer, and what, indeed, could you now have in
common ? "

. "Oh ! how could Sylvia have fallen so low?" sighed Clarissa,
sorrowfully clasping her hands.

" Do you think she is the only one who is blighted in this
way by the withering breath of worldliness ? " asked Vincent.

CONCLUDED.

HARD WORDS FROM HOLY LIPS.

THE TEST SUPREME OF THEIR LISTENERS' FAITH.

" Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood,
have no life in you."— -Jesus.

" This is a hard saying ; who can hear it ? ... How can this man give us his flesh to eat ? "
The Jews.

" From that time many of his disciples went back, and walked no more with him." — St. John.

" He that eateth and drinketh unworthily shall be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord,
. . not discerning the Lord's body." — St. Paul.

FORBID that I partake, O Paul the Roman !

Discerning not the body of the Lord ;
Lest, guilty of his blood, like those of Corinth,

I share the sin thy stern rebuke incurr'd.

Forbid that I desert thee, O my Master !

Like those disciples else to thee so wed,
Thyself as food — that hard, hard word rejecting,

The first to close the lip to Christ, the Bread !

Orate fratres for our Christian kindred,
The separate, yet cherished none the less,

So much of truth, yet not the whole, accepting—
Oh ! pray that they the All of truth embrace.

408 THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS IN GENERAL. [June,

THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS IN GENERAL.

ON the morning of the i8th of March last Mr. Wells, assis-
tant at the Dudley Observatory of Albany, discovered a small
but brilliant and well-formed comet in the northeastern sky. It
was an interesting one at first sight, having a sharp and well-de-
fined nucleus, and — what is quite rare for comets at their first ap-
pearance— a decided (though, it must be confessed, rather stubby)
tail ; but additional interest was soon given to it by a calculation
of its orbit made by Mr. S. C. Chandler, of Cambridge. Accord-
ing to this calculation, the comet was going almost directly to-
ward the sun, and would, on the ist of June, pass the great lumi-
nary at a distance of only five hundred and fifty thousand miles
from its centre. Only five hundred and fifty thousand miles !
Well, the unprofessional hearer of this statement would perhaps
see nothing very exciting in that ; but if he was reminded that it
is more than four hundred thousand miles from the sun's centre
to its surface, and informed that calculations made at so early a
date might well be a hundred thousand or even a million of miles
out of the way in this respect, he would begin to see that there
was some reason to think that this comet might actually strike
the solar orb. And as it seemed to be a pretty good-sized one,
it seemed quite as if the obvious possibility of a vast production
of heat by a large body falling into the sun were beginning to
assume an unexpectedly practical' shape. And whatever views
people might have about the mass of comets in general, or of
this one in particular, the event which seemed to threaten was
not without its interest.

Other computations, however, especially those made later,
showed that the comet was not going so very near the sun after
all; but still it is going to make an uncommonly near approach,
and this, together with its present size and state of development,
makes it promise to take a fair rank among the naked-eye comets
of this century.

The last twenty-five years have been quite fruitful in comets.
The great one of Donati in 1858 had in 1861 an even more phe-
nomenal rival, which suddenly burst into the northern heavens
early in July with a tail of the enormous length of one hundred
degrees. The comet itself was in the northwest, and was plainly
visible in bright twilight on the first day that it was seen here ;

1 882.] THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS IN GENERAL. 409

and as darkness came on its -prodigious appendage was seen
stretching overhead nearly .to the eastern horizon. It came
quite unheralded, and seemed as if it might be rapidly approach-
ing the earth; during the next day there was perhaps some
cause for apprehension. But that night what fears might have
existed were removed. The comet was then fainter, and thence-
forth waned quite rapidly. Its sudden appearance was after-
ward explained by its having come from the southern celestial
hemisphere, and in such a way that at night it was hid from our
view by the earth, very much like the great one of last summer.
It is probable that we passed through the tail before we saw it.

Then there was a fairly good comet in 1862, giving, with its
predecessor, some color to the old belief in the connection of
comets with wars. The great German and French wars of 1866
and 1870, however, failed to elicit anything remarkable in this
line ; there was a break till 1874, when Coggia's comet shone for
a few days low in the western sky. Then there was a great one
in 1880, though we did not see it, it being too far south ; and
lastly the great one of June, 1881, and the (comparatively) small
one of August of the same year.

These make a very fair showing. In the previous quarter of
a century there had been only two fine ones ; the first was the
celebrated one of Halley, returning on schedule time in 1835, tne
second the still more remarkable one of 1843, supposed to be
the same as that of 1880.

But it must not be supposed that the comets which we have
named are all that have visited our system in the last fifty years.
On the contrary, about four are observed every year on the ave-
rage, and probably some others which come within our range
escape detection. Not very many, though, in the present state
of things, at least in our northern skies ; for comet-seeking is
now, and has been for a good while, a regular branch of astro-
nomical business, pursued by many amateurs, and also having a
detail assigned for it at some public observatories. It is not a
very glorious or remarkable achievement to discover a comet ;
it requires no great professional skill, but principally good eyes,
time, and patience. It is like fishing in very poor waters. The
comet-seeker goes to work with his telescope as an enthusiast for
the gentle sport would with his trolling-line ; he sweeps care-
fully with it over the heavens, and when he sees anything that
looks like a comet he stops, unless he has caught, or more pro-
perly been caught by, the same fish before. For there are false
comets in the sky ; that is to say, what are called nebulae— more

410 THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS IN GENERAL. [June,

or less faint, fuzzy objects, in themselves much grander things
than comets, being immense systems or worlds, some, perhaps, in
course of formation, but usually well known to have been for
years just where the cometary sportsman finds them, and there-
fore not contributing to his renown. If he is an old hand at the
business he knows these imitations of his proper game ; if he
does not remember them he refers to his map of the heavens.
If the object is a pretty bright one, and not down on his map as
a nebula, he feels sure that he has captured his prey ; but the
only absolute test is to see if it moves. To assure himself on this
point he puts a more regularly mounted telescope than the one
he has been using on it, placing his supposed comet just where
the wires cross in the field ; and then, applying the clockwork
which makes the telescope follow the stars in their diurnal (or,
more correctly, nocturnal) course, he perhaps goes below and re-
freshes the inner man with food or some draught that will not
unsteady his nerves. After a quarter of an hour or so he comes
up ; if the clock has been going correctly the stars in the field
will not have budged from their places, but the comet — if comet
it be — will probably have moved perceptibly off the junction of
the wires.

This, at least, is the most comfortable way of " starting " a
comet (or a planet also ; for the hunt for new asteroids is con-
ducted in a similar manner ; only, these little planets being in-
distinguishable from fixed stars except by their motion, a chart
of the heavens has to be continually referred to during the
sweeping process, making it slower and more laborious). But if
one is too eager for work to relinquish it even for a few minutes
a measurement may be made of the relative position of the
supposed comet and some neighboring star ; the same measure-
ments repeated after a short interval will show the motion, if it
exists, by the change in their results.

This measurement of the relative position of a comet and
some fixed star determines the place of the comet in the hea-
vens ; for the place of the fixed star, its latitude and longitude on
the celestial parallels and meridians, can be easily ascertained
subsequently by other instruments, if it is not already given in
some catalogue. The measurements are made so as to determine
the difference of longitude and latitude between the comet and
the star ; then, those of the star being known, those of the comet
become known also. This ascertained longitude and latitude of
the comet on the celestial sphere, which are technically called its
right ascension and declination — latitude and longitude in the sky

i882.] THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS nv GENERAL. 411

having- a somewhat different meaning — together with the time
at which they were obtained, constitute what is called a com-
plete observation of its position ; and three of these are theoreti-
cally sufficient for the complete determination of its orbit. Let
us look into this matter a little.

It follows from the law of gravitation that the orbit or path
round the sun of any body, whether belonging properly to the
planetary system or coming to it from outside, must be one of
what are called the conic sections — namely, the ellipse, parabola,
and hyperbola. The ellipse is the only one of these curves which
returns into itself, so that all bodies properly belonging to the so-
lar system move in ellipses; while those coming from outside
and merely taking one turn round the sun move in parabolas or
hyperbolas. Some comets belong to our system permanently
and move in ellipses ; but the great majority of them seem to
follow a parabolic course, well marked and indubitable hyper-
bolas being extremely rare. It is, therefore, always assumed, on
first observing a new comet, that it moves in a parabola ; and
thus the shape of its orbit is known — or supposed to be known —
to begin with, for all parabolas have the same shape, differing
only in their scale. The most convenient and natural line to de-
termine the scale of a parabolic orbit by is its distance from the
sun at its nearest point. Besides this, however, we have to know
what plane the orbit lies in ; for it has a definite plane, all the conic
sections being plane curves, so that they can be correctly repre-
sented on a flat surface. To fix this plane all that is necessary is
to know the angle which it makes with the plane of the earth's
orbit, and the position in the earth's orbit of the line of intersec-
tion of the two planes. Then we must also know how the comet's
orbit lies in its own plane ; that is to say, whether its line of near-
est distance to the sun lies at the intersection of the two planes, or,
if not, what angle it makes with the line of intersection. Lastly,
to know the comet's movement perfectly we must know when it
passes the point of nearest distance to the sun ; this known, we
have the angle which the line connecting it with the sun at any
time makes with the line of nearest distance by a simple algebraic
equatfon. These five quantities — viz., the length of the line of
nearest distance to the sun, or of perihelion distance, as it is call-
ed ; the inclination of the plane to that of the earth's orbit ; the
position in the earth's orbit of the line of intersection of the two
planes ; the angle made by the perihelion line with this ; and the
time of perihelion passage — these are what are called the ele-
ments of the orbit. They give, as will be evident on a little reflec-

412 THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS IN GENERAL. [June,

tion, the precise position of the comet in space at any time ; and
they are, as we have said, theoretically deducible from the six
quantities, three right ascensions and three declinations, obtained
from the three observations.

In fact, these three observations give more than enough
material for determining the orbit ; they suffice even where the
sixth element — that is, the shape of the orbit — is unknown. Still,
if the orbit is really parabolic and the observations correct, the
orbit obtained on the parabolic hypothesis will undoubtedly
satisfy the observations. If it fails to do so it is a sign that the
true path is elliptic or hyperbolic, probably the former. If this
becomes strongly probable — that is to say, if the discrepancy is
more than can be attributed to errors of observation — some one
undertakes the more troublesome task of computing elements un-
assisted by any assumption.

Another circumstance besides this failure of a parabola to re-
present the observations may give rise to suspicion of ellipticity
in the orbit. Suppose that on computing the parabolic elements
of a comet supposed to be new they seem to resemble strongly
those of some previous one ; it at once becomes more or less like-
ly that the two are identical, for it is not very probable that two
casual visitors to our system would follow precisely the same
path. Sometimes the ground of our belief that a comet moves in
an elliptic orbit, and will therefore return periodically, is based
principally on this consideration ; for when the ellipse is very
long compared with its width it is very hard to tell any differ-
ence between it and a parabola, in the part which comes within
the range of our observation. This is the case, for instance,
with the comet of 1880, supposed to be the same as that of 1843.

The great majority of comets, however, as has been said,
move in parabolas, as far as we can judge ; therefore, of course,
their appearance is, as a rule, unexpected by astronomers as well
as by other people, there being no ground on which a prediction
could be based. Astronomers, however, generally see them first,
and are therefore able, as in the case of the present one, to give
some information to the world at large about the movements and
the future of the greater ones before they become visible to the
naked eye, and also post themselves in advance thoroughly
about many others of which the world hears little or nothing.

So generally is it the case that comets come unexpectedly
that there is but one which is at all conspicuous whose return
can be definitely announced before it is seen. This is the cele-
brated comet of Halley, next due in 1910. So if you see or hear

1 88 2.] THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS IN GENERAL. 413

of a great comet coming do not ask, " Was it expected ? "
No, of course not. Some "people saw it before you, that is all.
But it must not be supposed that their course is at all erratic or
untraceable ; on the contrary, they move under the same laws
which determine the planetary movements, though their wide
departure from circular motion and the usually great inclination
of their planes to those of the great planets make their disturb-
ances by these planets hard to calculate. Also, they not being,
like the planets, permanently in view, we have not the time dur-
ing the short season of their appearance to determine their ele-
ments with the immense precision which would be necessary in
order to calculate as exactly as we could wish the disturbing
actions of other bodies on them in the time when they are be-
yond our ken. But let us have the chance to observe them that
we have on the planets, and their supposed " erratic " character
would vanish ; Jupiter itself would be somewhat " erratic" yet,
if it could only be seen for a few days in its period of twelve
years.

To show how accurate the knowledge of cometary move-
ments is we need only refer to that of Halley, just named. At
its last return, after an absence of seventy-six years, it passed its
perihelion within four days of the time predicted by one of its
calculators before it hove in sight. Next time it will probably
be hit even nearer. And Halley's comet is no more regular
than others.

Of course those which move in real parabolas or hyperbolas
or enormously elongated ellipses may become in a sense decid-
edly erratic by running foul of some other fixed star besides our
sun, and taking a turn round it ; or at least by experiencing dis-
turbances from the fixed stars which we have no means to calcu-
late. But in all this there is nothing to show that they diverge
a hair's-breadth from the positions which they would occupy
under the strict application of the Newtonian law. Comets, in-
stead of being an exception to this law, are a most splendid con-
firmation of it.

We have said that there is only one great comet that is
known to return periodically. There are, however, a good many
small ones which do so, and the number is rapidly increasing.
Some of them have been observed through quite a number of
returns, and they come up to time quite as regularly as the plan-
ets, circumstances considered. If, however, their orbits happen
to 'pass near those of one of the £reater Planets» Jupiter espe-
cially/they are subject to considerable disturbance and change, if

414 THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS IN GENERAL. [June,

the planet and comet should chance to come at the same time
into that region of close approach of their paths. A remarka-
ble instance occurred of this in the case of Lexell's comet, so-
called, as is usual with periodic comets, not after the first man
who saw it, but after the discoverer of its periodicity.

This comet was discovered by Messier on June 14. On July
I it came within about one and a half .millions of miles from the
earth (quite a close shave in planetary space), and, though not in
itself a very large object of its class, covered with its round head
twenty times as much space on the sky as is occupied by our
moon. This astonishing phenomenon, however, was accompa-
nied by an even more astonishing result of calculation, an-
nounced by Lexell. He found that the comet was revolving in
an elliptic orbit requiring only about five and a half years for
its complete circuit. The remarkable feature of this result, of
course, was that if the comet really moved in such a path, and
was repeatedly approaching so near the earth's orbit, it ought to
have been seen before. But however that might be accounted
for, the calculations proved beyond cavil and had to be accept-
ed ; the practical thing was to look out for it on its next return,
and thus make up, as far as possible, for past neglect. Or
rather, we should say, on its next return but one ; for the next
time it could hardly be expected to be seen, since the earth
would then be on the opposite side of its orbit, and thus the
comet would be too far away from us to be easily detected. At
the expected time, however, it did not make its appearance,
which seemed quite unaccountable for some time, till Lexell, by
a complete study of its movements, found that in 1767, three
years before it was first seen, it had passed very near to the
planet Jupiter, and that the influence of this planet had changed
its orbit from whatever it might have been before, bringing it
down to the five-and-a-half-year ellipse in which it was moving
in 1770; this sufficiently accounted for its never being seen be-
fore that time. And he also found, what was still more remark-
able, that twelve years later, in 1779, after two revolutions of the
comet and one of Jupiter round the sun, it had again run foul of
that great planet in about the same place, and then experienced
its attraction in a contrary way so as to throw it out of its short-
period ellipse into some path in which it was no longer observa-
ble. But it was impossible to tell this new orbit exactly, owing
to the want of the very precise knowledge of its temporary path
which would be necessary for such a purpose. A comet, how-
ever, appeared only last year, which was moving in a somewhat

1 882.] THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS IN GENERAL. 415

similar line in space to that which Lexell's had at the time of its
visibility ; and it is not impossible that it may have been this
old friend again, perhaps once more brought within our reach by
the help of the planetary giant which had before twice so vio-
lently disturbed its movements. Evidently it can never shake
itself quite free of Jupiter without the aid of some other planet,
except by being thrown entirely out of our system on a
parabolic or hyperbolic orbit ; for on whatever ellipse it could
leave Jupiter's path, it would, under the influence of the sun
alone, come back to the neighborhood of that path again.

Other apparently periodic comets which have not returned
have probably met with similar disasters. Such may have been
the fate of the great comet of 1556, which was expected to return
in 1860, if it be identical, as seems somewhat likely, with those of
975 and 1264; though the orbit calculated for it does not bring it
into close proximity with any of the known great planets.

So much, then, for the movements of comets. But what is a
comet itself ? This, unfortunately, is a question which we are not
able as yet to answer, and probably shall not be for some time,
unless we have the good or bad fortune, as the case may be, to
make the acquaintance of some one of them at much closer quar-
ters than 'we did even with Lexell's above spoken of. We may
consider it as certain that they have some mass or weight, since
they follow the law of gravitation ; but it is probable that this
mass is, at least for the great majority of them, very slight.
They have never been known by their attractive influence to dis-
turb the planets perceptibly, though, as has been seen, them-
selves experiencing great perturbations from them. And some
have allowed stars to be seen through what would seem their
very densest parts. At the same time it would be a hasty as-
sumption to conclude that there never was or will be a comet
possessed of considerable mass. Some of them, like the present
one, have had from the outset an apparently compact nucleus of
very respectable dimensions, say several hundred miles in diame-
ter ; and there is no conclusive £ priori reason why such masses
should not be found travelling in eccentric orbits as well as in
nearly circular ones. In fact, the paths of some of the asteroids,
generally conceded to be solid and pretty weighty bodies, are
quite cometic in their character.

There seems to be a similarity between comets and meteors ;
some comets travel in the paths round the sun followed by cer-
tain meteor streams. And though most meteors are insignifi-
cant in bulk and weight, some are not. We have really no se-

416 THE NEW COMET, AND COMETS IN GENERAL. [June,

curity that there may be meteors, not merely of a ton or so in
weight, like some which have fallen on the earth, but of much
greater size. A planet is after all nothing but a large meteor,
moving in a nearly circular orbit ; a meteor is nothing but a
small planet in an eccentric one. Comets may very well be a
cross between the two.

But why they develop tails, and what the nature of the tail
is, is yet a mystery. We prefer to hazard no guess on the sub-
ject till the observations and investigations for which the fre-
quency of modern comets decorated with these appendages has
given opportunity have led to some more definite result than at
present. The tail is pretty certainly produced by action of some
kind from the sun, seemingly of a repulsive character, as the tail
is regularly turned away from the sun, following the comet in
its approach to that body and preceding it in its retreat. The
matter of a comet is apparently of some -peculiar character, since
planets do not have tails, unless the aurora can be considered
such for the earth. There may perhaps be some connection be-
tween the two phenomena, but it can hardly be considered as
strongly indicated.

But our article is getting unduly long, and we must return
from the subject of comets in general to that of the present one
in particular. Its orbit, though not determined as yet with all
desirable accuracy, is well enough known to give us a sufficient
idea for ordinary purposes of its future course and brilliancy.
It will probably become faintly visible to the naked eye about
the middle of May, but its lustre will be dimmed in the evening
by the advancing moon. It will then be in the northern heavens
under the pole-star, rather more than one-third of the way down
to the horizon. When the moon has well passed the full the comet
will probably be easily seen, considerably nearer the sun, and
will increase quite rapidly in brightness till its head disappears
in the solar rays, though its tail may (or may not) be quite con-
spicuous. As it passes its nearest point to the sun, or perihelion,
on the loth of June, it will probably swing what tail it may have
round into the southern hemisphere of the heavens, and be en-
tirely lost to our view for a day or two before and after that
date. By the I5th, however, it will have well emerged on the
other side, with the tail running up to the south, and will move
through the heavens away from the sun, now pursuing a course
among the stars about at right angles to its previous one. But
now again the new moon will come in to interfere with it, and
by the time that has gone from the evening sky the comet will

1 882.] IRISH " OUTRAGES-" IN THE OLDEN TIME. 417

probably be no longer an interesting object to ordinary obser-
vers.

In its brilliancy it may fall short of, or perhaps exceed, the
expectations now entertained of it ; the brilliancy has to be cal-
culated on a merely theoretical rule, strictly applicable only to
bodies with an ordinary reflecting surface and shining by re-
flected light from the sun. On this rule the comet will have at
perihelion a lustre more than five hundred times as great as at
present (April 24). But at that point probably no human eye
will see it, owing to the vastly superior splendor of the sun it-
self. The most untoward feature of its path in space is the per-
sistency with which it keeps at long range from our planet, from
which it will remain at about the same distance as at present
till it recedes permanently into space.

We can only hope that it will make as good a show as possi-
ble under the somewhat unfortunate circumstances of moonlight,
sunlight, and relative position to ourselves which accompany its
appearance, and (what is perhaps more important) that it may
help to throw some light on the doubtful questions concerning
the as yet unknown physical constitution of these frequent but
still in some respects mysterious celestial visitants.

IRISH " OUTRAGES " IN THE OLDEN TIME.

WHEN on Queen Elizabeth's death, at Richmond, it became
known that her successor was to be James of Scotland,, the peo-
ple of Ireland never doubted that the son of the martyred and
Catholic queen would look with lenity, at least, on the faith
which had comforted the last moments of his mother. The ef-
forts of O'Donnell and O'Neill against English dominion during
the closing years of Elizabeth's reign had ended in defeat, and.
both the victors and the defeated seemed to acquiesce in a peace
which one side was too weakened to seek to disturb and the
other was too well satisfied with to seek to break.

Elizabeth expired on the 24th of March,. 1603, and the official
notification of her death was borne shortly after to Dublin by
one Sir Henry Davers, despatched upon this mission by Cecil
and the other members of the English Privy Council. Davers
struggled with ill-made roads and contrary winds as best he
could, and at last reached Dublin in safety on the 5th of April, to
learn, however, that the astute lord-deputy, Mountjoy, had. had

VOL. xxxv.— 27

4i 8 IRISH "OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TIME. [June,

for a week full knowledge of the queen's decease, having receiv-
ed the news through another and a secret messenger. Immedi-
ately, however, upon Davers' arrival proclamation was made,
with the usual formalities, of the accession of James, the sixth of
that name, of Scotland, to the thrones of England, Scotland,
France, and Ireland. Now, the Catholics of Ireland, knowing as
yet little of the real character of James Stuart, felt no doubt of
his desire to see justice observed in any contention which might
arise between them and the Anglican governors of their native
land. They were ill-fitted to engage in new warring ; a long
struggle, waged in Mountjoy's and Carew's peculiar fashions,
had decimated their ranks and impoverished the country. The
lord-deputy, believing order to be thoroughly re-established
and the recent rebellion entirely crushed, was already preparing
to return to England when the first rumors of a new display of
disaffection reached Dublin Castle. But this fresh effort on the
part of the Catholics differed in many ways from most of the
previous uprisings. It could not be said to partake of the na-
ture of a national effort to throw off the English yoke nor did
it display the ordinary symptoms of disloyalty. Indeed, little
of actual disloyalty or disaffection can be discerned in it, and lit-
tle evidence produced to show that the Catholics whose revolt
retarded Mountjoy's departure were seeking aught but the right
to practise their religion untrammelled by penal laws or disabil-
ities. Of course in the writings of Mountjoy and his fellows all
who sought to change existing laws or to ameliorate the condi-
tion of "the papists " were broadly designated as " rebels "; but
the citizens of the southern cities had no real claim to the title
of rebel, and the chief point of interest in the narrative we have
to go over lies in the palpable fact that their effort was the first
made by the Catholics of Ireland, as Catholics, to regain some
part of their ante-Reformation rank and place. It shows, too,
that the men who, like Mountjoy, held the reins of power had no
desire to win to the cause of King James by conciliation those
who were not indisposed to be loyal, unless, indeed, they accepted
Protestantism as well as the oath of allegiance. It shows very
clearly that good dispositions towards English rule, fealty and
loyalty towards the English king, were all ranked as of small ac-
count in comparison with refusal to apostatize. At the same
time it is not to be forgotten that Spain had old scores to settle
with England, and that Spanish swords and Spanish gold were
not utter strangers in Ireland.

Probably one of the most valuable helps future historians of

1 882.] IRISH "OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TIME. 419

the past relations of the English and Irish peoples will have is
to be found in the " Calendars of State Papers " relating to the
two countries, which are now being- published under govern-
mental inspection. These " Calendars " show us how the master-
spirits of the past thought and wrote on many matters of politi-
cal interest, and they bring before us the rumors, the stories of
hopes and fears, which were transmitted to them and impelled
them to action. It is in the volumes of the series referred to
containing the summary of the State Papers from 1603 to 1608
that we hope to see the feelings with which King James' lord-
deputy and his subordinates viewed Catholics and Catholicity.
When Mountjoy thought of seeking repose from his labors in
England he transferred Sir George Carew from the presidency
of Munster to represent him in Dublin, and caused two commis-
sioners, Sir Charles Wilmot and Sir George Thornton, to be
temporarily and jointly appointed to his place. It was from
these commissioners that the first intimation reached the Castle
of the disaffection of the Munster cities, and it was the intelli-
gence by them transmitted which caused the viceroy to defer his
departure for England and to turn back to the seemingly end-
less work of " pacification." The story they had to tell was
briefly as follows : Carew, before leaving Cork, had given them
directions to see to the rapid completion and armament of a cer-
tain fortification intended to protect and control that city. With
a view to carrying out these instructions they sent orders to
one Captain Slingsbie, who, with his company of foot, had been
for some time stationed in the remote and then desolate wes-
tern portion of the county, to move with his men forthwith
to Cork. Now, the leaders of the citizens, who had throughout
objected to the erection of the fort, strongly resented the billet-
ing upon them of soldiers for the purpose of overawing them,
and they saw that if ever effort was to be made for the winning
of their rights, that effort could no longer be deferred. The
men of Kilkenny and Waterford, as they learned, were ready to
do what they might to sustain the old faith. They had eloquent
priests who encouraged them, and they had with them stout-
hearted William Meade, their recorder, with bold Philip Gould
and Lieutenant Murrough, the two latter of whom had seen ser-
vice on the Continent in the days of the League and Seize.
They took to the walls, therefore, and kept what watch they
might for the coming of the soldiers. Merchants left their
wares and manufacturers their workshops to find a place in the
ranks. " John Nicholas, the brewer," was a cannoneer and no

420 IRISH "OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TlME. [June,

mean marksman, and " John Clarke, the tanner from Mallow,"
was dexterous at mounting the big guns, which none else there
knew how to do; but — and it is worth remembering — both of
these were Englishmen.* The citizens had likewise repossessed
themselves of their old churches, and many a pious prayer of
thanksgiving was therein uttered. Once again the loud Te
Deums rose to heaven, the choirs chanted the half-forgotten
words of the service, and again the people of the old city wor-
shipped their Saviour in the temples their pious forefathers had
raised to his glory. They had no disloyalty to King James in
their hearts ; many of them were men of English birth ; the
majority had English blood in their veins. As they said them-
selves, " Their public prayers gave public testimony of their
faithful hearts to the king's royal majesty," but they felt them-
selves bound to " be no less careful to manifest their duties to
Almighty God, in which they would never be dissembling
temporizers."

Slingsbie's company of infantry approached the city with beat
of drum and colors flying, but they found the gates closed
against them. No effort, however, appears to have been made
to prevent them from crossing the walls or getting into the city
by any means they counted best ; but when they stood within the
ramparts, and one Captain George Flower came to the mayor
demanding billets for the wearied soldiers, by virtue of a warrant
to that effect signed by Wilmot and Thornton, he was told that
the civic ruler doubted the right of any commissioners to issue
such commands to him, and, furthermore, that never had such
document been presented to any of his predecessors. Flower
hereupon reminded him that President Carew had before this
issued such, but the mayorr truly enough, retorted that aught
that Sir George Carew had done was no lawful precedent, be-
cause never before had Munster had so arbitrary a governor.
Recorder Meade stood by the mayor throughout the interview,
and by legal and apt citation supported his worship's defence of
the municipal immunities. Flower, seeing that he could make no
way with the mayor and his colleagues, withdrew to the commis-
sioners, who at once prepared to indite and transmit to Dublin
the despatch which retarded Mountjoy's departure. Slingsbie
and his troopers seem to have taken up their quarters for the
night in one of the churches — a circumstance not likely to raise
them in favor with the religious- minded citizens — and next day
to have moved outside the walls.

* Lord Cork, quoted in Smith's History of Cork, vol. ii. p. 95,

1 882.] IRISH "OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TIME. 421

Meade clearly appears to have been the prime instigator of
the civil war which followed upon the withdrawal of the soldiers,
and to have by his zeal and his fiery words overmastered the
mayor and in most things won the least thoughtful class of the
citizens to his way of thinking. That he was involved in Span-
ish intrigues and that his conduct in Cork was not quite sponta-
neous seem beyond doubt ; for at a later date, when he escaped
from the clutches of Mountjoy, he became an avowed Spanish
pensionary and remained so until, some years afterwards, he died
at Naples.* Never were people more cruelly wronged than the
unfortunate Catholic inhabitants of Ireland, not merely those of
Gaelic race, but the Anglo-Normans and those of English birth
or descent. Anglo-Norman and English still possessed a fair
share of wealth and rank, and carried on commerce; they were
still permitted to practise at the learned professions; they still
held municipal place and governed their cities ; but the public
following of the dictates of their conscience was forbidden, their
priests were banned and hunted, imprisoned and martyred, the
churches which their pious forefathers had raised were dese-
crated and perverted from their original purposes. They saw
the funds which had been granted and bequeathed to the reli-
gious now in the hands of men far worse than the "unredeemed
scoundrels " who Dr. Littledale tells us grasped church land and
place in England. Think how the Catholics of Ireland must
have felt when they found their cathedrals in possession of men
whom Chief-Justice Saxey, himself a Protestant, described as —

" Not after the order of Aaron, bearing on their breast Urim and Thum-
mim, but as the priests of Jeroboam, taken out of the basest of the people,
more fit to sacrifice to a calf than to intermeddle with the religion of God.
The chiefest of them (Miler Magragh), an Irishman, sometime a friar, is
Archbishop of Cashel, Bishop of Waterford and Lismore, and Bishop of

Kelly.t

"Another, late deceased (Nicholas Keenan), a poor singing man, void
of the knowledge of his grammar rules, advanced to the bishopric of Kerry,
who hath now a successor (John Crosby) of like insufficiency.

"Another (William Lyon) preferred to three bishoprics, Cork, Cloyne,
and Ross, which he now holdeth, a man utterly unlearned." \

Again, Sir Arthur Chichester writes the Earl of Salisbury that —

"To be plain, it is the clergy itself that hath marred the people and un-
done the kingdom. There must be a reformation of the clergy." §

* Smith's History, vol. ii. p. 90.

t Killala is probably meant, but the word is as above in the original.

I Calendar of State Papers, Ireland, 1603-6, p. 220. § Ibid. p. 510.

422 IRISH" OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TIME. [June,

The so-called bishops alienated the olden church lands in ex-
change for prompt money payments ; careless of the duties they
had usurped and careful only of securing benefices for them-
selves, unlearned in polite science and totally unversed in the
language of the natives, looking upon their dioceses as so many
sponges from which, by simony and other crimes, to wring as
much money as possible, they were examples of all that men in
such station should not be. The lower Protestant clergy, who
were grossly ignorant, totally unable to communicate with the
people, and often men of dissolute and evil lives, speedily be-
came objects of abhorrence to those who saw themselves handed
over to the spiritual care of such wolves in sheep's clothing.
Yet the manner in which the unfortunate Catholic people of
Ireland were incited by the emissaries of Spain to pit themselves
against the soldiers of England, while only very meagre supplies
of either Spanish steel or gold ever reached Ireland, is a re-
proach to the statecraft of Spain.

The citizens, incited by Meade, seized the government stores
in the city, while the unfortunate commissary or storekeeper fell
a victim to popular indignation. The munitions of war and food
supplies for the soldiers in the fort at Hawlboline, as well as for
those engaged in the completion of the new work close to the city
walls, had been stored within the ramparts in an old semi-disman-
tled fortalice known as Skiddy's Castle. Meade was determined
that the troops should not continue to receive their usual sup-
plies, and spared no effort to induce the mayor to lead the citi-
zens in an assault upon the depot. It seems that the news of the
disaffection of the citizens had brought within the walls consider-
able numbers of the native Irish — men who had passed through
a severe training in warfare of the guerrilla kind, and who pos-
sessed to the fullest extent the mingled faults and virtues of sol-
diers of their class. Brave to rashness and devoted unto death
to any trusted leader, but nevertheless turbulent and unruly, was
the help which came from the hills and woods of Munster to the
merchants of Cork. It appears that a crowd had surrounded
Skiddy's Castle when the mayor and recorder arrived upon the
scene. His worship, cautiously doubtful, hesitated about per-
mitting any attack upon the storehouse ; but Meade, mounting
the steps leading to the entrance, swore a mighty oath that un-
less he cast away his timidity and took possession of the ammu-
nition he — Meade — for one, would leave the city for ever. The
favorite with the populace, Meade's bold words roused the en-
thusiasm of the crowd to an uncontrollable height. When Lieu-

i882.] IRISH "OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TIME, 423

tenant Murrough and one Thomas Fagan pulled their head-
pieces lower down on their brows, and, drawing their swords,
led the way to the assault, the time-worn defences soon gave
way. Emboldened by this success, of little account though it
was, the citizens or their henchmen determined to attack the
newly- erected fort outside the city. Assembled the day be-
fore that fixed for the attack, the mayor, in a speech probably
inspired by Meade, told the people that before the lapse of forty
hours all Ireland would be in arms and English sway within the
island at an end. The citizens, led by Murrough, assaulted
the fort, put to the sword those soldiers who attempted defence,
and dismantled and destroyed all that it had cost Wilmot and
Slingsbie so much pains to perfect. Murrough had old scores to
settle with the English, for his brother had been executed for a
share in the defence of Kinsale when Juan de Aguila held it for
Philip of Spain, and it may therefore be thought that he hardly
erred on the side of mercy. Naturally exultant at their speedy
and easy successes, the citizens became more courageous in the
public practice of their religion, and the historian tells us how
they resumed possession of their ancient churches and restored
the " old popish pictures," and, worst of crimes, " buried the
dead with the Romish ceremonies."* Sir Charles Wilmot
seems to have now entered into some sort of negotiation with
the mayor, the result of which was that Wilmot agreed to
withdraw his soldiers from their encampment near the city
to Youghal.

Wilmot wrote Carew on the 7th of May, 1603, that —

" The villians have given 20 canonades against Shandon, where Lady
Carew lieth, which, thank God, done her no harm ; as many more have
passed clean through the Bishop's Court, where Sr. George and he do
lie. All this could not daunt her Ladyship, neither could they get her to
remove any other where for her safety out of her high disdain against the
Mayor of Cork."t

Wexford, Kilkenny, Waterford, and Limerick had been, in the
words of Mountjoy, guilty of " like insolency " with Cork, and
their citizens had ventured to " set up the Mass " and had dared
to harbor Jesuits, friars, and other like " firebrands of sedition,"
but they lacked the courage needful for the worthy continuance
of the contest they had engaged in. The real truth seems to be
that the leading Catholics in these places were desirous to secure
the free exercise of their religion, but had no wish to cast

* Smith, vol. ii. p. 96. f Calendar of State Papers, Ireland, 1603-6, p. 48.

424 IRISH " OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TIME. [June,

off the English rule. Descendants of men who had won at the
sword-point foothold on Irish soil, their very ramparts, erected
as bulwarks against the natives, seemed a solid remonstrance
against their present opposition to the English deputy. When
the leading citizens of these towns first ventured to assert their
right to worship as their fathers had done, they never thought
of allowing their movement to become one of a political nature,
and they naturally felt strongly the awkwardness of their posi-
tion when they found themselves overborne by the Irish ele-
ment and their effort being rapidly metamorphosed into one for
national independence. To use a modern word, their " plat-
form " was, looked at in one aspect, too narrow. Their action
had been unwisely premature; they had given all who were in-
terested in the plunder of the property of the church partial
excuse to blend under the one cognomen of "rebels " Catholics
and Irishmen ; and they gave their foes seeming justification for
the many hard things they were certain to utter to the new-
made monarch about his papist subjects. That, however, the
time did not seem altogether inopportune for a nationalist rising
is unquestionable, because we know that, when -the cities had re-
volted, after infinite pains and labor Mountjoy could only bring
together some five thousand men ; that for this small array he
could hardly find food or ammunition ; and that he lived in per-
petual fear of the landing of the Spaniards, for, he declared, if
that happened " God knoweth what will become of us, but we
will sell our lives dearly." *

The want of persistence which was apparent in the burgh-
ers and gentlemen of Anglo-Norman race must not be ascribed
to weakness or to pusillanimity. It must be remembered that
loyalty, one of the greatest of feudal virtues, was held in high
esteem among them. However much the national feeling may
have taken hold of all the elements in Ireland in our day, two
centuries and a half ago the Anglo-Normans within the Pale still
felt themselves bound in honor to support the dominion their
warlike ancestors had entered Ireland to establish. In a certain
sense they still regarded themselves as an invading army en-
camped among " the Irish enemy." And this feeling, in spite of
occasional alliances with the Gaelic Irish for the sake of religion,
undoubtedly continued, within the Pale, down to the final defeat
of James II. 's army at Limerick. But however we may account
for their conduct, there is no doubt that the appearance of the
pennons of Mountjoy 's forces was in each instance the signal for

* Calendar of State Papers, Ireland, 1603-6, p. 36.

1 882.] IRISH "OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TIME. 425

attempts at negotiation, and eventually for unconditional surren-
der. One Humphrey May,- who acted as gentleman usher to
Mountjoy, writes to Cecil, the English Secretary of State, that
the Earl of Ormond brought the chief men of Kilkenny, who
sought to excuse their revolt, before the deputy ,"and that they
cast the chief blame of it on " the heady violence of the com-
mon people " ; and he also reported how those of Waterford
" warmly protested their allegiance to their king " and reminded
the deputy that they " were descended of the ancient English,
the first conquerors of the kingdom, and had ever continued un-
spotted in their obedience to the crown of England, in which
glory they would die." *

In a letter addressed by Mountjoy, on the 4th of May, 1603,
to the English Privy Council, he recited the chief events of his
march and goes on to declare his intentions for the future, as
well as to epitomize the chief crimes of the Cork citizens. He
wrote :

" Now for the cities of Limerick and Cork, towards which we intend to
proceed in this our journey. From the first of these we do not hearof any
great disorder but in their erection and frequenting of the Mass, whereunto
these people are too much addicted. But of the second — namely, Cork — we
are advertised by Sir Charles Wilmott, Sir George Thornton, and divers
others that they have taken arms, seized and stayed his majesty's muni-
tions (being a large proportion) and victuals, not permitting the commis-
sioners authorized in the president's absence to dispose the same for his
highness' army, guarded their ports [gates] against the English, resisted
the authority established in that province, both in the proclaiming of his
majesty and since ; imprisoned his majesty's ministers of the munitions
and victuals which were left in the city ; surprised and demolished the fort
near their city ; in a time of parlee attempted the taking of Halebowling
with their boats and otherwise ; and that the mayor and recorder of that
city did afford their presence, with many others, to a seditious and traitor-
ous sermon preached by a friar, who openly preached that the king's ma-
jesty is not a lawful king until the pope hath confirmed him." t

Mountjoy's story of the poor friar's sermon should no doubt
be taken cum grano salts, for Irish news for the English market
was manufactured then, as now4 to suit the tastes of the receiv-
ers. Waterford and Limerick followed the example set them by
Kilkenny ; but it is right to note that while they surrendered to
the deputy and vowed allegiance to King James, they neverthe-

•* Calendar of State Papers, Ireland, 1603-6, p. 39.

t Ibid., pp. 35, 36.

} And for the American market, too, we may add.— ED. C. W.

426 IRISH " OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TIME. [June,

less seem to have been faithful to the old religion and to have
been resolved to adhere to it through weal or woe. They were
ready — too ready, as it seems to us — to give up its public practice
at the bidding of Mountjoy, but they consoled themselves with
the hope of being permitted to follow its dictates in private. In-
deed, until the light of toleration first dawned on the darkness
of Ireland's captivity, during all the long and dreary period
of " the penal days," the Catholic inhabitants of her great towns
adhered to their religion, and while their more truly Irish breth-
ren worshipped God on the mountain-side or in the depths of
the umbrageous vales they paid their homage in the gloomy re-
cesses of urban lanes, secretly and with bated breath, perhaps, but
with a fidelity and loyalty unparalleled. What is instructive to
the mere student of history in the story of the Munster civic re-
volt is the fact that community of religious feeling could not
conquer the national or racial antipathy which existed between
the Celt and the Anglo-Norman. No one can doubt that if the
keeping of Kilkenny, Waterford, Limerick, and Cork had rested
with men of Irish birth and blood, had " the heady violence of
the common people" been allowed free vent, then never had
Mountjoy and his fellows planted English banner on Munster
battlement until the story of Dunboy had been re-enacted and
the mercenaries of the deputy had paid dearly for their glory.
As it was, the wealthy citizens could not overcome their dread of
their Irish allies, and almost at once, upon the arrival of the Eng-
lish troops before their walls, sought terms and to make their
peace.

When Mountjoy reached Cork it appears that at once the
loyalist citizens advocated surrender, for we are told that
" Mead, the recorder, strongly opposed his entrance, and draw-
ing together the Meads, Golds, Captain Terry, Lieutenant Mur-
rough, Fagan, and an infinite number of mob, would have with-
stood his lordship's entrance, had not Alderman John Coppinger,
Alderman Walter Coppinger, Alderman Terry, the Galways,
Verdons, and Martels opposed their designs." * The result of
such debate as was held was that the warlike propositions of
Meade were rejected by the majority and the gates of the city
were opened to Mountjoy. That the citizens who were in favor
of the surrender were no less loyal to their religion than those
who would have kept the walls against the king's troops we have
no reason to doubt, for their conduct only goes to prove that
they calculated on submission winning reciprocal toleration, and

* Smith, vol. ii. p. 99, quoting a MS. preserved at Lismore.

i882.] IRISH "OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TIME. 427

that they could not bring themselves to regard the purely na-
tive Irish as desirable allies. •

Little clemency was to be expected from Mountjoy, and it
causes no surprise to learn that many of the leaders in the de-
fence of the city were handed over to the tender mercies of the
provost-marshal, and that Meade was consigned to a dungeon to
await his trial. He seems to have been put to a searching exam-
ination in the presence of the deputy, while no efforts were
spared to make the indictment against him as complete as possi-
ble. It is true that Mountjoy and his council had reason to
lament that it was necessary to try the poor recorder at all ; they
would have infinitely preferred to take a shorter way with him,
because they feared that it would be impossible to ever convict
him in Cork County, " so great is his popularity there, and the
affections of the people so contrary and backward in a cause of
this nature. So great, indeed, is the general interest in all the
people of this land in the matter of the religion he professeth
that they fear to find no less difficulty if they put him to trial in
any county adjoining." *

Withal, however, they counted on manipulating the jury
panel and securing a verdict. It is true they felt themselves —
as they set forth in the letter we have last quoted from — some-
what hampered in all their proceedings by James' procrastina-
tion, for, as they said :

"Since the late commotions in the towns, happily stayed by the lieute-
nant, a great swarm of Jesuits, seminaries, friars, and priests, notwithstand-
ing their late danger, frequent the towns and other places in the English
Pale and borders more openly and boldly than before ; few of the best
houses in the Pale are free from relieving and receiving them. The coun-
cil find that they are under a strong and perilous impression, and so per-
suade the people, that there shall be a toleration of religion ; and for the
procuring of it sundry of the better sort of the Pale and towns are sent as
agents to the court to solicit the same, and great contributions of money
cut upon the country for their expenses and other charges of the suit.
And being fallen upon this point, they urge the lords of the council to
move the king to consider of some present settled course concerning reli-
gion, to bridle the boldness and backslidings of the papists before matters
grow to further danger."

Verily the magnates of Dublin Castle were to be pitied ; for
though they might " apply the authority of the state with as
great discretion as they could, not knowing as yet what will be

* Calendar of State Papers, Ireland, 1603-6, p. 66.

428 IRISPI "OUTRAGES" IN THE OLDEN TlME. [June,

his majesty's course on the point of religion, yet it avails little to
stay the case, for they (i.e., the papists) made a contempt of all
their doings, reposing altogether upon their project of tolera-
tion." For these and sundry other equally weighty reasons
these long-headed councillors would " suggest a proclamation
from his majesty for the expulsion of the Jesuits, friars, semina-
ries, and Massing priests, by a day, and punishing with severe
penalties all their relievers and abettors, whatsoever they be."

When Meade came to trial, despite legal artifices and judicial
terrorism, the jury fulfilled all the forebodings of the councillors
and acquitted him, for which course of action they were, how-
ever, soon after duly punished, their foreman being mulcted in
the sum of two hundred pounds and the rest of their number in
proportion.

Though the modern " Irish question " is somewhat of a differ-
ent kind to that which filled men's minds in the reign of " the
wisest fool " amongst kings, there is no cause for wonder in the
fact that the thoughts of Irishmen sometimes go back to the
days when it could be told of their enemies that —

" They bribed the flock, they bribed the son,

To sell the priest and rob the sire ;
Their dogs were taught alike to run
Upon the scent of wolf and friar.

Among the poor

Or on the moor
Were hid the pious and the true,

While traitor knave

And recreant slave
Had riches, rank, and retinue." *

* Thomas Davis.

1 882.] . NEW PUBLICATIONS. 429

NEW. PUBLICATIONS.

ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, chiefly Roman. By Monsignor Seton,
D.D. New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 1882.

These essays, which first appeared as contributions to THE CATHOLIC
WORLD, have been retouched and added to, and are now brought together
in one handsome volume. An idea of the character of the bopk may be
had from some of the subjects treated, such as " Italian Commerce in the
Middle Ages," " Vittoria Colonna," "The Jews in Rome," "The Charities
of Rome," "The Palatine Prelates of Rome," "The Cardinalate," " Papal
Elections," etc. The author's curious erudition, his charitable and at the
same time judicious treatment of controverted questions, as well as his ex-
quisite taste, all come into play. The chapter which will perhaps draw the
greatest attention at this moment is the one dealing with the Jews of
Rome in pagan times and during the middle ages. Not to dwell on the
hatred and jealousy which some of the more infidel and unchristian
centres of Germany have shown of late years, no classical scholar needs to
be told that persecution of the Jews began before Christianity. But
classical scholars are somewhat rare, and therefore a good deal of the
frothing over "religious fanaticism " in the perennial and inexcusable op-
position to the race of Israel passes unchallenged. The author gives evi-
dences of the existence at Rome in the second century before Christ of this
hatred of the Jews. The Jews were expelled from the city by Cn. Corne-
lius Scipio Hispalus about B.C. 139, and they were again expelled under the
Emperor Claudius (A.D. 49), though the "banishment cannot have been of
long duration, for we find Jews residing in Rome, apparently in consider-
able numbers, at the time of St. Peter's visit." It is worth while at this
point to add to Mgr. Seton's essay a paragraph from an article in a recent
number of the Revue Catholique of Louvain (15 Fevrier, 1881, p. 162). We
translate: "Their [the Jews'] influence at Rome before the reign of Nero
was great. The Jews, then numbering nine or ten millions [in the Roman
Empire], were as well able as they are now to profit by the liberty they
enjoyed. 'They were citizens everywhere,' says M. le Comte de Cham-
pagny {Rome et la Judte, t. i. chap, iv.], 'almost everywhere isonomous,
equal before the law to the native inhabitants, and, like them, voting and
taking their place in the assemblies. Whenever, as a result of pagan
insolence and Judaic irascibility, quarrels broke out, Rome interfered
out of love of public peace, and protected them.' Even at that epoch
popular prejudice was very lively, and the Israelite race was at the same
time detested and influential. The members of the "Roman municipality,
says Professor Mommsen [Romzsche Geschichte, t. iii. p. 529], took care not
to go too near the Jewish quarter for fear of being hooted by the people.
Cicero, in one of his pleas {Pro Flacco], alludes to the arrogance of the
Israelites. 'You know the Jews,' he says, 'you know what tumult they
cause in the assemblies of the city; you know what are their numbers,
their harmony, their influence in the assemblies in Rome.' " To return
to the volume before us. The author points out "that at the time of

430 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [June,

the persecution of the Christians Nero was ruled by his wife Poppaea
Sabina, a Jewish proselyte. The hatred of the Jewish race was taken up
by the barbarians, and during the middle ages often broke out in acts of
revolting cruelty. Yet during the dismal period preceding the twelfth
century the Jews, so far as we can know, enjoyed security at least, if not
honor, in Christian Rome. Moreover in the twelfth century we have the
testimony of the Jewish scholar and traveller, Benjamin Tudela, who visited
Rome. He found the Jews very much respected there, and paying tribute
to no one — something which could hardly be said with truth of them in any
other country at that time. "The thirteenth and fourteenth centuries,"
says Mgr. Seton, '' were memorable for massacres of Jews in almost every
large city of Europe except Rome, where the wild cry of 'Hep! Hep!'
was never raised, and whose streets were never stained with the blood of
this ill-used race of men."

An exceedingly interesting, entertaining, and useful volume.

LECTURES AND DISCOURSES. By the Rt. Rev. J. L. Spalding, D.D., Bishop
of Peoria. New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 1882.

The twelve addresses embraced in this volume were delivered under
various circumstances, but they are distinguished by a logical connection,
both of thought and of topic, which gives them an obvious unity. Taken
as a whole their subject may be regarded as the opposition between the
character and claims of the Catholic Church and the prevailing intellectual
and moral disorders of our time. Whether the immediate text is indiffer-
entism, secularism, Protestantism, the organization and doctrines of the
church, or the needs of the priesthood, there is an ultimate reference to the
necessity of the divinely-instituted guardian of truth as the sole remedy for
world-wide evils. The force of Bishop Spalding's logic is matched by the
admirable simplicity of his thought and the lucidity of his style. He states
his positions clearly and marches straight to his conclusions. Although
he shows himself, now and again, a master of the art of rhetoric on appro-
priate occasions, he never allows the allurements of merely literary composi-
tion to draw him out of his way. Therein, of course, he demonstrates the
purity of his literary taste as well as the earnestness of his purpose. He
has chosen the style that exactly fits his subject. Its Doric simplicity cor-
responds with the vigorous thought, the firm grasp of principles, the cogent
and rapid reasoning. Scholars will praise these lectures, and undisciplined
minds will have no difficulty in understanding them. Dignified, serious,
and profound, they are nevertheless, if we may use the expression, very
easy reading.

They derive a special interest from the fact that they deal with the
dangers, difficulties, and fears of the moment. They treat the great ques-
tion of the church and the world in the aspect which it presents to the
men of this day, and they expose fallacies which confront us every hour in
books and in newspapers, in speeches and in conversation. How keenly
Bishop Spalding appreciates his own generation may be seen in the master-
ly discourse on " Religious Indifference "which stands at the head of the vol-
ume, or the trenchant review of " The Decline of Protestantism " which
brings it to a close. " Observant minds," he says in the latter of these chap-
ters, " have for some years now recognized the approach of a religious crisis

1 882.] NE w PUB LIC A TIONS.

in the Christian world. The Protestant sects are visibly going to pieces,
both in Europe and America, and their disintegration is everywhere accom-
panied by a kind of collapse of faith in all religion. The infidelity which is
rapidly gaining ground does not call in question this or that doctrine, or
practice, or theory of religion, but it treats the whole unseen world as an un-
reality, and feels no more scruple in denying thl existence of God or the soul
than in rejecting the doctrine of purgatory or the intercession of the saints.
Hence the old controversies have not only grown obsolete, but all minor
questions are being thrown aside as impediments in the fierce and mighty
conflict which is now begun, and in which a power that seems not
less strong or less confident than the archangel who, rather than not
be first, would not be at all, is moving forward to dethrone God himself.
The battle is between Christianity and atheism, between supernatural-
ism and naturalism. In this struggle the enemies of religion turn aside
from special or accidental views of Christianity, such as those of Cal-
vin, or Luther, or Socinus, or Wesley, and concentrate their forces
against supernaturalism in its organized and historic power, which is the
Catholic Church, which, if it could fall, would bury beneath its ruins
those fragmentary forms of Christianity which lie about it." To meet
assaults of this nature we need very, different weapons from those which
answered in a period of sectarian controversy ; and it is one of the great
merits of Bishop Spalding's book that he realizes so keenly the changed
conditions of the conflict. The discourse on " Religious Faith and Physi-
cal Science " is an excellent example of his philosophical method of dealing
with current difficulties — not by explaining away troublesome texts or ridi-
culing and minimizing scientific objections, but by a plain statement of the
scope of natural and theological inquiry respectively. The " radical and
previous question in current controversies concerning the conflict between
religion and science " is, as the bishop aptly remarks, " whether scienti-
fic tests are the ultimate criterion of all truth — whether, in other words,
science can be set up as a universal criterion of certitude to which religion
also must conform." One of the pressing needs created by the new intel-
lectual disorder is, in his opinion, a higher education for a certain part of
the priesthood. We have only elementary seminaries in the United States.
They send us faithful and religious priests with " a sufficient theological
knowledge to enable them to perform the ordinary duties of the ministry
in a satisfactory manner." They can do no more than this. But " since
culture of mind, in our day especially, is an insidious and dangerous foe of
religion, it is our urgent duty to form men who will be able to make it also
its serviceable ally. And if you say that we have such intellects, I reply
that in those parts of the world in which the English language prevails
Catholics of the best cultivation of mind are rare, and the chief among
them received their intellectual training before they entered the church.
It is very easy to account for this fact, but the fact remains, and the loss
which results is incalculably great. To rne, so long as no step is taken to
give to the church in the United States men of the best cultivation of
mind, each year seems a decade and each decade a century. It is sad to
see the harvest ripen when there are no hands to reap and garner it. And
to those who say to me that the time has not come, that it is not possible
now to found a high-school of philosophy and theology such as is here

432 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [June, 1882.

contemplated, I make answer that it is possible to try. There are things
which ought to be done, and if men succeed in doing them it is their high-
est honor and reward ; and if they fail, having tried with honest purpose
and persevering effort, they are not less worthy of homage and applause."

The Catholic laity read so few Catholic books that we cannot expect for
this volume a circulation proportionate to its merit. We delude ourselves
if we imagine that our people, and especially our young men, have alto-
gether escaped the prevailing disease of society, the weakening of faith, the
growth of religious indifference, the subordination of the supernatural to
the natural. They need something to counteract the mischievous influ-
ences to which they are exposed in the newspaper writing, often false and
generally ignorant and reckless, which forms almost their only intellectual
sustenance ; and we know of few tonics at once more efficacious and more
agreeable than Dr. Spalding's able and highly interesting discourses.

POEMS. By B. I. Durward. Vol. i. Milwaukee. Wis. 1882.

PAPAL MASS IN F. By the Rev. Maestro Father V. De Massi, O. P. Boston : Oliver Ditson.

1881.
THE POETICAL WORKS, including the drama of " The Two Men of Sandy Bar," of Bret Harte.

Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1882.
HYPERION. A Romance. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Revised copyright edition

(paper cover). Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1882.

THE MONTH OF MAY IN RELIGIOUS COMMUNITIES. After the French of the Abbe L. S. S.
By Agnes Sadlier. New York : D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1882.

INSTRUCTIONS FOR PARTICULAR STATES AND CONDITIONS OF LIFE. By the Rev. John Gother.
Edited by the Rev. M-. Comerford. Dublin ; M. H. Gill & Son. 1882.

OUTRE-MER. A Pilgrimage beyond the Sea. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Revised
copyright edition (paper cover). Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1882.

FORTIETH ANNUAL REPORT OF THE BOARD OF EDUCATION OF THE CITY AND COUNTY OF
NEW YORK, for the year ending December 31, 1881. New York : Hall of the Board of
Education. 1882.

THE SECOND ANNUAL REPORT OF THE ST. VINCENT'S HOSPITAL OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK,
for the year ending September 30, 1881. Westchester, N. Y. : Printed at the New York
Catholic Protectory. 1882.

FIFTY-SECOND ANNUAL REPORT OF THE INSPECTORS OF THE STATE PENITENTIARY FOR THE
EASTERN DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA, for the year 1881. January, 1882. Philadelphia :
Sherman & Co., Printers. 1882.

ANNUAL REPORT OF THE ST. FRANCIS HOSPITAL, 603-611 Fifth and 169 Sixth Street, under
the charge of the Sisters of the Poor of St. Francis, for the year 1881. New York : Trow's
Printing and Bookbinding Company. 1882.

PROCEEDINGS OF MEETINGS held February i, 1882, at New York and London, to express sym-
pathy with the oppressed Jews in Russia. New York : Printed at the Industrial School of
the Hebrew Orphan Asylum. 1882.

THE CONSOLING THOUGHTS OF ST. FRANCIS DE SALES. Gathered from his writings, and ar-
ranged in order. By the Rev. Pere Huguet. Translated from the seventh French edition.
Boston : O'Loughlin & McLaughlin.

SAINTS OF 1881 ; or, Sketches of Lives of St. Clare of Montefalco, St. Laurence of Brindisi, St.
Benedict Joseph Labre, St. John Baptist de Rossi. By William Lloyd, priest of the diocese
of Westminster. London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

NATURAL LAW ; or, The Science of Justice : a treatise on natural law, natural justice, natural
rights, natural liberty, and natural society, showing that all leeislation whatsoever is an
absurdity, a usurpation, and a crime. ' Part First. By Lysander Spooner. Boston : A
Williams & Co.

NOTE. — We have received too late for this number an article entitled
"John Bigelow on Molinos the Quietist." It will appear in our next.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXXV. JULY, i882. No. 208.

IRELAND IN THE FUTURE.

A POLITICAL system which extorts from the bulk of its peo-
ple five times as much labor as is necessary for the support of the
entire community does not rest on secure foundations, and con-
sequently cannot afford to pas§ laws which oppress the whole of
one of its integral portions. When a state has departed widely,
as England has done, from the rights of man and the notions of
equality and brotherhood taught by Christianity, while at the
same time its own people are actuated by lingering Christian con-
victions, there is a serious danger ahead — the point where for-
bearance ceases to be a virtue. The leaders in such a political sys-
tem ought not to be astonished that a movement on the part of
the Irish people to regain their rights should meet with the
hearty approval of all intelligent men who, though daily informed
of the history of the movement, are far enough away from the
scene of strife to judge things without prejudice.

The longer England puts off doing justice to Ireland the
fuller that justice will have to be done in the end. Thus, the
political enfranchisement of Ireland, say ten years ago, would
perhaps have left the landlord class, alien as that class mostly is,
in quiet possession of their estates, under certain limitations.
Now there can be no doubt that restitution will have to be made
— that is to say, the land will have to pass completely into the
ownership of the Irish occupier and tiller, and the compensation
to be given to the present landlords will be the less in proportion.

434 IRELAND IN THE FUTURE. [July,

as that transfer is put off. A parallel instance is offered in the
history of Catholic emancipation in Great Britain and Ireland.
Had George III. been able to overcome the scruples of his false
conscience and signed the act, the Catholic Church in those isl-
ands would to-day, it is likely, be living under a concordat, with
all the hampering- inconveniences of such an agreement. The
stolid king's refusal forced a hard and fierce contest which, after
a few years, finally put the English and Irish Church in a con-
dition second only to that happily enjoyed by the church in this
country in point of freedom.

Whatever else the Irish may be, they are not commonplace.
They are regarded with great admiration or great dislike, ac-
cording as their traits of character and their conduct as a people
are criticised by friend or foe. But they are never an object of
indifference. After fighting, against great odds, a long series of
stubborn wars of defence, they were defeated, and were then,
during nearly a whole century, subjected to the action of a
frightful penal code. But when this accumulation of disaster
had brought them down to be in appearance little else than a
horde of illiterate paupers, they nevertheless still maintained
their ancient warlike pride and refused to cringe. Illiteracy and
poverty made them the butt of ridicule with those who could not
appreciate the heroism of a sentimental race that had sacrificed
everything but honor in its struggle against the unjustifiable in-
vasion and confiscation of its territory and the oppression of its
faith. But the Irish only muttered a scornful curse in answer
to ridicule, and they laid up another grudge against the ene-
my that had" caused their misfortunes. Contempt they never
earned ; for though English literature and the Anglicized litera-
ture of this country seemed to have made a system of turning
the Irish into jest, the jest was always too inane or too bitter
not to betray the ignorance or the hatred that underlay it. And
through all the evil, dark days, which none but the Irish them-
selves can fully understand, the idea that Erin and its people
would arise again to be an honor among the nations has never
been lost to any Irish mind. There was a time, and that not
long since, when such an idea itself was a source of ridicule, but
that time is passed.

The Irish question has grown to be seemingly interminable,
and " practical " people have often inquired when they should
hear the last of it. Still, the Irish have kept on their way. Ad-
vice has been poured in upon them ; they have been called vain,
visionary, unreasonable, stiff-necked, turbulent. Within the last

i882.] IRELAND IN THE FUTURE. 435

two years, because that versatile English politician, Gladstone,
spoke a few sympathetic words in their favor, and made a few
vague promises, and offered them a mutilated relief, their friends,
or their so-called friends, grew indignant at their not giving up
the struggle of centuries. With their usual defiance of the me-
diocre common sense which does not see beyond its own nose,
the Irish almost in a body rebelled against an administration of
the most yielding among the English. To the counsel of their
friends not to cause trouble to the Gladstone administration
they replied, when they condescended to reply at all, that they
had always fought without allies and they expected so to do un-
til the end ; that as to causing trouble to an English administra-
tion, they had learned by long and bloody experience — not to
speak of Gladstone's own admission — that nothing but fear had
ever wrung from England an instalment of justice to Ireland.
In spite of taunts, of a studied provocation to bloodshed, and of
a skilfully arranged scheme of manufactured " outrages," with
such wisdom and coolness was this unarmed rebellion carried
out that for the first time in history an English administration
has been compelled, officially it may be said, to confess its wrong-
doing to Ireland. Mr. Gladstone, who some years ago so virtu-
ously and indignantly protested against King " Bomba's " lettres
de cachet in Naples, was driven at last to open the doors of the
prisons which he had filled with men " suspected " of not liking
English rule as administered in Ireland. Again Irish stubborn-
ness was right and so-called common sense was wrong.

What must have struck the attention of every one whose
knowledge of the state of feeling in Ireland is had from the Irish
themselves and the press of Ireland is that the entire body of
the Irish people, rich, poor, and middle-class, ecclesiastics, the
gentry, professional men, merchants, small traders, farmers, and
laborers, Catholic and Protestant, are alike looking for and hop-
ing for a radical political change in the near future. The artisan
class it is hardly worth while to mention, as that class is signifi-
cantly small* in Ireland.

What will the change be? The land question is evidently
on the way to a satisfactory solution. Still, the fact is, no indus-
trial or social improvement of great consequence can take place
until Ireland has been brought to some certain political status.
Ireland in its present condition is neither a nation nor a colony.
It is merely a military prefecture of the British Empire, governed
altogether with a view to its subjection to English interests, mili-
tary and commercial. It seems almost like a truism to say that

436 IRELAND IN THE FUTURE. [J"ly>

if a measure for the government of Ireland meet with the ap-
proval of the English constituencies nothing further is asked be-
fore it is made a law. It is not deemed necessary to consult the
Irish as to how they shall be governed.

Will the future bring home-rule in the form of a confedera-
tion with Great Britain, or will it bring independence? Until
lately there can be no doubt that the immense majorify of the
real people of Ireland have desired a complete separation from
England — the establishment of an independent Irish nation.

But what lies at the root of the Irish desire for independence?
and, What would be some of the results of that independence, if
gained ?

The long struggle has developed among the Irish an intense,
passionate love of country. It has also developed a deep-seated
hatred of the British power, accompanied with a craving for re-
venge. All Irishmen, even those who from personal, party, or
other reasons may ordinarily not seem to be patriotic, have been
at moments stirred with this bitter hatred of England, and all
Irishmen have at such moments longed for the independence of
Ireland.* The Irish have confidence in the military prowess and
skill of their race, and they hope and believe that independent
Ireland would make war on England and destroy its empire.
Besides, they hope and believe that Ireland, once independent,
would grow into a great nation, and that its people would then be
able to vindicate their character before the world. These two
notions together form the sentimental basis of the Irish desire
for independence.

But putting aside the fact that the clear-headed statesmen of

* It is unfair to charge, as is sometimes done, that the Irish are only successful when led or
controlled by others. That is Voltaire's sneer. In the ancient days, when they were freemen,
the Irish did not understand the idea of fatherland as applied to all Ireland. To the Gael his
clan — his kindred — were his people, and his clan-territory his country. This feeling; prevail-
ed more or less until after the overthrow of James II. The Confederation of Kilkenny (1641)
was merely a compact, between the chieftains of some of the principal Gaelic clans on the one
side and the more influential Catholics of the English Pale on the other, in favor of Charles I.,
under the impression that a Stuart's promises might be relied upon. It was in no real sense a
national movement ; simply an alliance of Catholics to secure the freedom of their common
religion. Had the Irish in olden times been possessed of the national idea they would never
have been conquered. It was really the cruel English legislation of the eighteenth century
which, in oppressing all Irishmen, made Irishmen first begin practically to act as if they be-
longed to a common country. Without a national system or a national government, or even
the idea of nationality, it was not to be expected that really national leaders should arise. This
is a point which has been overmuch neglected by writers of Irish history. Moreover, omitting
the abilities shown by the Irish race in the British Empire and in the United States, Generals
Browne, De Lacy, and Nugent, and the present minister Count Taafe in Austria, Blake and
O'Donnell in Spain, MacMahon in France, O'Higgins and Lynch in Chile, and Prendergast in
Cuba, among innumerable others, have proved the Irish faculty for leadership in war, politics,
and diplomacy.

i8S2.] IRELAND IN THE FUTURE. 437

England would bring all the forces of their vast empire to bear
against the realization of such 'hopes, and admitting that the in-
dependence of Ireland were once secured — what then ? Would
not one of the next steps be either the subjugation of England or
else a confederation of some kind with it ? For the preservadon
of peace between these two islands, of not largely disproportion-
ate size, as separate and independent nations, would be next to
impossible. And what would have happened in the meantime?
The British Empire, having England alone for its nucleus,
could not maintain its prestige nor even hold together. With
Ireland an independent nation, making war, and treaties, and
alliances at its will and without regard to British interests, there
would follow the independence of Australia, the loss of India
and South Africa and the many other far-off sources of wealth
and influence, as well as the independence of Canada, or perhaps
its annexation to the United States.

The independence of Ireland, therefore, destructive as it
would be to England, would also result in the loss to Ireland of
all the Irish have done for the advantage of England and the
British Empire. The wealth, the established industries,, the
widely-reaching commercial connections, the navy, the great
prestige itself of that empire, would all cease to be available for
Irishmen. The fervid\and ambitious genius of the Irish would,
for all purposes of peace, be shut up within the narrow limits of
their island.

On the other hand, some form of home-rule seems to be now
almost within the grasp of Ireland. A wise and earnest effort
will gain it. All sorts of diversions will be started, it is true, by
those whose pecuniary or traditional interests are involved in
keeping up the present sad state of affairs in Ireland. But the
now quickened intellect of Ireland will thwart the tricks of
scheming politicians, whether Whig or Tory. Suppose, then,
a system adopted which would place Ireland on an equal footing
politically with England, giving Ireland a chance to use its own
resources for its own benefit, while contributing its due share
only to the maintenance of the empire.

Ethnographically considered, there is no obstacle to -a con-
federation of Ireland and Great Britain. The Irish are not all
Celts. The Celtic race undoubtedly predominates in point of
numbers, yet there are other very numerous and important ele-
ments, composed of the descendants of the Scandinavian sea-
rovers — " the Danes " — the Anglo-Normans, the Lowland Scotch,
and the English of later immigrations. In fact, the Sacsanach is

438 IRELAND IN THE FUTURE.

everywhere in Ireland, and he is nearly always as stubbornly
Irish in sentiment and expression as the man entitled to the O' or
the Mac. It is notorious, by the way, that many of the most
zealous leaders in Irish national movements during the last hun-
dred years or more have been descendants of the " Norman rob-
ber " or of more modern invaders or colonists. Tipperary—
" turbulent Tipperary " of the English press, " glorious Tippera-
ry " of the Irish — is celebrated for its determined and inappeas-
able revolt against English rule, yet the spirited, intensely Irish,
and thoroughly Catholic people of Tipperary are to a conside-
rable extent the descendants of discharged English soldiers of
Cromwell's Puritan army. It is worthy of note, too, that from
the days of "Black" Murroch O'Brien down to our own some
of the most servile supporters and tools of English power and
most cruel oppressors of the people have been men of undoubted
Gaelic lineage. So much for Ireland in the matter of race. The
people of Great Britain are not by an}' means Anglo-Saxons in
the majority. The most industrious and energetic people of
England itself — the mining and manufacturing people of the
northwestern, western, and southwestern counties — are very
largely Celtic, while Wales and the north of Scotland are as
purely Celtic as Connaught.

In the matter of language, a very important factor in practi-
cal politics, the two islands are not divided. The Gaelic lan-
guage is an interesting, beautiful, and venerable language, it is
true, and it is substantially the language that was once spoken
throughout the west of Europe, from the Apennines to the
Scheldt. But Gaelic is fading away from the islands, as it ages
ago faded away from the continent. It is spoken now in the
western half only of Ireland — and in the north of Great Britain
— and it is seldom heard there except from the lips of fishermen
or mountaineers. Even in the Catholic parish schools of Ireland,
many of which are attended largely by the children of Gaelic-
speaking people, it is not taught. For upward of a century
the ancient tongue of the Celts has practically been treated with
contempt by the Celts themselves. On the other hand, the Irish
have become so closely identified with the English language and
English customs that on the continent of Europe and throughout
Spanish America they are nearly always, however much they
may dislike it, taken to be Englishmen. It is needless to insist
upon the debt which English literature in all its departments
owes to Irish talent and genius.

For nearly two hundred years, but especially since 1800, the

1 882.] IRELAND IN THE FUTURE. 439

Irish have in fact done their share towards building up the
greatness of the British Empire, as soldiers, seamen, statesmen,
diplomatists, publicists, poets, historians, essayists, journalists,
and writers generally, besides the enormous part they have con-
tributed in hard, honest, physical labor. Irish brains, and sweat,
and blood have never been wanting.

So far as the development of its internal resources is con-
cerned, its mines, its peat-bogs, its manufacturing possibilities of
innumerable kinds, and its navigable waters running almost to
its very centre, Ireland is really a new country. A few years of
home-rule and good rule would make it the wonder of Europe
for its prosperity, as it has too long been for its misery. With
the impetus which would come with the aroused energies of a
newly enfranchised people the wealth of England would pour over
into this fresh field of profit, where the capitalist would find a
better investment than in land. The Irish people, who, accord-
ing to statistics compiled at Edinburgh University, are physi-
cally superior to the people of any other part of Europe — the
Irish coming first, the Scotch second, and the English third-
would be reinforced in their labors by an immigration of skilled
workmen from England and Scotland, who, like former immi-
grations, would settle down and become " more Irish than the
Irish themselves." The whole land would hum like a beehive.
Intelligence and industry would thrive marvellously in this old
but now rejuvenated state.

No one who puts aside prejudices, and, looking at the map of
Europe, observes the relative position which the islands of Ire-
land and Great Britain hold there, both to the rest of Europe
and to America, can help acknowledging that, geographically at
least, these two islands, with the lesser islands contiguous to
them, are favorably situated for the formation of a federal union.
So far as natural position and harbors are concerned, Ireland is
fitted to be the great mart and the entry port of western Eu-
rope for the commerce of North America. Galway is near-
ly two days nearer than Liverpool to New York, and nearly a
day nearer than Milford Haven, which it has been talked of re-
viving as a great seaport. Next to the encouragement of domes-
tic industries, one of the first cares of an Irish home government
would be the restoration and improvement of the many fine har-
bors which break the coast-line of Ireland throughout its whole
extent. Peace and thrift within would be followed by fame and
good fortune from without. The commercial traffic between
North America and western Europe would take its natural path-

440 MEADOW HYMN. [July,

way. Liverpool would in time reconcile itself to its rightful
place as the eastern landing of the Dublin ferry, while Gal way,
and Bantry, and Kinsale, and Cork, and Waterford, and Bel-
fast, and Donegal bays would see their skies crossed by the long
columns of smoke from peaceful craft connecting revivified Erin
with the trade and wealth of the world.

Then perhaps the generation of Irishmen born under a benefi-
cent home-rule would be inclined to forgive the wrongs of past
centuries, as they saw England relegated to her natural geogra-
phical relation to Ireland and the Western World, and as they
gazed with pride upon their own now happy country, become
the head of the new island confederation.

England has probably nearly reached the climax of her power.
She has perhaps had her day — in some respects a glorious day —
and many now living may yet see Berkeley's words come true of
her : Westward the Star of Empire takes its course.

MEADOW HYMN.

ONLY when soaring sings the lark,
Struggling to fields of purer air :

Silent her music when she sinks
Back to a world less glad and fair.

Only when soaring sings my heart,
Flutt'ring on tremulous wing to God

Fainter the music as I fall,

Hush'd when I reach the lower sod.

Lark of my heart ! this'morn astir,
Upward to God on eager wing !

Rise with a burst of grateful song,
Carol the best that love can sing !

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 441

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

MR. MELTON MOWBRAY was a man who would be set down
at five minutes' acquaintance as that indefinable yet very defi-
nite being, a typical Englishman. He was florid in complexion
and full in habit. His white hair and gray whiskers set off a
well-conditioned face to advantage. He was a handsome, hearty,
prosperous-looking gentleman, positive in whatever ideas he
had, scrupulously neat in person and surroundings, with an air
of eminent respectability distilling from his very essence. One
never saw a speck of dust on his clothes, which always had a new
look ; or a spot of mud on his shiny shoes, which is saying a
great deal for a Londoner and a city man. He worshipped the
queen, and next to her the English aristocracy ; believed in the
Church of England by profession, for the reason that it was part
and parcel of the queen and aristocracy. He detested the word
British as an American invention. He did not believe in Ame-
rican inventions of any kind. To him there was only one coun-
try in the world — England ; only one sovereign — Queen Victo-
ria ; only one government worthy of the name — the English.
All else was included in the detestable word foreign.

And yet Mr. Mowbray was a banker, a man dealing with
large affairs and with many lands. Large affairs ought to pro-
duce large ideas. But Mr. Mowbray drew a distinction between
his business and his nationality. In his city office, which was
neat as wax and shining as a bridal chamber, he was a cosmo-
politan, a man of affairs, a citizen of the world. In his home in
Holland Park he was simply an Englishman.

He had one daughter and one ambition, the ambition cen-
tring in that daughter. He wished her to marry into the aristo-
cracy. As he could not be noble himself, he desired to be enno-
bled through her. At the same time he sincerely desired the
happiness of his child and was anxious to marry her to a man as
well as to a title. She was all he had to love in the world,
save an ancient maiden sister, and rather than destroy her
happiness he would have sacrificed even his own ambition.

Gertrude Mowbray was only a year old when her mother
died. Strange as it may seem, that mother was an Irishwoman

442 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [July,

and a Catholic. Mowbray detested both Irish and Catholics ;
or rather he looked upon them as beings of an inferior order
whom an inscrutable Providence allowed to cumber the earth
and stand in the way of Englishmen. He owned some estates
in Ireland, which he would as soon have thought of visiting as
of making a holiday trip to the festive regions of Timbuctoo.
They were managed by an agent. They yielded him a certain
annual income. But whether they were occupied by cattle or
human beings he neither knew nor cared. They were Irish es-
tates, and that was enough. And yet Mr. Mowbray was really
a kindly disposed and, in his way, a charitable man.

In his solitary trip to the country he did not go near his es-
tates. He kept as far away from them as possible, and, after ac-
complishing the business he had gone over to transact, rambled
a little about this new and strange land. In the course of his
rambles he ran across Eva Redmond, the beauty of Tullagh
Council. The next thing he did was to run off with her. Her
flight, was the sensation of the hour in Tullagh Connell. It
broke the heart of many a country gallant, particularly of arising
young physician who had paid more assiduous court to her than
any other. For a week he was like one dazed and had vague
ideas of pursuing the pair to parts unknown, lodging a bullet in
the foreigner's heart, and bringing back his lady-love in triumph
to Tullagh Connell. A week later, to mend his broken heart
and avenge himself on the cruel false one, he married pretty Nel-
lie Fitzgerald, who had long admired him. She was only the
daughter of a rich Dublin apothecary ; but she made him an ex-
cellent wife and brought him a fortune into the bargain. Before
two years were over his heart was wholly mended and his prac-
tice extensively increased.

And in those two years where was Eva? Mowbray took a
short wedding-trip on the Continent, and then returned with his
beautiful wife to London. Eva never saw her native land again.
The few who became intimate with her fancied that she pined
in secret ; but people are always fancying foolish things about
persons whom they cannot wholly understand. She had the sat-
isfaction of seeing her baby baptized in the faith of her mother,
and then she drooped and pined and faded, and the gentle life
ebbed slowly out of the large hazel eyes and the transparent
face that had caught the pallor of another life. As a dying re-
quest she asked her husband to bring up the child in the faith of
her mother. " She is a Mowbray," said the banker, " and will
always be a Mowbray." Eva spoke no other word, but threw

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 443

her arms around the babe and held it as though she would fain
take it with her. When they unclasped those arms she was
dead, and the little Gertrude lay there smiling and crowing at
them.

Mowbray got over his grief, as men will do, and the sincere
love he had for the mother fastened with a new intensity on his
daughter. He did not marry again nor contemplate marriage.
His sister, Madge, ruled his household, and, to a certain extent,
ruled him. She, like him, was Church of England, though not
at all of what she called the new-fangled sort, with their copes and
candlesticks, and incense and nonsense. She was a very pious,
kind-hearted, charitable woman, with a fixed hatred and fear
of Romish practices and vestments. There was a Scotch strain
in the Mowbrays. For the rest Madge worshipped while she
ruled her brother, and petted little Gertrude to a degree that
would have been dangerous had not the child's disposition
been naturally sweet and unselfish.

Mowbray, true to his original idea of making a place in the
great world for his daughter, determined that she should have
the benefit of a foreign finish. After deep consultations with
Mrs. Beauchamp, who knew everything and everybody, and
whose tact and connections made her a leader in society, it was
determined to send Gertrude for a couple of years to the Sacr6
Cceur at Paris.

This announcement was the severest shock that Aunt Madge
had ever sustained.

"A convent, Melton, and nuns? Are you sending the child
to a convent? She will come back to us a pervert and use
beads."

" Nonsense ! " was the answer. " I have provided against
that. Mrs. Beauchamp says it must be done. Her own daugh-
ters were sent there, and they are not perverts."

Mrs. Beauchamp's verdict in such matters was all-powerful
with Mr. Mowbray, and Aunt Madge knew this to be the fact.
So with an aching heart and dark forebodings she prepared Ger-
trude for her new journey. As a last precaution the good lady
purchased a formidable Bible of the version known as that of
King James, the newest of the new editions of the Book of Com-
mon Prayer, Fox's Book of Martyrs, and a superb edition of
Martin Farquhar Tupper's poems. These she packed carefully
away in one of Gertrude's trunks, and, with a final admonition
under no circumstances to use that horrid holy water, let the
girl go.

444 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [July*

ii.

GERTRUDE went, stayed at the convent two years, and return-
ed, a tall, slim, handsome girl, to her English home. She had
the eyes of her mother — those unfathomable eyes, of deep Irish
hazel, in which mirth and mournfulness seem for ever struggling
for the mastery. Her hair was her mother's also — flowing jet
with a natural ripple in it. Her complexion was clear and trans-
parent as Parian marble. Her carriage had a special grace that
attracted eyes as she moved, quite apart from her singular
beauty. She was more than beautiful ; there are many beautiful
girls in the world. She was striking, and the rich, low voice was
as a rare instrument setting the whole being to perfect symme-
try, harmony, and tune. The peculiar charm of it all lay in the
fact that the girl seemed wholly unconscious of what a beautiful
creature she was.

Mowbray fell in love a second time, and his heart softened
and warmed in his lovely child. Aunt Madge was awed by her
calm splendor and in secret became her slave. Mrs. Beauchamp
gushed over her and at once took upon herself Gertrude's intro-
duction into society. Gertrude passed through that severe or-
deal with becoming fortitude. She was one of the sensations of
the season. The beauties known as professional stared to see
their hangers-on desert them to seek an introduction to the new
girl. The new girl took her triumph' modestly enough. Flat-
tery she accepted with gentle gayety, or mild wonder when it be-
came too gross. She was a girl who thought as well as observed.
She had no rivalries and no affairs. She moved through the
brilliant circles that she frequented as one might through a gal-
lery of paintings, admiring, observing, studying, condemning. It
was to her a glittering panorama, in which the figures were human.

Once only was she completely captivated. It was one even-
ing at Mrs. Beauchamp's — a political evening ; for Mrs. Beau-
champ had political ambitions and aspired to rule and influence
from behind the scenes. " Men only talk in Parliament, women
act outside," was her maxim, and in this she was encouraged by
the chief of her party. It was this chief that captivated Ger-
trude. She had heard and read much about him, and her imagi-
nation surrounded him with a halo of romance. He was a man
who had literally fought his way up from the ranks against every
feeling, thought, and prejudice that makes the English people
what it is. Everything was against him, but he overcame every-
thing by the supremacy of his genius, balanced by an invincible

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 445

patience, dauntless courage, and faith in himself. Having achiev-
ed greatness, he drew the .ranks of his followers up after him,
and they were now completely subject to his rule.

As he passed through the rooms men distinguished in poli-
tics, art, letters, and science made way for him ; the ambassadors
of foreign powers bowed low before him, and Beauty looked
after him with lingering eyes. He was old now and oppressed
with the double weight of years and grave concerns. " Honors
come too late," he said once. " They seize on us when we have
a foot in the grave." In his youth he frequented society on
principle. " A man has only one way of making his place in the
world," was his doctrine, " and that is by being in the world. It
is different with science, literature, and art. A monk in his cell
may shine in those. But to shine in human affairs you must not
only be in the world but of it."

He had grown beyond this stage of human progress by a
quarter of a century, and he now rarely entered society. But
when he did he could unbend. He was a wit as well as a states-
man, and his wit in undress was genial and kindly. It only bit
and showed its mordant fangs in mortal combat, in that arena
where the gladiators are giants in intellect and the prizes king-
doms. He was especially kindly and encouraging to the young,
and had a keen eye for worth in men, and beauty and loveliness
in women. " Beauty is not always lovely," he remarked drily to
Mrs. Beauchamp, as he bowed beamingly to one of the profes-
sional beauties and passed smilingly on.

" Would you like to see my pet? " asked Mrs. Beauchamp.

" What is the latest — a French poodle ? "

" You are cruel to-night. Well, I won't bring her, then, for
she is young and unsophisticated. This is her first season."

"Who is she?"

" Miss Mowbray, the daughter of Mowbray, the banker ; this
is her first season."

" Mowbray — ha ! He is one of us. So he has a daughter ?
Yes, bring her. I would like to see her."

He had gone through this sort of thing a million times.
Budding youths and budding maidens had been brought to him
in troops to be presented, as though his hand had a beneficent
power, the very contact with which would ensure them fortune
and fame. As Mrs. Beauchamp left him to seek Gertrude he
had already forgotten the object of her mission and was lost in
his own thoughts. His musings were broken in upon by Mrs.
Beauchamp's voice as she presented Miss Mowbray.

446 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [July*

The great man's head was drooping as they approached.
He lifted it slowly and saw a fair girl bending before him. The
contrast was very striking^ There stood the veteran statesman,
whose attack was more feared by the government than a de-
claration of war from a foreign power. The form was bent a
little and bowed with years. The strongly marked face in re-
pose wore an habitually solemn and abstracted air, heightened
by the changeless pallor of the features. That face, educated
into impassiveness under the fiercest assaults of the most power-
ful orators, was seamed and wrinkled as with traces of hard-
fought combats extending through a lifetime. His hair, though
thin, was still coal-black, and black, bushy eyebrows deepened
the lustre of eyes that only at intervals unveiled and lit up the
power of the vaulting brow and iron purpose of the massive
lower face.

And there before him stood a girl, a wonder of beauty, as
yet unbrushed by the world. The hazel eyes were flashing with
subdued excitement as she saw for the first time face to face the
hero she had admired from afar. Her cheeks were flushed with
eager expectancy and her bearing was one of girlish reverence
for age and fame.

He shot one swift glance at her. It rested on no common
face and he bent towards her as one bends to inhale the perfume
of a violet discovered unexpectedly in a dusty place. Mrs.
Beauchamp left them to attend to her guests.

Their conversation was brief. The great man told Gertrude
that he knew her father, though they did not meet as often as he
could wish. He asked her if that was her first season, and on
being told that it was smiled and said :

" I thought so. Two seasons spoil most girls"; and then add-
ed kindly : " But you won't let them spoil you ; will you ? "

" I do not know," was the laughing response. " I am only a
girl, and I suppose we are all the same."

" No, no," said he ; " not all the same. Some have charac-
ter. You have. You do not know it yet, but you have ; and
keep it. It is a more precious heirloom than either blood or
beauty."

There was a deep earnestness and impressiveness in the tones
of his last sentence, while the dark eyes flashed out a moment
and wandered away as into a long past. Then he returned to
courtly commonplace, and, as they parted, said :

" We will meet again. Permit an old man to say that he
looks upon you with interest. I have only one parting word of

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 447

advice to give, and that is : Be yourself always. You cannot be
better than yourself."

He had an oracular way of saying things sometimes that his
opponents ridiculed, but even in his most oracular sayings lurk-
ed a vague sense of profound knowledge of the world and in-
sight into human nature.

" I can never be anything else," answered Gertrude simply ;
and then, following a sudden impulse, she added : "If I could
change at all I would be a man — like you, the leader of a great
party, of a great people."

He smiled at the ingenuous outburst and shook his head
good-naturedly.

" No, no. Any one may become a premier. Men are made
partly by themselves, chiefly by circumstance. But God alone
makes creatures of beauty and truth. A man may rule the
world, but some woman always rules man. Good-night." And a
few moments later the great man left, leaving Gertrude the hero-
ine of the evening.

"All 'the women are envious of you," said Mrs. Beauchamp,
hastening to Gertrude, " and all the men are in love with you.
Any of them would have given half their lives for such a tcte a-
t$te. What did he say to you ? "

" He gave me a parting piece of advice."

" And that was—? "

" To be myself."

"And what in the name of wisdom does that mean? "

" I don't know. I only know that I mean, as I always meant,
to be myself."

" You are a strange girl. I don't understand you. What
else could you be? "

" Not myself," said Gertrude musingly. " These people
about us are not themselves. There is no reality. It is all a
show, and we only see the surface."

" My dear, that is all most of us see of the world, and for my
part I am quite content that it should be. Where do you find
reality? "

" I found it in the convent."

Mrs. Beauchamp shrugged her handsome shoulders contemp-
tuously.

" As well say you find it in the grave ! "

" Perhaps so," said Gertrude, still musing.

" Nonsense ! Don't talk in that fashion. Ah ! there's Lafon-
taine. Come here, sir."

448 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [July,

A tall and very handsome young man approached. Breeding
was stamped in every line of his resolute face and sinewy form.
There was the light of success and ambition in his glowing dark
eye, and an easy strength in all his bearing. Although belong-
ing to the opposite party, he was a great favorite of Mrs. Beau-
champ's.

" Here, take this girl and make her dance or do something.
She seems bewitched since the chief left her, and talks of no-
thing but graves, convents, and things. Go along ; I must attend
to my guests."

And the rest of the evening passed very pleasantly to Ger-
trude in the company of the handsome, brilliant, and gay Geof-
frey Lafontaine, at present under-secretary to the lord-lieuten-
ant of Ireland, and only over on a flying trip to his native Lon-
don, as he called it. He had met Gertrude often before, and his
attentions to the banker's daughter became what the gossiping
world calls " marked."

III.

" I AM tired of it, papa," said Gertrude one morning as the
season was on the wane. " I should like to go away. After all
the convent was sweeter."

Mr. Mowbray looked up from the financial column of the
Times, which his experienced eye was scanning, and gazed in
wonderment at his daughter. He had never heard of a girl be-
ing tired of her first season before it was well over, especially
after such a success as had attended Gertrude.

" What is wrong, my dear ? What tires you ? "

" Oh ! the same thing, and the same people, and the same talk
day after day, night after night. It wearies me. I want rest
and I want quiet."

Mr. Mowbray fidgeted uneasily in his chair and darted a
keener glance at his daughter. She did look a trifle pale, and
there was a certain limpness about the form that he had failed
to notice before.

" I want to go away — with you," she added — " to some quiet
place. Can you not come ? "

" Certainly, my dear, if you wish it. I can easily arrange
matters. Come, now, where shall we go? "he asked cheerily,
rising and walking to the window.

" Papa, I should like to go to Ireland."

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 449

Mr. Movvbray turned sharply round as though he had been
suddenly pricked with a pin.

" Ireland ! " he ejaculated—" Ireland !" he repeated in shrill
astonishment. " What do you want in that wretched country ? "

" I want to see it — where my mother was born — "

He turned sharply away and stood with his back to her, gaz-
ing- out of the window.

" Besides, Mr. Lafontaine told me so much about it — what a
delightful country it was in many respects, and what an original
people."

"Ah! Lafontaine," said Mr. Mowbray in a more pleased
tone. " Yes, yes. Has he gone back to Dublin ? "

" Yes ; and he promised if we went over he would show us
from one end of the country to the other."

" Ah ! that alters the case. Lafontaine — yes ; a handsome
young man, Lafontaine. It is a pity he belongs to the wrong
party ; but still he is a rising member and is marked for distinc-
tion. Very fine connections has Lafontaine. A rising young
man with a future before him. Certainly, my dear, if you wish
it, we will go."

" And shall I let Mr. Lafontaine know we are coming ? He
asked me to do so."

" To be sure, to be sure. By all means." And Mr. Mowbray
went into the city that morning humming — actually humming.

Lafontaine met them on their arrival and did all the graces
of the occasion with delightful tact. There was nothing at all
lover-like in his attentions to Gertrude. They had the easy free-
dom of natural friendship — nothing more. Never by word, or
look, or sign did he pass beyond the conventionalities, and this
removed any possible constraint that might have arisen. He
was full of gay humor that, when he chose, he could sharpen into
sarcasm ; and Irish air is always full of anecdote and romance.
Parties were arranged for them, and pleasant little excursions and
bright surprises, and Lafontaine had the good taste and tact to
leave them wholly to themselves at times. When this occurred
they soon discovered that they missed their bright companion.

While in Ireland Mr. Mowbray heard of a new agitation that
was just then being set on foot under the leadership of Mr. Butt.
It was for what its advocates called Home Rule — a cry that
sounded to Mr. Mowbray's loyal ears very much like treason.
Nevertheless it seemed to take the fancy of the Irish people
amazingly, and active preparations were being made by the
Nationalist party to contest every available seat at the next elec-

VOL. xxxv. — 29

450 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [July,-

tion. The agitation was still in its infancy when the news of a
dissolution of Parliament fell upon every one with a shock of
surprise. The premier, with a strong majority at his back, had,,
for reasons best known to himself, appealed to the country, and
at once the din of politics drowned every other noise. Dublin
became unpleasant to Mr. Movvbray, the more so that Lafontaine
was called away from them to contest a seat in which the Castle
interest was very strong, and for which one of the multitude of
Home-Rulers was pitted against him.

They left Dublin and rambled about a little on their own ac-
count. The summer had not yet gone, and an unusually warm
spell came on, causing them to linger longer than they had con-
templated. They climbed one day to some old ruins to which
they had been guided from their inn — a quiet little country hostel
where, for the time being, they were the sole guests. Castle Craig
the hill was called, and it gave its name to the surrounding dis-
trict, which was large enough and of sufficient importance to re-
turn a member to Parliament. But no noise of battle penetrated
this peaceful and deserted spot. The fight was being waged over
in the town of Castle Craig, a thrifty business place five miles
away.

The day was hot and, for Ireland, sultry, and, their inspection
over, they turned with relief homewards, when a winding path
leading down to a valley of luxuriously soft green invited them
to wander back by this untried route. Descending the hillside,
they entered what seemed a fairy bower. The sun had oppress-
ed them and they were grateful. for the shade that the arched
trees afforded. Gertrude could have kissed the soft foliage, so
keen was her sense of relief. 'Through the trees came a glint of
water with a sense of coolness. They were alone. The world
was shut out a moment, and she felt happy.

" This must be the Garden of Eden," she said, as they plung-
ed deeper into the shade.

" Yes," said her father—" an Irish Eden. Look out for ser-
pents."

" The nuns told me that St. Patrick banished all the serpents
from this land."

" Did they ? Then they were mistaken. The land is full of
them — human serpents, snakes in the grass."

" O papa ! how can you say so ? Are they not human like us ?
Was not my mother Irish ?"

He did not answer, but averted his gaze. He could not look
into the hazel eyes he knew so well, and be churlish.

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 451

" All the people I have met here seem to be lovable," and she
went on. " Their attentions dp not look like service, as with our
colder English. There is heart in it. They seem anxious to
serve me for — for — I do not know what to call it, but it looks
like love."

And she raised her voice and sang :

" Rich and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ;
But oh ! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems or snow-white wand."

The verse ended with lingering tenderness, and the very air
seemed to listen. To their surprise a fine baritone took up the
strain and answered back :

" Lady, dost thou not fear to stray,

So lone and lovely, through this bleak way ?

Are Erin's sons so good or so cold

As not to be tempted by woman or gold? "

Gertrude started, clung to her father, and listened with happy
eyes and lips parted in delighted wonder. The voice died away
in sweet cadence, and a low, rich laugh followed it.

" Who is it ? What is it ? " asked Mowbray.

" It must be the genius of the place," said Gertrude. " All
Irish places are haunted. Come, let us find him. His voice is so
sweet that he cannot be an evil genius."

A turn in the path brought them to the verge of a willow-
fringed pool that caught the sunlight on its broad, solemn sur-
face. The water was still as death and not a ripple ruffled the
awful calm. It made a picture of rare beauty startling in its
suddenness and with a strange, uncanny sense about it. Ger-
trude shivered and clung closer to her father.

" I am afraid," she said. " It is unreal ; let us go back. Who
sang ? I see no one."

" Nonsense ! " said her father. " Let us rest here awhile."

Another turn brought them to a rustic bench. Mr. Mow-
bray's sight was not of the best, and he made for the bench, not
noticing that it was already occupied by a recumbent figure. It
was that of a man, a young man apparently, clad in a rough,
loose-fitting 'suit. A straw hat and an open volume lay on the
greensward. A strong pair of brogans rested on one arm of the
bench, while the other supported a head covered with tangled
chestnut curls. Mr. Mowbray drew up with a short, dissatisfied

452 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [July,

" Ah ! " The figure, whose eyes were looking away from them,
did not move until they were quite close. Then a pair of laugh-
ing brown eyes turned lazily towards them and fastened on Ger-
trude. A flush of quick surprise passed over the features. The
man was on his feet in an instant, strong and alert, offering his
seat to the strangers. His brow was broad and capacious rather
than high. The features were too strongly marked to be strictly
handsome; but they had the never-failing beauty of youth,
strength, and health, together with a secret something of their
own. They were certainly not common. To Mr. Mowbray's
polite demurrer he replied, in a sweet, mellow voice that fitted
with the laugh they had heard a moment before :

" You are strangers, I perceive, and strangers are always
welcome to Castle Graig. So you must allow me to offer the
courtesies of the country. This is the only bench known in a
circuit of ten Irish miles, and it is at your service."

" We would not dispossess you," said Mr. Mowbray.

" Oh ! " said the other, with a laugh that showed a perfect
set of white teeth, " we Irish are used to being dispossessed."
The laugh took away any sting that the words might have had,
and with a half-glance at Gertrude he added : " Such a strange
people are we that we are sometimes pleased to be dispos-
sessed."

They seated themselves, and, there being room only for two,
he remained standing near Mr. Mowbray.

" And you are an Irishman ? You don't speak like one," said
the latter.

"That's my misfortune," laughed the stranger; he was
always ready with a laugh or a smile. " They sent me over to
England to college, and by the time I had finished my course
our beautiful Irish accent deserted me for a traitor."

" Do you regret it so much? "

" Of course I do. I regret everything that makes me even
by accident un-Irish. But, after all, what matters the manner of
a man's speech? Since we must speak English, it is as well to
speak it English fashion, 1 suppose. But pardon me ; I did not
mean to trouble you with a list of Irish grievances." And,
bowing, he was moving away when a question from Mr. Mow-
bray arrested him. He asked the name of the lake before
them.

" Well, we hardly call it a lake here, though it is a broad
sheet of water. It has a strange name. The people call it Eva's
Tear."

I882.J THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 453

"Eva's Tear!" ejaculated Mr. Mowbray. "That is a
strange name."

" Yes, and it has a history. It is not a long one. Would you
care to hear it ? " And he glanced at Gertrude.

" Yes, yes ; please tell it," said she eagerly. It was the first
time she had spoken; but she had listened with interest to the
conversation, and with a new interest when the stranger pro-
claimed himself an Irishman. She had so far met very few Irish-
men, at least of the national sort, as this young fellow seemed
to be.

" To use an Irishism, it is no story all, for there is no begin-
ning to it and hardly an end, Eva was a princess in the old
days when all the girls in Irish stories were princesses." A
roguish twinkle in the brown eyes caused Gertrude to smile.
" She lived with her father up there in a castle on the hill. You
may still see the ruins of it."

" Yes, we saw them," broke in Gertrude.

"Well, Eva was the most beautiful girl in the land, and all
the chieftains, married and single, Went mad about her. This
was before St. Patrick came," observed the narrator apologeti-
cally to Mr. Mowbray, " and when Irish morals were, I fear, a
little looser than they should have been. But Eva was cold as
she was beautiful. Her heart seemed made of steel, which al-
ways made me suspect that she cannot have been an Irish girl at
all. She had been educated in coldness from her infancy, for at
her birth they were warned to keep the child from sorrow, and a
saying somehow got abroad,

" ' Eva's tear
Let Eva fear ! '

And rather than lose their beautiful child, the only one given
them, her parents had her schooled in coldness, for the cold-
hearted know no sorrow. So when men came to sue for her
hand, having no heart, she had none to give them, and favored
none. It was at last decided that they should fight for her.
That was an Irish way of settling the difficulty, you see," said the
story-teller to Mr. Mowbray, who laughed. " And the strongest
was to bear her away.

" Five-and- forty chieftains met out there," pointing to the
lake. " There was no lake then, but a flowery meadow. From
the castle above Eva, cold and beautiful as a star, looked down
on the combat. It lasted all day until sunset, and as the sun

454 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [July?

was (tying the last two survivors of the band fell in mortal com-
bat, their faces turned to the woman for whom they fought.
When all was over she left the tower and came down to the
battle-field. With tearless eyes and dainty tread she moved
among the dead warriors, whose stony eyes stared at her with
a reproach she did not feel. She counted their bodies, marked
their gory gashes, and was turning away when a faint cry caught
her ear — a child's cry for its mother. How it came there none
knew, but there it lay nestling in the stiffened arm of a dead war-
rior, strong even in his death. The babe's eyes were turned to
heaven, and its feeble cry went up there with no one in the wide
world to answer it. As Eva approached they turned on her, and
as she stooped over the babe the eyes faded and death stole over
them. Then the woman's heart within her melted. The long-
pent-up fountains within were broken at last, and her tears
rained down over the babe and over the battle-field. She was
not seen at the castle that evening. She was never seen again.
But when people woke up next morning there was no scene of
carnage ; there were no dead warriors ; there was no Eva. The
meadow had become the lake you see before you ; and Eva's
tears had washed away the blood and buried the dead."

There was a pause as the story ended. What was it that
made the close so touching ? There was something in the voice
that came with a sort of surprise. Its habitual tones were those
of gay mockery and mirth, but tears melted into them at the
close and went from them into Gertrude's eyes. " It is very
beautiful," she said, and then sat silent and still, looking out over
the lake as though searching for Eva.

" You Irish are too imaginative," said Mr. Mowbray.

" Well, sir, we haven't much. Let us have imagination, at
least. I believe there is no tax on that. Good-day." And with
a genial smile and farewell glance at Gertrude he was gone.

Gertrude started and followed him with her eyes. He never
turned or looked back, and in a moment he was hidden from her
view. She felt annoyed and hurt at his abrupt departure, and
a sense of something like personal affront. A girl does not care
to be dismissed jauntily, by one who has entertained her, with a
sort of air of " There, that will do. You have had enough of me
for the present." That was how the stranger's departure struck
her. Mr. Mowbray simply muttered, " A strange young man,"
yawned, and turned his gaze carelessly on the lake. A moment
later rose up again the rich baritone, sinking, then swelling, then
dying away in the distance :

i882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 455

" On she went, and her maiden smile
In safety lighted her round the Green Isle.
And blest for ever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honor and Erin's pride !"

" That's a good voice," remarked Mr. Mowbray, who attend-
ed the opera in season.

" I think he is very rude," said Gertrude.

" Rude ! " said her father. " I thought him very polite for
an Irishman."

" To leave us like that ! O papa ! I hate this place. Come
away."

On their return to Dublin a ball was given at the Castle. All
the world that Dublin could command was there. Gertrude
went, and, though she met many a fair Irish girl, there was none
fairer than she. Her uncommon beauty attracted universal at-
tention.

" Who's that girl? " asked Daly, the light of the Dublin bar.
" Is she English or Irish ? She's a beauty, any way, and if I
were a younger man I'd give my best brief fora smile from those
hazel eyes."

The only man whom Gertrude knew there was Lafontaine,
whose uniform became him admirably. He was a little graver
than he had been. He found, notwithstanding the Castle influ-
ence at his back, his electioneering campaign anything but a
walk-over. The strength of the Home-Rulers had been greatly
under-estimated, and the surprise into which they were thrown
by the sudden dissolution sprung upon the country seemed only
to lend them fresh activity and energy. Lafontaine was ambi-
tious and very anxious to secure the seat, both for himself and
the party. He talked over the situation with Gertrude and
told her of his hopes and his fears. His frankness caught her
sympathies.

" They laugh at these people," he said, " and laugh at their
•candidates. But, after all, they are the people, and, hang it ! if I
were an Irishman I would be one of them. Still, as an English-
man I am bound to win. The party wants it, and it must be
done." He drew himself up with an air as though that state-
ment of the case settled the whole question.

" If I were an Irishman I would be a rebel," said Gertrude
energetically.

" A rebel against what ? " asked he, astonished.

"Against everything I see." In her energy she stepped
-back a moment and came into collision with some one. Turning

THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [July,

to apologize, she found herself face to face with her acquaintance
of " Eva's Tear." A look of mutual recognition passed between
them. He looked remarkably well and quite civilized in his
evening dress. Bowing low and smiling to himself, as if at some
amusing recollection, he passed on.

" Who is that man ? " asked Gertrude eagerly of her com-
panion.

" I don't know. Do you wish to discover ? "

" Yes — no — no matter ; let him go."

" Here's Daly, who knows everybody. Daly, who is that
young fellow talking so earnestly to Butt?"

" That ? " said Daly, a large, comfortable-looking personage,
glancing in the direction indicated. "That? Why, you of all
men ought to know him. That's young D'Arcy, your rival in
Castle Craig, and, from all I hear, a hard man to beat. Look out
for your spurs, Lafontaine ; D'Arcy is no chicken." And he nod-
ded significantly as he rolled off. Daly's nod was said to be
worth half a case, and imparted more information to a jury than
another man's speech.

Lafontaine's orow darkened and Gertrude looked atter the
stranger with heightened interest. She felt somehow as though
she were being drawn into the contest between these two men.

" So that is my rival," muttered the secretary between his
teeth as his eye took in the measure of his foe. " He has an
open look enough and a face with something in it. Well,* let
him win if he can."

" Beware of him ! " said Gertrude earnestly. " He is a dan-
gerous man."

" Why, he looks harmless enough. But how do you know ? "

" We met him accidentally on our travels. He paid us some
Jiittle attention. But it struck me at the time that no one could
hold him." Was there a faint tinge of bitterness in the tone?
" He isn't — " and she paused for a word — " he isn't conven-
tional ; and unconventional people break through all rules."

" I will beat him," said Lafontaine resolutely. " I like a man
who is worth fighting, and I will beat him."

" If you do I shall be proud of you."

" And if I don't ? " asked he, looking down into her eyes.

" You will hardly be proud of yourself."

His voice deepened and lowered, and a warmer light shone
in the dark eyes, as, bending towards her, he said :

" With you proud of me I could beat the world."

" Beat the world," she laughed back, " and you will beat me.'"

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 457

She saw no more of the stranger that evening until about to re-
tire with her father and Lafontaine. While the latter was cloak-
ing her D'Arcy passed and Mowbray at once recognized him.
Mr. Mowbray had been at the supper-table with some of his new
Irish friends, and was in the best humor possible with himself
and everybody else. He rushed forward and seized D'Arcy.

"Why, bless my soul!" said the honest gentleman, "you
here ? Why didn't you let me know ? Come along — here's
Gertrude — my daughter — whom you met, you know. Gertrude,
don't you remember our friend with the voice of — of — where the
mischief was it ? — some place or another — who sang so well, you
know — Adam and Eve, or some place like that. Sorry we're off
to-morrow, or I'd ask you to call. But come to London — come
to London — here's my card — and call on me. We'll be delighted
to see you."

During the delivery of this rather promiscuous harangue
D'Arcy stood bowing to each sentence and glancing furtively at
Gertrude, who surveyed him with an icy air that was quite an
offset to the unusual warmth of her father. Noting her coldness,,
a shade passed over his open countenance, and, thanking Mr.
Mowbray with the best taste at the close, he bowed to him,
made a polite obeisance to his daughter, and slowly sauntered
away. Her eyes followed him with a calm disdain, yet not
without interest. She felt that an unreasonable antagonism to-
wards this man had taken possession of her. They followed
after. As he neared the door he moved aside to let a party pass.
They stopped to speak to him, and 'a lovely girl burst from the
group just as the Mowbrays reached it.

She laid her hand on D'Arcy 's arm, and, clasping it firmly,
said, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken :

" I wish you success with all my soul. If you don't win I
shall be heart-broken, Martin."

"Then I must win," he said, with his habitual half-earnest,
half-playful air, as he gave her his arm to lead her down. And
they passed down smiling and happy.

The Mowbrays had been witnesses of the scene, and Lafon-
taine gazed at his fair foe with undisguised admiration.

" D'Arcy has also strong allies, I see," he whispered to Ger-
trude.

" Why are we so long, papa ? " was her response in a hard,
fretful tone that caused Mr. Mowbray to start. " I wish we
were home."

TO BE CONTINUED.

458 THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. [July,

THE ESSENCE OF BODIES.

WHAT is meant by a body ? My books, desk, and furniture,
the walls and ceiling of my room, seem to stare at me as I ask
the question. People that stare must be met by a steady gaze
in return, else their impertinence becomes unbearable. I there-
fore continue to face them all, and repeat my interrogatory.
Yes, my boldness has had its effect : they bear a more subdued
appearance, and even seem to become communicative. A thou-
sand casual glances have not told me as much as one steady look.
They all agree in this: that they possess extension, three dimen-
sions, all have some color, all occupy space, and exclude other
bodies from that portion of space which they occupy. Here
their resemblance ceases, and in a dozen other respects I find
them totally different. Now, when a philosopher begins an in-
vestigation he must be content with a descriptive definition,
since at the start he cannot have acquired that which is the
object of his search, and therefore he cannot give a definition of
the essential constituents of his subject. A body, then, is a sub-
stance which has three dimensions and is endowed with the force
of resistance.

How my lamp flickers ! What ails it ? By the ghost of Spi-
noza! it resents being called a substance. Knotty word for
metaphysicians, that term substance. But (if the ghost of Spi-
noza will be quiet) it seems to mean simply something which
can exist by itself — that is, which does not need to inhere in any
subject ; in contradistinction to an accident, which is something
that cannot exist by itself, but must inhere in some subject.
Iron is a substance ; its hardness, color, weight, and shape are
accidents. To be sure, we only know substances by their pro-
perties and qualities, but, in spite of Locke, we believe none the
less that substances are real. Who can imagine a house without
foundation, a bridge without piers ? And is it not still more diffi-
cult to conceive a heap of accidents, qualities, appearances, with-
out some reality lying beneath to sustain them ? Now, common
sense, which tells us that bodies exist, that appearances differ
from substance, and that substance means something real, also
tells us that there are different substances. Who but a philoso-
pher, and that of our century, needs to be told that sugar and

1 882.] THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. 459

salt, gold and lead, silk and cotton, differ substantially ? Those
who say that they are not different in substance must account
for their diverse properties and qualities. One step more and
we shall be fairly ready to leap from' the shore of experience into
the sea of speculation. Food is changed into flesh, coal into gas
and ashes ; and the whole science of chemistry treats of the
change of substances into one another. New substances are
being constantly formed, old ones destroyed, and yet there is no
new creative act performed ; the old material is simply undergo-
ing various changes. But there's the rub : how are those chan-
ges brought about ? What light do they throw on the nature of
bodies ?

Admitting, then, the existence of the corporeal world, of dif-
ferent substances, and of the change of substances into one an-
other, we are at once led to inquire how these changes are ac-
counted for, and what can be ascertained by means of them with
regard to the constitution of bodies. It must be borne in mind
from the outset that we are seeking intrinsic causes, constituent
principles, and therefore we must put ourselves under the guid-
ance of reason. While we use our senses and imagination to aid
us in an investigation, they must not be permitted to trammel or
confine us when we seek to get beyond their range. When we
have said to our Sibyl,

" Doceas iter et sacra ostia pandas,"

we must be prepared to accompany her whithersoever she con-
ducts us. The questions to which we seek an answer are, in
brief : What is there in the intrinsic nature of bodies that makes
them differ substantially, and how is it that one body can be
changed into another ? Any theory which fully explains these
facts must tell us what constitutes the essence of a body and will
require our assent, whilst those hypotheses which fail to account
for what our experience teaches must be rejected as unsatisfac-
tory, however exalted be the names of their advocates.

We find that the moderns seem to be traversing the same
ground already trodden by ancient philosophers. For example,
Descartes * follows Epicurus in holding that there exist in space
an infinite number of very minute bodies, called atoms. All we
know of their essence is that they are extended matter. They
are not intrinsically possessed of any forces, but are endowed
with motion by some external cause. This motion, whether rec-

* Les Principes de la Philosophic, troisieme partie, No. 46 et seq., edit. 1824.

460 THE ESSENCE OF BODIES.

tilinear or rotatory, is purely mechanical and cannot be destroy-
ed, but only transformed from one to another species of motion.
All substances arise from the agglomeration of atoms, which
unite in one or other way, according to the nature of the motion
imparted to each or according to the manner in which they en-
counter one another. Descartes' views are much modified bv

more recent atomists, who hold that matter is uncreated and
that motion is essential to it, but it would be an endless task to
enter upon the various phases of the theory. All that the atom-
ist asks for in order to construct the universe is matter and
motion ; it is not our part to ask him whence come these elemen-
tary principles, but simply to inquire whether they account for
the existing state of facts.

The great Leibnitz preferred " to hold opinion with Pytha-
goras," if philosophic tradition be correct in making Pythagoras
the father of dynamism. According to this system bodies are
ultimately composed of monads which are infinite in number,
and are endowed with an obscure kind of cognition and some
shadowy appetitive faculty which enables them to remain con-
tented in their place at the extreme limit of created things. Bos-
covich modifies Leibnitz's theory, holding that the monads are
finite in number, rejecting the notion that they are endowed with
cognition, and granting them instead the forces of attraction and
repulsion, which keep them, not in contact, but in certain defi-
nite relations to one another. Both views make the monads
simple substances without extension, mere mathematical points
in space, which give rise to extension by occupying relative
positions. The dynamist accounts for diversity of substances, as
I might account for the different letters on this page, by imagin-
ing a diverse arrangement of a huge number of black dots or
points going to form the surface of the type. Bodies, then, are
composed of force-centres acting at a distance, never in perfect
contact.

Metaphysicians theorize ; practical scientists adopt or reject
their doctrines to suit their own branches or explain and clas-
sify phenomena. Hence we find in modern physics and chemis-
try a medley of opinions which may be reduced, mutatis mutan-
dis, to the views of Descartes and Boscovich. The advanced
physical doctrine may be formulated somewhat as follows :
Atoms, the ultimate elements of bodies, are simple beings, in some
way or other centres of motion, and remaining unchanged in
their nature in whatever substances they exist. Molecules are
the smallest portions of matter which can exist physically, and

1 882.] THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. 461

they differ among themselves by reason of the different number
of atoms they contain or the- diverse arrangement of the atoms.
Ether, that universal agent which is admitted as the cause or
condition for all changes in the physical world, and which is held
to permeate the most solid substances, is probably composed of
atoms only. Matter and motion account for all things. The
words force and substance have no plural ; language is all figu-
rative ; our senses may be reduced to one ; in fact, all visible,
created nature is one in essence, because the world, after all,
is made up of nothing but atoms, however deftly arranged we
may find them at present.

The chemist agrees in the main with the physicist. He
knows bodies to be either simple elements — that is, such as cannot
be split up into other bodies — or compound substances, which he
regards as being composed of different elements, still actually
present in the compound. For instance, gold is a simple body,
not in the metaphysical sense that it cannot be divided into
parts, but in this sense, that it cannot be further analyzed.
Water is a compound body, made up of oxygen and hydrogen,
two atoms of hydrogen hooking on to one of oxygen and form-
ing a molecule of water. He finds different degrees of force in
the atoms of different substances, one having the power to com-
bjne with three atoms of hydrogen, another with two, and so on.
This atomicity, or chemical force, of the component particles of
bodies plays an important part in modern chemistry. It is called
quantivalence. Hydrogen is said to be monovalent, oxygen
bivalent, nitrogen trivalent. Thus, a molecule of ammonia gas is
represented by the symbol NH3 ; and this is held to mean that
the smallest physical constituent of the gas contains three atoms
-of hydrogen joined to one of nitrogen, both substances existing
in the compound, but with their forces neutralized, their affinities
satisfied, to use the technical explanation. Two forces account
for the condition of all stable bodies. Cohesion holds together
the atoms of homogeneous substances, affinity binds heterogene-
ous compounds. The starting-point of this system is Avoga-
dro's hypothesis that " equal volumes of all gases contain, under
like conditions, the same number of atoms." Admitting this law,
as it is called, and knowing as a fact that two quarts of hydrogen
are required to combine with one of oxygen, it follows that
every molecule of the resulting substance — that is, water — contains
two atoms of one gas to one atom of the other. Observe, the
foundation of the system is a hypothesis — that is, a supposition in-
capable of direct verification. Whatever is drawn from this law,

462 THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. [July,.

then, is merely theory, convenient, plausible, useful, but not cer-
tain or evident. It is only fair to state that the chemist, as a
rule, does not pretend to build up any philosophic system. He
adopts theories in so far as he finds them convenient, and is
ready to change his theory when another is proposed that better
explains the facts of his science or serves to assist more effectual-
ly to its advancement.

Does any of these systems explain the facts? Can we ac-
count for diversity of substances, substantial changes, and real
extension by any of these doctrines ? And, first, what says the
atomist ? Probably he holds with Descartes that extension alone
constitutes the essence of bodies, and that atoms in motion give
rise to diversity of substances. Can it be that the only differ-
ence between a beautiful flower and a lump of clay is that in one
we have atoms arranged in a certain manner, and in the other
atoms otherwise distributed ? The plant has properties and quali-
ties wholly diverse from those of the stone. A difference of pro-
perties indicates a difference of nature, so our common sense
tells us that the intimate nature of the flower differs from that of
the stone. A mere accidental change in the mode of motion of
the atoms or in their arrangement could never bring about sub-
stantial differences. And what we say of diversity of substances
must be said of substantial changes. Atomism explains the con-
version of grass or oats into flesh by supposing that the atoms
of the food undergo a change in their order or relative position.
The same objection must be urged. Rearrange the grains of
wheat in a bushel from now till doomsday, and you will never
get anything but wheat. What right have we, then, to presume
that by transposing atoms, which no one has ever seen and the
existence of which does not admit of direct proof, we can get a
whole world of varied beings ? No ; to change fodder into meat
the vital action of a living principle must be employed, and to
convert one inorganic body into another a force just as real,
though not so high in nature, must be called into play. The
vital force in the animal, the chemical force in the mineral,,
spring from natures that are different. Now, atomism does not
give any satisfactory account of these different natures, does not
explain the changes with which we are all familiar, and so
we feel bound to reject it. Does atomism explain even exten-
sion ? According to this theory bodies are not continuous, as
they appear to be, but each atom is distinct and separate from
the rest. Our idea of extension is derived from the atoms, how-
ever, because each atom has a certain small extension — in other

i882.J THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. 463.

words, is a small body with three dimensions, though incapable
of further division. Pope reproaches the philologist for chasing
so small a thing as a syllable back to Noe's ark ; we must there-
fore crave pardon while we pursue a poor little atom to its den.
The truth is, this atom has made such a noise of late it may be
worth inspecting ; and then, as nobody has ever seen it, we are
perfectly safe in talking about it. Fix the eye of your imagina-
tion upon an atom. It has extension ; therefore, though physical-
ly incapable of division, it must be said to have parts. For what
is extension but the placing of parts beyond parts? But these
parts are perfectly connected in the atom ; there is no actual
division of its parts. So our atom has at once unity and multi-
plicity— that is to say, the characteristics of an extended body.
Now, the multiplicity comes from the principle of extension, but
whence comes the unity ? Opposite properties cannot spring
from one and the same principle ; the intrinsic cause of dispersion
of parts cannot give rise at the same time to cohesion among
the parts. How, then, shall we account for this unity ? Three
answers are possible : it may be said the atom is one because
God wills it ; or the principle of extension is sufficient to account
for the unity ; or, finally, that some force holds the parts together.
No other answer can be conceived; which of these shall we
adopt ? The first recurs to the Maker's will — that is to say, it
abandons the controversy. For we must admit either that the
Maker's will produces some intrinsic effect in the atom or that
it does not. If it does not produce any such effect we remain
where we were before. If it does produce some effect, then
precisely what we are now inquiring is, What does it produce?
The second reply, making the principle of extension alone suffi-
cient, gives to the same principle opposite effects, in the same
subject, at the same time. This is clearly repugnant. We are
obliged, therefore, to conclude that some force is required to bind
our atom into one. Such a force must be an essential, not an
accidental, one ; it must be a constituent part of the nature of the
atom, not something added to the complete essence and flowing
from it. An accidental force supposes its subject already exist-
ing, but the force we speak of is evidently required in order that
the atom may begin to exist. Poor little atom ! it cannot escape ;
small as it is, its extension supposes two principles diverse in
nature, which must come together in order to make it. Atom-
ism gives no account of any two such principles, so we cannot
even grant that it explains its own atoms, much less that it ex-
plains the real extension of the world of visible bodies. " II faut

464 THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. [July>

qu'outre 1'etendue on congoive dans le corps une force primi-
tive." *

May we, then, embrace the dynamic theory that bodies are
mere collections of force-centres — that is, of simple, unextended
monads acting- on one another by means of attraction and repul-
sion ? Let us apply our crucial test. Does the doctrine explain
the diversity of substances ? What is the difference between my
pen and my watch that is ticking on the desk before me ? Force-
centres, without extension, grouped one way or other, make the
pen and the watch. How is this known ? By experience ? Clear-
ly not. By reasoning ? What course of reasoning brings us to
confound things so totally diverse ? And, again, how do I get
my idea of extension ? The page on which I am writing seems
to me an extended substance. Now let me consider. The force-
centres of which it is composed must either be continuous, or
contiguous, or at a distance from one another. First, things
are said to be continuous which have one common boundary.
But simple beings, having no parts, if they touch at all must
coincide altogether, and therefore if our monads are continuous
all bodies are reduced to mathematical points. Second, things
are contiguous which are joined at one extremity. But, again,
our unextended monads have got no extremities, and so if we
make them touch one another they vanish once more. Third,
put them now at a distance. In the first place, they cannot act
upon one another in any way, because there is no such thing as
actio in distans ; but granting, for the sake of argument, that they
attract and repel one another, they present no foundation for the
idea of extension. We have merely order or arrangement — of
what? Of simple points. But order simply means a relation,
a disposition : it does not say anything about extension ; and
surely points cannot be at the same time unextended yet the
foundation of extension. But, some one may say, let the inter-
vals between the force-centres be so small that the senses do not
perceive them. Bodies contain many pores which we do not
see. We imagine them to be altogether continuous, when they
are really full of interstices. As Balmez f puts it: "That which
is positive in extension is multiplicity, together with a certain
constant order ; continuity is nothing more than this constant
order, in so far as sensibly represented in us ; it is a purely sub-
jective phenomenon, which does not at all affect the reality."
Outside of us, then, there may be nothing but a multiplicity of
beings, between which we perceive no intervals. Now, we ask,

* Leibnitz. f Fundamental Philosophy, bk. iii. chap. xxiv. p. 445.

1 882.] THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. 465

in what way does order change the nature or the properties
of things? Order is a mere accident — something external and
apart from the nature of a being. Let us take an example.
Here we have a series of points dotted across a slate. Do they
make a line ? Certainly not ; they must be connected in order
to make a line. Put four dots at the corners of the slate. Have
you a quadrangle ? Not till you have joined them. If the no-
tion of extension comes simply from the arrangement of beings
not themselves extended, let us arrange a band of spirits in pro-
per fashion and make a. cabbage out of them. Make granite
walls out of straw, by all means ; build bridges of feathers ; but
when you run against a tree in the dark do not try to persuade
yourself that it is not really an extended object, but merely a col-
lection of force-centres mutually repelling one another. Your
temper at the moment will not favor that philosophic calm which
is required to enable us to put aside our common sense for
vague dreams.

Besides, Balmez's objection ignores the testimony of our
senses. If there is nothing a parte rei corresponding to our
perception of extension, our senses deceive us, and if we wish
to be logical we must become idealists or sceptics. The testi-
mony of our senses must be true, for nature cannot deceive us ;
and so there must exist outside of us something to cause in us
the impression of extension. But the dynamic theory gives us
nothing as a foundation for this notion, and therefore we must
abandon it altogether. Better adopt atomism, for there at least
we have extended atoms, and these, even though not continuous,
might help to explain extension. It is not surprising to find
that Balmez elsewhere contradicts himself. He says : " No pos-
sible efforts can enable us to consider a collection of indivisible
points, neither continuous nor united by lines, as extension ; this
collection will be to us as that of beings having no connection
with extension " (bk. ii. ch. viii. p. 285). To be sure, I do not
perceive the pores in ordinary objects ; does that prove that
things are made of pores ? The matter between the pores has
real extension; the interstices, in fact, are as a general thing so
slight in comparison with the extended particles that they es-
cape my eye. Force-centres, then, without real extension do not
explain real extension, and therefore the dynamic theory fails to
account for the most obvious and universal property of bodies,
and seems, in fact, to deny the reality of true objective extension.

Whither shall we turn? Brief as our consideration has been,
we have found atomism and dynamism altogether unsatisfactory.

VOL. xxxv. — 30

466 THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. [July,

Shall we apply to the chemist or the physicist for help ? It will
be useless to do so, for these sciences either adopt some hypothe-
sis as true, and then argue from it, or they leave the question un-
touched altogether. It is safe to say that chemists and physi-
cists hold to one of the two theories we have been reviewing, or
some modification of them. Perhaps it may be worth while to
consider an old-fashioned doctrine that comes down to us from
Grecian sages, and which satisfied the minds of men for centu-
ries when questions of this kind were studied with an ardor and
a thoroughness which our practical age can hardly realize. It
certainly deserves a fair hearing, both on account of its antiquity
and the deep hold it has had upon philosophic minds in all suc-
ceeding ages up to the present day ; and if it can be reconciled
with the discoveries of modern science it may still approve itself
to thinking men as the best explanation of phenomena which now
are clouded in obscurity.

"Multa renascenturquae jam cecidere, cadentque
Quse nunc sunt in honore."

The system we are going to consider regards all bodies as
made up essentially of two principles, matter and form, the first
being the source of extension, multiplicity of parts, and of the
passive character of corporeal substances, the second serving as
the foundation of unity, cohesion, and of all active qualities and
properties. The basis of the doctrine is the variety of substances
in the world and the reality of substantial changes. As for the
variety of substances, it seems almost an insult to common sense
to prove that pumpkins are not peaches, stones bread, or sand
sugar ; but as we are philosophizing, the plainest truths must be
weighed in the balance of reason. Actions that are specifically
different spring from substances specifically different, because
actions are the effects of the nature that produces them, and
from effects we argue to causes. But there are among bodies
actions specifically different. For instance, the action of oxygen
in supporting combustion, and of carbon dioxide in extinguishing
fire, are opposite to one another ; they could not, therefore, ema-
nate from the same subject. The action of a plant in assimilating-
its nutriment could not be successfully imitated by any inorganic
body. Fancy a series of leaden pipes, attached to an iron trunk,
that branches out into copper twigs terminating in silver leaves,
and try to imagine how such a tree could grow. Not only in
their actions but in their general properties and qualities sub-
stances differ. In spite of Locke's efforts to persuade us that our

1 882.] THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. 467

knowledge is limited to the exterior of things, we feel convinced
that if lead differs from gold in hardness, weight, lustre, color, and
fusibility, there must be something different in each of them
which is the basis of all these qualities — in other words, that they
are different substances. Besides, if substances do not really
differ, if all are merely atoms in motion, what becomes of that
beautiful gradation in nature which has ever been the wonder
and admiration of mankind, and to the existence of which our
common sense bears witness? The kingdoms of nature, mineral,
vegetable, and animal, protest against any levelling theory that
blots out old landmarks or overleaps old boundaries. It is the
part of science to take things as it finds them and to explain, but
not explain away, nature. Not only do substances really differ
among themselves, but one or more substances can be changed into
another substance. For instance, oxygen and hydrogen unite to
form water ; food is changed into flesh, coal into vapor and ashes.
Now, what do these changes imply ? Consider the simplest one,
the union of the two gases that go to form water. We have two
glass vessels, containing the gases oxygen and hydrogen in proper
proportion. They are different substances, and each is a simple
substance ; that is to say, so far as chemists have yet ascertained
neither of them can be decomposed into other elements. Now,
the electric spark passes, the gases unite, and a drop of water is
produced. Has there been any annihilation of one substance,
any creative act to call another into being ? Clearly not ; there
has been a change, but not an annihilation. Do oxygen and
hydrogen remain? No; we have an entirely new substance.
Water is not oxygen or hydrogen, or a mixture of the two. This
is not like dissolving sugar in water or changing water into ice..
We have here a perfect conversion — a destruction of a whole
series of properties in two simple bodies, the appearance of a new
body with new properties. ' Now observe : as there has been no-
creation, we must say that the water was made out of something
that was there already. But it could not have been made out of
the entire substance of oxygen, plus the entire substance of hy-
drogen, for in that case we should now have the sum or ag-
gregate of two substances, not a new substance. What must
be said, then? That the water was made out of something of
the substance of oxygen and something of the substance of hy-
drogen. The something out of which a thing is made we
call the matter, so we may say here that the something in
oxygen and hydrogen which goes to make water is matter,
or the material part of the substance formed. The matter of

468 THE ESSENCE OF BODIES.

oxygen and hydrogen remains. It was the subject which under-
went the change we have been examining ; it now remains as the
material part of the water. This matter may be justly regarded
as the foundation, so to speak, of the existence of the water. It
is the lowest step in the ladder of being. We cannot get be-
neath it. For to be a substance is, as it were, the basis of all pro-
perties and qualities : but this matter that we are talking of is at
the root of the substance of water as substance ; it belongs to the
primum esse ret, and therefore, whatever be its nature, it deserves
to be called first matter — materia prima. We call it matter be-
cause it is that out of which something is made. We call it first
matter because that which is made of it is the primum esse, the
substantial reality of the thing made.

Again, whilst part of the oxygen and hydrogen still survives,
neither of these substances remains as such, therefore something
has disappeared. But that which has vanished is precisely what
made oxygen to be oxygen, and hydrogen to be hydrogen — that
which gave each of them its separate nature. What shall we
call this something which is gone ? It was a constitutive part of
the substances that entered into combination, and it was that
which gave each its distinct character or form, so we call it sub-
stantial form. They have lost their substantial forms, and a new
substantial form — namely, that of water — has been produced.

Is all this mere hypothesis, or is it certain ? In the first place,
it is certain that oxygen and hydrogen unite to form water. It
cannot be denied that water is a new substance and one single
substance ; therefore the oxygen and hydrogen no longer remain
as separate substances. But they are not wholly annihilated ;
they contribute really to the formation of the compound. In the
compound, then, there is something old and something new — an
entity which was in the elements, an entity which was not actually
in the elements, but has been evolved by their union. It is evi-
dent, then, ist, that the elements themselves consist of two
principles ; 2d, that one of these is permanent, the other can be
changed ; 3d, that since something from both elements remains
in the compound, whilst the compound is one single substance,
that principle which remains, and which we have called materia
prima, is the same in all the three bodies. For whether in the
elements or in the water, it is merely something in potentia, to be
such or such a substance.

We notice, furthermore, that in this evolution of water, while
something has been lost, some new reality has been produced.
This it is that makes water to be water ; this givesjt a name and

1 882.] THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. 469

a nature of its own, and makes it one complete being-. This new
arrival on the scene we call the substantial form of water. It is
called a form because it limits, determines, perfects the nature of
the thing made ; it is called substantial form because it enters
into the constitution of the essence of water as such. That some
new entity has appeared is evident, because water is a new sub-
stance ; that that entity is not something complete in itself is
equally clear, for we saw that the water contains the material
part of the elements ; that this intruder forms an intimate union
with that material part of the elements is equally unquestionable.
It is, then, a cause of the resulting compound, because it helps to
its production ; it is not the only cause, for the matter also was
required ; it is not an extrinsic cause, since it acts by giving it-
self, so to speak, to the effect. We must call it, then, a formal
cause, or "informing" principle. Now, what the water has
gained the elements have lost ; they no longer have that which
made them distinct and complete substances; they have lost that
principle through which they possessed a determinate nature of
their own — that is, they have lost their substantial forms.

Why is it that at first blush the modern reader smiles at this
doctrine? Many reasons might be given. One is this: We are
not accustomed to consider accurately intrinsic causes, nor to
weigh what we mean by material and -formal principles or by
the words matter and form. In order to understand Aristotle's
definition of these important terms we cannot do better than ask
ourselves bluntly the question what we have meant hitherto
whilst we employed these words. For instance : " Did you en-
joy that sermon to-day?" " No, the subject-matter was good,
but the form showed poor taste." " What do you think of that
essay ? " " All flowers, no fruit ; fine form, but wanting in solid
matter." " Does a man commit murder when he shoots a friend
accidentally ? " " Of course not. The physical act without the
intention to kill is no crime ; it is only the material part. The
formal part of the crime is wanting." Now, observe, in these and
similar examples that readily occur to the mind, the word " mat-
ter " seems to mean something rather vague and indeterminate,
something, for instance, that may be common to a good and bad
action, or essay, or sermon — something, therefore, which may be
found in different species of objects ; whilst "form," on the other
hand, gives determination or character, specifies or limits the
object to which it is attributed. This in a general way. One is
potential, the other actual.*

Whilst we bear this carefully in mind, let us also distinguish

470 THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. [July,

clearly between what is signified by accidental forms and sub-
stantial forms. This piece of wax is now spherical. By a few
gentle taps on the table I have made it cubical; now again it
becomes a pyramid under the pressure of my thumb and finger.
It changes its figure, its shape, but it undergoes no substantial
alteration ; it is the same wax as before. The snow that is falling
to-day will melt to-morrow, losing its myriad crystalline forms,
but remaining substantially the same. The figure of the wax as
well as of the snow is something accidental, since it can be re-
moved without changing the substance. It is called an acci-
dental form, since it determines its subject to exist under such a
shape. A substantial form determines its subject to be such a
substance ; it specifies the whole nature, as the accidental form
specifies the quality of the thing in question. Just as by changes
of this sort we come to know the real distinction between a sub-
stance and its accidents or appearances, so by changes such, as
that first discussed we acquire our knowledge of the difference
between substantial forms and materia prima.

It is time to venture on a definition of the two principles of
which -bodies may be said to be essentially composed. Materia
prima, or first matter,* is neither substance nor accident, nor
anything else that limits and defines a thing ; but it is the first
subject of all substantial changes, existing per se in all bodies.
It is not a substance — that is to say, it is not something complete
and capable of existing alone. It is not an accident, for it is an
essential principle and is found at the bottom of all transmutations,
as we saw by an example. Nor is it anything else limiting and de-
fining a being. Why all this ? Because it is a potential, passive
principle, a mere recipient, a kind of primeval clay, from which all
substances are moulded. Since it is a purely potential principle,
it is indifferent to all modes of being — that is, it is ready to be-
come anything, just as wax is indifferent to all figures and can be
made to assume various shapes at pleasure. It does not follow
because it is neither substance nor accident that it is nothing at
all, an absolute nonentity, a creature of the imagination ; though,
being next to nothing, prope nihil, having of itself no determined
nature, we must not expect to have a very obvious definition of
it. Since without a form it cannot exist, and we know all things
as they exist, we can only know materia prima by analogy and
by the relation it bears to the actuating principle, though our
certainty of its existence is based indirectly upon experience.
Materia prima must not be confounded with simple elements as

*Cf. St. Thomas, vii. Met., 1. viii. lect. 2.

1 882.] THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. 471

we know them from chemistry. " Simple elements themselves are
composed of matter and form, just as all other bodies are. Mat-
ter is merely the principle of extension, something common to all
bodies whatsoever, and the same in all, because what makes
bodies different is the principle that completes their nature, actu-
ating- or informing the potential principle, matter, and determin-
ing it to be iron, gold, lead, or any other substance.

We have still to define what is meant by substantial form.
It may be said to be, in technical terms, the "first act " of a cor-
poreal substance, or that which determines the specific nature
of a substance. As matter cannot exist alone, so form cannot.
The two co-exist ; they are comprincipia, and together make up
the composite nature of bodies. From matter, the passive prin-
ciple, flows extension ; from form, the active principle, come the
qualities and properties of bodies. Real extension is found in
gold and silver, because both alike contain the same material
principle that gives rise to that fundamental property ; gold and
silver differ in qualities, because they have different substantial
forms. What is simple, then, to the chemist's mind, because he
cannot analyze it further, is composite in the view of the meta-
physician, since he finds in it two distinct principles.

In setting out we agreed to apply certain tests to the differ-
ent theories by which philosophers try to^ account for the nature
of bodies. The true theory must explain real extension, diver-
sity of substances, and substantial changes. We rejected atom-
ism and dynamism because they did not seem to explain these
facts. Does the scholastic doctrine fulfil this condition ? It is
precisely upon these facts that the scholastic doctrine is based.
i. Extension implies multiplicity of parts and unity among the
parts, therefore it supposes a double principle, just as the union
of our States into one government supposes two things, real dis-
tinction of States and real unity among them. 2. Diversity of
substances among bodies implies a principle essentially different
in each substance. This theory gives us a principle, an actuating
principle, different for each substance. 3, Substantial changes
imply that something substantial is destroyed, whilst something
remains ; food is decomposed, and flesh is made from it : some-
thing of the food becomes part of the substance of our bodies.
This doctrine says that the material principle remains, the sub-
stantial form is changed. It grants all patent facts, it takes the
world as it finds it, consults experience, examines chemical evi-
dence, and then reasons directly upon the facts presented. Dif-
ficulty in understanding technical terms, preconceived notions

472 THE ESSENCE OF BODIES. [July,

coming from some knowledge of chemistry or physics, or, finally,
a want of patience in following our own reason when we have
not the imagination to help it, especially in treating of bodies,
which we are accustomed to know so directly through our
senses, makes us smile at first at what the gravest sages have
deemed evident and incontrovertible. We must conclude, then,
that all bodies are essentially composed of two principles, matter
and form.

We have carefully abstained from lengthy quotations, which
are only too easily multiplied, and have even omitted nearly all
mention of authorities, since such a question appeals purely to
our reason and must be decided strictly by its intrinsic merits.
It may not be amiss, however, for the sake of the curious or the
studious reader, to refer to such works as the Metaphysics of the
School, by Harper, or Kleutgen's Scholastic Philosophy (French
translation), whilst those familiar with Latin can find the ques-
tion fully treated in such authors as De San, Pesch, Cornoldi,
and San Severino, unless they prefer to go to the fountain-head
of learning, there to imbibe the pure doctrine of the schools, in
the rigid simplicity of its relentless logic, from the pages of St.
Thomas himself.

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 473

THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE.

BY AUBREY DE VERB.
^FRAGMENT II.;

THE^HIGH DEEDS OF CUCHULLAIN.
ARGUMENT.

FERGUS is sent to Cnchullain with gifts, and requires him to forsake King Conor. This he
will not do, yet consents to forbear the host till Meave has reached the border of Uladh, the
Queen engaging that the warfare shall then be restricted to a combat between himself and a single
champion sent against him day by day. Each day Meave's champion is slain. Cailitin, Lord
of the Magic Clan, counsels Meave to send against Cuchullain his earliest and best-loved friend
Ferdia ; yet she sends, instead, Lok Mac Favesh. When he, too, falls, Cailitin and his twenty-
seven sons, all magicians, noting that Cuchullain stands like one sore wearied, fling themselves
upon him. Cuchullain slays them all. The Mor Reega, the War Goddess of the Gael, prophe-
sies to him that there yet awaits him the greatest of his trials. After ninety days of combat
Cuchullain's father brings him tidings that all Uladh lies bound under a spell of imbecility.

THUS ever day by day, arid night by night,
Through strength of him that 'mid the royal host
Passed and repassed like thought, the bravest fell,
For ne'er against the inglorious or the small
That warrior raised his hand. Then Ailill spake :
" Let Fergus seek that champion in the woods,
Gift-laden, and withdraw him from his king":
But Fergus answered : " Sue and be refused !
That great one loves his country. Heard ye not
How when King Conor's sin, that forfeit pledge
Plighted with Usnach's sons, had left the Accursed
Crownless, and Eman's bulwarks in the dust,
Her Elders on Cuchullain worked, what time
He came my work of vengeance to complete ?
They said, ' Cuchullain loves his country well ;
The man besides, though terrible to foes,
Is tender to the weak. Through Eman's streets
Send ye proclaim, " Will any holy maid
To save the Land take up her station sole
On yonder bridge, at parting of the ways,
The City's Emblem-Victim, robed in black
Down from her girdle to the naked feet;
Above that girdle this alone — the chains

474 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [July.

Of Email's gate, circling1 that virgin throat

And down at each side streaming? It may be

That dread one will relent, pitying in her

Great Uladh's self, despoiled of robe and crown,

Her raiment bonds and shame." Of Eman's maids

But one, the best and holiest, gave consent:

Alone she stood at parting of the ways :

While near and nearer yet that war-car rushed

Wide-eyed she stood ; death-pale : it stopp'd : she spake :

' Eman, thy mother, stands a widow now :

And many a famished babe that wrought no ill

Lies wailing 'mid her ruins.' To the left

The warrior turned his steeds. ThejLand was saved."

Then spake the Kings Confederate : " Hard albeit
That task, to draw Cuchullain from his charge,
Seek him, and proffer terms." Fergus next morn
Made way through those sea-skirting woods, and cried
Three times, "Setanta"; and Cuchullain heard
And knew that voice, and, beaming, issued forth,
And clasped his ancient Master round the neck,
And led him to his sylvan cell. Therein
Long time they held discourse of ancient days
Heaven-like through mist of years. Ere long the Chief
Spread frugal feast, whatever wood or stream
Yielded, its best, with milk — the woodland kernes
Brought it each morn : nor lacked that feast its song,
Bird -song, by autumn chilled, that brake through boughs
Gilt by unwarming sunshine. Fergus, last,
Plainly his errant showed, and named the gifts
By Ailill sent, and Meave. Cuchullain rose
And curtly answered : " Never will I break'
My vow ; nor wrong my land ; nor sell my king."
His friend that theme renewed not. Parting, thus
He spake : " For thee, though not for her, unmeet
That pact of Meave ; — I own it. Thou, in turn
Conceal not, know'st thou meeter terms, and fit?"
To whom Cuchullain: " Fergus, terms there are
Other, and fitter. I divulge them not :
Divine them he that seeks them ! " On the morn
Fergus these things narrated to the chiefs
In synod met. Then rose a recreant churl,

1 8 82.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 475

And thus gave counsel : '^Lure Cuchullain here
On pretext fair ; and sla'y him at the feast ! "
Against that recreant Fergus hurled his spear,
And slew him ; and continued, " Hundreds six,
Our best, have perished, and our march is slow :
Now, warriors, hear my counsel and my terms.
Cuchullain scorns your gifts — of such no more!
'Twixt southern Erin and my Uladh's realm
Runs Avon Dia : through it lies a ford ;
Speak to Cuchullain : ' By that ford stand thou,
Guarding thy land. Against thee, day by day,
Be ours to send one champion — one alone ; ,

While lasts that strife forbear the host beside ! '

Then roared the Kings a long and loud applause,
Since meet appeared that counsel : faith they pledged,
And sureties in the hearing of the gods :
Likewise Cuchullain, when his friend returned,
Made answer : " Well you guessed: a month or more
My strength will hold : meantime our Uladh arms."
That day he visited the hostile camp,
And shared the banquet. Wondering, all men gazed,
And maidens, lifted on the warriors' shields,
Gladdened, so bright that youthful face. At morn
Meave, when the warrior left them, kissed his cheek :
" Pit}''," the proud one said, " that such should die ! "
The one sole time that Meave compassion felt.

That eve Cuchullain drank of Dia's wave,
And, wading, reached Cuailgn6's soil, his charge,
And, kneeling, kissed it. As the sun declined
He clomb a rocky height, and northward gazed,
And cried : " Ye Red Branch warriors, haste ! I keep
The ford ; but who shall guard it when I die ?"

Next morning by that stream the fight began,
Two champions face to face : and, every morn,
Rang out renewed that combat ; while the host
Shouted, in triumph when Cuchullain bled,
In anguish when his boastful rival sank
Dead on the soil. Daily their bravest died ;
Thirty in thirty days. Fearbraoth fell,

476 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [July,

And Natherandal, though the Druid horde
Above his javelins, carved at set of moon
From the ever-sacred holly stem, had breathed
Vain consecration, and with futile salve
Anointed them : confuted, soon they sailed
In ignominy adown the Dia's tide
With him that hurled them. Eterconnel next,
Dalot, and Cuir. Yet he that laid them low
Was beardless at the lip. While thus they strove
A second month went by.

. Such things beholding,

The Queen was moved ; and in her grew one day
Craving for Cruachan. But on her ear
Rolled forth that hour the lowings of that Bull,
Cuailgne's Donn : for he from Dare's house
Had heard, though far, the thunders of the host,
And answered rage with rage. Then mused the Queen :
" Though all my host should perish to a man,
I will not tread once more my native plains
Save with that Bull in charge."

To her by night

Came Cailitin, who ever walked by night,
Shunning mankind, and Fergus most of all,
Cailitin, Father of the Magic Clan,
And thus addressed her : " Place in me thy trust!
I hate Cuchullain, for he hates my spells,
Resting his hope on Virtue. In thy camp
Ferdla bides, a Firbolg, feared of all :
Win him to meet Cuchullain. They in youth
Were friends : to slay that friend to him were death !
Ferdla dies — thus much mine art foreshows —
Then I, since magic spells have puissance most
Upon a soul depressed and body sick,
Fall on him as a storm by night ; with me
My seven-and-twenty sons, magicians all : —
One are we ; therefore may we fight with one,
Thy compact unimpeached. One drop of blood,
Though less in compass than the beetle's eye,
Costs him his life." Fiercely the Queen replied,
"A Firbolg? Never!" Cailitin resumed^
" Then send for Lok Mac Favesh ! "

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE, 477

With the morn

Mac Favesh sought her tent. Direful his mien,
Massive his stride ; his body huge and brawn ;
For, though of Gaelic race, the stock of Ir,
With him was mingled giant blood of old,
Wild blood of Nemedh's brood that hurled sea rocks
Against the brood Fomorian. Oft the tide
Drowned both, in battle knit. Before the Queen
Boastful the Titan laid his club, and spake :
" Queen, though to combat with a beardless boy
Affronts my name, my lineage, and my strength,
His petulance shall vex thine eye no more !
Uladh is thine to-morrow ! " On the morn,
By hundreds girt, the great ones of his clan,
Down to the ford he drave, and onward strode
Trampling the last year's branches on the marge,
That snapp'd beneath him. Hides of oxen seven
Sustained the brazen bosses of his shield ;
And forth he stretched a hand that might have grasped
A tiger's throat and choked him. O'er his helm
Hovered an imaged Demon raven-black.
Cuchullain met him, radiant as the morn :
Instant began the onset: hours went by :
That mountained strength triumphant now, anon
Cuchullain's might divine. Then first that might
Was fully tasked. Upon the bank that hour
Stood up a Portent seen by none save him,
A Shape not human. Terribly it fixed
On him alone its never-wandering eye —
The dread Mor Reega ; she that from the skies
O'er-rules the battlefields, and sways at will,
This way or that, the sable tides of death.
He gazed ; and, though incapable of fear,
Awe such as heroes feel possessed his heart :
Its beatings shook his brain : his flesh itself
Throbbed as a branch against some river swift:
And backward turned his hair like berried trails
Of thorn athwart the hedge. Three several times
He saw her, yet fought on. With beckoning hand
At last that Portent summoned from the main
A huge sea-snake : round him it twined its knots.
Then on Cuchullain fell the rage from heaven :
A sword- blow, and that vast sea- worm lay dead !

478 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. [July,

A sword uplifted, and Mac Favesh fell
Upon the water, prone. In death he cried :
" Lay me with forehead t'ward Cuailgne's marge,
So none shall say Mac Favesh recreant died,
Or fugitive." With face to Uladh turned
Cuchullain laid the dead : then, bleeding fast,
Stood upright, leaning on his spear aslant,
A warrior battle-wearied.

From the bank,

Meantime, the dark magician, Cailitin,
He and his sons, with wide and greedy eyes,
That still, like one man's eyes, together moved,
Had watched that fight, counting each drop that fell
Down from Cuchullain's wounds. When faint he stood
At once their cry rang out like one man's cry ;
Like one their seven-and-twenty javelins flew :
As swift, Cuchullain caught them on his shield :
An instant more, and all that horde accursed
Was dealing with him. From the trampled ford
Went up a mist that veiled that strife from view,
Though pierced by demon cries and flash beside
Of demon swords. O'er it at last up-towered
On-borne (such power to blend have Spirits impure)
A single Form — as when o'er seas storm-laid
The watery column reels, and draws from heaven
The cloud, and drowns whole fleets — a single Form,
And Head, and Hand, clutching Cuchullain's crest : —
Not wholly sank he. Sudden, o'er that mist
Glittered his sword. There fell a silence strange ;
Slowly that mist dispersed ; and on the sands
That false Enchanter lay with all his sons
Black, bleeding bulks of death.

Amid them stood

Cuchullain ; near him, seen by him alone,
That dread Mor Reega, now benign. She spake :
" I hated thee; but hate thee now no more :
Be strong ! A trial waits thee heavier yet
Than giant sinew or the Magic Clan :
No man is friend of mine till trial-proved."

Yet sad at heart that eve Cuchullain clomb
His wonted rock, and faint with loss of blood,

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 479

And mused : " My strength will lessen day by day ";

And northward gazed, thus murmuring : " All too late

To save the land those Red Branch Knights will come

When I am dead —

My war-car and my war-steeds stand far off,

And I am here alone." Through grief that night

He slept not ; for that Magic Clan had power,

Though dead, to lean above him as a cloud,

Darkening his spirit. Lonely as he sat

He saw, not distant, on the forest floor,

In moonbeams clad, albeit moon was none,

A princely presence standing. Lithe his form

In youthful prime : chain-armor round him clung

Bright as if woven of diamonds. Glad his eye ;

Dulcet his voice as strain from elfin glen

Far heard o'er waters. Thus that warrior spake :

" My child, an ancestor of thine I come,

Great Ethland's son, in battle slain long since :

Among the Sidil haunts and fairy hills

Moon-lit, and under depths of lucent lakes,

Gladness I have who in my day had woe,

And youth perpetual though I died in age.

Repose thou need'st : for sixty days thine eyes

Have closed reluctant. Sleep a three days' sleep ;

Whilst I, thy semblance bearing, meet thy foes."

Thus spake the youth ; then sang Lethean song ;

And, straight, Cuchullain slept. Three days gone by,

Again that vision came. " Arise," he said :

The warrior rose ; and lo ! his wounds were healed :

Down to the river sped he.

Waiting there

Stood up larion, champion of the Queen,
Like courser chained that hears far off the hounds .
There stood, nor thence returned. Eochar next
Perished, then Tubar, Chylair, Alp, and Ord,
In all full thirty warriors. Ninety days
Had fled successive since that strife began,
And now the snow was moulded on the branch
When, on the evening of the ninetieth day,
His strength entire, and victory, eagle-winged,
Fanning his ardent cheek, Cuchullain clomb
Once more that wonted rock. Within his heart

480 THE FORAY OF QUEEN HEAVE.

Spirit illusive that, with purpose veiled,

Oft tries the loftiest most, this presage sang :

" Southward, not distant, thou shalt see them march,

At last, that Red Branch Order, in their van

Great Conal Carnach ! " Other spectacle

Met him, a chariot small with horses small,

And, o'er the axle bent, a small old man

Urging them feebly on. It was his Sire !

T' wards him Cuchullain rushed: the old man wept,

For gladness wept, and afterwards for woe

Kissing the wounds unnumbered of his son :

Reverent, Cuchullain led him to his cell ;

Reverent, he placed before him wine and meat ;

And when at last his soul was satisfied

Garrulity returned, though less than once,

Subdued by patriot passion. Thus he spake :

" Setanta, son of mine, I bring ill news:

Uladh is mad ; the Red Branch House is mad :

We two are mad ; and all the world are mad,

Mad as thy mother ! Through the realm I sped :

A mist hung o'er it heavy, and on her sons

Imbecile spirit, and a heartless mind,

And base soul-sickness. Evermore I cried,

' Arise ! the Stranger's foot is on your soil :

They come to stall their horses in your halls;

To slay your sons ; enslave your spotless maids ; —

Alone my son withstands them ! ' Drawing in

The eye, like him who seeks repute of shrewd,"

Men answered : ' Merchant ! see thy wares be sound !

No lack- wits we! ' Old Seers I saw that decked

Time-honored foreheads with a jester's crown :

I saw an Ollamb trample under foot

His sacred Oghams: next I saw him grave

His own blear image on the tide-washed sands,

Boasting, the ages here shall stoop their brows

Honoring true Wisdom's image ! Shepherds set

The wolf to guard their fold. The wittol bade

The losel lead his wife to feast and dance :

Warriors, one time man-hearted, looked on maids

With woman's eyes, not man's —

I drave to Dar6's Dun ; his loud-voiced sons

Adored the Donn Cuailgn6 as their sire,

And called their sire a calf. To Iliach's tower

1 882.] THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE. 481

I sped : he answered : ' What! the foe ! they come !

Climb we yon apple-trees^ and pile good store :

Wayfarers need their victual ! " Onward next

To Sencha's castle : on the roof he knelt,

Self-styled the kingdom's chief astrologer,

Waiting the unrisen stars. To Olchar's Dun

Next drave I. Wrapped in rags the strong man lay,

Thin from long fast ; with eyelids well-nigh closed :

Not less beneath them lay a gleaming streak:

' Awake me not,' he said : ' a dormouse I !

Till peace returns I simulate to sleep.'

I sought the brothers Nemeth ; one his eyes

Bent on the smoke-wreath from his chimney's top,

One on the foam-streak wavering down the stream :

A finger either raised, and said, ' Tread light!

The earth is grass o'er glass ! ' I sought the mart :

Men shouted : ' Bid the Druids find the King ! '

I sought the Druids' College : in a hall

Reed-strewn to smother sound they held debate

On Firbolg and Dedannan contracts pledged

Ere landed first the Gael. The Red Branch House

Was changed to Hospital ; and knights full-armed

Drowsed by the leper's bed. I sought the King :

From hall deserted on to hall I roamed :

I found him in his armory walled around

With mail of warriors dead. There stood, or lay,

The chiefs by Uladh worshipp'd. Nearest, crouched

Great Conal Carnach, patting of his sword

Like nurse that lulls an infant. On his throne

Sat Conchobar in minever and gold:

His eyes were on his grandsire's shield, that breathed

At times a sigh athwart the steel-lit gloom :

Around his lips an idiot's smile was curled :

' What will be will be,' spake the King at last:

' All things go well.' '

Thus Saltain told his tale :.

One thing he told not — how, a moment's space,
The passion of his scorn that hour had wrought
Deliverance strange for that astonished throng,
High miracle of Nature. He, the old man
Despised since youth, the laughter of the crowd.,
Himself restored to youth by change like death,
VOL. xxxv — 31

482 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE.

Had rolled his voice abroad — a mighty voice —

They heard it : from their trance they burst: they stood

Radiant once more with mind. They stood till died

The noble anger's latest echo. Then

That mist storm-riven put forth once more its hand.

And downward dragged its prey.

Upon his feet

Cuchullain sprang, his father's tale complete :
That rage divine which gave him strength divine
Had fall'n on him from heaven. He raised his hands,
And roared against the synod of the Gods
That suffer shames below. Beyond the stream
That host confederate heard, and armed in haste,
And slept that night in armor. Far away
Compassion touched the immortal hearts in heaven,
The strongest most — Mor Reega's. Ere that cry
Had left its last vibration on the air
High up the Battle- Goddess, adamant-armed,
• Was drifting over Uladh. Eman's towers
Flashed back her helmet's beam. With lifted spear
She smote the brazen centre of her shield
Three times ; and thunder triple-bolted rolled
Three times from sea to sea. The spell was snapp'd ;
Humanity returned to man ! The first
That woke was Leagh, Cuchullain's charioteer:
Forth from the opprobrious mist he passed, like ship
That cleaves the limit of some low marsh-fog
And sweeps into main ocean. Forth he rushed,
Forth to Cuchullain's chariot-house, and dragged
Abroad that War-Car feared of men ; and yoked
White Liath Macha, and his comrade black,
And dashed adovvn the loud-resounding streets,
And passed the gateway towers : the warders slept ;
Beyond them, propp'd against the city wall,
A cripple nodded o'er his crust. Still on
He burst, the reins forth shaking and the scourge,
Clamoring and crying: " Haste, Cuchullain's steeds '
On, Liath Macha ! Sable Sangland, on 1
Your master needs you ! Ay 1 ye know it now 1
The blood-red nostril smells the fight far off!
On to Murthemney, and Cuailgne's stream,
And Dia's well-known ford ! " Unseen he drave ;

i882.] JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. 483

So slowly, clinging- still ta brake and rock,
And oft resettling, vanished from the land
The insane mist. That hurricane of wheels
Not less was heard by men who nothing saw ;
Was heard on plain, in hamlet, and in vale :
They muttered as in sleep : " Deliverance comes."

JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST.

THE Honorable John Bigelow, ex- Secretary of State of New
York and ex-Minister to France, has recently written a mono-
graph on Molinos the Quietist.* This Spanish priest, after a trial
lasting two years, was sentenced to imprisonment for life at
Rome by Innocent XL on November 20, 1687, who also con-
demned sixty-eight propositions extracted from his works, espe-
cially from the chief one, entitled the Spiritual Guide, as " hereti-
cal, suspicious, erroneous, scandalous, blasphemous, offensive to
pious ears, rash, enervating, destructive of church discipline, and
seditious." Besides the charge of heresy brought against Mo-
linos, many and fearful accusations were alleged against his
morals and admitted as proved in the text of his condemnation.-)-
The belief of the Catholic world and the teaching of Catholic
theology in regard to this man are expressed in the words of
Gautier.:}: Molinos, " a most cunning hypocrite, came to Rome in
the year 1665, where, under the feigned appearance of holiness
and by an assumed modesty of speech and dress, he gained the
favor and friendship of many even of the highest classes, whom
he infected with his poisonous doctrines." These doctrines gave
to his system the name of Quietism. The second of the sixty-
eight condemned propositions explains the name : " To wish to
operate actively is to offend God, who wishes to be sole agent ;.
hence we should abandon ourselves wholly to him, and remain
afterwards like an inanimate body" This false system of Chris-
tian mysticism, divested of its worst errors, spread from Italy
into France, and captivated for a time even the great mind of
Fenelon, whose Maximes des Saints, written in the interest of
Madame de Guyon, contains a mild form of quietism. Fene-.

* Molinos the Quietist. By John Bigelow. Scribners. 1882.

t "Shameful deeds" (bull of Innocent, apud Bigelow).

% " De Haeresibus," apud Migne Curs. Com. T/teo/., vol. v. p. 114.

484 JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. [July,

Ion's work was condemned at Rome and afterwards publicly re-
tracted by the saintly author himself.

Now, it is the character of Molinos and of his doctrines that
John Bigelow undertakes to rehabilitate at the expense of the
Roman Inquisition, Innocent XL, and the Catholic Church.
" He [Molinos] was doubtless a pure man and a thoroughly
pious man." * " The doctrine of quietude or passivity was no
invention of Molinos, but was the essence of mysticism, not only
of the early Christian Church, etc."f " The church canonized
I'eresa, Frangois de Sales, and John of the Cross, who taught as
unqualified quietism as Molinos and Madame Guyon." \ The
Inquisition which examined Molinos and his writings was a
" tribunal constituted . . . not to judge but to condemn." § Such
are some of Mr. Bigelow's milder expressions to show his sym-
pathy with the innocent victim of the Roman Inquisition and
his hostility to the Catholic Church.

Before proceeding to specific answers to Mr. Bigelow's as-
sumptions we have to call attention to a number of minor errors
in his statements, and to expose one or two of his stories which
are self-contradictory and altogether romantic. He begins his
monograph with an amusing tale about a certain Father Alber-
tini, who had a lodging in the Vatican at the time the police ar-
rived to arrest Molinos, who was living in the same building.
Albertini, according to Mr. Bigelow, having reason to suspect
that the police were after himself, escaped to the roof of the
Vatican in his shirt and thence to a convent " appropriated to
the seclusion of women of equivocal character " — donne male mari-
tate — among whom there was one specially distinguished for her
beauty, who was supposed to have attracted the unlucky Alber-
tini. We spare our readers further details. But this story is
spoiled by the impossibility of its having taken place. Every
one knows that the Vatican is an isolated building, and that in
the seventeenth century it was smaller than it is now, for it has
been enlarged by Gregory XVI. and by Pius IX. Mr. Bigelow
has been in Rome and knows this. At the time when Alber-
tini's adventure is said to have taken place there was no building
within several hundred feet of the Vatican. How, then, could he
get from its roof to the roof of a disconnected convent at least
half a mile distant ? Are we to believe Mr. Bigelow, that the
poor priest, with fear as the motive power, actually flew through
the air to a place of refuge ? Thus we see that while Mr. Bige-
low imitates in this, as in other parts of his work, the style of

* Molinos the Qtttetist, p. 101. t Idem, p. 98. \ Idem. § Idem, p. 81.

i882.] JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. 485

Boccaccio, he rivals Munchausen in romance. Who would have
expected to find so verdant a fancy in so dry a diplomat ? The
perusal of a Roman guide-book would be beneficial to the Hon.
John Bigelow.

Other inexcusable inaccuracies fall from his pen — inexcusable
because he is a scholar and a linguist ; he has been minister to
France and has doubtless travelled in Italy. Thus on the very
first page of his work he calls the cardinal secretary of state
" Monsignor " Cibo, not knowing that a cardinal is not thus ad-
dressed ; on page 41 he calls the Archbishop of Palermo " Holi-
ness" a form of address reserved to the pope ; the same error is
repeated on page 52; and on page 127 he calls St. Mary Major's
Saint Mary Majora. Neither does he seem to know that oratoire
is only French for " oratory " ; and that the donne male maritate
were not likely to be called in Rome by the French name " Re-
penties";* and the " nuns of the Palestrino " should be nuns of
Palestrina, a town about twenty miles from Rome. These are
small mistakes, but they need to be noticed in a writer preten-
tious and popular, who either puts a convent of the nuns' of the
Good Shepherd in the Vatican, contrary to church history and
church discipline, or gives us the bogus miracle of a priest fty-
ing through the air with his outer garments under his arm.

The hostile animus of Mr. Bigelow for everything Catholic
crops out in every line of his work. The Jesuits are " the driv-
ing-wheel of the Roman Curia " ; the Dominicans are spoken of
as the " Dominican octopus." Mr. Bigelow sometimes forgets
his own words, that " bad names are the readiest weapon of
malevolence." f The most outrageous and offensive statements
are made without even an attempt to prove them. Here is one,
for instance : " It is a curious and suggestive peculiarity of the
tribunal of the Inquisition that it had no jurisdiction over the
pope, his legates, nuncios, cardinals, bishops, or familiars. They,
however, were not wholly irresponsible. Poison and the dagger
always remained, and they have usually proved quite as good
judges of heresy as the Inquisition."! The only authority for
this assertion is Mr. Bigelow himself.

But what are we to think of his witnesses? Two of them
show as much bias as Mr. Bigelow, and should therefore be
equally distrusted. The one is Gilbert Burnet, the favorite

* From the number of French terms, like Repenties, oratoire, etc., employed by Mr. Bigelow
when English or Italian should be used we infer that he has taken the matter of his monograph
second-hand from prejudiced French authors.

t Molinos the Quietist, p. 18. J Idem, p. 53.

486 JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. [July,

bishop of William and Mary. This bishop went to Rome about
the time of Molinos' condemnation, and among other -silly things
wrote that the Catacombs were only the puticoli where the Ro-
man slaves were allowed to rot, and that the Christian tokens
in them are merely forgeries of the monks of the fourth and fifth
centuries.* But let us hear what a brother Scot, and a friendly
one, says about the reliability of this witness in matters Catho-
lic : " His propensity to blunder, his provoking indiscretion, his
unabashed audacity afforded inexhaustible subjects of ridicule." f
He was " often misled by prejudice and passion." ^ " Like many
other good men of that age, he regarded the case of the Church
of Rome as an exception to all ordinary rules." § Perhaps this is
why Mr. Bigelow relies on him when he says : "' It is authentically
stated that a committee of inquisitors waited upon the old pope,
already in the last year of his life, to test his soundness on the
all-absorbing question " || of quietism. Perhaps for the same
reason he considers this blundering bigot good enough autho-
rity when he writes : " So the Jesuits, as a provincial of the
order assured me, finding they could not ruin him [Molinos]
by their own force, got a great king, that is now extremely in
the interests of their order, to interpose and to represent to the
pope the danger of such innovations." ^[ How likely the Jesuit
provincial would be to tell Burnet his plans ! By this king is
meant Louis XIV. We shall examine this charge anon. Father
Bruys is another of Mr. Bigelow's best witnesses. Well, any
biographical dictionary will tell the reader that this apostate
priest left France, became a Protestant at Geneva, wrote several
works, among them L Art de Connaitre les Femmes and a Histoire
des Papes, quoted by Mr. Bigelow ; that he was driven out of
Holland, wandered into England and Germany, returned to
France, and most probably died a Jansenist. Yet the testimony
of this vagabundus is grist to John Bigelow's anti-Catholic mill.**
The other witnesses quoted by Mr. Bigelow to sustain his opin-
ions are an English version of the Spiritual Guide of Molinos
which appeared A.D. 1699 without name of publisher or of place
of publication ; the testimony of Corbinelli, the private secretary
of Mary de Medicis ; of Father Mabillon, the Benedictine ; of
D'Alembert and the letters of the great Jesuit, Paul Segneri.

* See Northcote's Roma Sotteranea, p. 318. f Macaulay's England, vol. ii. p. 134.

t Idem, p. 135. § Idem, p. 136. [ Molinos the Qutetist, p. 93. H Idem, p. 15.

** Bruys, quoted by Bigelow. p. 87, says of the charges against Molinos : " According to all
appearances, some good Jesuit father must have amused himself in imagining.all these absurd
impieties; and God knows what these pious souls are capable of doing." The poor Jesuits !
It is a wonder that they are not accused of being the authors of earthquakes and comets !

i882.] JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. 487

As to the English version of the Spiritual Guide, the very date
of its publication, A.D. 1699, shows that it was done by a Protes-
tant or a Jansenist. Molinos was condemned in 1687 ; and after
his condemnation no Catholic could translate, print, or publish
his works without violating the ordinance of Innocent XI. The
words of the bull show this. Besides, in 1699 the Catholics of
England, groaning under the heavy weight of the penal laws,
were more intent on saving their lives than on translating the
works of condemned quietists. Moreover, the condemnation
of the pope was not based merely on the doctrines contained in
the Spiritual Guide, but on what was also culled from his very
extensive correspondence — according to some authorities, with
over twenty thousand persons. His letters, as well as his great-
est work, furnished the matter of proof against him. But some
of the very passages quoted by Mr. Bigelow from the unauthen-
ticated version of the Spiritual Guide bear witness to the truth of
the charges made against Molinos by the Roman Inquisition, as
we shall presently see.

Corbinelli, the secretary of Mary de Medicis, merely says
that he has read the Castle of the Soul of St. Teresa "and her
other works, and the result is that I have met there almost all
the doctrines of the condemned priest." If his testimony is
worth anything — and this has to be proved — it only shows that
not everything in the Spiritual Guide is erroneous. Corbinelli
says nothing about Molinos' letters, nor of the fearful charges
made against his morals. It is probable that Molinos at first did
not show the full depth of his hypocrisy, nor perhaps see all the
consequences of. the principles which he had- laid down as the
foundation of the spiritual life. And this is precisely all that
Mabillon also says:* "It is conjectured by some that Molinos
was not condemned on account of the doctrine of his published
work, although it was proscribed by the Spanish Inquisition after
the arrest of the author — a1 fact which displeased the Roman
Inquisition, as anticipating a matter pertaining to its judgment —
but on account of letters written to several persons, or certainly
on account of false interpretations of his opinions made by his
friends." Thus writes Mabillon, travelling in Italy and looking
at the mere outside of things in Rome before everything conT
nected with quietism had been fully settled. One sees that
there is not a word in his testimony to show that Molinos was
falsely accused or wrongly condemned. Mr. Bigelow quotes
Mabillon as a witness for his contention, but does not translate

* Iter Italicum, quoted by Bigelow, p. 82 of Molinos tlie Quietist.

488 ' JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. [July,

the passage above quoted, leaving it in Latin in a footnote to
impose on the lay reader, as if there was a great deal more in it
than there is.

Of what authority is the next witness, D'Alembert, one of
the impious infidels who wrote the Encyclope'die and a work Sur
la Destruction des Je'suites en France ? Mr, Bigelow might as well
have quoted Paul Bert, upon any subject connected with theo-
logy, as D'Alembert. He was an expert in mathematics, as Bert
is in vivisection and Bigelow in diplomacy ; but in theology
they all show too much bias. Yet even D'Alembert only says
Molinos ".was a great director," which we admit, since he car-
ried on a correspondence with thousands of souls, "and yet a
good man, for which the pope did him justice"; this is a sneer
after the manner of Voltaire. But this witness says nothing
about the truth or the falsehood of the charges brought against
Molinos by the Roman Inquisition.

Paul Segneri, the last of Mr. Bigelow 's witnesses, merely in-
timates that Molinos did not abjure his errors, or at least that he
persevered in them for a long time. This is all that Segneri says
in a letter to the Grand Duke Cosmo, as quoted by Mr. Bigelow :
" I am profoundly sensible of the benign attention your highness
has shown in sending me, by a special messenger, the proceed-
ings on the trial of the unhappy Molinos, of whom it grieves me to
see so many signs of obstinacy" How long did these signs last ?
Segneri did not see them literally, for he was not in jail with
Molinos. His knowledge of them was only from hearsay. There
is very little proved by such testimony, and yet this is all that
Mr. Bigelow can show for his assumption that Molinos was un-
justly condemned by Innocent XL at the instigation of Louis
XIV. and the Jesuits, and that he was a good man and taught
no immoral doctrines.

We shall, firstly, examine the statement that Louis XIV. and
the Jesuits had Molinos condemned. Burnet intimates and Bige-
low asserts it. This statement is totally false. The last man in
the world likely to have influence on Innocent XL was Louis
XIV. The history of that great pontiff's reign is a continuous
struggle against the French king and his Gallican clergy. The
pope actually took sides for a time with some of the French
bishops who were friendly to the Jansenists, because those bish-
ops had withstood the king's pretensions to supremacy over
the national church. It was Innocent XL who condemned the
four articles of the Gallican Church forced into opposition to
Rome by the intrigues of Louis. Innocent refused to sanction

1 882.] JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. 489

the appointment of many of Louis' bishops, so that many of them
drew the revenues of their dioceses without having any spiritual
jurisdiction. Every one bowed before Louis save the old man in
Rome. The pope took away from the French embassy in Rome
the right of asylum ; and when the ambassador of Louis, with eight
hundred soldiers and two hundred servants, undertook to main-
tain this right by force, Innocent excommunicated him and placed
the church of St. Louis, the French church, under an interdict.
Louis appealed from the pope to a general council — the usual
refuge of defeated kings in the middle ages. He made war on
the pope, took possession of Avignon, and when Innocent died
he was about to do in France what Henry VIII. did in England.*
And yet we are to believe Mr. Bigelow that Louis, the enemy of
the pope, was the one who influenced him to condemn Molinos ;
this, too, in spite of what Mr. Bigelow says in regard to the
pope's friendship for Molinos in the early part of the controversy
on quietism. It is equally absurd to suppose that the Jesuits
could influence Louis in the matter, for they had fallen into dis-
grace with him for refusing to absolve his mistress. f

But if it was not the king was it the Jesuits who influenced
Innocent to condemn Molinos ? Mr. Bigelow tells us gravely
that " the Jesuits, finding the pope so favorable to their adversa-
ries, had prayers put up in their monasteries for his conversion to
Romanism." \ The Catholic reader, who knows that the Jesuits
are not monks, and consequently have no monasteries, will smile
at this passage, and especially admire the verdancy of an ancient
diplomat who speaks of the pope's "conversion to Romanism."
Yet there are peopl'e who will make acts of faith in all that Mr.
Bigelow writes — people, like Burnet, who consider " the Church
of Rome as an exception to all ordinary rules."

Now, it is true that the Jesuits, with their usual good sense
and acumen, saw the immoral tendencies of quietism and op-
posed Molinos with all their power. His errors had deceived
multitudes. The Jesuits saw that corruption would be the in-
evitable consequence of so specious yet so enervating a system
of spirituality. It had seduced some o£ their own order, among
others a certain Father Appiani mentioned in Mr. Bigelow's
work. Segneri, the greatest preacher of his day, set himself to
refuting the spreading error in a book§ which had such ill suc-

*See any church history, or Geschichte der Papste, by Dr. Carl Haas, Tubingen, 1860, pp.
621 et seq.

t See ¥eva\'sjesui/s ! or Alzog's Church History.

\ Molinos the Qutetist^ p. 24. § Concordia trafatica e Qutete.

490 JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. [July,

cess that it was put on the Index, where it remained pilloried for
years in spite of all the power of the "driving-wheel of the
church." This speaks well for the impartiality of the Inquisi-
tion and the pope, and shows how little influence the Jesuits ex-
ercised over them. In fact, Innocent XL was rather unfriendly
to the Jesuits. He condemned sixty-five propositions tending to
laxism taken from the works of some Jesuit casuists — only three
less than the number condemned in the writings of Molinos.
" Innocent belongs to the list of the greatest and noblest of the
popes — strong and every way venerable. Only the French and
Jesuits were unfriendly to him."* This is the testimony of a
Catholic writer.

Molinos, therefore, was not condemned through the influence
of the Jesuits nor of the French king, but on account of his per-
sonal immorality, that of his followers, and the immoral conse-
quences of his doctrines. The Roman Inquisition took his case
in advisement. The examiners were all skilled theologians, some
of them friendly to the accused, and after a searching trial of two
years" he was convicted, in the language of the bull of Innocent,
of " shameful deeds," " heresies and errors." What these deeds
were it is not necessary to specify. Mr. Bigelow records them
in his account of the trial. History gives the character of the
inquisitors, " learned doctors of divinity," and the character of
the pope, impartial and saintly, and against its verdict Mr. Bige-
low's assertions and characterless witnesses avail nothing. The
doctrines of Molinos, even as given by Mr. Bigelow, confirm the
justice of the decision. That these doctrines did not sanctify the
followers of Molinos is proved by what Mr. Bigelow states as
having happened to Father Segneri after the publication of his
first work against quietism : " Cautious and forbearing as he
was, Father Segneri was not long in discovering that he had
been putting his hand into a hornet's nest. His biographer tells us
that no one would believe what a mass of anonymous letters he
received, teeming with abuse and fearful threats." f Humility
and charity are the essentials of true holiness. Segneri had not
even named Molinos in%is work, yet we see that the saintly
quietists assailed him in a manner to show that their system, was
not efficacious enough to control their passions. These followers
of Molinos were evidently not true quietists in the proper sense
of the word. If the reader refuse to accept the authority of the
doctors of the Inquisition, because its name, a bugaboo to fright-
en children, creates a prejudice against its decision, or the pope

* GeschiMe der Pafste, Dr. Carl Haas, p. 623. t Molinos the Qutetist, p. 20.

1 882.] JOHN BIGELOW ON Mo LINOS THE QUIETIST. 491

as judge, or the verdict of the whole Catholic Church on Moli-
nosism, we can give him an acceptable witness in the person of
Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray. He had championed Mme. de
Guyon, who held the same relation to quietism in France which
Queen Christina of Sweden had held to it in Rome. Fenelon
the gentle, after battling so manfully against Bossuet for the doc-
trines of the Maximes des Saints — a work of kin to the Spiritual
Guide — speaks of the "abominations of Molinosism" * This same
archbishop issued a pastoral against Molinosism and its immoral
consequences on April 5, 1697. Cardinal Caraccioli writes from
Naples, January 30, 1682, that the quietists "make no medita-
tion nor vocal prayers, but in the actual exercise of prayer hold
themselves in perfect repose and silence, as if mute or dead."f
" Among them are some who reject vocal prayer entirely.":}: " A
woman brought up in this practice is always saying, ' I am no-
thing, God is all, and I am in the abandon, where you see me, be-
cause it so pleases God.' . . . She obeys no one and makes no
vocal prayer." § These passages show the fanatical character of
the followers of Molinos. The passions of the body were riot to
be curbed, temptations were not to be resisted, but a passive in-
difference was to be maintained towards vice and virtue. The
reign of concupiscence was the consequence. This passive state
of non-resistance brought about the " shameful deeds " mention-
ed in the bull of condemnation — " the shameful abominations "
mentioned in the circular letter of Cardinal Cibo of February 15,
1687, and by Fenelon in the words quoted above. Are these
witnesses not better than Bruys or Burnet?

That blind fanaticism and the reign of concupiscence are the
logical consequences of quietism is easily shown. The sixty-
eight condemned propositions prove it. We need not analyze
each of them in detail. As against Mr. Bigelow this analysis
would have little weight, since he denies that Molinos taught
them, and insists that the pope and the Inquisition forged them
for their purpose. " None of the propositions condemned pur-
port to be literal citations from any writings of Molinos, nor is
the context of any proposition given, if there is any in which
the words of Molinos are used, by the light of which only it
could be fairly interpreted."! Of course Mr. Bigelow gives no
authority for his opinion. He fails to see that it is not necessary
for judges who have been examining a question for over two
years to give the exact words of a writer whom they deem it

* Vie de Fenelon, par 1'Abbe Fenelon, Didot, Paris, 1787, p. 181.

t Molinos the Qitietist, p. 107. \ Idem, p. 108. § Idem. | Idem, p. 81.

492 JOHN BICE LOW ON Mo LINOS THE QUIETIST. [July,

proper to condemn. There are, however, passages from the
Protestant version of the Spiritual Guide, quoted by Mr. Bigelow
himself, which fully sustain the condemned propositions. Thus
Molinos is quoted by Bigelow as writing:* "By the way of
nothing thou must come to lose thyself in God. ... In this
same shop of nothing simplicity is made, interior and infused re-
collection is possessed, quiet is obtained." Now, this is doctrine
identical with what is contained in the first of the condemned
propositions : " Man should annihilate his powers ; that is the in-
terior way." Taken in connection with what Mr. Bigelow states
in regard to Molinos' opposition to vocal prayers, frequentation
of the sacraments, respect for the cross or any sensible objects of
devotion, this doctrine is evidently identical with that of the con-
demned propositions. Does sanctity, then, consist in annihilation
of the powers of the mind ? in laziness of the intellect and non-
resistance of the will ? Is it not more reasonable to hold that man
is sanctified on earth by struggle, by perpetual resistance to the
devil, the flesh, and the world, and not by lying down in a comatose
state like a Brahmin in ecstasy or an Oriental dervish after his
whirling dance? Again Mr. Bigelow quotes Molinos : f "The
patriarch Noe . . . walked by faith alone, not knowing nor under-
standing what God had a mind to do with him." Here is an
echo of the Lutheran error, a slur on the efficacy of good works,
and it sounds very much like the third of the condemned proposi-
tions : " The wish to do any good work is an obstacle to perfec-
tion." Again hear Molinos in Bigelow's accepted version : " Con-
sider the blindest beast that turns the wheel of the mill, which,
though it see not, neither know what it does, yet does a great
work in grinding the corn ; and although it taste not of it, yet its
master receives the fruit and tastes of the same. Who would
not think, during so long a time that the seed lies in the earth,
but that it were lost ? \ This is identical with the doctrine con-
demned in the fourth proposition : " Natural activity is an ene-
my of grace ; it is an obstacle to the operations of God and to
true perfection ; for God wishes to act in us, but without us."
The human intellect in the work of sanctification is degraded by
being likened to the actions of a brute beast working a treadmill.
When God created man he never intended to deprive him of
activity either in this life or in the next. The comparison of the
seed in the earth does not serve the system of quietism, for the
seed is ever acting even before it develops above the ground.
These extracts from the Spiritual Guide, taken in connection with

* Molinos the Quietis!, p. 9. -f- Idem, p. 6. J Idem, p. 6.

j882.] JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. 493

Molinos' opposition to mortifications of the flesh, fasting, penance,
and other good works,* suffice to show the justice of the papal
condemnation even from a mere dogmatic standpoint, without
speaking of the " shameful deeds " of the culprit.

It is in no sense true, as Mr. Bigelow states, that this quiet-
ism of Molinos was identical with the early teaching of the
church, or with the doctrine of the German mystics of the four-
teenth century, or with the teachings of St. Teresa, St. John of
the Cross, St. Bonaventure, or Henry Suso. All church history
shows that the error of Molinos was but a revival of that of the
ancient gnostics and of the scandalously-living Beguards and
Beguines of the twelfth century.

The radical difference between quietism and true Catholic
mysticism is in the destruction of the purgative way by the
former. St. John of the Cross is the great doctor of the genu-
ine, Catholic mystical theology. He far surpasses Tauler, and
even St. Teresa, although teaching the same doctrine, inasmuch
as he brings to his exposition of the way of contemplation a deep
and accurate knowledge of scholastic metaphysics and theology,
and a clear, consecutive method. In his treatises on The Ascent
of Mount Carmel and The Obscure Night he prescribes a long
course of active purification of the soul as absolutely neces-
sary for all beginners. He shows also th'at a passive purification
effected by grace, in which the co-operation of the subject must
concur with the divine operation, is requisite as a preparation for
the state of union with God. Moreover, he teaches the impossi-
bility of the subject placing himself in the passive state and at-
taining to the divine union by his own will, the sinfulness of
attempting it, and the obligation of continuing in the lower and
more active exercises until God elevates the soul by his own
act to a higher state. In this higher state, and even in the high-
est, the activity of the soul is not quenched by its own volun-
tary cessation of all operation, but changed and elevated by
divine illuminations and inspirations so as to become super-
natural. An inferior mode of activity is gradually superseded
by one more perfect. It is true that quiet contemplation and
ecstasy are the highest forms of prayer, and to those forms all
Catholic asceticism leads, though very few attain to them. But
the absolute repose of contemplation urged by Tauler and St.
Teresa is the repose of a mind in full action, obtained after
mortification and penances which have led the soul from the
purgative to the illuminative and contemplative state ; it is a

* Teste Bigelow passim in his work, Molinos the Quietist.

494 JOHN BIGELOW ON MOLINOS THE QUIETIST. [July,

repose of faculties fully quiet because fully in act, and not a
passive inertness like that of an inanimate body, or of an opium-
eater dreaming his weird dreams. The mysticism of St. Te-
resa is one adapted to the lives of all classes, the humblest as
well as the most cultivated, for it leads to the highest forms of
prayer by the thorny path of mortification and good works —
a path that is common to all and never to be deserted ; while
quietism completely ignores the way of purgation and teaches
a holy indifference to heaven and to hell, to virtue and to vice,
and bids its votaries lie down and allow temptations to walk over
them in a degrading and passive abandon, the slang word of their
theory. Such a system would turn the Christian Church into
an opium-den. It would destroy free-will and the activity of the
human intelligence.

True Christian mysticism holds with St. Thomas " that God
so acts in creatures as to leave them their own operation," '
and that " human life is here called an operation or activity, upon
which man is chiefly intent "; and therefore " human activity is
not hostile to grace, but should concur with it."f St. Paul held
this doctrine when he said that he chastised his body, and that
if we mortify the deeds of the flesh we shall live.:]: It is because
of his opposition to this teaching, in precept and in practice, that
Molinos was tried and condemned by the Roman tribunal.

It is certain that the unfortunate man repented of his evil
course. The bull of Innocent is authority for the fact : " Hav-
ing heard in our own presence and in the presence of our vene-
rable brothers, the cardinals of the holy Roman Church ; the
inquisitors-general of the whole Christian state specially de-
puted by apostolic authority, and many doctors in theology ;
having also taken their votes vivd voce and in writing, . . . we
have condemned Michael de Molinos, . . . convicted, confessed,
. . . and penitent."!

This is authentic proof enough for any one save Mr. Bigelow.
Without one particle of evidence to sustain him he denies that
Molinos retracted. Describing the scene of his condemnation,
Mr. Bigelow resorts to the usual trick-of-the-trade of the anti-
Catholic polemist, for whom every one condemned by Rome is a
saint and a martyr. The usual " serene " brow, " placid " smile,
and " defiant attitude " are attributed to him ; and the man
whose " abominations " the saintly Fenelon reprobated is blas-
phemously likened to Christ standing before his accusers.

* ia, 2ae, quasst. 189, art. 2. fza, 233, quasst. 182, art. 3.

t Romans viii. § Molinos the Quietest, 125.

1 882.] ST. PETER'S CHAIR. 495

Mystical theology is not a "matter for pamphleteers like Mr.
Bigelow and novelists like Mr. Shorthouse to meddle with safe-
ly. Even more learned and solid writers, and they sometimes
Catholic authors of repute in their proper sphere, such as Alzog,
blunder grievously when they attempt to discourse on this
theme. There is a genuine contemplation which is an angel of
light, and a counterfeit which is a demon of darkness disguised.
One conducts to heaven, the other into a miry slough or a
stony desert of melancholy pride. It requires a more spiritual
insight than Mr. Bigelow possesses to discriminate between
them. We cannot be surprised, after his present attempt to
wash white the bedraggled robe of quietism, if he or some other
theological adventurer should try to vindicate the inspiration of
Montanus and his two crazy prophetesses of Phrygia.

ST. PETER'S CHAIR IN THE FIRST TWO CEN-
TURIES.

PART FIRST.

IT has been proved in several foregoing articles that before
one hundred and fifty years had elapsed from the death of the
last of the apostles, the actual state of the Christian society
known as " The Catholic Church " corresponded to the defini-
tion of the church given in Catholic theology. It was, namely,
a visible body in which a multitude were united in professing the
same faith and.receiving the same sacraments by the teaching
and governing authority of a college of bishops under the presi-
dency of the bishop of the principal see of Rome, successor to
St. Peter in the primacy which he received from Christ the
Lord. The actual existence of this faith and order in the middle
of the third century demonstrates the unbroken and unchanged
tradition by which they were handed down from the apostles ;
and also the unanimous agreement of the founders of the church
in establishing the same doctrine and polity by their teaching
and legislation in obedience to the instructions received from
Christ and the Holy Spirit.

We will proceed now to a more detailed exposition of these
doctrinal, sacramental, and hierarchical principles of the primi-

4g6 Sr. PETER' s CHAIR [July,

tive and apostolical Christianity, chiefly from documents of the
period between A.D. 30 and 258 — i.e., from the beginning of the
pontificate of St. Peter to the end of that of St. Sixtus II., from
the epoch of St. Paul to that of St. Cyprian.

In the outset we have a few remarks to make about the na-
ture and method of the anti-Catholic counter-pleading which at-
tacks and seeks to undermine, singly and collectively, the au-
thority or true signification of these documents which give evi-
dence of the unity and identity of Catholic and apostolic faith
and order during this and the next succeeding periods of his-
torical Christianity.

There is no unity, harmony, or consistency among those who
make these counter-pleadings. They are ranged all the way be-
tween the two extremes of rationalism which is most unreason-
able, and pseudo-catholicism which is most un-catholic ; from M.
Renan to Dr. Littledale. This is one good proof that as they
are "all wranglers," so they are " all wrong." They have one
thing in common, however : that they follow the method of a
sceptical, superficial criticism of historical documents, in which
hypothesis and conjecture play a prominent part. In their ana-
lysis they are special pleaders, and in their synthesis theorists,
with an equal disregard of facts and of logic. M. Renan has in-
formed us that his loss of faith was not due to the intrinsic dif-
ficulty of believing Catholic dogmas, but to a critical study of
history. In his latest work, Marcus Aurclius, he professes to
trace the history of Christianity in detail during the second cen-
tury, and sums up in a systematic formula the results of his for-
mer works :

" We may say that the organization of the churches experienced five
degrees of progress, four of which were passed over during the period in-
cluded in the present work. First, the primitive ecclesia, in which all its
members are equally inspired by the Spirit. Then the ancients, or presby-
teri, assume a considerable right of control and absorb the ecclesia. Next,
the president of the ancients, the episcopus, absorbs almost all the powers
of the ancients, and consequently those of the ecclesia. Afterwards, the
episcopi oi the different churches, by a mutual correspondence, form the ca-
tholic church. Among the episcopi there is one, he of Rome, who is evi-
dently destined to a great future. The pope, the church of Jesus trans-
formed into a monarchy, with Rome as a capital, appear in the dim dis-
tance. ... At the end of the second century the episcopate is entirely
ripe, the papacy exists in germ " (Marc-Aurele, 416).

M. Renan likewise attempts to trace the development of the
Christian dogmas, which he allows to have all existed in germ

1 882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 497

about the year 180, so that, he says, at this epoch " the Christian
doctrine is already such a compact whole that nothing- more can
be added henceforth, and that any considerable alteration is no
longer possible " (ibid. 507). Yet in respect to dogmas, and
those the most fundamental — the Trinity, the divinity of Jesus
Christ, the immortality of the soul, the resurrection — the second
century, according to him, was a period of formation, resulting
toward its close in the state of doctrine which he has described.
These results of criticism are not the conclusions of a thorough
and careful induction, a truly critical analysis, but hypotheses
formed by a mind professing " to possess a vivid intuition of that
which is certain, probable, plausible, a profound sentiment of life
and its metamorphoses" (ibid, introd. iii.)

It is no wonder that after finishing Marcus Aurelius M. Renan
became tired of his brilliant soap-bubble, and expressed his con-
tempt for what are ironically called historical studies, as " petty
conjectural sciences which break as soon as formed " ; and adds:
" It is the regret of my life to have chosen for my studies a sort
of researches which will never command assent " (Revue des Deux
Mondes, Dec. 15, 1881). We regret also that he has not employ-
ed his pretty literary talent in some more innocent amusement.
He has borrowed his idea, as many others have done, from Gib-
bon, the modern coryphaeus of historical assailants of the whole
or of certain parts of Christianity.

We beg leave to digress a little, in order to introduce, in con-
trast with this French apostle of levity and petty, conjectural,
pseudo-science, another Frenchman — a representative of the
solid, plain, unpretentious, yet genuine historical science which is>
the treasure of the Catholic Church, guarded and preserved by.
her ancient and universal literary corporation.

The Abbe Gorini was born in 1803 and died in 1859. For
eighteen years he was the priest of a vicarial chapel in the dio-
cese of Belley, with a small flock of two hundred and fifty poor
people, living scattered in a dismal and unwholesome region.
His house was a cottage of four rooms, where, besides his house-
keeper, he had his two nieces. as pupils, the kitchen as his study
whenever a fire was necessary, an income never exceeding two
hundred dollars a year, and no library or bookstore within*
reach nearer than the county town, which was several miles dis-
tant. All the money he could save was devoted to buying books.
Every book or pamphlet or review he could borrow was brought
home by himself on foot and extracts copied from it by his own
hand or those of his nieces. In 1847 ne was transferred from

VOL. xxxv. — 32

498 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [Jui}r>

Trancliere to the parish of St. Denis, where yhis surroundings
were more agreeable and his facilities for carrying on his stu-
dies greater. In 1853 the great work at which he had been ob-
stinately laboring day and night, all his life, was published : A
Defence of the CJturcli against the historical Errors of MM. Guizot,
Aug. and Am. Thierry, Michclet, Ampere, Quinet, Fauriel, Aimc-
Martin, etc. It is most amusing and delightful to contemplate —
first the picture of this humble and poor priest in his kitchen,
with the chairs, tables, and floor so covered with folios that the
ancient demoiselle and the two little girls, who divided their
time between their studies under their uncle and their service
under the aforesaid demoiselle, could hardly move about ; and
then the effect which followed the publication of the book com-
posed amid this domestic clatter and talk, which was often in-
creased by the presence of the abbe's brother and sister-in-law.*
The author of a sketch of his life prefixed to the fifth edition of
the Defense de V Eglise writes : "The sensation produced by this
unexpected stroke of a battering-ram against the badly built ram-
parts of the historical science of our university doctors had, as
every one knows, a far-extending echo, still more increased by
the repentant avowals of the historians convinced, if not of men-
dacity, at least of inexcusable errors, which could no longer be
propagated."

MM. Augustin and Amedee Thierry and M. Henri Martin
thanked their critic for his corrections and amended the errors
pointed out. M. Guizot expressed his esteem for the author in
a very polite manner, but evaded any reply to his strictures.
Guizot, it is well known, though a defender of Christian dogmas
against Renan and other rationalists, substantially agrees with
him and with Gibbon in his theory of stages of development in
the Catholic ecclesiastical polity, from pure democracy to mon-
archy. Let us see what he has to say of the strictures of emi-
nent authors upon his historical hypotheses :

"Some of the appreciations and views contained [in the Hist, of Europ.
Civil.] have been earnestly contested, especially by some zealous and hon-
orable defenders of the Catholic Church. I will mention only three : [viz.,
Balmes, Donoso Cortes, and Gorini]. I have read these works with all the
attention due to their merit, and the conscientiousness which their subject
demands, and I have resolved not to reply, for two reasons, one personal and
the other general. I have no taste for disputing against convictions which
I honor without sharing in them, and against moral powers which I would

* One of his nieces once asked him : " Mon oncle, pourquoi done travaillez-vous si avant dans
la nuit ? " To which he replied : "Eh ! mon enfant, il y a taut de bruit pendant le jour."

1 882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES, 499

much rather fortify than enfeeble, though I do not serve under their ban-
ner. . . . Polemics would push me beyond the measure which I have at
heart to observe. . . .

" My general answer is this : Two great forces and two great rights, au-
thority and liberty, naturally co-exist in mutual conflict in the bosom of
human societies. In the ancient world . . . the nations had lived some-
times under the almost absolute yoke of authority, sometimes exposed to
the continual storms of liberty. . . . Christian Europe has never been sub-
ject to the uncontested empire of either of the two rival principles. . . .

" In retracing the beginnings and the course of European civilization I
have made this great characteristic to stand out, but I have done so as his-
torian and not as advocate, without taking the part of one against the
other of the two principles which have simultaneously presided over this
history. The writers who have done me the honor of an attack are avow-
ed advocates of the principle of authority and frank adversaries of the prin-
ciple of liberty, I would change my position and conduct if I should do
like them, and if, in order to answer them, I should make myself the advo-
cate of the principle of liberty over the adversary of the principle of autho-
rity, I would be delinquent to the truth of history and to my own idea. I
will not do it."*

This is as much as to say that the idea of M. Guizot, impar-
tial judgment, and the objective truth of history are identical ;
and to fall back on M. Renan's intuition vive and sentiment profond.

M. Gorini has some acute remarks upon the different classes
of historians which we will abbreviate and sum up in our own
language. There are three principal classes, the first of which is
the picturesque school, which revels in details, reproducing into
a semblance of life scenes and persons of the past. The second
aims at presenting the exterior truth of facts, but, not content with
narration, seeks to explain the ideas hidden beneath all events, of
which the facts are symbols. The third reviews entire ages and
contemplates the universal movement of the human race in its
peregrinations from epoch to epoch, its changes from one social
form to another. This is the history of civilization.

These three schools are exposed to various illusions. The
first incurs the risk of drawing on the imagination for its facts,
or their coloring and drapery ; the second of making its judg-
ments upon events and persons at hap-hazard ; the third of err-
ing in its analysis through an insufficient induction, or one based
on misapprehensions of facts. And besides these dangers which
beset the methods of the three schools, there are others proper
to the individual writers. These are, in some, their sympathies
and antipathies ; in others that poetic temperament which inclines

* Preface to UHistotre de Civil., etc., quoted from the Defense de r£glise, Avertlss. de la sec.
ed. Vol. i. p. xxxviii. Cinq. ed. Paris. 1869,

500 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [July,

to the invention of epics or historical romances rather than to
an exact delineation of things as they are ; and, again, there is the
desire for novelty, the love of popular applause, the indolence
which shrinks from patient examination of documents and evi-
dence, ambition for fame at an easy price, and, finally, an idola-
trous self-esteem and self-conceit. Michelet says that no one can
do anything great unless he believes himself to be God*

These causes suffice to account for a multitude of errors in
writers who may be supposed to be in good faith. How much
worse is the case with wilful calumniators and falsifiers of his-
tory ! And hence is what a writer in the Revue des Deux Mondes
(June, 1841), M. Philarete Chasles, in most severe language de-
scribes as " cette nouvelle enveloppe de fictions dont le mensonge euro-
pt'en se couvre comme d'un manteau" M. Gorini admits that the
historical appreciation of Christianity in the present is more just
than it was in the last century, yet the Voltairean mists are not
fully dissipated, and many objects are still-seen confusedly and in
perverse relations.

It is against the Papacy that the greatest number and the
most discrepant classes of writers are united, including some
who have not questioned the divine institution of the primacy
but only the fulness of its authority.

" It is the Papacy," says the Abbe Gorini, " which possesses the special
privilege of exciting antipathy. One boldly faces the pope with the in-
quiry: Who made thee a king? Another, on the contrary, would seem
almost to bend the knee before St. Peter, but it is after the manner of that
soldier of Rollon who kissed the foot of Charles the Simple in order to
throw him down more easily. At what epoch would you have it that the
Papacy appeared in the church ? In the first century ? in the fifth ? in the
ninth ? Are you willing to admit its appearance only as late as the
eleventh century ? You will find writers ready to sustain any one of these
affirmations, in whose eyes every explanation of the origin of the pontifical
power is excellent, except that which the Gospel furnishes. They will
make out that the pope was established by Mohammed sooner than by
Christ " (Introd. p. xlix.)

Whence this strange antipathy ? In those who understand
what the Papacy really is, it arises from a more radical antipathy
to the sovereignty of God over the mind and will of man, which
is in opposition to the whole or only to some part of the divine
truth and law which the pope proclaims as God's vicegerent on
the earth. In those who misunderstand the Papacy, and have no

* "Et qui done, sans se croire Dieu, pourrait faire aucune grande chose ?" (Hist. Revol.
fr., t. i. litre : Qu'on nefait rien sans se croire Dieu,)

1 882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 501

antipathy to a perfect submission of the mind and will under the
divine authority of Christ the Lord, it arises from mistakes in
regard to facts and errors of judgment. The first sort can be
conquered by the truth, but never reconciled to it, unless they
undergo a complete interior change. Those of the second sort
may or may not be convinced and won over, but the exposition
of the truth must have a continually increasing effect upon this
class of persons who intend to pay due homage to God and his
truth ; dissipating the causes of error and removing misunder-
standings.

It is in order to set forth more distinctly what the Papacy
was during the period of the first two hundred and thirty years
from the vocation of St. Peter by our Lord, that we retrace our
steps to examine mor.e fully the historical evidence, already
given at some length, of the beginnings of the Roman primacy.
In this examination we do not intend to consider the primacy
purely in the light of an exterior ecclesiastical polity. We con-
nect with the pre-eminence in dignity and power of the Roman
pontiff the system of dogmatic and practical religion which he
represents, existing in the Catholic Church over which he presid-
ed. And our line of argument is intended to show that the
whole system, including the primacy, was no accretion, no new
formation, which was superinduced upon the apostolic Christian-
ity, profoundly altering its essence or integral constitution ; but
derived, through the apostles, from Jesus Christ himself. The
Roman primacy, the Catholic episcopate, the doctrinal authority
of the church, the orthodox faith concerning the Trinity, the In-
carnation, the inspiration of the Scriptures, the sacrifice and
priesthood in the New Law, sacramental grace ; with all else
which belongs to the integrity of Catholic faith and order ;
though distinct are not separate parts of one whole, and are not
separable except by violence and mutilation. They are all de-
nied by consistent adversaries, while several of them, more or
fewer according to the differences of sects, are more or less clear-
ly confessed, to the exclusion of one or more of the rest, by those
who are less consistent. They have a common cause and de-
pend on each other. In the long run they stand or fall together.
As an objective and a concrete system of doctrine and practice,
for the enlightenment and sanctification of men, they have their
root and origin in the Roman primacy. They are the majestic,
wide-spreading tree which has grown up from the mustard-seed
which St. Peter was commissioned to sow. They are the grand
and symmetrical structure the foundation of which is the Rock

502 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [J"Iy,

of Peter. Therefore, as thoroughly as the necessity of being
brief and succinct will permit, we wish to set forth the primacy
of Peter and his successors in the see of Rome, as the support of
this genuine and complete religion of Christianity. This is that
Roman faith which St. Paul magnifies, for which he praises God,
Avhich he says " is announced in the universal world " : " Gratias
ago Deo meo per Jesum Christum pro omnibus vobis, quia FIDES

VESTRA ANNUNTIATUR IN UNIVERSO MUNDO " (Rom. i. 8).

That this faith and polity were existing and universally re-
cognized, both in reality and name, as " Catholic," during the
period which includes St. Irenseus and St. Cyprian, is manifest
from history and has been fully proved. The inference that they
came from the apostles has all the force of a moral demonstra-
tion, as St. Irenaeus and Tertullian have proved by an invincible
argument. Casualty is not causality. There can be no such
thing as an universal casualty working like an efficient cause to
produce everywhere certain and similar effects. The successive
alterations fancied by Guizot and Renan are cobweb hypotheses
which one stroke of common sense suffices to sweep away. But,
besides the argument from prescription, there is a series of testi-
monies going back from St. Cyprian to St. Paul and the other
sacred writers of- the New Testament. These testimonies we
have cited in several preceding articles as the course of our ar-
gument required ; and as we proceed to develop their signifi-
cance more fully we will add others as occasion offers.

The primacy of St. Peter and his successors in the Roman
See is set forth by St. Cyprian, as a witness and expositor of the
complete doctrine of the Catholic unity of the church and its
episcopal hierarchy, universally received and handed down by
tradition from the apostles and their immediate associates and
successors. We have now to consider the real nature and extent
of the primacy of Peter as the original and principle of Catholic
unity, its relation to the ordinary power of his apostolic col-
leagues; and the nature of the pre-eminence inherited by the
Bishop of Rome through their succession to his episcopal chair
in that church, in relation to the power of the episcopal college
derived by succession from the apostles; in order to vindicate
the true sense of the doctrine of St. Cyprian and the other Fa-
thers who were before him.

The Lord chose St. Peter to be " The First " among the apos-
tles : St. Peter fixed his permanent chair in Rome : the Bishops
of Rome succeeded to " the Place of Peter ": the Roman Church
was the " Principal Church." This is the teaching of St. Cyp-

1 882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES, 503

rian, throusrh whose voice the unanimous belief and confession of

' O

the first three centuries is expressed. There is but one plea
which presents even a specious appearance, against the Catholic
interpretation of the testimony of Scripture and tradition to the
primacy of Peter and his successors, the Roman pontiffs. It is :
that Peter had only a nominal primacy, which was but a type
and figure of the unity of the Catholic episcopate ; and that his
successors in the Roman See had only an honorary precedence by
ecclesiastical custom, out of which gradually arose an acquired
jurisdiction over the universal church. According to this hy-
pothesis, every bishop possesses, independently, the plenitude
of the episcopate as St. Peter did, and the visible concrete unity
of the church is complete in every distinct episcopal church.
The Catholic Church, therefore, is an aggregate of numerous con-
gregations which agree mutually in essentials. This is no bet-
ter than pure Congregationalism. It makes no difference whe-
ther a complete church is composed of so small a number as to
form one parish and assemble in one place of worship, or of so
large a number that they make a diocese. The principle is the
same. It is one utterly incompatible with St. Cyprian's idea of
Catholic unity in the episcopate and the entire body of Chris-
tians. It is wholly different from the principle on which the
apostolic church was constituted and continued to exist in or-
ganic unity. It is an absurd and impracticable scheme of polity.
Either every bishop, as a successor of St. Peter, has by his ordi-
nation universal jurisdiction throughout the extent of the whole
world over all baptized persons, or he has a jurisdiction only
within certain limits and over a definite number of persons. In
the first case some thousands of bishops have an equal and con-
flicting jurisdiction. In the second case what authority pre-
scribes to each one his sphere, and constitutes a particular
church under one bishop in a perfect unity and a complete in-
dependence ? It can only be a human authority, established by a
compact among equals. In this case councils, dioceses, provin-
cial or national dioceses of greater extent, an oecumenical order
uniting all churches together, are purely voluntary arrangements
which cannot set aside ti\z jus divinum possessed by every bishop,
or be obligatory on any who may choose to assert their indepen-
dence.

Unity of the Catholic episcopate is a chimera without an
authority by divine right to which every bishop is subject, and
there is no such authority apart from the primacy of Peter.
The notion of a figurative primacy, a merely nominal and sym-

504 ST. PETERS CHAIR [July,

( bolic priority, for the sake of preserving harmony among- a thou-
sand churches by an image of one church under one head, is a
notion which could only occur to a retired and visionary student
in his cloister, or a poet in a quiet country parish. It appears
ridiculous in the light of the turbulent history of the fourth cen-
tury. It is, moreover, a purely capricious and most inept ex-
planation of the language of the Holy Scripture. St. Peter was
made by the Lord the pastor of his whole flock, received the
full and supreme power of the keys, and was made the founda-
tion of the church. As the immediate and inspired legates of
Christ, St. Peter and his colleagues had a personal mission which
was entirely above the ordinary hierarchical power, and intrans-
missible. The other apostles were also made for the exigency
of the case coadjutors of St. Peter in his capacity of bishop of
the whole world. They all, nevertheless, wrought by virtue of
the commission given to Peter, in subordination to him, and co-
operated in founding the church upon one Rock, the Rock of
Peter, his universal and perpetual primacy. Whoever of the
apostles, whether St. John or St. Paul, first founded any church
and consecrated its first bishop, all was regarded as done by
Peter's authority. Hence, although the Roman Church was not
the most ancient, and the Gospel did not actually go forth from
the city of Rome to all the regions of the world, yet, as we have
seen, that church was called the most ancient, the mother of all
others, the Root and Womb of the Catholic Church. The Ro-
man Church was in its bishop, according to the axiom, Ubi
episcopus, ibi ecclesia. Its first bishop, St. Peter, possessed in him-
self from the beginning that power which was the origin of
unity and the source of all episcopal jurisdiction ; he brought it
with him to Rome, and left it there as the inheritance of his suc-
cessors. Therefore to the Roman Church — that is, to that su-
preme chair which St. Peter placed in Rome — is ascribed all that
•was done by him as well before as after his foundation of that
Apostolic See. The power symbolized by the figure of " The
Keys" is always referred to St. Peter as its original and source.
And the. fact that all bishops are declared to participate in the
power derived from Peter, instead of being an argument against
the primacy, is the strongest of arguments in its favor. We
never hear of the Keys of James, John, or Paul. It is in virtue
•of Peter's power of the keys that in " every church akin to
Peter," to use Tertullian's expression, its bishop possesses that
power, and is made a prince in his own domain, with a right
•divine with which no one can justly interfere so long as he ex-

1 882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 505

ercises it in a legitimate manner. The power of the primacy
which precedes the power of. each bishop in each and every dio-
cese, and is super-eminent over all bishops and all their clergy
and people, is that which assigns to each bishop his limits, and
excludes all other bishops, even those to whom he may be suffra-
gan, from invading his jurisdiction. It is that same power which
constitutes the limits of the provinces of metropolitans, and of
the more extensive dioceses presided over by the greater arch-
bishops, variously styled primates, exarchs, and patriarchs. That
same power prescribes to particular councils the lawful sphere
of their legislation, and is alone competent to convoke and ratify
those which are oecumenical. This power of the primacy is es-
pecially visible in regard to those prelates who possessed some
kind of archiepiscopal pre-eminence over other bishops. The
episcopate is a divine institution. Bishops are jure divino col-
leagues of the successor of St. Peter in the teaching and ruling
of the universal church, and it is by the commandment of Christ
that the apostles established them everywhere as the rulers of
particular churches. The Catholic episcopate and the episcopal
regimen in the church do not depend from the will of the su-
preme pontiff as their author, but the}'- are subordinate to his
more powerful principality. Archbishops, however, of every
degree are mere vicars and lieutenants of the supreme pontiff, in
respect to the real though restricted and limited jurisdiction
which they enjoy within their several provinces. The greatest
of these archbishops during the first three centuries were those
of Alexandria and Antioch. It is certain that they derived their
pre-eminence from' St. Peter. No authority less than his could
have secured for the Bishop of Alexandria, who was the succes-
sor of a disciple of Peter, his undisputed precedence over the
Bishop of Antioch, who was the successor of St. Peter himself.
The First Council of Nicasa, in its sixth canon, did not establish,
but merely recognized as existing from the beginning, the pre-
rogatives of these two sees by name, and in general the prero-
gatives of every other metropolis having a similar origin. The
Roman pontiff, as the bishop of the diocese of Rome, had all
bishops of other dioceses as his colleagues, subject to his
primacy. The rights of this primacy, which he personally exer-
cised in all their fulness over his immediate suffragans in a part
of Italy, were partially devolved upon metropolitans in their re-
spective provinces within the exarchate of the Italian peninsula
and in all other regions, in a higher degree upon the superior
metropolitans of other exarchates, and in a still higher degree

506 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [July,

upon the bishops of the sees of Alexandria and Antioch, which
shared with the Roman See in the patriarchal dignity. A great
modern canonist, following in the footsteps of St. Isidore of Se-
ville, St. Gregory the Great, St. Nicholas I., Benedict XIV.,
Hallier, and Thomassin, gives the following condensed exposition
of the relation of every degree of super-eminence in the episco-
pate to the primacy :

" All the powers, all the dignities which make a distinction among
bishops God has united in the same hand, upon the same head, by consti-
tuting a bishop above all bishops, a throne above all thrones. Just as a
temporal king can be at the same time duke, prince, and count, without
any diminution of his royal dignity, so the royal lieutenant of Christ is at
once patriarch, exarch, metropolitan, and bishop. As bishop he has Rome
for his diocese; as metropolitan his province indifferent epochs has em-
braced a greater or lesser portion of Italy ; his exarchate extends over the
whole Italian peninsula, his patriarchate over the entire Western world.
These dignities, eminent as they are, are shared in by other bishops'; but in
them they exist only as streams flowing from their source, everything
which raises one bishop above another being derived, not from the episco-
pate, but solely and essentially from the primacy; whence it follows that
we must consider Peter as the source of all the pre-eminent rights attached
to the patriarchate, to the exarchate, and to the metropolitan dignity. Ac-
cordingly, the primitive church attached immediately to the person of the
prince of the apostles the metropolitan power in its highest expression —
the patriarchate.

" The bishops clothed with this dignity are those of the three greatest
metropolises of the Christian world: Koine, Alexandria, and Antioch, erect-
ed into apostolic sees principally as having been founded or administered
by the apostle St. Peter. Thus the patriarchate, attached to the primacy
by the erection of Rome herself into a patriarchal see, is in direct relation
to it, draws all its power from it, and it is in consequence of this rapport,
this immediate relation, that the three highest personifications of the ec-
clesiastical power were established as the principal centres of the future
development of the hierarchical organization. This is the precise reason
why, in subsequent ages, those who retraced the origin of the veritable
patriarchate of the new covenant recognized those three bishops only as
being true patriarchs properly so called.

" From the highest antiquity the popes acknowledged the bishops of
Alexandria and Antioch as successors of St. Peter, conjointly with the
Roman pontiff. Gregory the Great wrote to Eulogius, patriarch of Alex-
andria : ' It was said to Peter, I will give thee the keys of the kingdom of
the heavens ; confirm thy brethren, feed my lambs ; therefore, although
there are many apostles, yet as regards the principality, the see of the
prince of the apostles alone was established in authority, which is the see
of one in three places. For he exalted the see in which he deigned to fix
his permanent residence and to finish this present life. He glorified the
see in which he placed his disciple the Evangelist. He confirmed the see
in which he sat for seven years, though with the intention of departing.

1 882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. ' 507

Since, therefore, it is the see of one" and one see over which by divine au-
thority three bishops now preside, all the good I hear of you I impute to
myself. If you believe anything good of me impute this to your merits ;
because we are one in Him who says : That they all may be one, as Thou,
Father, art in me, and I in Thee, that they also may be one in us.' " *

The primacy of Peter, as a permanent divine right, inherited
by his successors in the Roman See, gave to the universal epis-
copate, which without it would be a rope of sand, the unity,
strength, and flexibility of a chain-work of linked steel. For ob-
vious reasons which have been noted in previous articles, the
united and concurrent action of bishops, and the exercise of the
metropolitan and patriarchal jurisdiction contained in the pri-
macy and communicated to those bishops who enjoyed an archi-
episcopal pre-eminence, stand out more prominently and mani-
fest themselves more frequently in the ante-Nicene period than
the exercise and action of supreme papal authority. The indi-
rect, immediate, and diffused influence of the primacy is, never-
theless, positively the strongest and most conclusive proof of its
existence and divine institution.

The doctrine of Catholic canonists which we have presented
is the only one which makes ante-Nicene Christianity intelligi-
ble and consistent. It furnishes the only adequate rule for inter-
preting the language of St. Cyprian and the other writers before
his time from whom we have quoted, and for rightly appreciat-
ing the historical facts of the period under review by which the
position and attitude of the Bishop and the Church of Rome in
respect to the universal church are manifested. This truth will
be made clearer anc} more distinct as we proceed with the further
development of our thesis.

* Phillips, Canon Law, Fr. trans., b. i. ch. viii. sect. 69.

508 THE MINNESINGER AND THE [July,

THE MINNESINGER AND THE MEISTERSINGER

OF GERMANY.

WITHIN these last three hundrecTyears histories, at least such
as have been read mostly in England and the United States, have
spoken of the times between the fifth and fifteenth centuries as
the dark ages. This habit has led the English-speaking world,
with indifferent exceptions, to conclude that, during those thou-
sand years, the Almighty, disgusted with the failure of his pur-
poses and the thwarting of his predictions and promises, with-
drew the light of his countenance from the world and left it to
grope its way as it could amidst darkness.

How long may a mistake obtain ! — the greater the longer.
After the separation of England from the church English his-
torians seemed to have felt bound to give as excuse for such
conduct that by means of the grossly erroneous teachings of the
church, which Christ had vainly undertaken to guide into all
truth, mankind had been led into so many errors, absurdities,
and crimes that they had to be abandoned to their own guid-
ance in all matters, religious, political, civil, and social ; that they
had, during this period, gotten the upper hand, while the Al-
mighty King, conscious of being unable to cope with such ad-
versaries, had sat the while gloomily upon his throne, and
watched and waited for a time again to interpose his benignant
counsels and influences. Even yet there are many most excel-
lent persons who believe, that in those centuries nothing good
was produced, for the want both of talent and virtue. Such per-
sons, concluding that there was nothing worth knowing in those
dark ages, study with commendable zeal the histories of ancient
times down to the fall of the empire in the West, and then,
skipping over the intervening centuries, dwell with fondness
upon what has been done since, especially in England and Ger-
many, in accordance with the unlicensed liberty which the Crea-
tor, after mature reflection upon his former purposes, has grant-
ed, by compromise, to human endeavor.

But this prejudice is beginning to disappear. Within the last
forty years honest minds have been travelling a good deal over
what had long been considered execrated ground, and many an
old error has been dispelled. This is not exactly the occasion to
speak of the attitude of the church during that period, although

1 882.] MEISTERSINGER OF GERMANY. 509

it is beginning to be known that it was eminently distinguished
for intelligence and zeal, for founding civilizations and produc-
ing saints. We are now to speak of literature, especially as it
was in Germany in the very middle of that long night.

Some writer — who, we do not remember just now — in con-
trasting the Germans with the French and the English especially,
mused about thus : To the French nature assigned the land, to
the English the water. Land-locked on the east, the west, the
south, and mostly so on the north, the German, having do-
minion only of the air, separated from the rest of mankind,
has lived mainly upon his own resources, and, living thus, he
has become the most thoughtful of men, the most earnest, the
most sensitive, the most tender and faithful in his loves, and,
in the times whereof we write, the most religious. Another
writer * thus speaks :

" The proper germ of the romantic is the German heart, the profound
sentiment, that love under many forms, which was introduced into life as
well as into art by the Germans first and displaced the antique, unsenti-
mental mode of living and thinking, which regarded the senses and the
understanding only, and wavered between passion and philosophy. The
consecration of woman, and of love itself, by adoration of the earthly be-
loved object, is purely of German origin, and I might call this the leading
trait of the romantic."

We are not quite sure that this may not be regarded as the
most distinguishing mark of romanticism — the single, the senti-
mental, and the honorable love of woman. If so the Germans
are to be credited with the highest place in its original, for they
are the first people who paid to woman the devotion due as to
the friend of man in all the purposes of his creation. In the
times when other peoples regarded their women quasi slaves, to
be kept or parted from at pleasure, the wild Germans treated
theirs with consideration and tenderness unknown elsewhere.
They followed their husbands, lovers, brothers, and sons to the
wars, often determined the occasions of battle, and in the times
of defeat perished along with their beloved, preferring death to
survival for whatever fortune might be offered by the victors.
Love and chastity were common possessions to these barbarians
when the latter especially was little known elsewhere. They
seemed to feel that the female sex were not only to be loved
and defended, but, to some degree, reverenced also. Such
sentiments led them to adopt, almost without questioning, the

* Wolfgang MenzeU

510 THE MINNESINGER AND THE [July*

Christian faith and the veneration of the Blessed Virgin, whom
they celebrated in songs the sweetest that mortal ears have ever
heard.

English scholars have always known of the beautiful litera-
ture of the Trouveres and the Troubadours, themes of which
were the legends of Arthur and the deeds of Charlemagne and
his paladins. But they have known little, until lately, of how
the spirit that produced it, spreading eastward and northward,
penetrated into Germany, where it found a purer, more felici-
tous expression in the minnesong.

During the twelfth century among the princes of Germany
the Hohenstaufens of Swabia were eminently distinguished in
all qualities becoming a ruler of a generous people. Under
their benignant sway Swabian manners and speech became the
standard for all Germans, and originated a poetry which, if it had
been preceded, has certainly not been succeeded, by a better in
its kind. As poetry is older than prose, so the old poetry, in
some of the chiefest purposes for which poesy was given to
mankind, for the subdual of their evil and the solacement of their
griefs, has been better than the new. It is probable that the
poems of Homer were invented before the author had learned to
write. It is certain that the most gifted, if not all, of the Min-
nesinger could neither read nor write, and that their songs, like
their forerunners in Greece in the mouths of the rhapsodists,
owed their preservation to that exquisite sweetness which led
them to be memorized by a whole people and carried down by
fondest tradition throughout the ages of the religious faith by
which they were mainly inspired. The devout knightly princes
that ruled during a century over those regions along the Rhine
and the mountain land of Germany gave generous encourage-
ment to this literature, the sweetest that has ever been known
among all peoples.

The Minnesinger were so called from their being devoted en-
tirely to love, when love as never before nor since seized upon,
and occupied, and thrilled, and purified, and ennobled the heart of
man. 'Whatever there was upon earth to be loved these tuneful
brethren sang in strains the most freshly, gushingly sweet that
have ever been heard in this world. They sang of the brooks
and woods, the flowers and lakes, the hills and valleys, and their
songs were inspired by woman's love, and their best and fondest
were in honor of Mary the Immaculate, Blessed Virgin, Mother
of God.

Now, the greatest wonder about this exquisite poetry is that

1 882.] MEISTERSINGER OF GERMANY. 511

the most of it was produced by those who knew not letters.
The lover made his song in his heart and his head, and then re-
cited it. It was so enchanting that all who heard would com-
mit to memory. When a bard made a song- in honor of his mis-
tress it was in the fashion following that it was communicated
to her in confidence : He taught it first to a trusted boy, who,
when he had learned it well, hied to where the lady dwelt, and,
when she could recite, ate the piece of cake and drank the glass
of wine she gave, and took back the message she might deign to
send to the poet, his master. There is a story of a lady who
sent her response by letter, and quite a time elapsed before the
lover could find a friend who could read and tell him the glad
news it contained.

These poems were constructed with an artfulness of rhythm
and such arrangement ot stanzas as no poets of modern times
have been able to equal. The varieties among these are as
numerous as are those of the songs themselves. For there seem-
ed to have been an understanding, not only among the poets
but of every one with himself, that no two songs should be alike
in rhythm. Some rhymes are in immediate sequence at the ends
of lines, some at alternate, some in the midst, some beginnings
rhyming with endings, and endings rhyming with beginnings.

It must be enchanting to one who knows well the German
language to hear these poems in the original. A German-Eng-
lish scholar * some years ago translated some of them into Eng-
lish, and has succeeded often in preserving the rhymes employed
in the original. Speaking of them, the translator says :

"We have minnesongs wherein every word of every line rhymes with
the other, while the lines again rhyme in the usual way amongst them-
selves ; poems wherein the last word of the line is rhymed by the first of
the next line ; poems wherein the last word of the strophe rhymes with its
first word ; poems built in strophes of twenty and more rhymes ; poems of
grammatical rhyme in the most various possibilities; poems of word-play-
ing rhymes, etc. ; and in most cases the fundamental rhythmical beauty
reigns supreme and makes the ornamentation seem natural outgrowth."

Let us listen to the following rhymes of endings with follow-
ing initials, and endings with beginning words of stanzas, and
then conjecture how they must sound in the original :

" Rosy-colored meadows
To shadows we see vanish everywhere.

Woodbirds' warbling dieth :
Sore trieth them the snow of wintry year.

*A. E. Kroeger, The Minnesinger of Germany. Boston: Hurd & Houghton. 1872.

512 THE MINNESINGER AND THE [July,

Woe ! woe ! what red mouth's glow
Hovers now o'er the valley ?
Ah ! ah ! the hours of woe !
Lovers it doth rally
No more ; yet, its caress seems cosey.

" Ever her sweet greeting,
When meeting, my dear love stirs wondrous joy.

As she walks so airy,
The fairy, look ! my heart leaps wondrous high.

Woe ! woe ! what red mouth's glow

Hovers now o'er the valley ?

Ah ! ah ! the hours of woe !

Lovers it doth rally
No more ; yet I shall leave it never. •

" Pleasure, sweet and steady,
My lady scatters with her red mouth's smile,

And her eyes' sweet beaming
My dreaming, venturous thoughts with bliss beguile.

Woe ! woe f what red mouth's glow

Hovers now o'er the valley ?

Ah ! ah ! the hours of woe !

Lovers it doth rally
No more, and I regrets must treasure."

Fine as this is, the author is not known. The following, yet
finer, is from Ulrich von Lichtenstein :

" Blessed the feeling
That taught me the lesson thou nearest,

— Gently appealing ;
To love thee the longer the dearest,
— And hold thee nearest ;

Yea, as a wonder
From yonder, that bearest

Rapture the wildest,
. Thou mildest, thou purest, thou clearest.

— " I faint, I die, love,
With ecstasy sweetest and rarest,

— When thou draw'st nigh, love,
And me thy sweet pity declarest.
— Then, as thou sharest,

Love, oh ! I'll sing thee,
And bring thee bonairest

Redress, and over
Thee hover, thou sweetest, thou fairest.

1 882.] MEISTERSINGER OF GERMANY. 513

" My hands I fold, love,
And stay at thy feet, humbly kneeling,

— Till, like Isolde, love,
Thou yield to the passionate feeling
O'er thy heart stealing;
Till thy behavior's
Sweet favors reach healing

My^heart, and tender
Love's splendor to thee be revealing,

— " I pray but send me
A hope ere my locks shall turn gray, love ;

— Thou wilt befriend me,
And I of thy grace catch a ray, love,
— To light my way, love,
Thine eyes were fated
And mated : their sway, love,

My soul beguiling,
Shall smiling revive me for aye, love."

Amatory as is this poetry, as it is the most intense of all, so
is it amongst the most pure. One notices that the names of the
mistresses of these lovers are never or seldom mentioned, being
supposed to be known only to themselves and the boy who went
between. In this respect the Minnesinger were superior to the
Troubadours :

" The Troubadour was gay, thoughtless, and licentious, and the Minne-
singer were tender and plaintive, spiritual and lofty. The former sings of
love and chivalry, and of the various incidents of love and courtoiste ; the
latter, although many Minnesinger had been with the Crusaders to Pales-
tine, seldom, if ever, alludes to the adventures of chivalry and romance.
He dwells principally upon the inward feelings of the soul, upon the re-
fined sentiments and pang of the tender passion. His strains are chaste and
melancholy ; they are marked by a disdain of sensuality and of the cor-
ruptions of the world, with allusions to the contemporary history of Ger-
many, and occasional aspirations after the purer joys of another world and
the sublime visions of eternity."*

Such delicacy was a most fitting quality in the heart of a poet
who would essay to celebrate the excellence of the Blessed
Virgin. Of the numberless poems in her honor are the Lay by
Walther von der Vogelweide ; " The Golden Smithy " of Con-
rad von Wurzburg; and the Great Hymn that has been as-
signed to Gottfried von Strassburg. Of all these the Hymn of
Gottfried is at the head. It is simply wonderful how many
images of exquisite beauty rose to the mind of the bard in con-

* Foreign Quarterly Review, xx. 71.

VOL. xxxv. — 33

514 THE MINNESINGER AND THE [July.

templating the matchless excellence of the Mother of our Lord,
comparing, or trying to compare, with her all beautiful things
and all combinations of beautiful things upon earth. We think,
when we have read many of these, that the singer must soon
end his song from exhaustion of all that we remember to have
seen that was most fair ; but it continuously rises in fervor, in
new and fresher images, through pages and pages, with such as
these :

" Thou bloom of rose, thou lily grace,
Thou glorious queen in that high place,

Where ne'er the face
Of woman shone before thee.

" Thou rosy vale, thou violet plain.

" Thou lovely, golden flower-glow,

Thou bloom'st on every maiden's brow ;

And glory's glow
E'en like a robe floats on thee.
Thou art the blooming heaven-branch

ix Jt */* Which blooming blooms in many a grange.

'•'• "S'm ^ Great care and strange

••V*4u$rJ%' V** God lavishes, maid, upon thee.

it'lViQ " Thou sheen of flowers through clover-place.

" O beauty o'er all beauty's birth !
Never rare stone, or herb, or earth,

Or man bring forth
Such wondrous beauty, maiden — "

and many, many more as beautiful, until, as if recognizing, late,
reluctant, that his song must come to an end, he pours out this
last fond praise :

" Thou of pure grace a clear, fair vase !
Of steady virtue an adamas,

A mirror glass
Of bliss to bliss surrendered.
Thou fortune's and salvation's host,
Thou love-seed of the Holy Ghost ;

To all sin lost
Thy image was engendered
On sacred place, where at God's call

God's Son sank down from heaven.
Like on the flowers sweet rain doth fall,
Such gentle sweetness He to all,

Whom reached his call,
Early and late hath given. "J

i882.] MEISTERSINGER OF GERMANY. 515

E'en now it appears that he could not have ceased except to rise
to a loftier theme —

" O sweet, fair Christ."

Those of us who do not know the German language well may
be excused for some envy for those who do, when Kroeger's
translation sounds with such rapturous sweetness in our ears.
Van der Hagen, a German critic, speaking of this hymn, says :

" It is the very glorification of love (minne) and of minnesong ; it is the
heavenly bridal song, the mysterious Solomon's Song, which mirrors its
miraculous object in a stream of deep and lovely images, linking them all
together into an imperishable wreath ; yet even here, in its profundity and
significance of an artistic and numerously rhymed construction, always
clear as crystal, smooth, and graceful."

Except the earliest bards of ancient Greece, the Minnesinger
are the most wonderful that are known to history. They illus-
trate what may be done by a gifted, loyal, devout people in a
country whose rulers they love and ought to love. During .a ,
period. of one hundred and fifty years these unlettered rmns|rej's'.
poured forth a music that had not been heard since th
Alcaeus and Sappho. That music was so ineffably swee
though the musicians had not the learning to write out1
words, they were committed to memory by all ranks of society
and handed down. The age was one of deep, abiding, undoubt-
ing, tender religious faith.

The Svvabian dynasty passed away ; the house of Hapsburg,
under Rudolph, came to the throne. The increase of power, the
wars among them, discouraged both religion and song. To their
gentle influences succeeded the rude manners of the warrior,
and the Minnesinger laid aside the cithern. Heretofore poesy
dwelt in the country, in the woods and fields, by the margins of
lakes and streams, on the sides of hills and mountains, near to
the church or monastery where the Blessed Virgin inspired its
best endeavors. Henceforward the muse forsook these sylvan
retreats and took up its abode in towns, such as Mentz, Augs-
burg, Strassburg, and Nuremberg. Yet, assuming to be moral
and serious, if not devout, the new poets, in some things more-
learned than the old, for the unlicensed, ever-varying, yet
ever-sweet rhythm of their songs substituted those arbitrary
rules which took away all the sweetness from German poetry.
Their very disdain of the Minnesinger showed their unworthi-
ness to be their successors. Henceforth poetry must enter upon

516 THE MINNESINGER AND THE [Julj»

a new career. The tenderness, the freshness of love withered
away, and a music insipid came on after one that was unap-
proachably delicious. This was the music of the Meistersinger.

It is undoubtedly true that the best poets have been from the
country, either born therein or therein dwelling, and fond of
country existence. On the increase of the importance of the
German barons, the constant feuds and wars risen among them,
poetry left the fields of strife and carnage and sought the secu-
rity needed for one free, simple, gentle of spirit, within the
walls of fortified towns. The merchant, the artisan, the in-
ventors of paper and the printing-press, the builders of houses,
horse-shoers, cobblers — these took up the lyre at the gates
where the Minnesinger had dropped it in his flight from scenes
of violence and his grief for the decline of the child-like reli-
gious faith of his countrymen. It is a curious commentary upon
the poetry of the Meistersinger that its culmination took place
in the person of one* who stood among the humblest classes of
artisans. Yet Hans Sachs, the shoemaker, was a great genius.
Had he lived a century or two before, had he been an indweller
of a home remote from towns, had he had the ancient simple love
of his countrymen for the good, the simple, the innocent, he
would have been one of the greatest of the bards. Except Lope
de Vega, he is the most voluminous of writers. For years upon
years this artisan of the town plied his talent for verse-making,
and Germany was flooded with his productions on the endless
varieties of themes which he sang. Though not without his
seasons of feeling, deep and intense, yet we look to him in vain
for the chivalrousness, the gallantrjr, the devout fervor of the
minnesong. The music he made was not for high-born maiden
in bower or captivity, nor for the benign Queen of Saints, nor
even for simple damsel of the valley, but mainly for those of his
own class in the streets, and taverns, and wine-houses of the
town. Of his six thousand poems the far greater part has been
lost, and his celebrity rests mainly on his having been the great-
est of that class which came in with the new departure of Ger-
man literature.

Henceforward was a marked declension from the gentle man-
ners of the Swabian dynasty. Among the makers of the earlier
songs were many of that old German aristocracy who, though
unlearned in books, were most gifted in courtly graces and in
the training of the heart to the behests of honor and religion.
Poetry, descending from lords and knights to tradesmen and
artisans, lost most of its warmth and tenderness and accommo-

1 882.] MEISTERSINGER OF GERMANY. 517

dated itself to their unromantic lives. Germany was now en-
gaged more in working- for the future than in meditating upon
and praising the past. Towns and cities were to be multiplied,
and enlarged, and fortified, trade and commerce extended — the
practical to supplant the poetical. To the undoubting docility
and obedience to the church was to succeed a sullen indepen-
dence in harmony with the worldly spirit of the age among a peo-
ple who, notwithstanding all their vicissitudes, have ever been
noted for thoughtfulness and earnestness of purpose beyond
every other. For it is to the earnest thoughtfulness of the Ger-
mans that are to be attributed those religious conflicts more
fierce, more disastrous than have been known to other peoples.
Long before Luther the simple faith of the times of the Minne-
singer had been giving way to another. That other was as seri-
ous as its predecessor — more serious, indeed ; for the former, with-
out questioning, accepted the teachings of the church as a child
takes its first lessons from its mother, and the adult Christian did
not lose in that primeval time the faith and the tenderness of
childhood. In the development of arts and science, and trade
and politics, that German intellect, always earnest, began to sub-
ject the dogmas of religion to the same tests of investigation that
accompanied that of sublunary affairs.

The poetry of Germany in the hands of the Meistersinger
must follow in that march of trade, and mechanics, and politics.
The gentle songsters of the foretime had sung of female loveliness
mainly, and after that perfect type set by Mary the Immaculate.
It was a poetry unconfined by critical rules of verse or rhythm,
pouring itself joyous, tender, irregular, just as love and devout-
ness find spontaneous expression from one and another loving,
overflowing heart. And now frequenters of shops and taverns,
without depth of sentiment of any sort, unsimple, hilarious with
wine, emulous of wealth, measure their verses, as they measure
their cloths and their boards, and, instead of the bird, the purling
stream, the gentle wind, make their song keep time to the
watchman's beat, the hammer, and the anvil.

We do not mean by such comparison to deny that there was
a considerable part of the new form of poetry that was good.
Some of it was very good, a small portion excellent. The wri-
ter in the Foreign Quarterly Review before quoted speaks thus
of the popular songs and ballads :

" They were of many sorts : religious songs ; there were ballads for the-
different trades and callings of life, such as the fisherman's, the hunter's, the

518 THE MlNNESlXGER AND THE [Juty>

shepherd's, the husbandman's, of which the melody as well as the words are
imitative of the sounds and scenes familiar to each. The fisherman's song
is distinguished by a monotonous, hollow tune resembling the moaning of
the wave striking against the shore. That of the hunter is shrill and wild ;
that of the shepherd soft and calm. The songs of the husbandman are
varied, some for each season, adapted to the various works of the field. In
several towns and villages in Germany, towards the beginning of the
spring, winter, represent by a jack-straw, is driven out by the children
amidst joyous clamors. The wine-dresser's song is like those of old, satiri-
cal and somewhat licentious. The miner's lays are among the best. They
are marked by a sort of religious awe, as his labor is among the mysteries
of the subterraneous creation ; they tell of sylphs and other genii which
guard the treasures concealed in the bowels of the earth."

Some of the religious ballads and songs have much depth of
feeling. They are without the sweetness and the joyousness of
the minnesong, but in great part are hymns upon the mysteries
of Christianity — faith, eternity, etc. Long before Luther, we re-
peat, the earnest, deeply religious mind of the Germans had
grown -restive under the constraints of the church, and, because
of the very simplicity of her teachings, been gaining habits of
questioning and doubting that were destined, under a bold
leader, to culminate in revolt and war. Luther was a man of
eminent gifts. He was an orator and he was a poet — two gifts
that seldom unite in an individual. Not that he was a great
poet, nor great as an orator. His poetry is hard, severe ; but
much of it is deep, melancholy, and wonderfully impressive.
Then he was a statesman, and could have been a warrior. It is
difficult to estimate the convictions of the mind of that strange,
powerful man, and know with certainty what among them was
sincere, heartfelt, what purely subtle, worldly, sensual. We have
seen that the mind of Germany had been already growing restive
with thoughts of independence. Upon this current of change the
young monk, more fitted for the forum and the field than for the
altar and the cloister, found himself drifting. The consciousness
of extraordinary powers to lead and control mankind, courage
that no danger seemed to daunt, a will changeless as the course
of the stars, a temper that burned with the fierceness of a furnace
seven times heated, he led that career the culmination of which
himself, with all his powers, was the last to foresee. Ever con-
tending against the authority of the church, extending his war-
fare to one and another of the principles which, long after his
first revolt, he had professed to love and honor, he became more*
.and more defiant and desperate, but in the end almost admitted,
both by his conduct and his words, that he had revolted wrong-

1 882.] MEISTERSINGER OF GERMANY. 519

fully and warred in vain. " O Galilean ! thou hast triumphed ! "
exclaimed the apostate Julian when, upon the plains of Ktesiphon,
he felt the life-blood following the javelin that was withdrawn
from his breast, and foresaw, under Jovian, the restoration of the
temples that he had destroyed. So Martin Luther, in the sol-
emn time of old age, had his own melancholy retrospect of a
vain rebellion against a kingdom that the Son of Man had set up
in the earth.

With the advent of Luther .came on a wonderful change in
the prose literature of Germany. Hitherto it was almost entirely
worthless, the great prose-writers employing the Latin tongue.
The lead of Luther excited the nation throughout to all its bor-
ders. The Meistersinger, almost the only poets who then existed,
lent their art, such as it was, to the new doctrines. The German
nation became disputants with tongue, and pen, and sword.
When men's minds are occupied mainly with thoughts and dis-
cussions upon the forms of religious worship and the dogmas of
conflicting faiths, the muses, averse to such conflicts, absent
themselves from earth and leave mankind to wrangle out their
lives in such language as they can find without inspiration from
them. Already had poesy drooped her wings when she was
taken from the fountain and the hill-side, the meadow and the
lake, and made to dwell in walled towns and mingle in the busi-
ness of the streets and the workshops. But now, when she was
arrayed against the mother church, and called upon for rhymes
upon free-will, justification by faith, the worthlessness of works,
and such like themes, then she ceased to soar at all, but retired,
to be again invoked in a better age.

520 FROUDE' s LIFE OF CARLYLE. [July>

FROUDE'S LIFE OF CARLYLE *

IT is certainly pleasanter to agree with those you meet in life
than to disagree with them, Jo show sympathy than to criticise,
to praise than to blame. Therefore, as we shall not always be
able in the course of our observations to admire Mr. Carlyle, let
us begin by looking at that quality in him which friend and foe
alike may unite in respecting — his sterling honesty : his honesty
of purpose, even where his purpose was, as we believe, a thor-
oughly mistaken one, and his honesty in carrying out his pur-
pose without succumbing to any of those temptations to money-
making and popularity-seeking to which weaker men do very
constantly and habitually succumb. Let us take his own account
of himself given us in Sartor Resartus, as it is quite borne out by
the facts of his career :

" One circumstance I note," says he : " after all the nameless woe that
Inquiry, which for me, what it is not always, was genuine love of truth,
had wrought in me, I nevertheless still loved Truth and would bate no jot
of my allegiance to her. ' Truth ! ' I cried, ' though the heavens crush me
for following her ; no Falsehood ! though a whole celestial Lubberland were
the price of apostasy.' In conduct it was the same. Had a divine mes-
senger from the clouds, or miraculous handwriting on the wall, convinc-
ingly proclaimed to me, ' This thou shalt do,' with what passionate readi-
ness, as I often thought, would I have done it, had it been leaping into the
infernal fire ! Thus, in spite of ajl motive-grinders and mechanical profit-
and-loss philosophies, with the sick ophthalmia and hallucination they had
brought on, was the infinite nature of duty still dimly present to me ; living
without God in the world, of God's light I was not utterly bereft. If my
as yet unsealed eyes with their unspeakable longing could nowhere see
him, nevertheless in my heart he was present and his heaven-written law
still stood legible and sacred there."

We cannot but remark the accuracy, from a Catholic point of
view, of Mr. Carlyle's description : " Living without God in the
world, of God's light I was not utterly bereft;.. . . the [infi-
nite ?] nature of duty was still dimly present to me." " If my as
yet unsealed eyes could nowhere see him, nevertheless in my
heart he was present, and his heaven-written law still stood legi-
ble and sacred there."

* T/iomas Carlyle : A History of the First Forty Years of his Life, 1795-1835. By James
Anthony Froude, M.A. Reminiscences of Thomas Carlyle. Edited by James Anthony
Froude, M.A.

i882.] FROUDE' s LIFE OF CARLYLE. 521

Here Mr. Carlyle expresses, in his own way, truths which all
Catholics are bound to believe — viz., that God never abandons
any man who is honestly seeking after truth ; and that even where
the gift of faith is still absent he leaves men not without help
and guidance from the light of reason which he has placed in
their minds, and the law of conscience which he has written upon
their hearts, to lead them to himself. This also prepares us for
the statement which Mr. Froude makes in one or two places in
these volumes: that, although during a period of mental suffer-
ing, which Catholics would call temptation, it was obscured and
held in abeyance, Mr. Carlyle never lost his belief in God, and
in a personal God.

" The theories " — we quote Mr. Froude — " which dispensed with God and
the soul Carlyle utterly abhorred. It was not credible to him, he said, that
intellect and conscience could have been placed in him by a Being which
had none of its own. He rarely spoke of this. The word God was too
awful for common use, and he veiled his meaning in metaphors to avoid it.
But God to him was the fact of facts. He looked on this whole system of
visible or spiritual phenomena as a manifestation of the will of God in con-
stant forces— forces not mechanical but dynamic, interpenetrating and con-
trolling all existing things, from the utmost bounds of space to the small-
est granule on the earth's surface, from the making of the world to the
.lightest action of a man. God's law was everywhere ; man's welfare de-
pended on the faithful reading of it. Society was but a higher organism,
no accidental agreement of individual persons or families to live together
on conditions which they could arrange for themselves, but a natural
growth, the conditions of which were already inflexibly laid down. Hu-
man life was like a garden, 'to which the will was gardener,' and the moral
fruits and flowers, or the immoral poisonous weeds, grew inevitably ac-
cording as the rules already appointed were discovered and obeyed or
slighted, overlooked or defied. Nothing was indifferent. Every step
which a man could take was in the right direction or the wrong. If in the
right the result was as it should be ; if in the wrong the excuse of igno-
rance would not avail to prevent the inevitable consequence."

So far we can quite agree with Mr. Carlyle. In fact, he
might himself have been surprised to know how much of what
he said Catholics could agree with, though they would certainly
have parted company with him on many other points ; not, how-
ever, on the following, which is extracted from his note-book
(vol. ii. of Life, p. 80) : " Religion, as Novalis thinks, is a social
thing. Without a church there can be little or no religion."
Nay, strange as such words may seem to many in the mouth of a
Catholic, we can even go so far as to accept Mr. Tennyson's sen-
timent,

" There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds,"

522 FROUDE'S LIFE OF CARLYLE. [July,

taking, as we suppose Mr. Tennyson means us to do, creeds to
stand for religions. But then the doubt must be honest, and we
hold it could not be honest in a Catholic, who at his baptism has
already received that gift of faith which Mr. Carlyle speaks of
under the appropriate figure of " unsealing of the eyes," though
it may be perfectly honest in those outside the Catholic Church,
who have never yet received it. Again, Mr. Tennyson mentions
" half the creeds " ; Catholics may safely go so far with him. In
fact, they would go farther. There is no moral obligation on
any man to believe what is false. Considerably more than half
the creeds are either almost entirely false or else inextricably
blended jumbles of truth and falsehood, which men are therefore
bound to reject so soon as they plainly perceive them to be un-
true. There would be, from our point of view, no more virtue
in forcing yourself to belief in the Calvinistic doctrine of repro-
bation, or the present necessity of a Judaical observance of the
Sabbath, than in forcing yourself to accept Mohammedanism or
Mormonism. And we are not taught (though this might have
been news to Mr. Carlyle) that, apart from truth, you could per-
form an act of virtue by trying, like the White Queen in Alice
in Wonderland, to believe in six impossible things every morn-
ing before breakfast.

Before we leave the subject of Mr. Carlyle's belief in a God
we may quote from Mr. Froude the following passage, which de-
scribes him on the eve of his marriage :

" He stood there such as he had made himself — a peasant's son, who
had run about barefoot in Ecclefechan Street, with no outward advantages,
worn with many troubles bodily and mental. His life had been pure and
without spot. He was an admirable son, a faithful and affectionate bro-
ther, in all private relations blamelessly innocent."

This goes far to explain to a Catholic that " the theories
which dispensed with God and the soul " Mr. Carlyle " utterly
abhorred," and that " scepticism on the nature of right and
wrong, as on man's responsibility to his Maker, never touched
or tempted him."

So far, then, we can agree with Mr. Carlyle and admire him
for his sincere love of truth, his purity of life, and the honesty of
purpose which is forcibly expressed in these words : " The faith,"
he says, " I had in me, and never would let go, that it was better
to perish than do dishonest work, or do one's honest work other-
wise than well." Here we have the very best of the man, of
whom there is plenty of the worst elsewhere to be found. It

1 882.] FROUDE'S LIFE OF CARLYLE. 523

was this quality which caused men so different as Irving and
Jeffreys to respect even whil'st they wholly disagreed with him.
Add to it considerable intellectual insight, great originality of
mind and power of expression, a strong imagination, and the fer-
vid earnestness with which he fought for what he held to be a
good cause, and we see the reasons for the admiration which his
works have excited.

But there is another side to the question. Mr. Carlyle claim-
ed to be a teacher — claimed, indeed, to be the apostle of a new
gospel. We quote some words from his note-book, dated March,
1833:

"One's heart is for hours and days overcast by the sad feeling : 'There
is none, then, not one, that will believe in me ! . . . Meanwhile continue to
believe in THYSELF. Let the chattering of innumerable gig-men pass by
thee as what it is. Wait thou on the bounties of thy unseen Taskmaster,
on the bests of thy inward daemon. Sow the seed-field of Time. What if
thou see no fruit of it ? Another will. Be not weak.

" Neither fear thou that this thy great message . . . will wholly per-
ish unuttered. One way or other it will and shall be uttered — write it
down on paper anyway ; speak it from thee — so shall thy painful, destitute
existence not have been in vain. Oh ! in vain ? Hadst thou, even thou,
a message from the Eternal, and thou grudgest the travail of thy embassy ?
O thou of little faith ! "

Mr. Froude brings this out even more clearly in the first chap-
ter of the second volume of the Life, where he says, to give his
own words, with all of which we cannot, of course, agree :

" While he [Carlyle] rejected the literal narrative of the sacred writers,
he believed as strongly as any Jewish prophet or Catholic saint in the
spiritual truths of religion. He explained his meaning by a remarkable
illustration. He had not come (so far as he knew his own purpose) to de-
stroy the law and the prophets, but to fulfil them, to expand the concep-
tion of religion with something wider, grander, and more glorious than the
wildest enthusiasm had imagined."

Again in the preface :

" He [Carlyle] was a teacher and a prophet in the Jewish sense of the
word. The prophecies of Isaiah and Jeremiah have become a part of the
permanent spiritual inheritance of mankind, because events proved that
they had interpreted correctly the signs of their own times and their pro-
phecies were fulfilled. Carlyle, like them, believed that he had a special
message to deliver to the present age. * Whether he was correct in that
belief, and whether his message was a true message, remains to be seen."

Quite so.

524 FROUDE' s LIFE OF CARLYLE. [July,

"If he was wrong he has misused his powers. The principles of his
teaching are false. He has offered himself as a guide upon a road of which
he had no knowledge ; and his own desire for himself would be the speedi-
est oblivion both of his person and his works."

Nothing- could be more lucidly put Indeed, the extreme clear-
ness of Mr. Froude's style and arrangement makes it delight-
ful to read this most admirable Life, and is a pleasing foil to Car-
lyle's own occasionally turgid and obscure mode of expression.
That Mr. Froude has faithfully interpreted Mr. Carlyle's own
convictions there is ample intrinsic evidence.

We have, then, before us a man who claims that we should
listen to him as a teacher and believe in him as an apostle. Now,
something more than honesty of purpose, command of language,
and a fervid imagination is necessary to make a man a useful
teacher of his generation. He may be able to give his message
extremely well. The question is, What message has he got to
give ? Perhaps the first thing that strikes one about Mr. Car-
lyle's message is that it consisted, so far as it was spoken dur-
ing his lifetime, largely and chiefly of denunciation. " I have,"
he says of himself, " a deep, irrevocable, all-comprehending, Er-
nulphus curse to read upon gig-manity — that is, the Baal-worship
of our times." He was, in fact, rather " full of cursing and bit-
terness," to use the expression of the Psalmist. He had a good
many curses to pronounce upon a good many things and per-
sons. So far as his denunciation went, it was often true enough.
But it may be questioned how far, even when true, it was par-
ticularly useful. It is doubtless undeniable that there are many
rogues, scoundrels, and liars on the earth, and still more of that
particular class of people whom he loved to call gig-men — the
worshippers of mistaken forms of respectability or orthodoxy.
But supposing even one-half of the world to be knaves (which
we ourselves would not admit), and the other half, as he evident-
ly believed and often stated, to be fools, what especial good is
done to anybody by reiterating that idea continually, and, so to
say, trumpeting it to a listening world ? The knaves and the
fools, even the poor gig-men, will hardly be converted by abuse.
To stand and pour contempt on their unhappy heads is such
purely negative " work" that the world will hardly be much the
better for it.

Now, it is impossible to read Mr. Carlyle's writings and his
Life without perceiving that whilst he realized with extreme
clearness, and one may even say ferocity, what he denied and
rejected, he was either bombastic, inflated, inaccurate, and ex-

1 8 8 2 .] FRO UDE' s LIFE OF CA RL YLE. 525

aggerated, or else vague and misty in what he affirmed and be-
lieved. His affirmations constantly will not bear the least in-
vestigation. His whole doctrine of hero-worship is a strong in-
stance. While knocking over, with the rage of a Don Quixote,
the received opinions which surrounded him, he could only pro-
duce and set up equally untrue figments of his own. He was
quite curiously regardless of facts for a man who professed to
base his belief on them. Take the sober facts of the lives of
Cromwell, Goethe, or Frederick of Prussia ; they do not bear
out, in the eyes of reasonable and sober-minded men, the ex-
travagant and inaccurate theories which he built upon them.
These hardly make good his claim to be, as he thought himself,
an apostle with a mission to teach mankind. The worship of
such a trio, with a few other favored individuals added to it,
joined to an acrid contempt of nearly all living men except a
certain portion of the Scottish peasantry, though apparently a
satisfactory creed to himself, would not be satisfactory nor in
the least degree useful to the majority of minds. In other words,
the teacher had not much to teach ; the apostle should more
wisely have been a learner ; the man with a mission ended chiefly
by abusing nearly all other men and their missions. The most
foolish of us can generally do that much ; and when it is done,
cut bono ? We add to the torrent of useless words which Mr.
Carlyle was so fond of condemning, and also to the malice, hatred,
and ill-will upon the earth — a task which is surely somewhat su-
perfluous.

We are far from denying, however, that every now and then
Mr. Carlyle expressed a true thought and expressed it well. We
take, almost at random, three passages out of the Life :

" It was a wise regulation which ordained that certain daj^s and times
should be set apart for seclusion and meditation. . . . There is a deep sig-
nificance in silence. Were a man forced for a length of time but to hold
his peace it were in most cases an incalculable benefit to his insight.
Thought works in silence ; so does virtue. One might erect statues to
Silence. I sometimes think it were good for me . . . did I impose on my-
self at set times the duty of not speaking for a day. . . . Not only our good
thoughts but our good purposes also are frittered asunder and dissipated
by unseasonable speaking of them. Words, the strangest product of our
nature, are also the most potent. Beware of speaking ! Speech is human,
silence is divine, yet also brutish and dead : therefore we must learn both
arts ; they are both difficult. Flower-roots hidden under soil. Bees work-
ing in darkness, etc. The soul, too, in silence. Let not thy left hand know
what thy right hand doeth. Indeed, secrecy is the element of all goodness ;
every virtue, every beauty is mysterious. I hardly understand even the
surface of this. . . ."

526 FROUDE'S LIFE OF CARLYLE. [July,

Again :

"' Belief,' said one, 'has done immense evil; witness Knipperdolling
and the Anabaptists.' ' True,' rejoined I with vehemence, almost with
fury — • true, belief has done some evil in the world, but it has done all the
good that ever was done in it from the time that Moses saw the burning
bush and believed it to be God appointing him deliverer of his people,
down to the last act of belief that you and I executed. Good never came
from aught else.' "

Again :

" I feel assured from of old that the only true enemy I have to strug-
gle with is the unreason within myself. If I have given such things har-
bor within me I must with pain cast them out again. Still, then, still !
Light will arise for my outward path, too, were my inward light once clear
again, and the world with all its tribulations will lie under my feet. ' Be of
good cheer, I have overcome the world!' So said the wisest Man, when
what was his overcoming? Poverty, despite, forsakenness, and the near
prospect of an accursed cross. ' Be of good cheer, I have overcome the
world.' These words on the streets of Edinburgh almost brought tears
into my eyes."

" I must get through life without a trade, always in poverty, as far bet-
ter men have done. Our want is the want of faith. Jesus of Nazareth was
not poor, though he had not where to lay his head. Socrates was rich
enough."

These things are true, but they are no new things, at any rate to
Catholics, who have been not only preaching but practising
them any time in the last eighteen centuries. They are, in fact,
so very ordinary and well understood amongst us that not one
solitary prophet here and there, but thousands of humble and
unnoticed individuals, act upon them all their lives through.
They are to be found not only as words but as living realities
embodied in the religious orders and congregations of the Ca-
tholic Church. Mr. Carlyle's own spirit of renunciation of
worldly goods for the sake of the truth sinks, in fact, into very
complete insignificance beside what we can see done, all day and
every day, by numbers of men and of women. His sacrifice,
after all, though heroic, it may be, in intention, was hardly heroic
in extent. The house in Chelsea, with the elegant and refined
woman whose fortune helped to support him, and who, as we are
told, "shielded him from the petty troubles of a poor man's life,
from vexations which would have irritated him to madness, by
her own incessant toil " and by " working as a menial servant "
for him, was not, as Mr. Froude clearly lets us see, a very costly
sacrifice for the " peasant's son, who had run barefoot in Eccle-

1 882.] FROUDE' s LIFE OF CARLYLE. 527

fechan Street," and whose father, " in one year, his best, made in
his business (he had ten living children) as much as one hundred
pounds." A good deal more than this is done for the love of
truth and for the sake of charity by numberless unknown priests,
monks, and nuns, who have had more originally to renounce.
The difference between them is this : they are rewarded for it by
pretty general contempt, Mr. Carlyle was rewarded by pretty
general admiration.

Much the same thing may be said of a discovery made by that
extremely clever woman, Mrs. Carlyle, whose letters seem to us
quite as interesting as her husband's. Her story is so capitally
told that we give it in full. It is in a letter to a friend, dated
January n, 1857. Mrs. Carlyle writes:

" So many talents are wasted, so many enthusiasms turned to smoke,
so many Irves spoilt for want of a little patience and endurance, for want of
understanding and laying to heart what you have so well expressed in your
verses — the meaning of the Present — for want of recognizing that it is not
the greatness or littleness of 'the duty nearest hand,' but the spirit in
which one does it, that makes one's doing noble or mean. I can't think
how people who have any natural ambition and any sense of power in
them escape going MAD in a world like this without the recognition of
that. I know I was very near mad when I found it out for myself (as one
has to find out for one's self everything that is to be of any real practical
use to one).

" Shall I tell you how it came into my head ? Perhaps it may be of
comfort to you in similar moments of fatigue and disgust. I had gone with
my husband to live on a little estate of peat-bog that had descended to me
all the way down from John Welsh, the Covenanter, who married a daugh-
ter of John Knox. That didn't, I am ashamed to say, make me feel Craig-
enputtock a whit less of a peat-bog and a most dreary, untoward place to
live at. In fact, it was sixteen miles distant on every side from all the con-
veniences of life, shops, and even post-office. Further, we were very poor ;
and, further and worst, being an only child and brought up to 'great pros-
pects,' I was sublimely ignorant of every branch of useful knowledge, though
a capital Latin scholar and very fair mathematician ! It behoved me, in
these astonishing circumstances, to learn to sew! Husbands, I was shocked
to find, Avore their stockings into holes and were alwa3's losing buttons, and
/was expected to ' look to all that'; also it behoved me to learn to cook!
— no capable servant choosing to live at such an out-of-the-way place, and
my husband having bad digestion, which complicated my difficulties dread-
fully. The bread, above all, brought from Dumfries, ' soured on his stom-
ach ' (oh ! heaven), and it was plainly my duty as a Christian wife to bake
at home. So I sent for Cobbett's Cottage Economy and fell to work at a loaf
of bread. But knowing nothing about the process of fermentation or the
heat of ovens, it came to pass that my loaf got put into the oven at the
time that myself ought to have been put into bed ; and I remained the only
person not asleep in a house in the middle of a desert. One o'clock struck,

528 FROUDE' s LIFE OF CARLYLE. [Jub'»

and then two, and then three, and still I was sitting there in an immense
solitude, my whole body aching with weariness, my heart aching with a
sense of forlornness and degradation. That I, who had been so petted at
home, whose comfort had been studied by everybody in the house, who
had never been required to DO anything but cultivate my mind, should have to
pass all those hours of the night in watching a loaf of bread, which mightn't
turn out bread after all ! Such thoughts maddened me till I laid down my
head on the table and sobbed aloud. It was then that somehow the idea
of Benvenuto Cellini sitting up all night watching his Perseus in the fur-
nace came into my head, and suddenly I asked myself, 'After all, in the sight
of the Upper Powers, what is the mighty difference between a statue of
Perseus and a loaf of bread, so that each be the thing one's hand has
found to do? The man's determined will, his energy, his patience, his re-
source, were the really admirable things, of which his statue of Perseus
was the mere chance expression. If he had been a woman living at Craig-
enputtock with a dyspeptic husband, sixteen miles from a baker, and he a
bad one, all these same qualities would have come out more fitly in a good
loaf of bread.'

" I cannot express what consolation this germ of an idea spread over
my uncongenial life during the years we lived at that savage place, where
my two immediate predecessors had gone mad and the third had taken
to drink."

This is well put and it is true. But every little nun in a Catholic
convent knows it ; and Jane Welsh Carlyle, had she been brought
up " in the errors of popery," would have had no need to " find
it out for herself" in middle life, when she was "going nearly
mad " for want of it, as she would have understood it from her
nursery. Still, the discovery was a good one, and we think if
Mr. Carlyle is a prophet his wife must certainly be a prophet-
ess, and that her insight went farther, perhaps, than his did.
" If Irving had married me," she once said, " there \vould have
been no tongues "; and verily we believe her power to stop the
tongues would have been greater than her husband's.

However, since the publication of his Life by Mr. Froude,
now at last is given to the world posthumously and in embryo
the very message which Mr. Carlyle believed himself to have re-
ceived from the Eternal, and of which he said : " Neither fear
thou that this thy great message, that the natural is the super-
natural, will wholly perish unuttered."

This, therefore, that the natural is the supernatural, is Mr.
Carlyle's message to the world. On this his claims to be a
prophet according to Mr. Froude, and an apostle according to
himself, must mainly rest. For as to the other things which he
has said, and said well, on the beauty and necessity of honesty,
truth, and industry, with various other fine sentiments finely ren-
dered, they were not, as we have remarked, altogether new.

i882.] FROUDE" s LIFE OF CARLYLE. 529

The world, even the Protestant world, had heard something of
such things before, and, indeed, they are not unusually accepted,
at least in theory. But that the natural is the supernatural Mr.
Carlyle deemed himself to have discovered ; and he thought, Mr.
Froude tells us, that it would bring about a revolution in the
spiritual order of the world, " precisely analogous to that
which Galileo had wrought in our apprehension of the material
heaven." Let us give him the full benefit of the discovery. He
seems never to have "uttered" it in his lifetime. But besides
the entry in his note-book, just quoted, published since his death,
" There remain," says Mr. Froude, " among his unpublished
papers the fragments of two unfinished essays which he was
never able to complete satisfactorily to himself." Rather sug-
gestive this of the hunting of the snark — if we may be pardoned
the allusion. These two essays are given in full in the first
chapter of the second volume, and are, from some points of view,
extremely interesting. But, on the whole, as the outcome of
Mr. Carlyle's whole life and works, so far as construction goes,
that " the natural is the supernatural," as expressed in " the frag-
ments of two unfinished essays which he was never able to com-
plete satisfactorily to himself," is, it seems to us, inadequate as a
message from the Eternal. The essays are rather vague and
cloudy as well as unfinished, and Mr. Froude tells us Carlyte
himself "judged them to be an imperfect expression of his ac-
tual thoughts."

That (not Mr. Froude's word, but Carlyle's judgment) we
have a strong temptation to doubt. If the thought had been
clear Carlyle was not the man to have failed, believing- it to be
so important as he did, to express it clearly. It is not so much
that the expression of the thought is imperfect as that the thought
itself is not true or clear enough to be perfectly expressed. No-
thing could possibly be clearer than the way in which Mr.
Froude sets it forth, so far as it goes. But if it is not easy to
catch a snark, neither, if we must put our meaning plump and
plain, is it easy to give quite an exact description of a mare's
nest. And Mr. Carlyle's message from the Eternal distinctly
appears to a Catholic to turn out to be neither more nor less
than that curious commodity.

Those who wholly reject the supernatural will differ from, it
on their own grounds. Christians, who believe in the superna-
tural, will disagree with it on opposite grounds. Between two
stools the new gospel seems very likely to fall to the ground. Its
success, however, is not the question, but its truth. Is it, then,
true? We believe the common sense alone of -mankind will cer-

VOL. xxxv. — 34

530 FROUDE'S LIFE OF CARLYLE. [July,

tainly answer, No. We may be taxed, however, with doing
that which we have ourselves condemned — denying without af-
firming, criticising without constructing. Well, in answer to
that, no one could find fault with Mr. Carlyle, if in one particu-
lar paper of his writings he had confined himself to negative
criticism. It is because in his long life and rather voluminous
works we can find nothing else to warrant his exalted claim to
be an apostle but this discovery that the natural is the super-
natural that we quarrel with his pretensions. But we cannot
here set forth a philosophy which shall embrace the universe
and account both for the natural and the supernatural. We
can only, first, indicate or suggest our explanation of this won-
derful message ; and, secondly, point out to non-Catholics a
work in which we think they will find indirectly a most suffi-
cient refutation of such a curious theory, and a good sample of
what we may call a constructive instead of Mr. Carlyle's de-
nunciatory method of philosophy.

We believe, then, the somewhat hazy idea that the natural is
the supernatural, as put forth by Mr. Carlyle, to be merely a
misconception of a truth or truths not always sufficiently recog-
nized or understood — viz., that the order of nature is, in its own
limits, as true as the supernatural or the order of grace ; that
God is as much the author of one as of the other ; and that one
is no violent disruption or dethronement of the other, but that
each order has a series of laws working in its own sphere, which
are able to co-exist as harmoniously as soul and body do in the
person of a man. To apply a line of thought Mr. Carlyle him-
self indicates (but, as we think, raw-applies), the law of gravity and
other laws of the earth's sphere are not denied or done away
with because we affirm the existence of a second set of laAvs re-
lating to the attraction ot the sun^ and of other heavenly bodies.
The two sets of laws are both true and are perfectly compatible
with each other. Questions of detail may arise here and there
which may require long and patient investigation, and may often
seem to be difficult of adjustment. But this is no argument
against the existence of either order or of either set of laws. It
-is an argument for patience, for an attitude of humility towards
all who differ from us (which Mr. Carlyle often forgot or disre-
garded) for being slow to judge and gentle to condemn those
who are yet unable to see as we see ourselves. To rage against
our neighbor for not having reached the point at which we our-
selves stand is not, perhaps, the most useful thing in the world to
•do. If, on the contrary, those who are true lovers of the truth
would try to be merciful to each other, to give due weight to

1 882.] FROUDE'S LIFE OF CARLYLE. 531

an opponent's difficulties, and to see how much can be respected
or found to be true in his opinions, the chances would be better
of errors dropping1 off and of clouds clearing away.

For non-Catholics who may be interested to know what sort
of philosophy would seem to Catholics of the present day to
offer a more satisfactory solution of some of the questions re-
garding the natural and the supernatural order than Mr. Car-
lyle's two unfinished essays can afford, we may mention a book
published two years ago, On the Endowments of Man, by the vener-
able Bishop Ullathorne, of Birmingham. To Catholics it would,
of course, be singularly out of place on our part to recommend
it, as the author's name would render this not only superfluous
but impertinent; but it is possible we may render a service to
others by introducing- them to this beautiful work.

We have now spoken of the first thing that strikes a Catholic
in reading Mr. Froude's biography, that the outcome of Carlyle's
life and work, so far as construction goes, even if it were true, is
inadequate as a message from the Eternal. If, in addition, it is,
as we believe, false (and we are asked to accept it without a
tittle of proof or evidence beyond Mr. Carlyle's own firm con-
viction that he was right), why then we are justified in looking
upon it as a mare's nest.

Here we make, sotto voce, a reflection. We Catholics get a
good deal pitied for having to believe in an infallible pope ; but
do our separated brethren ever reflect from how many infallible
prophets we are delivered ?

This brings us to our- second point. In considering Mr. Car-
lyle as a teacher it strikes us that St. Paul says, " How shall they
preach except they be sent ? " Well, of course Mr. Carlyle's an-
swer to that would have been that he ivas sent " by the Eter-
nal." But when his friend Mr. Irving claimed the same thing no
one expressed more contempt than he did for the delusion. Yet
Irving, so far as we can see, had much greater excuse for it. He
certainly had more show of credentials to offer. He not only be-
lieved firmly in himself (as Mr. Carlyle did also), but for a long-
time a good many other people believed in him ; whereas Mr.
Carlyle mentions and grieves over the fact that no one hardly be-
lieved in his mission. Also, Mr. Irving was originally sent forth
with an appearance of a real mission from -the leaders of the sect
he was brought up in. Why, therefore, Carlyle should have been
so certain it was " vanity and affectation " in Irving to believe in
himself, and equally certain that in him, Carlyle, it was a solemn
duty to be performed in defiance of " innumerable chattering gig-
men," it is a little difficult to discover. He cannot forgive Irv-

532 FROUDE'S LIFE OF CARLYLE. [July*

ing- for announcing his message as from "the Lord," yet he de-
clares his own to be "from the Eternal." This looks like a dis-
tinction without a difference, more especially as Irving seems to
have been singularly free from that tone of harsh and bitter con-
demnation of others which is so pronounced in Mr. Carlyle.

The question that never appears to have struck the latter, but
which reading his Life brings strongly before our minds, is this :
Is every man the best judge in his own case that he has a mes-
sage from the Eternal, or not ? Or should there be also a judge
of this external to himself? Supposing that, as Catholics, we
were not bound to believe the latter principle, we should still
remark to ourselves, sotto voce, " It is a most desirable arrange-
ment." Without it what limits are there to the quantity and
quality of the apostles and prophets who may request our alle-
giance ? We think of Carlyle and Irving, of Calvin and Sweden-
borg, of Victor Hugo and Mazzini, of Mood}' and Sankey, of
Joseph Smith, the Mormon leader, and of General Booth, of the
Salvation Army, and we perceive that we have strong cause to
consider ourselves in a very enviable position.

This life of Carlyle gives to us especially of the weaker sex an-
other valuable subject of thankfulness. We have often heard of
the " victims of priestly tyranny," meaning monks and nuns, and
of the miserable lives they lead. But apparently there are other
victims in the world also. What says Mr. Froude ?

"The victory [of Mr. Carlyle's success in life] was won, but, as of old
in Aulis, not without a victim. The work which he has done is before the
world, and the world has long acknowledged what it owes him. It would
not have been done as well, perhaps it would never have been done at all,
if he had not had a woman at his side who would bear without resenting
it the outbreaks of his dyspeptic humor and would shield him from the
petty troubles of a poor man's life, from vexations which would have irri-
tated him to madness, by her own incessant toil.

"She [Mrs. Carlyle] who had never known a wish ungratified for any
object which money could buy ; she, who had seen the rich of the land at
her feet, and might have chosen among them at pleasure, with a weak
frame withal which had never recovered the shock of her father's death
— she, after all, was obliged to slave like the wife of her husband's friend,
Wightman, the hedger, and cook, and wash, and scour, and mend clothes
for many a weary year. Bravely she went through it all ; and she would
have gone through it cheerfully if she had been rewarded with ordinary
gratitude. But if things were done rightly Carlyle did not inquire who
did them. From the first she saw little of him, and, as time went on, less
and less ; and she, too, was human and irritable. Carlyle proved, as his
mother had said of him, 'gey ill to live with.'

" He could leave his wife to ill health and toil, assuming that all was
as long as she did not complain ; and it was plain to every one of her

i882.] FROUDE 's LIFE OF CARLYLE., 533

friends, before it was suspected by her husband, that the hard, solitary life
on the moor was trying severely both her constitution and her nerves.
Carlyle saw and yet was blind. If she suffered she concealed her trials
from him, lest his work should suffer also. But she took refuge in a kind
of stoicism which was but a thin disguise for disappointment, and at times
for misery. Her bodily health never recovered from the strain of those
six years [at Craigenputtock]. The trial to her mind and to her nervous
system was still more severe. It was a sad fate for one so bright and
gifted. . . . She was not happy."

This shows that there are victims to matrimony as well as to
celibacy, and that you may be miserable without being " shut up
in a convent." It is kind of Mr. Fronde so thoroughly to expose
some current delusions to the contrary. For, after all, Carlyle
was what might be called a good husband. He was faithful to
his wife ; he respected her — nay, we go so far as to think he even
loved her, only not quite so well as he loved himself. If she was
so unhappy, what about the women who have distinctly bad hus-
bands ? There are such.

To be just to Mr. Carlyle, though he certainly might have
been more careful, considerate, and tender, yet AVC think the
whole burden of Mrs. Carlyle's unhappiness does not rest upon
his shoulders. The secret of it is perhaps indicated in her own
words : " I married for ambition. Carlyle has more than realized
my wildest hopes and I am miserable " ; and in some passages of
Irving's letters about her which explain a good deal (vol. ii. of
Life, pp. 134, 135). She was too clear-sighted not to see all her
husband's mistakes and foibles; and she needed, no doubt, more
affection than he ever showed and more companionship than he
ever gave her. His heart was not sufficiently " at leisure from
'itself "to sympathize much with another. Moreover, she was
herself a singularly clever woman, and it strikes us she must have
felt she could teach the prophet at least as much as he could teach
her, and that though he had a message from the Eternal to " utter "
to all mankind, yet he had no message for .his wife which, with-
out his help, she could not very well have found out for herself.

On the whole, though Carlyle was perhaps rather a failure
as a husband, we incline to think him a more distinct failure as a
prophet ; and we believe Mrs. Carlyle suspected it. Therefore,
whilst her ambition was satisfied, her intellect was disappointed
and her heart was hungry. To her young friends she used to
say : " Whatever you do, my dear, don't marry a genius." We
suspect the true version of it, in her own mind, was, " Whatever
you do, my dear, don't, in this nineteenth century, marry a pro-
phet." And we agree with her.

534 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [July,

STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.

XIV.

DR. McDONALD was mistaken in thinking that he could either
convince or persuade Mrs. Gordon to believe herself well enough
to travel by the first of May. The summer solstice was fast
approaching before the weary task of combating her objections
and satisfying her requirements in the way of preparation was
accomplished and the voyage begun ; and the last sun of June
was blazing in the heavens as Stella sat one afternoon on the
deck of the steamer that for nearly a fortnight had been terra
firma to her and many others, and, with sensations too mingled
and too strong for utterance, looked over the limitless expanse
of glittering blue water around. Far away on the scarce dis-
cernible verge of the horizon, where sea and sky melted to-
gether, lay a faint, very faint white line, to the eye hardly more
than a point. This, she was told, was the Irish coast.

Her father and several of their fellow-passengers had just left
the deck, after welcoming with rejoicing the first sight of land ;
but she remained, and was glad to be alone. She was so young
that history, in the pages of which she had so lately been living,
was, with all its actors and tragedies, as vividly familiar and
real to her as the events of yesterday are to older people — peo-
ple to whom years and the memories of their own lives have
dimmed the enthusiasms of youth, and even the very recollec-
tion of the lives that went before them. What a host of sha-
dows gathered about her, as, leaning back in her deck-chair, her
gaze fastened itself on that little, vapor-like speck which was im-
perceptibly enlarging and growing more distinct while she gazed !
She could not have put into words — words that would not have
seemed tame and altogether unworthy their theme — one of the
thoughts that were crowding on her. Only the inspiration of the
poet can analyze and clothe in language emotions which less gift-
ed souls feel — it might almost be said suffer — but cannot express.
Stella sat dumb and motionless. The grand Old World of
story and of song was here, in her very sight. All its mighty
past lay spread out, as it were, like a map before her imagina-
tion.

She was startled presently by a sudden voice at her side.

1 8 82.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 535

" Dinner is ready," said her father, offering1 his arm to take
her in.

" I do not care for dinner, papa," she answered. " I would
rather stay here, if you will tell the steward to send me a sand-
wich and glass of wine."

" Come to table," insisted Mr. Gordon. " The Isle of Saints
will not vanish while you are away," he added, with a smile.
" On the contrary, we shall be an hour nearer to it when you
return, and you will be able to see it more clearly than you do
now."

" I hate to lose one moment of such an evening and such a
view as this," she said, but rose from her seat while speaking.
" I do believe you are a devout Catholic at heart, papa," she
continued, as they turned to leave the deck, " though you don't
seem so."

" At heart I am certainly a Catholic," he answered seriously.
" It is only in practice that I am not one."

" And is that right ? " asked Stella gently. " I have often
been tempted to speak to you on the subject, papa, but hesi-
tated, I scarcely know why. But the first sight of Ireland
ought to inspire one not only with devotion but with courage
to do anything for God. You have always confessed your faith ;
why don't you practise it, dear papa ? "

Perhaps Mr. Gordon was not sorry to be spared the neces-
sity of answering this question. They entered the saloon at the
moment, and nothing more was said on the subject. When they
rose from table he conducted Stella back to her seat on deck,
and then returned to the saloon for dutiful attendance on his
wife and her whist-table.

The Isle of Saints had, in nautical phrase, risen a little out of
the water when Stella's eyes turned to it again after her absence
of an hour from the deck. A good man}'- people besides herself
were now gathered there, watching the land they were ap-
proaching, as it became more and more distinct to view in the
glorified atmosphere which the sun's parting rays were pouring
over it.

The scene was very beautiful. The coast lay like a flake of
dull gold on the burnished surface of sun-gilded water, outlined
faintly against a pale pink sky that was misty from distance, but
transparently clear in tint. There was not a cloud in the hea-
vens, not the thinnest vapor, to catch and refract the rays of
light that were beginning to bathe the whole sea-line in sun-
set effulgence — only the land itself. That changed momently

536 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [July,

as the level beams of the sun touched it, wrapping it in a haze of
dazzling light, which deepened rapidly to burning gold, and from
gold to orange-rose, and from rose to crimson.

Then the colors commenced fading, dying down from shade
to shade. Dull-red, purple, violet, soft, dark, sombre blue, fol-
lowed each other in swift succession as the sunset radiance re-
treated from the eastern horizon and came creeping across the
water toward the ship, the shades of evening falling like a veil
behind it.

Stella scarcely heard the exclamations of admiration, and
pleasure from those around her. She was thinking of Southgate,
of what he would feel if he was by her side looking for the
first time at the shore that was now disappearing in the twi-
light. He was not much inclined to enthusiasm ordinarily, but
his eye always lighted and his words and tones warmed when
he spoke of Ireland. To be so near it reminded her of all that
they had intended to do and see there together.

. " We must land at Queenstown," he had more than once said
when they were discussing the details of their intended visit to
Europe. " I should feel it impossible to pass Ireland without
pausing to touch the soil which has been made sacred by the
blood and tears of so many generations of saints and martyrs.
We will hear one Mass in Cork or Dublin, and go on then to
Rome. But as we return we must stay some time and make a
great many pilgrimages."

Stella smiled sadly to herself as she remembered how little
interest she had felt at the time in the idea of the pilgrimages,
and how much more she was thinking of seeing London and
Paris than of hearing Mass anywhere ! Now she would have
been very glad to land in Queenstown and stay in Ireland a
few days. She had even proposed it to her father, who was
not unwilling to gratify her wish, had not Mrs. Gordon objected
to the delay and preferred to land in Liverpool and proceed at
once to London.

The weather was unusually fine, and, as Mrs. Gordon found
herself much fatigued by her voyage, they decided to remain
awhile in England instead of going on at once to the Continent
according to their original intention. A few days after their ar-
rival, therefore, they were establisked in lodgings in that pleas-
antest part of suburban London, Kensington.

1 88 2.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 537

xv.

" WHAT can be the matter that your father does not return ? "
exclaimed Mrs. Gordon anxiously the day after that on which
they were settled in their lodgings. The dinner-hour was strik-
ing, and Mr. Gordon, who had gone out immediately after
breakfast to see his banker, had not yet appeared.

" I don't suppose anything serious is the matter," said Stella,
speaking more cheerfully than she felt, in order to reassure her
mother, who was evidently becoming very impatient and not a
little uneasy. " He may have lost his way in this great London
town, or — "

At this moment a welcome ring of the door-bell sounded,
and she paused to see if it was her father. Yes, that was his
step on the stair, she was sure ; and when the door opened she
looked up with a smile and a jesting reproof on her lips.

She did not utter the last. Mr. Gordon came in hastily,
looking grave and a little nervous, it seemed to her.

" I hope I have not kept dinner waiting or made you uneasy,
Margaret," he said, glancing anxiously at his wife. " I was de-
tained unavoidably by business. I will be ready in a moment,
however."

He passed into an adjoining apartment.

" How worried he looks!" observed his wife. "I can't ima-
gine what business there is that could disturb him so."

" I suppose he was afraid you would be nervous and alarmed
by his absence," said Stella.

" Yes, very likely. I was beginning to feel quite anxious. I
wish I had your nerves."

She would not have wished so if she had known what a state
Stella's nerves were in at that moment, quiet as she appeared.
" Something is the matter," she was thinking, " and something
very serious, I am sure. I never in my life saw papa look so
strangely excited."

Her apprehensions were somewhat dissipated when Mr.
Gordon reappeared after arranging his toilet for dinner. He
bestowed his usual care in making his wife comfortable, and
listened with his usual patience to her report of her symptoms
during the morning. But, that subject exhausted, a preoccupied
expression stole over his face; and Stella observed that although
he accounted for his unusual silence and gravity by saying that
he was very tired, he ate little. In his whole air and manner
there was a certain quietude too marked to be quite natural.

538 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [July,

She was alarmed. " Something- dreadful has happened ! " she
thought again, while her mother was asking innumerable ques-
tions relevant to nothing in particular. " Papa must have re-
ceived letters at the bank. Oh ! I wish dinner was over ; he is
dreadfully worried about something. Perhaps he is called home
by business, and will have to leave us."

This idea took entire possession of her mind, and all the
while they sat at table, and during the two hours which followed,
she was tormenting herself with anticipations of how wretched
she should be if her fears were verified and she had to see her
father return home alone. The fact that he said nothing before
her mother made her more uneasy than she would otherwise
have been even, and more impatient to know the trouble,
whatever that trouble might prove to be.

Mrs. Gordon, who still kept invalid hours, finally rose to re-
tire, and her husband gave her his arm to assist her to her
chamber.

."Is anything the matter, papa?" Stella asked the moment
he entered the room on his return. " Did you get any letters
from home ? "

" None," he answered. " It is too soon to expect letters from
home. But yes, something is the matter. I heard some very
bad news this morning."

" I knew it ! I felt sure of it ! " she exclaimed. " You re-
ceived a telegram, I suppose ? What — "

" I heard nothing from home," he interrupted. " This news
is about Southgate."

" He is married ! " she thought, with a sharp pang. But
womanly pride gave her self-possession. " Ah ! " she forced her-
self to say steadily. " What did you hear about him ? "

Her look of inquiry was so composed, if not indifferent, that
her father answered at once briefly : " He is dead."

There was a long pause. Mr. Gordon was inexpressibly
shocked as well as astonished at the effect his words produced.
Stella's face grew as white as marble, her form seemed to stiffen
as she sat, and her eyes had a wild, glazed expression that
alarmed him.

He uttered an exclamation of dismay. " I have been too
abrupt! " he said. " But I thought from your manner that you
were indifferent to him."

Her lips quivered ; there was a convulsive movement in her
throat, as if she was trying to speak. But the effort was abor-
tive. She was aware of a strange, double consciousness — a burn-

1 382.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 539

ing pain tearing her heart, with, at the same time, an apathetic
recognition of her position and surrounding circumstances.

" 1 thought so, too," she managed at last to articulate in reply
to her father's exclamation. "But you see we were both mis-
taken."

After another silence she cried suddenly : " You mean it,
papa ? — you really mean that he is dead ? "

" Yes ; he is dead."

" How do you know it? How did you hear it? "

" I have seen his body," was the reply.

She asked no more questions at the moment, but sat staring
vacantly before her, trying to realize, trying to make herself
believe, what she had been told.

Southgate dead! It was the first time that the idea of his
dying had ever entered her mind. She had thought of his mar-
riage, had prepared herself to hear of this, and, had she heard
of it, would have accepted the inevitable with becoming resigna-
tion. Not without a pang, certainly ; but that pang would have
been the death-throe of her love.

To see the extinction of his life was another thing — a life
that she believed to be so full of promise. A mingled sense of
amaze, of vehement protest, of intolerable regret assailed her.
Almost forgetting herself in generous pity for him, she felt like
crying out against the cruelty of Heaven.

The entrance of a servant, who came into the room on some
trifling errand, roused her from her vain questioning of Omnipo-
tent wisdom, and, glancing at her father, the expression of his
face further recalled her to a consciousness of the necessity of
self-control.

" I am very, very sorry, papa, to hear this sad news," she
said quietly when the man left the room. " 1 was awfully
shocked at first, for" — her voice faltered slightly — " I did care a
great deal for him. But you know I have no right to care now.
You need not be afraid of my making myself seriously unhappy.
But I am so, so sorry ! How sad it is for any one to die so
young ! How did you hear it? "

Mr. Gordon's face cleared when he perceived that she in-
tended to take the matter in this sensible way, as he considered
it, and he proceeded to explain how by a mere accident, as it
seemed, the fact came to his knowledge. He had gone to the
banking-house to which he brought letters, to have a check
cashed, and, wishing to make -his financial arrangements for the
period during which he would be on the Continent, requested

540 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [July,

speech with one of the heads of the house. The banker was en-
gaged just then, he was informed, but would probably be at lei-
sure to see him in half an hour, or less time, if he could wait. In
much less time than that specified, at the distant tinkle of a bell,
the clerk to whom he had given his card rose quickly and, re-
questing him to follow, led the way down a long corridor to a
door, unclosed it, motioned him to enter, and retired.

As he was about to cross the threshold he was met by a man
coming out, whose face struck him at a passing glance as sin-
gularly pale and haggard — so much so that it remained a pic-
ture in his mind all the while he was transacting his business.

" May I ask, Mr. Gordon, if you were acquainted with a

countryman of your own, a Mr. Southgate ? " inquired Mr. L ,

the banker, when he rose to leave.

" I am intimately acquainted with a Mr. Edward Southgate,
who was in London about the first of this year, if he is the man
you speak of," was the reply. " He went from here to Italy, and
thence to Jerusalem, I believe."

" The same, the same man," said the banker. " He intended
to spend two years in Eastern travel, he told me, perhaps lon-
ger. Unfortunately for him, as it has turned out, he changed his
mind, was returning to England, it seems, and last night he lost
his life, I understand, by the sinking of the steamer he was on."
• " Good heavens ! " exclaimed Mr. Gordon. " Is it possible?
This is most deplorable intelligence to me ! How did you ob-
tain your information, Mr. L , may I inquire ? Is it to be re-
lied on?"

" There can be no mistake as to the fact, I regret to say," an-
swered the other. " My informant was a fellow-passenger of
Mr. Southgate's — the man you met as you came in a few minutes
ago. He is a gentleman well known to me, and barely escaped
with his own life — was picked up by a boat while struggling in
the water."

" And he told you that Southgate was on board the vessel
with him, and was lost ? "

" He saw his body among a number of others that came on
shore with the tide this morning."

" Can I follow and speak to him ? " asked Mr. Gordon hastily.
" I should like to learn all the particulars of the accident and
take charge of the body."

Mr- L shook his head. " He has left town by this time,

having merely called here on his way to take the 12.30 train at
the Northwestern terminus. He is off before now. But I can

1 88 2.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 541

give you the particulars of the accident in a general way, which
he told me, and direct you to the place where the bodies will no
doubt be kept during the day for identification by friends. Pray
sit down again."

Mr. Gordon did so, and learned that one steamer had run
into another the night before on the river a little below Green-
wich, and that the smaller vessel, a passenger-boat- bound from
some Mediterranean port to London, was struck amidships and
sank almost immediately. Most of the passengers being in their
berths at the time of the collision, the loss of life was very great.
Some few were picked up by the boats of the larger vessel, but
the greater number perished. A good many bodies had already
been washed ashore by the tide that came in at daylight, and
were deposited in a boat-house on the spot.

This was the substance of what Mr. Gordon heard, Mr.
L — - adding that his informant had mentioned Southgate's
name incidentally among that of others, but seemed to have had
a very slight acquaintance with him, only knowing that he was
an American, that he had lately been in Syria, and was evident-
ly but just recovering from what must from his appearance have
been a very serious illness.

Taking leave of the banker with many thanks for the infor-
mation he had received, distressing as it was to him, Mr. Gor-
don proceeded at once to the place to which he had been direct-
ed, some distance below Greenwich.

It was with a feeling akin to physical pain that he shrank, as
he drew near to his destination, from the thought of seeing
Southgate's lifeless body, if Southgate's body it proved to be.
He felt that only ocular demonstration could destroy his hope to
the contrary.

A crowd surrounded the boat-house ; many people were en-
tering and leaving momently. Some of them, it was evident,
came on the same sad errand as himself, with even a closer in-
terest ; for he heard more than one burst of heartrending grief
as he paused an instant outside the door to brace his resolution
before going in. Others were impelled by that strange morbid
curiosity, so common to human nature, which makes suffering
and death an entertaining spectacle.

To these last the scene in the boat-house was no doubt weird-
ly attractive ; to Mr. Gordon it was horrible. He gave but one
glance at the row of cold effigies of humanity that lay wait-
ing recognition or unknown burial, and, seeing none which he
thought could by any possibility be that he was seeking, turned

542 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [J"ly»

away and addressed one of the men wearing the badge of the
London police who were in official attendance. Taking out his
pocket-book with the air of a man who expects to pay for what
he gets, he did get civil answers to his questions, but no infor-
mation that was at all satisfactory. The policeman, who belong-
ed to the reserve force kept for special service, had been on duty
but half an hour, he said, and knew nothing whatever about the
accident or its victims. He suggested, however, as he con-
descended to accept the coin extended by Mr. Gordon, that any
of the boatmen loitering outside could tell the gentleman all
that there was to tell about it.

When Mr. Gordon, glad to escape from proximity to the
ghastly company within, hurried out into the sunshine and look-
ed about for one Jim Dodson, who was recommended by the
policeman as the " best party to apply to," he fortunately found
that individual at his service, ready to " tell what he knowed,"
if the gentleman would make it worth his while.

The gentleman made it so well worth his while that he was
inclined to tell not only all he knew, but more besides, the for-
mer suspected. Sifting as well as he could, by a rigid cross-ex-
amination, the truth from its embellishments, Mr. Gordon pos-
sessed himself of what seemed to him a few probable facts.
Among the bodies that had come ashore with the tide there
was one, Mr. Dodson stated, which an officer and a passenger
of the lost vessel had recognized as that of an American gentle-
man, they said — a young man with dark hair, tall, looking as if
he had consumption. " Came ashore in his trousers and shirt,
no coat nor — "

Mr. Gordon here interposed. There was no body answering
to that description in the boat-house, he suggested.

" Not now," the boatman replied, " 'cause it was took away
about a hour ago."

" Taken away ! " repeated Mr. Gordon in surprise. " Who
took it?"

That Mr. Dodson was not prepared to say. In fact, he did
not know. Undertaker people. But of course there was some-
body behind them. All he knowed was that the officer of the
ship he spoke about before had come down with the under-
taker's men, and the undertaker's men had carried off two bod-
ies—the gentleman they was speaking of and another young
gentleman. That was all he knowed.

"And where is the officer of the ship?" Mr. Gordon in-
quired. " You say he came down ; from where ? "

1 882.] STELLA 's DISCIPLINE. 543

"From the inn up yonder/'-answered the boatman.

Up to the inn, some few. hundred yards distant, Mr. Gordon
went in haste ; and after a few minutes' conversation with the
man he sought, who proved to be the second officer of the unfor-
tunate vessel, he returned to London and spent some time in
searching through the advertising columns of the Times and other
papers for the address of an undertaker to whom he had been
referred by the officer for certain information which the latter
was himself unable to give. Succeeding at last in his quest, he
saw the undertaker, and from him obtained the address of a gen-
tleman, to whom he at once went.

XVI.

ALL these journeyings to and fro occupied so much time as
to make him late for dinner. He described his adventures to
Stella in few words until he came to the latter part of his nar-
rative, when he spoke more at length.

" I was astonished to hear that the body had "been removed,"
he said, "and began to indulge a hope that, after all, the
drowned man might not be our friend, but somebody else of the
same name. The possibility — it even seemed to me a proba-
bility— of this being the case increased my anxiety to find out
by whom the body had been taken, and to what place.

" To my disappointment, the officer to whom I applied as
soon as I learned his whereabouts could give me little available
information. He remembered that one of the passengers was a
Mr. Southgate, an American, who seemed in ill health ; recol-
lected to have heard Mr. Southgate remark that he was still
suffering from the effects of an attack of fever which he had in
Syria, and had noticed that he appeared to be much affected by
the heat, which was intense during the whole passage.

" The vessel touched at Gibraltar, and two young Englishmen,
one of whom was accompanied by his wife, embarked there, he
said. Mr. Southgate and the younger of these two gentlemen
seemed to take a fancy to each other at once. They were to-
gether a great deal ; were in the habit of walking the deck to-
gether at night. If it had not been that the bodies came on
shore only half dressed he should have thought they must
have been on deck when the collision occurred, late as it was
— after midnight. Southgate's right hand was grasping the

544 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE.

Englishman's shoulder, while the Englishman's right hand was
clasped around Southgate's left arm just above the wrist. The
elder Mr. Willoughby — Willoughby was the name of the Eng-
lishmen— was saved, and so was his wife. In claiming his bro-
ther's body he requested permission to take Southgate's also,
saying something, which the officer did not understand, about
Southgate's having lost his own life in trying to save that of his
friend. Mr. Willoughby also said that he was a Catholic, and
knew Southgate to have been one, and that he would take on
himself the burial of the body.

" The officer, thinking that as Southgate was a foreigner, and
of course a stranger, it was not likely any one else would claim
the body, very readily consented to its being given up to Mr.
Willoughby. He went down to the boat-house and so instructed
the men in charge. When I spoke to him shortly afterwards he
was afraid, I could see, that he had done wrong. I soon reas-
sured him, telling him that he had acted with good judgment in
the matter, and that all I asked was Mr. Willoughby 's address.
He could not give me this, or any clue by which to find it ; and
I had just decided that I should have to advertise in the evening
and morning papers when a boatman to whom I had been talking
came to my assistance, giving me the name of the undertaker
who had removed the bodies. I looked up the man's advertise-
ment, in that way found him, and learned that Mr. Willoughby
was at his house in town to-day, the bodies having been..tempo-
rarily carried there also.

" I went to the house at once. The blinds were down, and
the porter assured me that his master could see no one, being in
great distress at the death of his brother. I had some difficulty
in getting the man to take my card, on which I had written a
line explaining my business. He did take or send it in at last,
however; and Mr. Willoughby received me immediately in the
most courteous, indeed cordial, manner. He had taken the liber-
ty, he said, of charging himself with the care and burial of Mr.
Southgate's body, feeling that, short as their acquaintance had
been, gratitude gave him a claim to render every respect and
consideration in his power to the memory of a man who had
saved his life and that of his wife, and had perished while en-
deavoring to render the same service to his brother. He could
not deny my right as a countryman and friend of Mr. Southgnte
to have a voice as to the disposal of the body ; but he earnestly
hoped that I would consent to its temporary burial, at least, with
that of his brother. If Mr. Southgate's family wished its re-

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 545

moval hereafter, very well ; he could make no objection. But
now —

" I interposed here and assured him that I not only consented
willingly to his kind proposal, but thanked him heartily for it
and could desire nothing better ; and that I would only ask fur-
ther to see the body, in order to be certain it was really that of
my friend. I still entertained a faint hope to the contrary.

" He led the way at once from the room in which he had re-
ceived me to a drawing-room upstairs where the two bodies lay."

Mr. Gordon's voice sank a little as he uttered the last words,
and there was a moment's silence, which was measured to
Stella by the heavy, sickening throbs of her heart. She would
have preferred to hear no more. Almost she felt as if she could
not listen to another word. But what matter a few pangs more
or less ? she thought. The cup of bitterness was at her lips ; she
might as well drink every drop.

" I should scarcely have recognized the face if I had seen it ac-
cidentally without knowing whose it was," Mr. Gordon went on
in. a tone of much feeling, "though I am sure I should have
been struck by its resemblance to Southgate. The forehead,
hair, and brows look quite natural, except that the temples are
very sunken. But the features are perfectly emaciated, and have
the sharpness and lividness which death almost invariably gives,
particularly after a long illness. Added to this, the face is clean-
shaven. As he always wore a beard and moustache, this gives
it a very unfamiliar appearance. The first glance convinced me
that it was Southgate, and yet I found it difficult to realize that
it was he who lay before me.

" I stayed but a moment ; for, painful as the interview was to
myself, it was evidently even more so to Mr. Willoughby. He
is a great, broad-chested, broad-cheeked Englishman, with a face
that looks as if it was made only to laugh ; but there were tears
in his eyes, and I saw that he could not control his voice as he
put his hand on his brother's hair and looked from one of the
dead faces to the other."

Stella said nothing, and it was an inexpressible relief to her
when her father took out his watch and began to wind it up.
She knew that this was his preliminary to saying good-night.

Before the "watch was closed and returned to its place the
door-bell rang.

" Strange, at this hour," said Mr. Gordon, and looked in-
quiringly at the servant who appeared, a moment after having
answered the bell.

VOL. xxxv. — 35 f

546 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [Julyr

" A person at the door wishes to speak to you, sir," the man
said.

" Let him come up," was the reply.

The person declined to do so. He wanted to speak to the
gentleman alone.

" Take him into the dining-room, then. I will see him there,"
Mr. Gordon said, and followed the man as the latter left the
room.

He was not gone long. There was a short silence in the
house, then movements down-stairs, the shutting of the house
door, and Mr. Gordon reappeared.

He had something in his hand, Stella perceived, as he advanc-
ed to a table on which was a light, and instinctively she joined
him. A cold chill ran through her veins as she saw what it was
that he held — a Russia-leather pocket-book, damp and discolored.
Before he spoke she knew what he was going to tell her.

"A boatman to whom I was talking to-day brought it to
me," he said. " No doubt it was taken from the body and the
money it contained abstracted, though the fellow, of course, tells
a different story."

He opened it slowly, with the reluctance a. man feels in ad-
dressing himself to a task which he knows will be a painful one.

The outside was still damp ; the inside was wringing wet.
There was no money, nothing of any value ; simply a number
-of memoranda leaves and a few letters, all so thoroughly soaked
-with salt water as to be mere paper pulp with blotty discolo-
rations over the surface, and so pasted together as to defy any
effort to take the leaves apart or open the letters without break-
ing them to pieces. If he had not suspected the fact already
'Mr. Gordon would have been satisfied, from the disordered and
soiled condition of the contents, that the book had been ransack-
ed before it came into his hands. One of the letters had obvi-
ously been dropped into the mud and washed off, losing part of
its edges in the process. In fact, all of the papers were more
wet than would have been possible had the pocket-book remain-
ed unopened.

After examining the whole very carefully Mr. Gordon shook
his head in disappointment.

'•' There is nothing by which to judge whether it even belong-
ed to Southgate," he said. " The boatman's story is that it fell
from his pocket as his body was lifted out of the shallow tide-
water where it lodged — "

" I think," interrupted Stella desperately, feeling that to hear

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 547

such details dwelt on was beyond her powers of endurance — " I
think, papa, you did not examine the innermost pocket. There
may be something in that."

Mr. Gordon opened the book again and saw that he had not
noticed the pocket she alluded to. He unfolded the extreme
end and exposed to view two flaps, lifting which he discovered
a small pocket.

"Yes, here is a letter or note," he said, "and it has been so
well protected by the leather that it is scarcely damp, which
shows I was right in believing that the other papers have been
tampered with. Here are some finger-marks on it, but it has no
address," he added, turning it over.

It had an enclosure, however, he found — a carte-de-visite photo-
graph. He took it out of the envelope, and when he saw what it
was would have been very glad if he could have concealed it
from Stella. But she had recognized it at a glance, he knew by
her quick movement and gasping breath. It was her own like-
ness.

XVII.

AT breakfast the next morning Mr. Gordon was very glad to
see Stella in her accustomed place behind the urn. Except that
she looked grave and pale, her manner was quite as usual. She
even smiled faintly in answer to his greeting ; but after the
morning salutations scarcely a word was exchanged. Neither
of the two was inclined to talk, and neither felt under any con-
straint in remaining silent. Mrs. Gordon, since her illness, al-
ways breakfasted in her own room.

" I told Mr. Willoughby that I would be with him this morn-
ing," said Mr. Gordon when he had finished breakfast, " but the
visit will not detain me long, probably. Of course I shall insist
on seeing to the funeral expenses. Willoughby intended to de-
fray them himself, the undertaker told me ; but I cannot allow
that, even temporarily. It is totally unnecessary."

He rose and was leaving the room, but paused suddenly as
he reached the door, and said :

" I promised your mother to lookup the D s to-day. You

can tell her why I am unable to — "

" O papa ! " cried Stella impulsively, " if it is necessary that
she should be told, cannot you tell her? I could not endure to
hear any harsh remarks now. I am afraid I should lose all self-
restraint and retort very bitterly."

548 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [July,

" You do her injustice, if you think she would be capable of
saying anything, harsh," answered Mr. Gordon gravely. " But
if you do not wish to speak on the subject I had better do so.
She will see the account of the accident in the morning papers,
and wonder that it was not mentioned to her. I will ring and in-
quire if I can see her before I go out."

" I know," said Stella, speaking rapidly and passionately, " that
I have no right to blame her, having myself acted so badly.
But I feel that we are his murderers."

" It is worse than folly to entertain such an idea as that ! "
said Mr. Gordon a little sternly. " What had either of you to do
with his death ?"

" If he had not been forced in self-respect to break with me
everything would have been different," she answered. " He
would not have been on that ship, papa. You cannot deny
that."

" I do deny that you are in any degree accountable for his
having lost his life by an accident with which you had no con-
cern whatever," said her father, crossing the room to ring the
bell.

" Inquire of Mrs. Gordon's maid if her mistress is awake and
can see me," he said to the servant who answered his summons.

Mrs. Gordon could not see him, the maid returned. She had
a headache and bad cold, and had given orders that she was not
to be disturbed.

" Thank heaven ! " said Stella involuntarily beneath her
breath ; then, observing that her father had heard the exclama-
tion and looked both surprised and displeased, she added quickly :
" I did not mean that I was glad mamma had a headache ! No,
indeed ! It is a great relief to me to be able, to be alone — that is
what I was thinking of. I will go and pray in that church we
saw the other day, papa, and you shall find me in better disposi-
tions when you return. I promise you I will try not to be wick-
ed and impatient again."

She kept her word. During the few following days she was
very grave and silent, but scrupulously attentive to her mother
and not less companionable than usual to her father. The latter
at first spoke of Southgate as they sat alone in the evening after
Mrs. Gordon retired. He repeated Mr. Willoughby's account
of the loss of the vessel, and description of the saving of himself
and his wife by Southgate, who burst open the door of their state-
room, which was jammed so tightly by the crushing of the side of
the boat in the collision that it could not be moved from within.

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 549

Stella listened with interest to -this recital, but asked no ques-
tions ; and her father, seeing-, that she shrank from the subject,
discontinued alluding- to it. Only on the morning of the funeral
he said as she was pouring out his coffee :

" If you would like to go with me there is no reason why you
should not. There is to be a solemn Requiem High Mass, and a
sermon by the cardinal. Willoughby told me that his wife in-
tends to be present at the Mass, and that they will be pleased for
.you to come out with me this morning to the Manor and accom-
pany her to the chapel."

She shook her head. " No. I will pray during the time in
the church here," she answered. " They are very kind ; you
must thank them and make my excuses. And say, please, that I
sent these flowers " — she pointed to a side-table. " You will re-
member, won't you, papa, that they are for both the coffins ?"

" Of course. I am very glad you thought of it," said Mr.
Gordon.

" I suppose," said Stella, " that it is a growing custom in
England for women to attend funerals, particularly Catholic
funerals, where there is a Mass. But I never liked the idea, even
at home, where it is universal."

Mrs. Gordon made no harsh remarks when she heard of
Southgate's death. Her husband, in communicating the intelli-
gence to her, requested that she would not allude to the subject
to or before Stella — a superfluous precaution on his part: she
was never inclined to dwell upon anything either painful or dis-
agreeable, and the recollection of her own conduct in the matter
of Stella's engagement was both the one and the other, as read
now in the light of this tragic end of one of the lives concerned.
Stella's pale face and subdued manner were an unceasing remind-
er that she had inflicted great pain on her only child without
having accomplished her proposed object. She was willing to
let her blunder and the failure she had made rest in silence, and
even consented not ungraciously to Mr. Gordon's proposal that
they should leave London at once. He hoped that change of
scene and the unavoidable distractions of travel might divert
Stella's thoughts from dwelling on the recollection of her former
lover's death.

" But the D s ! " cried Mrs. Gordon suddenly. " We

must wait for them, if they decide to go with us ; and I am al-
most sure they will. They are to dine here to-morrow and let
me know certainly."

550 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [July*

The D s were some friends, people from their own State,

with whom she wished to join parties.

" Papa," said Stella that same evening, " before we leave
London I should like to visit Edward's grave. You told me, I
think, that the Willoughbys were to leave home to-day ?"

" Yes, to join Mr. Willoughby's mother."

" I wonder if strangers are permitted to drive through the
park to the chapel ? "

" I don't know about strangers in general, but Willoughby's
people would recognize me and make no difficulty about my
going. I can take you there to-morrow afternoon, if you
like."

" I thought I might go alone," she said ; adding frankly, "I
should prefer it."

"Go alone!" repeated Mr. Gordon in surprise. "Impossi-
ble ! You forget — "

" I do not mean quite alone," she interposed quickly. " I
could take Charlotte with me. You have no idea how useful I
have found her. She is very clever and capable, understands
dealing with these troublesome London cabmen, getting railway-
tickets, and everything of the kind. I should not at all mind
going, if I thought the lodge-keeper at Willoughby Manor
would let me in. And if you do not object, papa."

" N — o. I suppose there would be no impropriety in your
going, if you take this girl with you. But you need not pass
through the park ; you can go by the village, which is in sight
of the railway station, a mile nearer than the lodge. The chapel
is not far from the park-palings that bound the village green.
Several of the villagers are Catholics, and for their convenience
there is a gate opening into the park. You cannot mistake it,
and a path leads from the gate to the chapel. You will find the
two graves under the very wall of the church on the east side—
the side next the open park toward the house. Standing at the
foot of them, the one at the right-hand side is Southgate's."

Stella left London later than she had intended, and the sun,
though not near the horizon, was sufficiently declined from the
meridian to throw a very golden light on the village-green as,
attended by her landlady's daughter (the girl of whom she had
spoken to her father), she crossed it on her way to the gate
which gave entrance to Willoughby Manor Park. Some chil-
dren playing on the far side of the broad sweep of velvet sward
stared at the unusual apparition of two such figures passing
there; otherwise there were few si^ns of life to be observed.

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 551

The village se-emed sunk in the drowsy stillness of a summer
afternoon.

Tired as well as heated by her walk, short as it was, from
the station, Stella was glad to plunge into the deep shade of a
park, the coolness of which was most refreshing. Not only the
trees but the undergrowth also remained very much as nature
had made them. But for the absence of dead leaves and broken
branches from the ground she could almost have fancied herself
in one of her own native forests, so still and green and dark
was everything around as she followed the narrow, winding path
that was leading her apparently into the depths of a dense wood,
and did lead to a little brook, at which she stopped.

She sat down on the roots of a rugged old beech-tree, and,
taking the basket of flowers which her companion carried, drew
off one of her gloves, and, dipping her hand in the water, sprin-
kled the blossoms until they looked as fresh as if they had just
been gathered with the morning-dew upon them.

" Sit down, Charlotte," she said then, rising and lifting the
basket from the ground, " and wait for me here. I shall not be
gone long."

Walking lightly over a rustic foot-bridge that was thrown
across the brook a little lower down on its course, she soon dis-
appeared from Charlotte's view along the path which wound
through the thick growth fringing the water-course.

After continuing its way through the copse a short distance
farther the path suddenly emerged into an open space, in the
centre of which stood the chapel — a small but beautiful Gothic
structure.

Stella paused with a thrill of indescribable emotion. Here,
then, was Southgate's resting-place.

" I am glad that he sleeps in such a lovely spot ! " she
thought. " But oh ! it is terrible to conceive that he is down in
the cold darkness — "

She shrank and hesitated, and half turned away with the
feeling that she could not bear to go nearer. But the heavy
basket of flowers in her hands reminded her of the purpose for
which she came. She would not permit herself to yield to th6
weakness that assailed her. " Let me make this last offering to
him, and be near him once more for the very last time," she
thought sadly.

She moved forward, approaching the church from the west-
ern side, which was all aglow with the broad beams of the July
sun shining from a cloudless sky. Standing in this lonely spot,

552 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [July*

the chapel could not be left open, and the Blessed Sacrament
could not, of course, be reserved. She was, therefore, denied
the consolation of prostrating herself before the altar ; but she
knelt on the steps of the front entrance, and prayed long and
fervently for the repose of the two souls that had been snatched
so suddenly from life and all the joys of youth to the cold dark-
ness of the tomb. With her, as with the dead Mr. Willoughby's
relatives, there would always, she felt, be two souls to be remem-
bered together.

Her prayers ended, she lifted her basket once more and
walked slowly round to the east side of the building.

It was all shadow here — the deep shade cast by the high walls
and roof, which were outlined sharply and in exaggerated length
on the velvet green, that stretched away in this direction, smooth
and level as a well-kept lawn, for a long distance into the park.
A few trees were scattered about, one of which, a picturesque
hawthorn, stood very close to the building and extended its
luxuriant branches protectingly, as it were, over the two graves
that lay between its gnarled trunk and the church wall.

After having placed her offering upon the graves Stella sat
down on the grass beside the one which her father had said was
Southgate's, and looked at it with a strange regard. Could it be,
she exclaimed silently, that he was so near to her? So near,
yet gone for ever from all but her memory and her regret ! But
a few feet of earth divided them — the eye whose gaze she so
well remembered, the hand that had so often clasped her own!
Down there in the cold darkness they were lying, sleeping the
una\v?>i^o; sleep of mortality. This mound of clay was all that
remained on earth of the graceful presence which she had
thought would be beside her during all her life.

With her head drooped low and her ungloved hand resting
on the grave she sat for a long time in silent meditation. How
different her life might have been, she reflected, if she had not
lost Southgate's heart by what seemed to her, in looking back,
the most incomprehensible folly ! Love of pleasure and admira-
tion, self-will, and a hasty, uncontrolled temper — these faults
had appeared slight and venial in her eyes at the time. Now she
saw them in another light : saw that trifling defects of character
and conduct are not trifling in their sequences, but that each
separate act is one step either on the right road or the wrong
one, and that every fault, however apparently small in itself, is a
germ of evil which may develop into sins of startling magnitude,
or may, directly or indirectly, lead to the most unexpected and

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 553

calamitous results. With no more serious intention of wrong-
doing than that with which 'a spoiled child misuses and breaks
its toys, she had flung away happiness the worth of which she
did not then know, but had since learned to appreciate. And
not happiness only. Despite what her father had said to the
contrary, she could not feel that she was entirely guiltless as re-
garded Southgate's death. Morally guiltless, of course ; but was
it not incontestably true that if she had acted differently circum-
stances would have fallen out differently? "Yet God knows
best," she said humbly. " He has been very merciful to me in
sending the discipline I needed ; and how dare I think that his
mercy has been less to one who was so much more worthy of it ! "
Still, to her human sight, it seemed grievous that such a life
should have ended so prematurely. But could it have ended
more worthily ? Self-forgetful to the last, he had died in the
performance of an act of charity. Surely a soul so upright and
self-sacrificing would not be doomed to stay long in that abode
the pains of which are softened by the presence of Hope, and
may be shortened by the prayers of the living. She had said
many prayers already, but at the thought of purgatory she rose
from where she sat on the grass, and, kneeling, began to repeat
the De Profundis : " Out of the depths I have cried to thee, O Lord !
Lord, hear — "

Suddenly her voice ceased ; a magnetic consciousness made
her aware that she was not alone. She lifted both hands, and,
hastily throwing back her veil, the folds of which had fallen far
over her face, looked up.

But a few feet from her, at the head of the grave over which
she was offering a prayer for the repose of his soul, stood Edward
Southgate.

She saw him, heard him utter her name, and then conscious-
ness left her.

Southgate — for it was he in his natural body, not, as Stella
thought, a spiritual one — was as much shocked when he saw
her fall back insensible as he -had been surprised the moment
before to recognize her face. He sprang to her assistance,
laid her down on the soft grass, and hastily took off her hat.
What to do next he did not know. To leave her alone while he
went more than a mile to the lodge or the manor-house for help
was not to be thought of. He had come by the way of the lodge,
and knew no other way of approach nor nearer place to seek
assistance. He looked at Stella's bloodless face and groaned.
What was he to do ? He lifted her hand and put his finger on

554 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [July.

her pulse, and as he did so a luminous idea flashed upon him.
She was in the habit, he remembered, of carrying a vinaigrette
in her pocket. He proceeded to search for it.

With masculine awkwardness he sought vainly for some time
in the folds of her dress for the pocket itself in the first place.
When at last he found it, and had succeeded in extracting the
smelling-bottle from its depths, he was in such haste in applying
the open mouth of the bottle to her nostrils as almost to strangle
her with the powerful aromatic odor. It was with a gasping
cry of pain that she opened her eyes.

" You are better, thank Heaven ! " ejaculated Southgate.

She did not answer, but gazed at him with a look which as-
tonished him. Incredulity, terror, horror was what it seemed
to express. He was so struck by it that he did not attempt to
raise her from the ground, but remained motionless, regarding
her almost as wonderingly as she was regarding him.

For an instant, or not much longer, they thus stared at each
other before Southgate exclaimed, rising from the ground as he
spoke :

" Why do you look at me so strangely, Stella ? Surely you
do not altogether hate me ! Since I find you here at my bro-
ther's grave — "

" Your brother s grave ! " cried Stella. " Then — then — you are
not — A great shuddering sigh heaved her whole frame. " I
thought it was your grave," she said.

" Mine ! " he repeated in surprise. " No ; it is Eugene's ;
Eugene's grave ! "

The last words were spoken as if more to himself than to her.
His eyes fell and rested on the mound of earth with an expres-
sion which made Stella avert her face, while her own eyes filled
with tears. She felt as if her presence was an intrusion ; and,
starting up so quickly that Southgate's attention was not attract-
ed until she had gained her feet, she was moving away when his
voice arrested her.

" Stella ! " he said, taking a step toward her and extending his
hand.

" Are you going to leave me alone in my desolation ? " his
eyes asked when she turned and met them — or so, at least, she
interpreted the sad gaze fixed on her.

" I am very sorry for you," her own eyes answered to that
mute appeal ; and he drew still nearer and took her hand in his
own.

They sat down silently, and it was some minutes before a

1 882.] STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. 555

word was exchanged. Then in hushed tones, as if their voices
might disturb the rest of the two slumberers beside them, their
mutual explanation was made. A few sentences sufficed for
Stella's ; Southgate's was necessarily less brief.

•" When I reached Rome last January," he said, " I found
Eugene looking wretchedly. His health had not been good for
some months, and latterly had failed so much that, by the advice
of his physicians, supported by the command of his superiors, he
had been compelled to suspend his studies altogether for the
time being.

" This was a great trial to him, for it involved the delay of a
year, probably, as to the time of his ordination. In order to turn
the period of enforced inactivity to the best account, as well as
to regain as soon as possible his lost health, he proposed spend
ing Lent in Jerusalem, and then, as the season advanced, coming
to England and devoting the summer to visiting all the holy
places of England, Scotland, and Ireland. I willingly agreed to
go with him to Jerusalem, and determined to excuse myself from
keeping an engagement I had made with two Englishmen to join
a party they were getting up for several years' travel in the
East, and return with him to Europe after Easter. But when
Easter came he was so much better that he insisted on my join-
ing the Englishmen in their first expedition at least, which was
through the interior of Palestine. He accompanied me to Da
mascus — our place of rendezvous — and there I parted from
him."

The speaker paused here and was silent for a little time, sit-
ting with his gaze fastened on the grave of his brother. His
eyes were dim with tears when at last he turned to Stella, and,
half shaking his head, exclaimed :

" Some time in the future, when I have learned to feel the re-
signation which now I can only desire to offer to God, I will tell
you about him," his voice faltered. " You know I always did
tell you that if there was any good in me, any aspiration after
good, I owed it entirely to his example and exhortations."

" I remember," said Stella. " You always said that he was
saintly in character."

" He was truly so. His confessor in Rome said to me, ' Do
not think of him as dead, but as transplanted, translated. In all
my life I have never known such a beautiful and pure soul as his.
I do not hesitate to say that I believe he is in heaven.' '

" Surely this is very consoling," said Stella gently.

" Yes. I ought to be satisfied, since it is God's will. But

556 STELLA'S DISCIPLINE. [July>

nature is weak. There were so many reasons why I wished him
to live —

He started up abruptly, and, walking- some distance away,
stood leaning against a tree for a few minutes, looking vacantly
toward the green depths of shade in the park before him. Pre-
sently he came back and sat down again.

" I blame myself for having been persuaded to leave him," he
said, "for having let him a moment out of my sight. It was
with great reluctance that I did so ; and every day of absence
increased my uneasiness, until at last I left my party and return-
ed much sooner than I intended to Jerusalem, where he was to
wait for me. I did not find him. A few days previous to my
arrival he had started for Europe, but left a letter for me beg-
ging me not to be at all anxious about him, as he felt assured
that a fever from which he was recovering when he wrote had
revolutionized his system so thoroughly that he was now really
regaining his health. The English physician who had attended
him during his illness told me the same thing.

" I lost no time in following him, however, but did not suc-
ceed in overtaking him. Not knowing the route he had taken, I
went via Venice to Rome, hoping to find him there. Instead of
that I was met by the news of his death. His friends had seen
in the English telegraphic news accounts of the loss of the vessel
on which they knew he had taken passage, had telegraphed to
friends of theirs in London and heard all the particulars — " he
pointed to the two graves. " Several telegrams and letters ad-
dressed to him were given me, but I did not even look at them.
No doubt the ones which you say Mr. Gordon sent were among
them."

After another silence he went on with evident effort : " I can-
not talk of him yet, but hereafter I must teach you to know him
well. I want you to feel as if you had known him. When we
were first engaged I sent him your photograph, and while we
were together he often looked at it, saying what a charming face
it was and blaming me for not having had patience enough with
what he felt sure was only girlish volatility. He saw, what I
was very loath to admit even to myself at first, that instead of
forgetting you, as, when I left home, I believed I should, I regret-
ted more and more as time wore on that I had been so impla-
cable. I shrank at the sight of letters from home, expecting
each time that I opened one to hear that you were — lost to me.
' Never fear,' he said once as he saw me hesitate to break the
seal of a letter in my hand ; ' I am sure you will not find the bad

i882.] CATHOLIC SCOTCH SETTLEMENT. , 557

news you are afraid of. I have an intuition that Stella has no
more forgotten you than you have forgotten her, and in the au-
tumn I am going to take you home and see if I cannot persuade
her to forgive you.' "

The speaker paused once more, and, taking Stella's hand
again, laid it, clasped in his own, upon the grave, saying :

" Let me think that it is he who has spoken to your heart for
me now."

CONCLUDED.

THE CATHOLIC SCOTCH SETTLEMENT OF PRINCE
EDWARD ISLAND.

IN the year 1770 travelling in the Highlands of Scotland was
neither so fashionable nor so easy as it is to-day. Steamers were
unknown. Oban, waxing strong in the shelter of Dunstaffnage,
was unconscious of its future celebrity as a gay seaport town.
The Campbells were flourishing as a green bay-tree, nourished
on that all-powerful cordial, "government pap." They were the
most fashionable people of the country ; in brand-new garments
of the London cut, new politics of the Hanoverian tint, with a
new religion and a new king, they walked in the footsteps of
their leader, MacCailleam-Mor, stigmatized by one of Scotland's
most vigorous writers as

" He'who sold his king for gold, the master-fiend Argyle."

The Western Islands occasionally shipped to England shaggy
little bits of canine perfection that were sold at high prices to
the phlegmatic Brunswick belles of the English court, but for
the most part they were unvisited and unmolested. MacDonald
of Sleat had given in his allegiance to the new religion, and for
his refusal to espouse the cause of the exiled king had been
created Lord MacDonald of the Isles in the Irish peerage. Clan
Ronald had gone "over the water to Charlie," though the Inver-
ness-shire hills still echoed to the shrill pibroch of his clansmen,
and the bagpipes resounded where to-day one hears but the rifle
of the Sassenach sportsman or the bleating of the mountain
sheep.

From Oban, after sailing through the Sound of Mull and

558 THE CATHOLIC SCOTCH SETTLEMENT [July,

rounding1 Ardnamurchan Point, one sights the little island of
Muck, a place where woman's rights were once pretty well en-
forced ; and after passing- the islands called Rum and Eig, that
in spite of one's self suggest the addition of milk and sugar, we
come to the Long Island of the Hebrides — South Uist. Here in
the spring of 1770 was enacted the first of those tragedies that
gave to British North America the gallant and God-fearing
bands of Scotch emigrants that have done so much to enrich the
Dominion of Canada.

The southern part of South Uist had for its laird Alexander
MacDonald, better known in those days as Alister mor Bhoistal,
or Big Sandy of Boisdale ; he owned the southern part of the
island, and had leased the northern part from his kinsman and
feudal chieftain, Clan Ronald, so that his tenantry numbered over
two hundred families — all of them, of course, Catholics. Boisdale
took unto himself a wife of "the daughters of Heth," a Calvin-
ist, and fell an easy prey to the gloomy horrors of that doctrine.
Not content with converting himself, he undertook to convert his
followers. He imported a dominie, to whom he entrusted the
instruction of his household, and to this man he gave the care of
a free school which he opened on his estate. The people, unsus-
pecting, sent their children gladly at first, but, soon finding their
religion was being tampered with, they withdrew them. Upon
this Boisdale issued an edict abolishing days of abstinence, holi-
days of obligation, going to church, to confession, to communion,
and even doing away with the priest himself. He gave the peo-
ple the option of complying with this mild expression of his
wishes or of being evicted from their lands and houses, and then
set out himself to engraft his doctrines by means of muscular
persuasion. It must have been a strange sight that Lenten Sun-
day morning more than a century ago — the bell calling the
faithful to God's own feast: the clansmen coming from near and
far, over hill and dale, in their picturesque dress ; the Highland
lassies in their plaid gowns, with their banded yellow hair, and
innocent blue eyes, and so much determination withal ; the old
wives, who had grown weary while praying for their king to be
restored to his own again, and who were looking forward now to
their last sleep beside the rocky shores they loved so well, where
the surging Atlantic would sing their requiem through the long,
wild nights of those northern latitudes, and would bring tangled
garlands and clusters of strange sea-mosses to strew their graves
in the cladh er cladach na fairge. To this peaceful scene came
the laird in his south-country dress, and in his hand, not the

1 882.] OF PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND. 559

sword of other days, but his 'bhati-bui, or yellow walking-stick !
With this weapon he actuall-y attempted to drive his tenants into
a Protestant church that he had erected, and belabored them
severely, which treatment did not tend to increase their admira-
tion for what they called credible a bhati-bui — the " creed of the
yellow stick." Upon hearing his conditions his tenants declared
themselves ready to part with their patches of land but not with
their faith. They were encouraged and supported by their pas-
tor, an Irish Dominican friar, Father Wynne, who, thus becom-
ing obnoxious to Boisdale, was obliged to fly from the island.
The persecution went on, but the people, though they suffered,
did not waver. However, it so happened that the persecution
suddenly stopped, but not before the people had imbibed the
mania for emigration and carried out the scheme devised in
their favor by Captain John MacDonald, the laird of Glenala-
dale, called by his countrymen Fer a Ghlinne*

The great Clan Colla, or MacDonald sept, was divided into
several distinct sub-clans, each having its chief — namely, Clan
Ronald, Glengarry, f MacDonald of Sleat, Glencoe, Keppoch,
and Kinloch-Moidart — and these branches were again sub-divided.
Clan Ronald and Glengarry have disputed the chieftainship of
the sept for many years, and a great many careful students of
Celtic history decide that Glengarry has the stronger claim.
Clan Ronald takes its name from " Ranald, eighth chief of the
race of Somerled, thane of Argyle, progenitor of the Mac-
Donalds of Glengarry and of all the MacDonalds known as Clan-
ranald, or Clann Ra<>nuil — that is, descendants of Ronald." The
Glengarry family now spell their name MacDonell, it being so
written in the patent of nobility conferring their title of Lord
MacDonell and Aross given them by Charles II. in 1660. :j:

We have already spoken of Captain John MacDonald of Glen-

*Or, as the Irish more correctly would write it, fear na ghlinne— that is, the "man of the
valleys " (or glens).

t For the Glengarry colony in Canada see the article "A Scotch Catholic Settlement in
Canada " in THE CATHOLIC WORLD for October, 1881.

\ Donald, Donnell, or, more properly, Domhnall (pronounced Dhonal), has practically al-
most disappeared as a Christian name among the Irish Gaels, having been lost in its supposed
equivalent, " Daniel," with which Biblical name it has, of course, not the slightest connection —
merely a remote resemblance in sound. In a similar manner Brian has become " Bernard "
and " Barney" ; Cathal and Cormac, " Charles " ; Tadg (Teige) "Jeremiah" (!) or "Teddy " ;
Siodla (pronounced Sheela), "Julia," etc. Eoghan has either been supplanted by its Welsh
brother, " Owen," or has been transmogrified into the Greek " Eugene." Most singular of all,
that very ancient and suggestive Gaelic name, Conn (a wolf-hound), is treated as if it were the
nickname of the classical " Cornelius " or " Constantine." Thus the Gaelic-speaking Conn
MacDuaire, when he learned English, was metamorphosed into " Cornelius (or perhaps Con-
stantine) Maguire " !

560 THE CATHOLIC SCOTCH SETTLEMENT [July,

aladale, who came to the rescue of Boisdale's tenants. At the
time of the fatal mistake that put the MacDonalds on the/*// wing
of the Jacobite army, and so lost to Scotland the field of Cullo-
den, this Captain John MacDonald was but a child. He was
sent to Ratisbon to receive his education in a Catholic college,
and returned to his native land one of the most scholarly men of
his day. He first married Miss Gordon, of Wardhouse, who
died young, and many years afterwards Miss Margery MacDon-
ald, of Ghernish, by whom he had a family of four sons and one
daughter. Glenaladale was a wise and far-seeing man, and the
events of the time in Scotland showed him that for his clansmen
the only hope of happiness lay in emigration. Not only was
Boisdale bent on tyranny, but he had infected others. For in-
stance, a missionary priest named Kennedy, landing on the island
of Muck, was arrested and imprisoned by order of Mrs. MacLean,
wife of the proprietor, who himself was absent from the island.
The same work was going on in the island of Barra and in the
surrounding country, and the very existence of the Catholic reli-
gion in the Western Islands seemed at stake. Such events induc-
ed Glenaladale to organize a scheme of emigration, and, going
up to Edinburgh, he entered into a treaty with the lord-advocate,
Henry Dundas, for some large tracts of land in the isle of St.
John, lying in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and known since 1798
as Prince Edward Island, so called in compliment to the Duke of
Kent. Glenaladale's following being Catholics proved to be any-
thing but an objection against them, as there were already about
fifty families of Acadians on the island, and »the authorities hoped
that the coming of the Highlanders might ensure a Catholic
clergyman for these people, who were without pastoral care.

In February, 1772, Glenaladale went to Greenock and charter-
ed the ship Alexander ; but it was not until May that the Alexan-
der, with two hundred and ten emigrants, sailed for St. John's Isl-
and. One hundred of these were from Uist and a hundred and
ten from the mainland. They, by a wise foresight, took with them
provisions sufficient for a whole year. They were accompanied
by Father James MacDonald, a secular priest, who had obtained
faculties from Rome, to last until such time as he could ^have
them renewed by the bishop of Quebec. A Dr. Roderick Mac-
Donald was among the passengers, and, owing to his medical
skill and their own prudence, they successfully combated seve-
ral cases of fever, and, their number lessened only by the loss of
one child, they arrived safely in the Gulf of St. Lawrence at the
end of seven weeks, and dropped anchor in what. is now known

1 882.] OF PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND. 561

as the harbor of Charlottetown, opposite to a spot that had been
partly cleared of woods in preparation for this colony.

Yielding, however, to the persuasions of Glenaladale's brother,
Lieutenant Donald MacDonald, the skipper of the Alexander,
against his will, pushed further up the Hillsborough to a point
near the head of Tracadie Bay, the final destination of his pas-
sengers, who landed themselves and their goods and chattels,
doubtless well pleased to be once more on terra firma. As they
had passed, on their way up the river, an old stronghold called
French Fort, they dubbed the place of their landing Scotch Fort
— a name it retains to this day.

In 1773 Fer a Ghlinne sold his estate and set sail for America,
coming to St. John's Island by way of Philadelphia and Boston.
In Boston he learned that a vessel which the previous year he had
despatched from Scotland with a cargo of provisions for the emi-
grants had never reached her destination, having been taken by
a privateer. To meet the demand caused by this serious loss he
brought from Boston a cargo of produce sufficient to appease the
immediate wants of the colony. He proceeded to his new estate
at Tracadie, where he lived for many years, always taking a very
active part in the public affairs of the island of his adoption.
Although he had shown himself generous to a fault, he was never-
theless very tenacious of the rights of land-owners. Some of his
tenants were so prosperous as soon to be able to purchase lands
in Antigonish and Bras d'Or, where their descendants are still
to be found. The British government had the most exalted
opinion of this Highland gentleman, and the office of governor
of St. John's Island was offered to him. He was, however, oblig-
ed to decline the honor because of the anti-Catholic nature of the
oath at that time required to be taken. Glenaladale could have
accepted the governorship only at the price of his religion. It
was during the administration of Colonel Ready that a better
state of affairs was brought about in Prince Edward Island. He
was appointed governor in 1829, and from that year until 1831
eighteen hundred and forty-four emigrants arrived and infused
new life into the agriculture and trade of the country. It was
in the year 1830 that the Prince Edward Island legislature passed
the act for " the relief of his majesty's Roman Catholic subjects,"'
by which their civil and political disabilities were repealed and
" all places of trust or profit rendered as open to them as to any
other portion of the king's subjects."

In conjunction with Major Small, Glenaladale was instru-
mental in forming the Eighty-fourth, or Royal Hig-hland, Regr-
VOL. xxxv. — 36

562 THE CATHOLIC SCOTCH SETTLEMENT [July,

ment in Nova Scotia, and gallant deeds are told of him in the
records of those troubled times.

Roderick, the son of Fer a Ghlinne, though intended by his
father for a priest, entered the army at an early age, and died in
the Ionian Islands about twenty-five years ago. He married a
niece of Sir James McDonnell, brother to the chief of Glen-
garry and general of the Brifish forces in Canada. It was this
latter McDonnell, by the way, who was the hero of Hugomont,
and who, after the battle of Waterloo, received from the Duke
of Wellington a special mark of distinction for his bravery. He
was called " the bravest man in the British army." Lieutenant
Roderick MacDonald, when in London in 1835, having been re-
quested by the Highland Society of Prince Edward Island to
select and purchase a tartan for the Highlanders of that colony,
asked Miss Flora MacDonald, granddaughter of the heroine of
that name, to decide on the pattern. The young lady chose as
a prominent color the Gordon tartan, out of respect to the Duke
of Gordon, a great patron of the Highlanders in America, and
interwove with it the colors of the other clans. This tartan has
since been adopted by the Highland Societies of Nova Scotia
and New Brunswick. The only son of Lieutenant Roderick
MacDonald is a member of the Society of Jesus. One of Glena-
ladale's sons, John, became a priest and died in England in 1874 ;
William was drowned ; and the eldest son, Donald, lived on the
family estate, which his descendants still hold.

The Rev. James MacDonald came out in the emigration
of 17/4, and exercised his ministry among his countrymen and
the Acadians of the colony, and also along the shores of the
neighboring provinces. He was a zealous and large-hearted
man, and universally beloved. The beloved saggarth, worn out
by the hardships and extent of his mission, died in 1785 at the
early age of forty-nine years, and was. buried in the old French
cemetery at Scotch Fort. For many years after his death the
Catholics of St. John's Island were without a pastor, until in 1790
the son of one Ewen ban MacEachern, who had arrived among
the emigrants of 1774, having been consecrated priest at Valla'do-
lid, in Spain, came out to visit his parents in their new home,
and, seeing the sore need of his presence, decided to remain
and throw himself into the work so manifestly waiting for him.
Among the heroic and holy dead who have worked for Christ
on the wild coasts and in the dense forests of the New World
there is no more prominent figure, no more revered memory,
than that of the Right Rev. Angus MacEachern, first bishop of

i8S2.] OF PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND. 563

Charlottetown. Catholic and • Protestant alike speak lovingly
of his virtues and good deeds. His bright intellect mastered
all the knotty points of his surroundings, and his wise judgment
has borne fruit in the success of the cause for which he worked.
His devotion and self-sacrifice sowed the seed of a goodly har-
vest, to be witnessed in the prosperity and steady increase of the
church in Prince Edward Island. Father MacEachern was first
created Bishop of Rosens, in partibus, and afterwards bishop of
Charlottetown. He died in his mission-house at St. Andrews,
and was buried in the old cemetery where repose also the mor-
tal remains of good Father James, and of a Father Augustine
McDonald, brother of Glenaladale, who, worn out with mission-
ary labors among his native hills, came out to spend his last
years with his people, beside whom he now sleeps the dreamless
sleep of death.

We may have some idea of the hardships encountered by
Bishop MacEachern when we consider that for many years after
his arrival on Prince Edward Island there were no highroads
nor vehicles in the country. Journeys were accomplished in
summer by riding on horseback through rough pathways hewn
in the forest. In winter these journeys were generally made on
snow-shoes and necessitated weary nights of camping-out under
the insufficient shelter of the green spruce groves. The severity
of the climate is shown by the following incident, which occurred
in Charlottetown, the capital of the island, only two or three years
ago. An old woman residing in the Bog, or negro quarter of the
town, came before the stipendiary magistrate with a petition that
teams should be prevented from driving over her house, as since
the last snow-storm she had been completely blocked up, and the
temporary road broken through the snow-banks and used by
the public as a highway lay right across the roof of her dwelling!

In the year 1790 there came from the island of Barra a rein-
forcement of Highlanders, who settled for the most part in the
western end of Prince Edward Island, in and around the district
known as Grand River. They were MacKinnons, MacDonalds,
Maclntyres, and Gillises.

On the island of Barra dwelt a loyal Catholic population.
But the laird of Barra — one McNeil by name — had adopted the
religion of Calvin ; he accordingly tried to inoculate his ten-
ants, and succeeded just about as well as did Alister mor Bhois-
tal. On the south end of the island of Barra was built the Ca-
tholic church ; it was probably insufficient for the wants of the
people, and its situation was somewhat inconvenient, as the

564 THE CATHOLIC SCOTCH SETTLEMENT [July,

greater part of the population lived at the north end and wished
to have their church in that locality. They subscribed four
hundred and fifty pounds, and on the 25th of March, 1790, Father
Alexander MacDonald gave out that all his flock were to meet
on the north end of the island on that evening to discuss the
proposed erection. This news was brought to the laird, who
determined there should be no church built. Four men were
nevertheless selected to choose the site; they were Alec Mac-
Kinnon, John MacDonald, Malcolm MacKinnon, and Neil Mac-
Neil. They set off for the appointed land, and met the laird
in full bravery riding on his Highland pony, with his sword
girded on, all ready for a fray.

" ' What brought you here ? ' said the laird. Alec McKinnon, a very
strong and powerful man, was the spokesman and made answer :

" ' My lord, to select ground for a church.'

" Said the laird : ' Don't you know, Alec, I've set my face against it ? '

" McKinnon, in reply, said they were ' hard dealt with and worse than
slaves.'

" The laird retaliated : ' You may thank me for your education.'

" McKinnon : ' I don't ; there are schools anywhere.'

"The laird; 'Take care ; I'd as soon fight you here as on the moun-
tain.'

" McKinnon : ' No, my lord, I won't fight ; I'd rather leave.' "

Soon after this encounter McNeil's Catholic tenants all gave
notice, and on the 28th of March they, or probably some among
them, went to Tobermory, in the island of Mull, and laid their case
before Bishop McDonald, who gave them a letter to Colonel
Frazer at Edinburgh. This officer was much interested in pro-
moting emigration to Nova Scotia, and promised them a ship if
they could muster three hundred and fifty emigrants. The re-
quired number was made up by the addition of some from Uist
and from the mainland. They sailed from Tobermory and ar-
rived at Charlottetown Harbor. From Charlottetown the emi-
grants went up to Malpeque, but in 1792 most of them settled
in Grand River, Lot 14. About this time another band came out,
principally MacDonalds, McMillens, and McLellens, and settled
in Lot 1 8 and Indian River.

Among all the Highland emigrations to Canada none have
furnished so many men successful in professional and mercan-
tile life as the MacDonalds of Georgetown, at the east end of
Prince Edward Island. Andrew MacDonald, Esquire, of Eilean
Shona, Inverness-shire, and Arisaig on the island of Eig, came
:to Prince Edward Island in 1806, bringing with him a following

1 882.] OF PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND. 565

of forty persons. He had married a Miss MacDonald and had
a family of fifteen children, the last of whom was laid to rest in
Georgetown cemetery but a few weeks ago, having been born
in 1797 and died in 1882. Mr. Andrew MacDonald had purchased
an extensive estate in Prince Edward Island, but, owing to some
informality in. the title-deed, it was ultimately eaten up by taw-
costs, and there remained to his descendants but Panmure Island
and some property in Georgetown. However, in San Francisco,
in Boston, in New Brunswick, and in Montreal, as well as in old
Scotia and in Prince Edward Island, the descendants of this en-
terprising Scotch gentleman are not only prosperous but re-
markable for their superior talents and success.

The large and fertile property in Prince County known as
Bedeque was originally the property of MacDonald of Rhetland,
a branch of the house of Morar founded by Raol MacAllan Og.
In 17/5 Rhetland, following the example of his kinsman Glenala-
dale, determined to better the condition of his people by emigra-
tion, and with that view purchased ten thousand acres in Prince
Edward Island and sold his estate in Scotland to Lord Mac-
Donald of SleaL He was returning in an open boat from Skye,
whither he had gone to receive from Lord MacDonald the pur-
chase-money, when a squall arose, and Rhetland, with his eldest
son and all on board, were drowned. He left a grandson, who
succeeded to the title and estate, and also two sons and two
daughters. The family was of course much impoverished by the
loss of the gold paid for their lands, and had no choice but to
come out to their newly acquired property in America, where
their descendants still dwell. A young priest, great-grandson
of the old Rhetland, left Prince Edward Island some years ago
and became a most popular vicaire in Montreal. He has since
entered the Society of Jesus.

The second bishop of Prince Edward Island, the Right Rev.
Bernard MacDonald, was of the house of Alisary, another branch
of Glenaladale. He succeeded Bishop MacEachern, and was
consecrated bishop of Charlottetown in 1836. He was a hard-
working pastor and took a deep interest in education. He es-
tablished in 1855 St. Dunstan's College, an institute of learning
for Catholic boys, and was instrumental in inducing the Sisters
of the Congregation de Notre Dame of Montreal to open their
first mission o'n the island. He died in his college of St. Dun-
stan, about two miles from Charlottetown, in 1859.

The present bishop of Charlottetown, the Right Rev. Dr*.
Mclntyre, is descended from one of the Inverness-shire families

566 CATHOLIC SCOTCH SETTLEMENT. [July.

who came out in the Queen of Grccnock. He was consecrated
bishop in August, 1860, and has done a vast work in the building
of churches and convents and the organizing of charitable insti-
tutions in his large diocese, which comprises the whole of Prince
Edward Island and the Magdalen Isles. There are now forty-
six churches in Prince Edward Island, and eight convents under
the care of the Sisters of the Congregation. There are thirty-six
priests in the diocese of Charlottetown ; of these eleven are Mac-
Donalds, and three of that name, natives of Prince Edward Island,
have entered the Society of Jesus.

A Highland gentleman of Prince Edward Island, writing of
his countrymen, says :

"The old people were good, frugal, and industrious; they cleared the
land, built houses and barns, and when they died generally left a good farm
free from debt and a good stock of cattle to sons who were not long content
to live as their self-denying parents had done, and who would take the first
offer of wages to go in a vessel as sailors or fishermen. The number of
those who have been lost sight of in that way is as great as of those now to
be found in the old settlements. Their bones whiten the bottom of the
' George's Banks,' or they are absorbed in the mixed populations of the
fishing-towns of New England. Those who came from the Western Islands
all have a hankering for the sea, and there is hardly a family to be found
that has not one or more of its sons sailors or fishermen. When they have
a tendency that way they seldom make good farmers, and so families soon
disappear from their native island. The Highlander of my first recollec-
tion was very fond of whiskey, and this extravagant habit kept a great
many of them in poverty. The last ten years have wrought much im-
provement in that respect, and many of them are becoming independent
farmers and saving money."

One cannot drive through the rural districts of Prince Ed-
ward Island without seeing that, in spite of the propensity of
some to a sea-going life, as a rule the Scotch make good farm-
ers. Through sad experience have they bought their knowledge,
for their hands were more accustomed to fishing-lines than to
hoes. It is said of one Highland settlement that when the cen-
sus was first taken there the returns showed twenty-nine bagpipes
and Jive ploughs ! To-day, however, there are no more flourishing
farms to be seen than those of the western Highlanders. Snug
houses and barns mark their settlements, and many of them hold
high places of trust in their native colony. Strangers who visit
Prince Edward Island on yachting excursions are struck by the
fact that, in entering nearly every harbor, the most prominent
object is always the Catholic church, keeping, as it were, the Ave
Mar is Stella in the hearts of this seafaring people. As the tired

1 882.] THE GERALDINE' s SLEEP. 567

fisherman at sunset enters port" the Angelus bell is sure to wel-
come his return. In sight of the lofty spire, where flashes the
golden symbol of his faith, he repeats the Am Bcannacha Moire,
in which his human feeling of tenderness for his beloved Mother
is blended with his Catholic reverence for the mystery of the
Incarnation.

THE GERALDINE'S SLEEP.*

THE midnight just over, the dawning but gray,

While birds seek their voices I'll up and away.

My purpose a secret my silent heart keeps —

To see for myself if the Geraldine sleeps,

Shall I stand as the stranger, and see as he sees ?

No ! down by the lakeside I'll kneel on my knees.

Will the wind make no sough, or the waters no stir,

Where my Geraldine lies in the depths of Lough Gur ?

I cover my face, for I blush, when 'tis said

That the Geraldine living is still as the dead ;

That the hot blood that burst from the Boteler's chains

Now runs thin and cold through the Geraldine's veins.

I know, for I've heard it, how seanachies tell

Of his steed silver-shod by the Sacsanach's spell.

But — slumbering son of a warrior line —

By what spell have they bound him, my own Geraldine?

Does he dream there is summer and sunshine above,
And but rain falling soft on the land of his love?
Have her tears trickled down to the bed where he lies,
And sorrows too heavy forbade him to rise ?

* Garrett FitzGerald, the fourth Earl of Desmond, called the Poet, a few of whose verses in
Norman-French are yet extant, is one of the spellbound heroes of tradition who are one day to
return and hold their own again. He sleeps in Lough Gur, in the County Limerick, not far
from the much-visited ruins of Killmallock, his silver-shod steed entranced beside him. When
the shoes are worn off the wakened horse will rouse his master. Here the pilgrim is supposed
to visit the lake in troubled times when the living head of Clan Gerald was devoted to the Eng-
lish interest.

568 THE GERALDINE ' s SLEEP. [July»

Oh T false is that dreaming and fatal that rest ;

Now hush thee, sweet west wind — he loved thce the best :

Wave gently, and woo him to listen, fair lake.

My Desmond, my Desmond, awake ! oh ! awake.

False lake, must thou mimic the storms of the deep?
Does thy breast rise and fall but to cradle his sleep ?
Art thou bound, in thy calm, by the pitiless foe
To hide with thy darkness the secrets below ?
Lone and sad now I leave thee — a pilgrim in vain ;
But I'll tread thy green borders in triumph again,
When spell against spell shall discover thy caves,
And Desmond ride rough-shod thy traitorous waves.

The charm of the Stranger is subtle and strong.
But ears sealed to speech will re-open to song.
Not to me, not to me is the proud task assigned ;
But I'll circle our Erin a File to find.
Within a green ring where the Green People * dwell
He shall weave it at midnight, a spell against spell.
Love, Magic, and Music, Joy, Sorrow, and Hope,
Shall blend it and bind it as twists of a rope.

Nor rudely my Geraldine's trance it shall it break,
But steal on his sleeping, as dawn on the lake.
It shall tell, in the tongue that his fosterhood spoke, f
How, weeping and bleeding, his Love wears the yoke ;
How his kinsfolk are sorners, his knightliest name,
Long pride of the proudest, is spotted with shame.
In strain sweet as mead, yet soul-stirring as wine,
It shall taunt him with Thomas " the silk of his kine."

Then the long summer evening I'll sail by the shore
Where Ocean keeps tryst with the fair Avonmore ;
Going out with the tide, coming in with the flow,
Till I win a mermaiden to sing it below.
But mermaids are false and but sing to betray ;
She might wake my O'Desmond ^ to lure him away.

" The gentlemen in green " is one of the Keltic names for the fairies.

t The Four Masters describe Earl Garrett as having " excelled all the English and many of
the Irish in knowledge of the Irish language."

J Amongst the settlers who "became more Irish than the Irishry" the Desmond Fitz-
Geralds were distinctively adopted with the hereditary "O" of the Milesian old stocks. O
Deasmumhan (pronounced O'Yassoon), the vernacular Irish for FitzGerald— and of which
Desmond is the Anglo-Irish form— means Son of South Munster (Deas Mum/tan).

1 8 8 2 . ] NE W PUB LIC A TIONS. 5 69

Than King of the Deep, shared in exile with her,
I'd rather he still slept his sleep in Lough Gur.

O seed of the mountains and valleys he trod,
Are your arms enchanted, your feet silver- shod?
Ye men of his Munster, quick, circle him round !
The pulse of his heart-strings will leap at the sound.
With foot on his shamrock and face to his skies
Call ye on your chief and he cannot but rise.
Then, then the Green Lady shall reign as of yore,
And the Geraldine, wakened, will slumber no more.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THOMAS A KEMPIS AND THE BROTHERS OF COMMON LIFE. By the Rev.
S. Kettlewell. 2 vols. New York : Putnams. 1882.

Thomas Hammerlein, of Kempen, was born in 1379 and died in 1471. He
was a priest and a member of the religious institute of the Brothers of
Common Life. He has a world-wide and everlasting fame as the author of
that incomparable book, The Following of Christ, which has been, after long
and interminable controversies, at last positively and indubitably proved to
be really his work.

Mr. Kettlewell is a minister of the Anglican Establishment, apparently
a descendant of the famous Non-Juror of the same name. His book is,
typographically speaking, excellent. It contains a great amount of in-
teresting biographical and historical matter, and shows a warm admiration
of the subject and of his life and works. The author evinces a conside-
rable amount of erudition, but at the same time a great deal of ignorance
and prejudice. His work is marred, and to a considerable degree spoiled,
by the effort to make out of Thomas a Kempis and other men like him a
kind of half-way, minimizing, liberal Catholics, who were precursors of the
Protestant Reformers. Nothing can be more absurd than such an attempt.
The writer identifies abuses and moral corruption with the cause of the
Papacy and strict Roman orthodoxy, and on the other hand all noble
efforts at reviving pure, spiritual religion, severe ecclesiastical discipline,
and genuine Christian morality he identifies with the spirit of schismati-
cal and heretical innovation which at length broke forth in the revolution
miscalled the Reformation. This is historically false. The great cause of
disorders in the church has been, in every one of the calamitous periods
of ecclesiastical history, the interference of the lay power with the inde-
pendence and the spiritual power of popes and bishops. The true doc-

570 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [July,

tors, apostles, reformers, saints, who have maintained orthodox faith,
genuine spirituality, holiness and virtue of life and manners, have always
been the most zealous and devoted adherents of the Holy See and the
Papacy. It is a great pity that the task which Mr. Kettlewell undertook
had not been undertaken with equal zeal and diligence by a Catholic
writer who could have accomplished it successfully and given us a book
which would be a real treasure.

THE HOLY MAN OF TOURS ; or, The Life of Leon Papin-Dupont. Translat-
ed from the French of M. 1'Abbe Janvier, Priest of the Holy Face.
Baltimore : John Murphy & Co. 1882.

M. Leon Papin-Dupont, the subject of this memoir, was born in 1797 in
the island of Martinique, and died not more than six years ago at Tours, in
France. After having filled for some years the office of councillor of the
royal court at Saint-Pierre in his native island, he, on the death of his wife,
left his own country and in 1834 settled at Tours, where he passed the re-
mainder of his life. Here it was that he established and propagated that
devotion to the Holy Face in which his whole heart was centred and to
which he gave up his closing years. The limits of a notice will not allow
us to explain at length the nature and origin, the vicissitudes and gradual
establishment, of this devotion ; for these we must refer our readers to the
work itself. But there are two things which we have found of special inte-
rest. The title-page tells us that M. Dupont died in the odor of sanctity,
and the work itself abundantly proves the statement. Yet he was a layman,
who passed his early manhood in the Parisian society of the Restoration,
who retained to the last his place in the world, and who never cut himself
off from its duties and requirements, and, notwithstanding, was able to do
work of so purely spiritual a character as that to which we have referred.
It has been urged against the church that it is a consequence of her or-
ganization to take out of the hands of men and women in the world all ac-
tive service and ministry, every opportunity for them to use their highest
faculties for the noblest purposes. The refutation of this charge is easy ;
and in M. Dupont we have the example of a man who, without the.extra-
ordinary talents of a Montalembert, an Ozanam, a Cochin, yet as a layman
found an ample sphere for his energy and zeal in the service of the
church.

The second thing in the work which interests us is the insight which it
gives into the inner life (if we may so speak) of France. Unhappily at the
present time the minds of Catholics in other lands are being filled with sor-
row by the manner in which those who have been elected to carry out the
will of this Catholic people are treating the church and religion. But the
perusal of such a life as this leads us to hope that the real mind and heart
of the great French nation is not represented in the laws of its National
Assembly, in the decrees of its ministers and prefects. It leads us to see
that there still exist the solid piety, the fervent devotion, the ardent zeal
which made France deserve to be called the eldest daughter of the church.
Let us hope that she may not deserve to forfeit this glorious title.

Before closing we may call attention to some of M. Dupont's pious
practices which we imagine are not very general. We do not remember to

1 8 82.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 571

have read of any saint or met with any person in the habit of having re-
course to the righteous Job ; yet it seems there is the best of reasons for
praying to him. Hear what M. Dupont says, speaking to a friend :

" ' You are wrong not to invoke the good man Job. Read.' Taking
me to his Bible, he read the following words from the book of Job : ' Go
to my servant Job, and offer for yourselves a holocaust : and my servant
Job shall pray for you : his face I will accept, that folly be not imputed to
you.' ' You see, my friend, that God promises to hear the prayers of Job :
He has promised this to no one else in the holy books.' '"

The keeping a lamp constantly burning before his copy of the Holy
Scriptures was another devotional practice peculiarly his own, and yet
perhaps it may be thought to be the legitimate expression of the well-
known words of A Kempis as to the two tables set side by side in -the
treasury of the holy church — the one that of the holy altar, the other that
of the divine law. The entire chapter on M. Dupont's use of the Holy
Scriptures is most interesting.

We have only to add that the book is well translated. If we might
make a criticism it would be that the first title, "The Holy Man of Tours,"
is calculated to give one the impression that the work is rather pious than
interesting, but we can assure our readers that it is as interesting as it is
pious.

THE TRUTHS OF SALVATION. By Rev. J. Pergmayr, S.J. New York :
Benziger Brothers. 1882.

This is a book of meditations for a retreat of eight days. The author
was a German Jesuit, a man of great distinction in his day. It is admirably
translated into English by a Jesuit father of New York. The meditations
are suitable for seculars as well as religious. They are selected from all
parts of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, and are composed of brief
sentences, moderately long points, several of which grouped under one
meditation, while there are three of these for each day, furnish matter
which is copious and yet so divided that one may take as little or as much
as he needs, and is not overburdened by too long discoursing on one idea.
At the end there are instructions for each day on the examination of con-
science. These have a rare excellence, and seem to be more especially an
original work of the author. The whole is what it professes to be — a com-
pendium of the expanded exercises for a month's retreat such as exist in
the Italian and French languages, and are masterpieces in their kind, ar-
ranged for a retreat of a week.

S. THOM^E AQUINATIS. Tractatus de Homine. Ad Usum Studiosas Juven-
tutis Accommodatus Studio B. A. Schiffini, Soc. Jesu in Collegio Wood-
stockiano Dogm. Theol. Com p. et Ethic. Lectoris. Woodstock, Mary-
landiae : ex Typis Collegii. 1882.

This solid, elegant, well-printed, and well-bound issue of the press of
Woodstock College has everything in its outward form to recommend it to
a student. Its contents have been carefully and elaborately arranged by a
very competent editor. Father Schiffini's purpose has been to collect and
arrange, with synopses and other critical helps, the entire text of St. Thomas

572 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [July,

which a student of philosophy can wish to refer to while going through
his text-book. This volume furnishes about one-half of the whole amount
of the metaphysics of St. Thomas. If it meets with favor and finds a ready
sale the second volume will be forthcoming in due time. The great con-
venience of such a book is obvious. It spares the labor of hunting through
many folios for that which is here in compact compass. If one cannot get
at the complete works of St. Thomas at all he has in this convenient vol-
ume all that he wants respecting all that part of philosophy which may be
included under the name Anthropology.

THE AMERICAN IRISH AND THEIR INFLUENCE ON IRISH POLITICS. By
Philip H. Bagenal, B.A. Oxon. Author's Edition. Boston : Roberts
Brothers. 1882.

When in 1847 the London Times, referring to the exodus from Ire-
land, screamed out with relief and delight, " They are gone with a ven-
geance," it little dreamt that the poor mob of emigrants were only go-
ing to reinforce "the greater Ireland" growing up on our shores, and
that the time would come when England would have to count with the
children of the exiles, with a generation more relentless than their fathers
even. But whether the Times, or the people it represents, dreamt so or
not, -this is what Mr. Bagenal thinks to be a fact, for he deems the Irish-
American element the source and support of the revival of national
sentiment in Ireland. He has written for the instruction of English
readers. He is himself an Irishman, but a Tory, and he is connected
with a very anti-American and anti-Irish paper, the St. James Gazette of
London. The book is in two parts, the first being devoted to a rapid
sketch of the growth of the Irish element in the United States, touching
on the share taken by the Irish in the Revolutionary War. His third
chapter is given to " Irish Emigration and Statistics." His sixth and
seventh chapters, treating of the Irish colonization work in the Western
States during the last three or four years, deserve careful reading. The
first part is altogether interesting and valuable. The second part is merely
a political pamphlet against the Land League.

UNKNOWN TO HISTORY: A story of the captivity of Mary of Scotland.
By Charlotte M. Yonge. New York : Macmillan & Co. 1882.

There is scarcely one of us whose ideas of the history of any given
period have not been colored by something we have read in our youth in
an historical romance. Much of this coloring is, it needs hardly be said,
false, and Walter Scott will long have to atone in reputation for a good
deal of the falsity. But to Protestants the epoch of the so-called Reforma-
tion has furnished a whole mass of ideas founded very largely on fiction,
the full drift of which Catholics find it difficult to realize. At this very
moment the minds of the growing generation of Protestants are being edu-
cated by Sunday-school libraries which teem with frightful romances
against Catholicity that would shame even the mendacious Fox's Book of
Martyrs. In England the " Oxford movement," and still later Ritualism,
have brought about among the more scholarly non-Catholics a spirit of
criticism as to the beginnings of Protestantism, and have shown the real

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 573

bearings of the Reformation on the intellectual awakening of the six-
teenth century. But it will be yet a long while before a similar critical
spirit will begin to be perceptible in the general run of Protestant ro-
mances dealing with that period. It is, therefore, encouraging to note that
a thorough-going '' Church-of-Englandwoman " such as Miss Yonge, the
author of The Heir of Redclyffe and of Cameos from English History, can so
far overcome the proverbial bad logic of her sex, as well as the exigencies
— if it may be said — of the Protestant situation, as to give a really interest-
ing romance founded on a supposed event in the life of Mary Stuart.

Taking a suggestion from a certain passage in Miss Strickland's Life of
Mary, Queen of Scots, Miss Yonge supposes that Mary had a daughter born
to her from Hepburn of Bothwell, and on this supposed fact builds up her
story very skilfully, giving at the same time a readable account of the
manner of life of the country English nobility of that day.

Still, Miss Yonge seems from time to time to feel that, as a Protestant,
she is bound to express her belief that Catholics, as a class, are inclined to
be unscrupulous — heaven save the mark ! had they been unscrupulous Pro-
testantism would soon have come to an end — and as an Englishwoman to
feign that the English are, as compared to the Scotch, a straightforward,
frank, guileless people. Of course a Scotch writer, Catholic or Protestant,
would answer that so far as Scotch and English are concerned it is not a
question of frankness — Anglo-Saxon frankness, or any other kind of frank-
ness— but of intellect ; that the Scotch are perhaps intellectually quicker
than the English ; that if Mary Stuart was keener than her cruel captors
because she was Scotch and a Catholic, then the poor captive Scotch-
woman and her Catholicity deserve merit, all the more considering that
she was almost alone against Elizabeth and her entire church-pillaging
nobility.

Nevertheless Miss Yonge has made an interesting story of the Babing-
ton Plot, and of Bride of Hepburn, as she calls Mary Stuart's supposed
daughter.

IRISH ESSAYS AND OTHERS. By Matthew Arnold. London : Smith, Elder
& Co. ; New York : Macmillan & Co. 1882.

The gist of Mr. Arnold's thought on the Irish difficulty is that Ireland
is governed by a policy which defers to the wishes and prejudices of the
" Philistine," narrow-minded, Puritan middle classes of England — a class
which, as Mr. Arnold contends, are unable to see beyond their own noses.
Mr. Arnold detests Puritan Philistinism, and perhaps in this matter he sad-
dles it with a load greater than it deserves. The Puritan mode of thought,
its dogmatic, self-sufficient contempt of all but itself, is still exceedingly
powerful in England, even perhaps among many who are unconscious of
it. Evidences of it appear occasionally in the way in which the Irish ques-
tion is discussed by some of the Catholic journals even of England. But
to make this particular characteristic of English thought almost solely re-
sponsible for the reluctance to do justice to Ireland is to relieve the ag-
gressive, Tory aristocracy of blame which righteously belongs to it. Nev-
ertheless Mr. Arnold is always entertaining and always suggestive. His
essay, " An Unregarded Irish Grievance," deals Avith the university and
common-school question in Ireland, and is well worth)- of careful reading.

574 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [July,

AN ESSAY ON " OUR INDIAN QUESTION." By Captain E. Butler, 5th Infan-
try, U.S.A. New York : A. G. Sherwood & Co., Printers, 76 E. Ninth
Street. 1882.

This is the Prize Essay for 1880, selected by the Board of Award of the
Military Service Institution of the United States, composed of the Hon.
Geo. W. McCrary, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United
States and late Secretary of War, Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, and Gen. Al-
fred H. Terry, United States Army.

S. ALPHONSI M. DE LIGUORI, EPISCOPI, CONFESSORIS, ET ECCLESI^E
DOCTORIS, Liber de Casremoniis Missae, ex Italico idiomate Latine
redditus ; opportunis notis ac novissimis S. R. C. decretis illustratus,
necnon appendicibus auctus, opera Georgii Schober, C.SS.R. Sa-
cerdotis. Ratisbonae, Neo-Eboraci et Cincinnatii : Sumptibus, Char-
tis et Typis Friderici Pustet. 1882.

It is sufficient to give the title of this work to show its eminent value.
The notes are abundant and important, and the appendices are an excellent
addition to the original work, treating mainly on matters of general and
practical interest — viz., "de missse parochialis obligatione ; de missis vo-
tivis ; de missis defunctorum ; de obligatione celebrandi missas votivas et
de requie ; de missa in ecclesia aliena ; de officio duorum capellanorum in
missa privata ab episcopo celebrata." The book is beautifully got up and
is printed in the best and clearest type.

RITUALE ROMANUM. Ratisbonae, Neo-Eboraci et Cincinnatii : Frid. Pus-
tet. 1882.

A new and very handsome edition of the Ritual, in very large and clear
type, on excellent paper, and containing a most complete collection of
benedictions, both reserved and not reserved. The special excellence of
this edition is its very convenient shape, the page being large, so that the
book is not thick and unwieldy. It is surprising that so much can be put
into so small a space, in such a size of type. It is the best one for use in
the church which we remember ever having seen.

LIFE OF THE GOOD THIEF. From the French of Mgr. Gaume, Prothono-
tary Apostolic. Done into English by M. De Lisle. London : Burns &
Gates. 1882.

To one who has a relative or dear friend hopelessly sunk in sin this lit-
tle book will be a great comfort. And if any poor sinner could be induced
to read it himself he would be led by the nobler ways of affection and
gratitude to repentance. It is indeed a delightful book for anyone to read,
for it contains the beautiful traditions of the early church concerning that
desperate outlaw who amid the tremendous events of Calvary confessed
Christ and found a happy death. The translation is particularly good.

IDOLS ; or, The Secret of the Rue Chaussee d'Antin. Translated from the
French of Raoul de Navery, by Anna T. Sadlier, author of Names that
Live in Catholic Hearts. New York : Benziger Brothers. 1882.

Anna Sadlier is a name that lives in many Catholic hearts, honored and

1 8 82 .] NE w PUB LIC A TIONS. 575

cherished for the contributions to Catholic literature of the lady from
whom Miss Sadlier has received- it by inheritance. She is proving herself
worthy to bear the name. In the novel before us she has merely perform-
ed the task of a translator, and this she has done well. The significance of
the title " Idols " consists in this : that the storytells of the shattering of the
three idols — love of money, love of pleasure, love of fame — by relating what
befell M. Nicois, a banker; Xavier Pomereul, a fast young man of Paris;
and Benedict Fougerais, an artist. The power of religion, in contrast with
the idols, is chiefly illustrated in the Abbe Pomereul, Xavier's brother, and
principally in his fidelity to the secret of the confessional under trying cir-
cumstances. The plot of the story leads the author to describe some
scenes of the siege of Paris and the civil war of the Commune. It is very
tragical in its character, but at the end the reader is consoled to find the
Abbe Pomereul, the great hero of the story, emerging triumphantly from
his trials, and both Xavier and Benedict, transformed in character and
aims, happily married on the same day to two lovely brides. M. Nicois
falls a victim, however, to avenging justice, and the Pomereuls, as an offset
to their prosperity and happiness, have to mourn the death of their father,
whose murder by the son of Nicois and a man named Jean Machu, which
the latter confesses to the abbe on the same night, is laid to the charge of
Xavier, makes the pivot on which the plot of the story turns. Those who
wish to know how the truth was brought to light, and the other particulars,
must read the book. Such as are fond of an exciting story will find their
taste gratified.

CATHOLIC CONTROVERSY. A Reply to Dr. Littledale's Plain Reasons.
By H. I. D. Ryder, of the Oratory. First American edition, with Ap-
pendix. New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 1882.

Though this is called \hefirst American edition, it is at the same time
a reprint of the third and twice-revised English edition of Father Ryder's
answer to Dr. Littledale's exceedingly bitter book against the Catholic
Church, its teaching and its practices. It is encouraging to note that it is
also the third issue which the Catholic Publication Society Co. has had to
make of Father Ryder's answer, which is an excellent compendium of the
controversy between Catholicity and Anglicanism in one of its latest
phases.

CLONTARF: An Historical Play in three acts. THE OFFICE-SEEKERS: A
Farce in one act. By Arthur J. O'Hara, A.M., ex-president of the Lit-
erary Society of St. Francis Xavier's Church, N. Y. New York :
Stephen Mearns. 1882.

MERCY'S CONQUEST: A Play in one act. By Annie Allen, author of Altar
Flowers. Dedicated, by kind permission, to the Sisters of Mercy at
Brighton. London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

The two little plays first mentioned above will be welcome to all en-
gaged in preparing dramatic amusements for boys' schools, for they show
some literary merit and a certain skill in arrangement. Still, history is
history, and it is questionable if one is justified in assuming, even in a play,
as Mr. O'Hara does, that the Danes who were beaten by the Gaels at the

576 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [J»ly> 1882.

battle of Clontarf were purely and simply a "pagan foe." A century and
a half later, when the Anglo-Normans arrived at Dublin, they found the
Danes a Christian people living in Christian unity under their archbishop.
Mercy's Conquest is a well-worked-out little allegory for a young girls'
school entertainment, the theme being a contest between Justice and
Mercy for the possession of a criminal — Mercy coining off the victor.

THE IRISH CATHOLIC COLONIZATION ASSOCIATION OF THE UNITED STATES.
From the secretary's third annual report. From the Chicago Daily
News, May 4, 1882.

This Report gives a brief account of the condition of three colonies
which the Association has fostered — one at Adrian, Minnesota, established
in 1877 by Bishop Ireland, and now numbering two hundred and fifty fami-
lies ; one in Greeley County, Nebraska, numbering one hundred and sev-
enty-five families ; and one situated in Yell and Perry counties, Arkansas,
known as St. Patrick's Colony, containing families principally from Ken-
tucky, Missouri, and Pennsylvania.

LAST DAYS OF KNICKERBOCKER LIFE IN NEW YORK. By Abram C. Day-
ton. New York: George W. Harlan. 1882.

From an introductory note it appears that this book is printed from a
manuscript dated in 1871 and found among the author's effects at his
death some time afterward. Very old New-Yorkers will read it with a
good deal of interest, and the younger generation will be able to see what
a change has come over Gotham within fifty years. Considerable space is
given to theatrical recollections.

FLITTERS, TATTERS, AND THE COUNSELLOR, AND OTHER SKETCHES. By the author of
(ytlogan, Jlf.P., etc. London: Macmillan & Co. 1882.

CHRIST'S EARTHLY SOJOURN AS CHRONOLOGY'S NORMAL UNIT, ALIKE IN ALL CREATION AND
IN ALL PROVIDENCE : being; a Virgin Mine of Religious and Political Evidences. By an
honorary Fellow of St. John's College, Manitoba. London : James Nisbet & Co., 21
Berners Street. 1882.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXXV. AUGUST, 1882. No. 209.

ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS.

FEW things in the works of St. Augustine are more valu-
able than the transparent way in which he portrays himself.
Through the whole range of history there is hardly one man
whose inner life can be more intimately known, and there are
very few indeed who are more worth knowing. All the history
of his conversion is especially familiar to us : the despair of his
powerful intellect in its search after truth ; his giving rein to
his strong passions; his wanderings in doubt and unbelief; the
violent contest between reason and passion ; the glorious victory
of truth, which the church has ever celebrated with joy. But
behind and through it all a sweet face looks upon us which we
(,\in never separate from this wonderful story — the face of St.
Monica, the model of Christian mothers, who followed her way-
ward son through all his wanderings with sighs and prayers and
tears, who " mourned more for his errors than mothers generally
mourn for the death of their sons," and who, " after having
brought him forth in the flesh to the light of this world, brought
him forth again in her heart to the light of the world to come."
We know her well, for her son has given us her portrait, faith-
fully drawn with loving and delicate hand. We know that in her
youth she was beautiful, and was reverently loved and admired
by her husband. Her mother-in-law, who had been estranged
from her by the calumnies of servants, she overcame by kind
offices, forbearance, and meekness. She had the priceless gift of

578 ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. [Aug.,

knowing- when to hold her tongue and when to speak, and thus,
though her husband was a hot-tempered, impulsive man, she
lived through her long wedded life without a single quarrel ; for
when he was angry she would resist him neither in word nor in
deed at the time, but afterwards, going and talking matters over
with him when he was quiet, always succeeded in bringing him to
reason. Again, when she was once following St. Augustine from
Africa to Italy, a violent storm arose, and all, even the hardy
seamen, lost heart, while St. Monica alone preserved her peace
of mind and went about encouraging the sailors to do their best,
assuring them that they should reach land safely, for she had
seen a vision from God. Later on, at the time when St. Am-
brose was being persecuted by the Arian Empress Justina, and
special prayer was being made in the church of Milan, and the
faithful were watching in the cathedral, ready to die with their
bishop, St. Monica was there and held the first place in watching
and anxiety. " She lived on prayers," is her son's energetic ex-
pression. " Whoever knew her, therefore, praised and honored
and loved God in her ; for her holy conversation was an evident
proof that God was ever present in her heart."

So accustomed are we to these memories of her that perhaps
there are not many of us to whom the idea of " St. Monica
among the philosophers " would not be new, if not strange. Yet
the early writings of St. Augustine show that his mother had an
exceedingly beautiful mind. Her maternal heart was her great-
est talent and was the most splendidly used, but it is well not to
forget that she was worthy to be the mother of Augustine the
theologian as well as of Augustine the saint.

St. Augustine finally gave his heart to the church in the sum-
mer of 386. He was at the time a professor of rhetoric in Milan,
but in order to prepare himself more fittingly for the Sacrament
of Baptism he gave up his school and retired into the country,
to a villa which had been kindly placed at his disposal by his friend
Verecundus. He was not alone. St. Monica was there, " full of
strong faith, of motherly love, of Christian piety," says her son ;
her heart overflowing with gratitude for the great good that
God was providing for her old age, and calmly awaiting the
supreme moment, the end of thirty years of prayers and tears.
Alypius, too, was there, Augustine's friend from earliest youth,
" the brother of his heart," who, after being his disciple in philoso-
phy, joined him in the Manichasan heresy, joined him again in his
'conversion to the Catholic Church, and was now, catechumenus
cum catechumeno, preparing with intense fervor for baptism. There

i882.] ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. 579

were also Navigius, Augustine's brother ; Lastidianus and Rusti-
cus, kis cousins, who had not gone through any course of study,
but were remarkable for their strong common sense ; also Tryge-
tius and Licentius, fellow-citizens and pupils of Augustine ; and,
last and least of all, little Adeodatus — " the son of my illicit love ;
but thou formedst him well, O Lord my God, Creator of all
things and all-powerful to draw good out of the evil we com-
mit." St. Augustine loved the dear little fellow very much and
was never tired of praising his talents, " which, unless love de-
ceives me, promise great things " ; and especially glad was he to
take the lad to the baptismal font with him, father and son being
born again together of water and the Holy Ghost. It was just
like St. Augustine to give him such a name — Adeodatus, God's
gift — but he had er*e long to learn to say, " The Lord gave, and
the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name of the Lord," for
Adeodatus died prematurely at the very beginning of the fair
promise of his youth.

Such was the little company of whose mlleggiatura, half re-
treat, half vacation, I am to give a slight account — mostly, indeed,,
in St. Augustine's own words, which I hope will not lose all
their beauty even in my feeble translation.

It is not necessary to say that their devotions were constant
and fervent — how fervent St. Augustine himself tells us in a lit-
tle incident which may make us smile. He was suffering intense-
ly from toothache, and at last the pain grew so bad that he could
not speak. So, writing upon a wax tablet, he begged them alii
to pray for relief for him, and no sooner had they knelt down;
than the pain entirely vanished. But it is of their intellectual
occupations that we have the fullest record ; and it is of these
that I wish to write, with special reference to St. Monica's share
in them.

The book which gives us the most vivid idea of their mode of
life is that entitled De Ordine — a book, or rather a long letter,
written to an absent friend, Zenobius, who had had some discus-
sions with Augustine on this subject of order, and was now ask-
ing for more instruction. What this Ordo is it is hard to ex-
press in English ; it embraces all ideas akin to order, law, har-
mony, etc., and is equally concerned with the physical laws of mat-
ter and with God as the Cause Exemplar of the universe. This
is the homely and charming way the subject is introduced :

" 1 was lying awake one night, according to my wont, silently following
out the various trains of thought that came into my mind. My love of

580 ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. [Aug.,

seeking after truth had made this quite a habit with me, so that regularly
every night I spent either the first or the last watches, at any rate always
nearly half the night, in thoughts of this kind ; nor would I permit my
young pupils to draw me away from myself by sitting up at night to study,
for they worked quite enough in the daytime, and if they added the night
to it, it would have been excessive. Besides, it was part of my system that
they should spend some time in thought away from their books and should
accustom themselves to reflection and introspection. So, as I was saying,
I was lying awake, when the sound of a little stream of water that flows
past our house from the Baths suddenly arrested my attention. It seemed
strange to me that the sound came intermittently, now louder, now softer,
as the stream ran over the stones, and I began to ask myself what could be
the cause of this phenomenon. I confess I was unable to find one. Just at
this moment Licentius, moving in bed, startled some marauding mice who
scampered off, and thus betrayed the fact that he, too, was awake. ' Licen-
tius,' I said, ' (for I see that your Muses have lit their* lamps for you to study
by*), have you noticed how irregular is the murmur of that little stream ?'
' Oh ! yes,' he replied, ' that is nothing new to me ; at times when I wake in the
night, and am particularly anxious for fine weather next day, I listen for any
chance indications of rain, and the stream often goes on just like that.'
Here Trygetius broke in and said he also had noticed it. So it turned out
that he, too, had been lying awake without our knowing it, for it was dark.
(In Italy, you know, even those who are well off have to dispense with
lights at night.) Finding that our whole school (all of it, that is, that was
at home, for Alypius and Navigius were away in town) was wide awake, and
• hearing the little stream crying out to have something said about it, I be-
;gan: ' Well, now, what do you think is the cause of this alternation of
sound ?' "

This commenced a discussion which led directly into the sub-
ject of the book — viz., the order which pervades the whole uni-
verse. Meanwhile morning came, and the two youths rose and
dressed first.

" Then I, too, rose, and after our daily prayers we set out for the Baths,
r.the best and most familiar place for discussion when the weather was not
fine enough for the fields. On our way, just before our door, we found two
cocks engaged in an exceedingly brisk encounter. It struck our fancy to
stay and watch it. For where will not the eyes of the lover of truth and
beauty find images of the objects of his search ? As, for instance, even in
these very fighting cocks — heads eagerly stretched forward, feathers erect,
attacks full of energy, defence full of caution, and in every movement of
these irrational animals nothing that was not becoming, as being the
effects of a superior Intelligence ruling all things from above. Then the
expression of the very idea of a conqueror — the proud song of triumph, all
the limbs smoothed and shaped and directed to the one feeling of the
pomp and consciousness of superiority. On the other hand, the sign of the
conquered — the feathers all ruffled, all elegance vanished from voice and

* Licentkis was then engaged in the study of poetry.

1 882.] 57*. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. 581

motion, and therefore in some sense all harmonious with the laws of nature,
and even beautiful.

" Many were the questions we put. Why were all such birds like this ?
Why this intense desire of superiority ? Why, again, did the mere looking
at the fight give us a distinct pleasure apart from all higher considera-
tions ? What was there in us which kept seeking after things so far re-
moved from sense ? What, on the other hand, was there in us which was
so easily taken captive by the senses themselves ? Then we said among
ourselves : Where is there not law and order ? Where is not success the
meed of the fittest ? Where do we not find the shadow of permanence ?
Where is there not to be seen the likeness of true eternal beauty? Where
is there not government and moderation? This last question reminded
us that there must also be moderation in standing and looking at things ;
so we continued our walk to the Baths."

Here they resumed the discussion on order, Licentius and
Trygetius maintaining the proposition that order pervades all
things, St. Augustine pretending to upset it ; and it was during
this conversation that St. Monica was definitely entered as one
of the philosophers. The scene loses all its sparkle in the trans-
lation, but I give it as nearly as I can :

" Meanwhile my mother entered and asked how we were getting on,
for she knew of the subject of our debate. And when, according to our
custom, I bade them write down her entrance and her question, she said :
' What are you doing? Have I ever heard of women being introduced into
this sort of discussion in those books which you read?' 'I don't care
much,' I replied, ' about the judgment of proud and incapable persons, who
are guided in their reading of books by the same test as in their saluting of
passers-by — that is, by external appearance and wealth and fashion. . . .
But if my books fall into any one's hands, and on reading my name on the
title-page he does not say, Who is this ? and throw the volume away, but,
whether from curiosity or from eagerness for truth, he disregards the low-
liness of the doorway it enters, then he will not take it amiss that I have
associated you, my mother, with myself in philosophical pursuits. . . . Nor,
indeed, will there be wanting those to whom the mere fact of finding you
amongst us will be a pleasure. . . . For among the ancients there used to
be women philosophers ; and after all, my dear mother, you know I like
your philosophy very much indeed. The Greek word philosophy, as per-
haps you may not know, means nothing else than love of wisdom ; and the
Divine Scriptures, which you love so much, do not, when they warn us
against philosophy, mean philosophy in its true sense, but the philosophy
of this world. There is another world, far removed from these our bodily
eyes ; and few and perfect are those whose intellect gazes upon it. ... I
should, therefore, pass you over in these my writings, if you did not love
wisdom; but I should not pass you over if you loved it, were it only
moderately ; much less if you loved it as much as I do. But now that I.
know you love it far more even than you love me (and I know how much
you love me), and now that you have so far progressed in wisdom that no .

582 ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. [Aug.,

ill-fortune, and not death itself (so formidable even to the wisest), can move
you with fear — a degree which all confess to be the very height of philoso-
phy— think you that I shall pass you by? Nay, I will even sit at your feet
as your disciple.' "

Here St. Monica smilingly and modestly assured St. Augus-
tine that he had never told so many lies in all his life before.
Nevertheless, in spite of all protests, she was duly enrolled as one
of the interlocutors in this philosophical conversation, which owes
no little of its beauty to her presence. The arguments, how-
ever, are too long to be reproduced and too abstruse to be con-
densed ; and, besides, St. Monica was not so much at home in
metaphysical truth as in moral. Let us turn, therefore, to the
De Beata Vita, a dialogue in which she took a far larger and more
important part. It is a dialogue worthy to be ranked among
those of Plato — a very idyl of philosophy. I can but once more
express the hope that the charm will not have entirely vanished
under my treatment. The questi'on was, What is true happiness
of life ? and it was introduced by the following preface :

-"The 1 3th of November was my birthday. After a dinner, moderate
enough not to check the play of the understanding, I invited all who were
living with me [Alypius alone being absent] to adjourn to the Baths, the
fittest and quietest place at that time of day for conversation. . . . When
all were ready I thus began : ' I suppose it is evident to you that we are
composed of body and soul ? ' All agreed except Navigius, who said he
did not know. Whereupon I said : ' Do you mean that there is nothing at
all that you do know, or that of the few things you do not know this is
one?' 'I should hardly think that my ignorance was quite universal,' he
replied. 'Well, then,' said I, 'suppose you tell us something that you
really do know.' ' Certainly,' said he. And yet on trying he was unable
to do so."

By a few well-put questions St. Augustine shows him that
after all he is philosophically certain of the fact that we are com-
posed of soul and body.

" ' This being so,' I pursued, ' I want to know why we take food.' ' For
the body's sake,' at once answered Licehtius ; but the others hesitated,
urging that food was meant to preserve life, and life was the special attri-
bute of the soul. . . . After a while, however, all granted that material food
was taken for the sake of the body.

" ' How, then ? ' said I ; ' shall the soul have no nourishment for itself ?
What think you ? Is knowledge its food?' ' Certainly,' said my mother ;
' I do not think that there is any other fit food for the soul than the know-
ledge and understanding of things.' Here Trygetius demurred, but my
mother pressed him hard: 'You yourself,' she said, ' are a practical proof
of what the soul feeds on. For to-day at dinner you said you had not no-

1 882.] ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. 583

ticed what dish you had been eating of, because you had been cogitating
something I know not what, and yet your hands and teeth were going
busily enough all the time. Where then was your soul while your body
was feasting ? Was it not amongst your theories and speculations, trying
if by any chance it could find some nourishment there?' . . .

" When we were all agreed so far, I said that as to-day was my birthday,
and I had already provided a little feast for the body, it was fitting I should
also provide them a feast for the soul ; and that if they were hungry, as
they certainly ought to be if their souls were in a good, healthy state, I
should at once proceed to lay it before them. All at once exclaimed with
voice and looks that they were hungry enough for anything I might have
prepared.

" Whereupon beginning again, I said : ' I think I may take it for granted
that we all wish to be happy? ' All assented eagerly. 'Well, then, does it
seem to you that a man can be happy as long as he has not what he
wants ? ' Every one said no. ' Then every one who has what he wants is
happy ? ' My mother replied : ' If he wants that which is good, and has it,
he is happy; but if he wants that which is bad he is unhappy, though he
have it.' ' Well said indeed, mother,' I rejoined ; ' you have gained the very-
heights of philosophy at a single bound.' . . .

After a short conversation on St. Monica's answer —

" Nothing, therefore, remains,' said Licentius, ' but for you to tell us what
a man ought to want, what desires he ought to have, in order to be happy.'
' Wait a little,' I replied ; ' if you will be so kind as to invite me on )'our
birthday I shall be most glad to feast on anything you lay before me. But
to-day it is I who have invited you, and I must beg you not to call for
dishes that may possibly not have been prepared.'

It was then agreed that they had at least arrived at this re-
sult : that no man is happy who has not what he wants, and yet
that not every one who has what he wants is happy. They
agreed further that there was no medium between happy and un-
happy, and that, therefore, all men necessarily fell into one of
these two classes. Then, in order after all to satisfy Licentius'
appetite, St. Augustine instituted the question as to what a man
ought to have in order to be happy. They agreed it could be
nothing mortal, nothing that passes away, nothing subject to loss
or vicissitude, or even to the fear of change ; for whatever beati-
fying qualities the goods of this world might possess, the fact
that it was possible to lose them was enough to prevent perfect
happiness. Here, however, St. Monica put in a qualification :
" Even though a man had all the goods of this world, and were
quite sure that he should never lose them, still they would not
be enough to satisfy him ; and, therefore, he must ever remain
unhappy, for he will ever remain needy in spite of his wealth."
(This answer reminds one of the saying of St. Teresa, who could

584 ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. [Aug.

not bear to hear preachers urge the nothingness of this world
because it passes away ; its nothingness would be far more appal-
ling, she thought, if it were to last for ever.) But St. Augustine
pressed the question a little further and said : " What if a man,
possessing all wealth in abundance and superfluity, controls his
desires and lives contentedly, pleasantly, and becomingly, does
he not seem to you to be happy ? " " Happy, perhaps," she re-
plied ; " not, indeed, because of his wealth, but because of the
moderation of soul with which he enjoys it." This drew from St.
Augustine the joyful exclamation that no better answer was pos-
sible, and that nothing should henceforth be considered settled
unless St. Monica had first given her opinion. They then passed
on to the next step, which was that, God being the only being
above vicissitude and change, it followed that he alone who pos-
sesses God can be happy. And this definition was received by
all with gladness and devotion.

" ' Nothing, therefore, remains, except to find out what it is to possess
God. And on this point I am going to ask the opinion of each of you.'
Licentius answered : ' He has God who leads a good life.' Trygetius: ' He
has God who does what God would have him do.' Lastidianus agreed with
the last speaker. Little Adeodatus, however (puer autem tile minimus om-
niutri), thought that ' he has God who has not an unclean spirit.' My
mother approved of all, but especially of this last. Navigius said nothing ;
but on being urged he also decided in favor of the last. Nor would I
allow Rusticus to be passed over, for I saw it was not want of thought but
shyness that kept him quiet ; he finally agreed with Trygetius.

" ' Now,' said I, 'I have the opinions of all of you on a matter surely most
important, beyond which nothing ought to be sought and nothing can be
found. But since the soul as well as the body can indulge in excess of
feasting, and such excess results in indigestion and other evils, as much for
one as for the other, perhaps we had better adjourn till to-morrow, when,
if you have appetite for more, we shall renew our feast.' "

The next day, meeting again at the Baths, they discussed the
three answers given to the question, " Who possesses God ? "
finally agreeing that all three amounted to the same thing. Here
St. Augustine introduced a little liveliness into the discussion by
the following argument :

" ' Is it God's will that man should seek God ? ' All assented. ' Can he
who is seeking God be said to be leading a bad life ? ' ' Certainly not.'
' Can he who has an unclean spirit seek God ? ' ' No.' ' He, therefore, who
is seeking God is one who does God's will, leads a good life, and has not
an unclean spirit. But he who is seeking God does not yet possess God.
Therefore we cannot forthwith say that a man possesses God, though he
live well, though he do God's will, though he have not an unclean spirit.
Here they all laughed at being caught in the trap of their own concessions.

1 882.] ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. 585

But my mother, saying that she had always been stupid at these things,
begged to have the argument repeated, that she might see if it were not a
mere quibble. Which done, she said : ' But no one can possess God with-
out seeking God.' 'Most true,' I replied, 'but the point is that while he is
seeking he does not /<?/ possess God ; and still he is leading a good life.' ' It
seems to me,' said she, ' that there is no one who does not have God ; only
those who live well have him propitious to them, and those who live ill
have him unpropitious.' ' Well, then, you made a mistake yesterday in
granting that every man is happy who has God ; otherwise, if every man
has God, then every man must be happy.' 'Then,' said she, ' let us add as
an amendment the word propitious.' "

They were now going to make a new start with the conclu-
sion that every man is happy who has God propitious to him.
But Navigius, who was the hardest of all the party to get a con-
cession out of, saw that there was here another opening for logi-
cal flaws. For if the man is happy to whom God is propitious,
and God is propitious to those who seek him, and those who
seek him do not yet possess him, and those who do not possess
him do not have what they want, it follows that a man can be
happy without having what he wants, which conclusion had also
been rejected the day before as absurd. St. Monica tried to
evade this difficulty by a middle course. Being driven from this,
and knowing that in reality she was right and only seemed to be
wrong because of some technical flaw in the argument, she tried
for a moment (like a true woman) to cut the knot, but finally
said : " Of course, if logic is against me, I yield." " Therefore,"
said St. Augustine, " what we have come to is this : that he who
has already found God both has God propitious to him and is
happy ; he who is still only seeking God has God propitious to
him, but is not yet happy ; he, however, who cuts himself off
from God by sin neither is happy nor has God propitious to
him." This satisfied everybody.

Still the question was not yet exhausted. The conclusion ar-
rived at was not sufficiently clear without taking in the other
side ; the shades had to be considered as well as the lights ; they
had now, therefore, to look at the question from the negative point
of view. What was unhappiness ? Earlier in the discussion St.
Monica had assumed that unhappiness and neediness were con-
vertible terms. Was it so? He who has not what he wants
(*>., he who is needy) is unhappy ; is it also true that all who are
unhappy are needy ? If so they had an infallible criterion
wherewith to test happiness, as soon as they should know what
neediness was.

When the next day came the weather was so inviting that

586 ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. [Aug.,

instead of going to the Baths they continued the discussion in
the open air, reclining in a meadow. After a long argument
St. Augustine supposed the case of a man who should possess
all he wanted in this life — riches, pleasures, health of mind and
body, perfect contentment, etc.; could we call such a man needy?
Licentius replied that there must still remain the fear of los-
ing all this good fortune. " Certainly," rejoined St. Augustine ;
" and the better the man's intellect the more clearly would he
see the possibility of such loss. But this hardly affects the case ;
for neediness consists in not having, not in not fearing to lose
what we have. The fear makes him unhappy, but does not
make him needy ; therefore we have here an instance of a man
who is unhappy and yet not needy." To this reasoning all as-
sented except St. Monica, who said : " I am not sure about that,
though ; 1 do not yet quite understand how neediness can be
separated from unhappiness, or unhappiness from neediness.
For even granting the existence of this supposed man of yours,
rich and fortunate as he was, and contented (so you say) with
what he had, yet the very fact that he feared to lose his good
fortune showed that he wanted wisdom. Shall we, then, give the
name of needy to the man who lacks gold and silver, and refuse
it to the man who lacks wisdom ? "

" Here," says St. Augustine, " all cried out in admiration, and I, too, was
glad and rejoiced above measure to find that she above all had anticipated
me in this grand truth which I had drawn from the writings of philoso-
phers, and which I had meant to produce as the crowning delicacy of our
banquet. ' Do you not see,' said I, 'that it is one thing to know many and
varied doctrines, another thing to have the soul intently fixed on God ?
Where else did my mother find this philosophy of hers which we are now
admiring ? ' Whereupon Licentius joyously exclaimed : ' Assuredly no-
thing could have been more truly, more divinely said. For no neediness
can be greater or more wretched than to lack wisdom ; and he who does
not lack wisdom cannot be said to be needy at all, whatever else he may
be without.' "

St. Augustine then went on to develop, in his own beautiful
and inimitable way, this thought that only the unwise are un-
happy and only the wise happy. He denned wisdom as that
moderation and balance of soul which prevents its running out
into excess or being narrowed by defect. Then passing beyond
philosophy, he asked, What is the wisdom which makes men
happy, if not the wisdom of God ; and what is the wisdom of
God, if not the Son of God ? And what is the rule which mode-
rates and balances the soul, if not the rule of all sanctity — the

1 882.] ST. MONICA AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS. 587

Holy Spirit ? And so the three days' discussion was seen to be
harmonious throughout, for they had found that those were
happy who possessed God, and, again, that those were happy who
possessed wisdom, and that those were wise who possessed the
rule of sanctity ; whereas now it was seen that God and wisdom
and sanctity were one.

"'This, therefore, is true fulness of soul, this is indeed happiness of life,
to know devoutly and perfectly by whom we are led to the truth, what
truth that is which we enjoy, and how we may be united to the highest
rule of sanctity. These three things, to those who have understanding,
excluding all vanities of error and superstition, do show forth God, in na-
ture one and in persons three.' Here my mother, greeting these words
so familiar to her memory, and waking up, as it were, to a full expression of
her faith, broke forth joyfully into that verse of our bishop's hymn, Fove
precantes Trinitas ! * and then added : ' Perfect life, beyond all doubt, is
the only happy life ; and to this, by means of firm faith, cheerful hope,
and burning love, we shall assuredly be brought if we do but hasten to-
wards it.' "

Thus ended the discussion. St. Augustine thanked his guests
and told them that in reality it was they who had been feasting
him, and that they had positively loaded him with birthday gifts.
All rose joyfully, and Trygetius said : " Oh ! how I wish you
would provide us a feast like this every day." " Moderation in
all things, as we have just been seeing," replied St. Augus-
tine ; " if this has been a pleasure to you it is to God alone all
our thanks are due."

As we read this delightful dialogue in the original a breath
of fresh air seems to come to us across the centuries ; we are
sitting on the grass at St. Monica's feet in that meadow so bright
with the Italian winter sun, so cheerful with the talking and
laughing of the youthful philosophers, so holy with the love of
warm hearts whose very recreations rise up to God, whom they
know to be the source of all that happiness of life which they
are discussing. It is a scene so sunny that not even the ponder-
ous tome in which we read it, its pages brown with the stains of
ages, can dim or spoil it. And we hardly check a feeling of sor-
row, though it is now no use — sorrow for St. Augustine — when
we remember that he must so soon lose the two of that little
party whom he loves best. Adeodatus, I have said, died very
early. St. Monica died soon after her son's baptism, when they
were on their way back together to Africa. The little room at
Ostia where she gave forth her pure soul to God is still pre-

* From St. Ambrose's hymn, Deus Creator omnium.

588 A FRENCH COUNTRY FAMILY [Aug.,

served, and one feels nearer to her after having knelt in it ; but
her memory has a more precious shrine in the hearts of all Chris-
tian mothers and in the gratitude of all Christian sons. " Son,"
she said to St. Augustine five days before her last illness, as they
were leaning on a balcony overlooking the garden at Ostia and
talking about the joys of heaven — " Son, as for me there is no
further delight left for me in this life. What I am doing down
here, and why I still remain, I know not, after the hopes of this
world have all vanished away. I had only one reason for wish-
ing to stay awhile in this life, and that was that I might see you
a Christian and a Catholic before T died. God has given this to
me more abundantly even than I had prayed for ; what am I
doing down here? " And so, with this Nunc dimittis, she left the
little company of philosophers and saints on earth and entered
into the fulness of the joy of the saints in heaven.

A FRENCH COUNTRY FAMILY IN THE SEVEN-
TEENTH CENTURY.

" SONS of the patriarchs ! " said the Chancellor d'Aguesseau
to the frivolous worldlings who in his day had invaded the
Parliament of Paris, — " Sons of the patriarchs ! what have you
done with your heritage — the patrimony of prudence, modera-
tion, and simplicity which were the hereditary property of the
ancient magistrature ? " Among the many interesting portraits
of these " patriarchs " of old France which have lately been
brought to light by M. Charles de Ribbe in the course of his
researches among the Livres de raison — or MS. family histories
carefully continued for generations from father to son — one of the
most attractive is that of Jacques de Grimoard de Beauvoir, two
centuries ago hereditary lord of Barjac, a barony in Languedoc,
forming part of the viguerie of Uzes.

While their cousins of the elder branch, the Comtes du
Roure, had remained faithful to the old belief, and fought in its
defence in the Vivarais, this, the younger branch of the De
Beauvoir, had, at some date not known, joined the party of
" Reform " ; or rather they belonged to the numerous category
of half-Protestants whom Bossuet and Fenelon so largely suc-
ceeded in winning back to the church. Early habits and associa-
tions, as well as a certain point of honor, much more than any

1 882.] IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 589

doctrinal questions, held thefn in schism. Inheriting from their
ancestors a respect for tradition, and feeling its moral and social
necessity, they strengthened its foundations in their own fami-
lies by paternal authority, while, on the other hand, they follow-
ed the men of the new teaching, though always in the fear of
being drawn too far astray. In fact, the greater number ended
by a complete reconciliation, and among these Jacques de Beau-
voir.

The MS. opens with a verse of the Magnificat • " Misericor-
dia Domini a progenie in progenies timentibus eum." In Chris-
tian families genealogies are full of value and meaning. They
are the expression of a true and noble idea, that it is God who
has made and who protects and preserves the race, the line of
generations, in the family. The document continues :

"Our family, of the name of Beauvoir, whose acts have been recorded
from the time of Guillaume de Beauvoir, lord of Roure, married to Alix de
Lagarde Guerin in 1042, bears also that of Du Roure to distinguish it from
others of the same name in this kingdom. . . . The chief of our house takes
also the name of Grimoard, from Urbaine de Grimoard, dame de Grisac,
wife of Guillaume .V. de Beauvoir, who, by her testament of the 4th of Octo-
ber, 1530, appointed her son and heir, Claude de Beauvoir du Roure, to
take also the name of Grimoard and the arms of the house of Grisac."

Here we observe a notable gap in the genealogy. It has its
reason. Urbaine was great-niece of Guillaume de Grimoard, one
of the holiest and greatest men of the fourteenth century — the
Benedictine monk of St. Victor at Marseilles who in 1362 re-
ceived at Avignon the papal tiara as Urban V. After ruling the
church for eight years with exemplary wisdom, founding and
restoring numerous universities, and laboring to restore peace
among the princes of Christendom, he died at Avignon in the
odor of sanctity.*

Jacques, being a Protestant when he began his MS., is silent
not only with regard to this holy pontiff, one of the chief glories
of his family, but also respecting another venerable and saintlv
personage, Dom Helisaire de Grimoard, contemporary with
Urban, and prior of the Grande Chartreuse. Claude, the son of
Guillaume V. and Urbaine, married Demoiselle des Porcellets de
Maillanne, and had nine sons and three daughters. In these old
races numerous families were the rule in France, not, as they are
now, the exceptions. Antoine, the eldest son, continued the
principal branch, that of the Comtes du Roure, who were among

* See Hist. cFUrbain V. et de son Sttcle. By the Abbe Magnan. Paris ; Bray. 1862.

590 A FRENCH COUNTRY FAMILY [Aug.,

the most powerful nobles of the kingdom. The head of the
younger branch was Louis, the second son, and great-grandfather
of our author, who tells us that " from virtue alone " came all his
possessions, since his grandfather, Jacques I., was also a younger
son. His share of the property was only the estate of Pazanan ;
and it was he who, on marrying Gabrielle de Sautel, first settled
at Barjac. These De Sautels also sprang from a younger son,
who " by industry and labor had acquired nearly all that sei-
gneurie." His son completed what he had begun : " All his life
he took pains to establish a good house on the foundations his
father had laid. To the lands of Barjac he added those of La
Bastide Virac, and took his name from the latter." *

" M. de la Bastide died May 7, 1608, full of days and leaving the odor of
a good life. . . . He was beneficent and took much trouble (s intriguait}
for the peace of many persons and for the good of their affairs. His opin-
ion was held in great deference ; he lent without usury,! having acquired
large property and a singular esteem in this country."

Claude, the father of Jacques de Beauvoir, served in his
youth (from 1621) under the Due de Rohan; but his warlike
ardor subsiding early, he married in 1625, and at the age of
twenty-three, N. de Broche, dame de Mejannes-le-Clap, who was
nearly ten years younger than himself. Of this young lady her
son writes that she was " brought up in the country, but well
brought up, and by an honorable family, which for four hundred
years had lived on the revenue of its own estates and spread
forth into divers branches of equal worthiness." Three sons and
eight daughters were born to the young couple. Jacques, the
sixth child, was their eldest son. Hitherto he has spoken only
of those who went before him ; now he begins to speak of him-
self: "1638 — God, from whom I hold my life and being, move-
ment and reason, . . . gave me to see the light in this world
January 12, 1638, a Tuesday, between seven and eight o'clock in
the morning." The solemn announcement of his baptism follows,
as well as the names, titles, and good qualities of his godparents,
who " imposed" upon him the name of James. Then follows the
mention of his early school-days, and the death of a little brother,

* The chateau he built on this property was burnt down by the Camisards of Jean Cavalier
in 1703.

tin VUsure et la Lot de 1807 (Ch. Perm) we find the reasons explained for which, on
account of the economic conditions of society at that period, lending on interest was condemned
by religion as entailing the oppression and ruin of the larger class of the community. Christian
families, therefore, abstained from this practice. One of the most frequent forms of gratuitous
loans, especially in years unfavorable for agriculture, was a certain quantity of corn, to be
repaid after the next good harvest.

1 882.] IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 591

Hercule, " which threw him into so great grief that his life was
despaired of." When he was ten years old he had a tutor named
Ory.

" My cousin Garnet and I learnt with him the principles of Latin gram-
mar. This young man made us also read good French authors. He
studied to make us pronounce well, and I think I may, without affectation,
boast that I have kept something of a good accent. My life with him was
a happy one. He taught us until Easter, 1649, when my father took my
cousin and me to Nimes. Our tutor went with us, being necessary for our
repetitions and the care of our conduct, and thus himself also, in taking
us to the college, was able to continue his own studies. My father lodged
us with the Widow de Pelet. The Jesuit fathers received us into the fifth
class, of which Pere Bee was regent."

The Catholic College of Nimes, after having fallen into the
hands of the Protestants, was in 1634 partially recovered by the
Catholics. The royal ordinance then commanded them to " elect
subjects of their religion capable of fulfilling the functions of
principal, regent, physician, first, third, and fifth, and porter of
the said college." The " subjects " chosen were Jesuits, " by
reason that a more advantageous choice could not be made than
of the reverend fathers of the Company of Jesus, whose aptitude
in the education of youth is known in all the kingdom." At the
same time the chairs of regent for logic, second, third, and
fourth classes, were allotted to Calvinists. This extraordinary .
state of things corresponded, to a certain extent, with the times.
Many Calvinists were so scarcely otherwise than by the fact of
birth, and their frequent relations with Catholic ecclesiastics
naturally softened the prejudices inculcated by their own lead-
ers. When in 1651 we find Jacques at home again, he observes
on the circumstance : " I employed my time well under a priest,
vicaire of this place, and of the name of Tournaire, who came to
give me lessons." After various changes — for he was of a some-
what restless turn of mind — he returned to Nimes for rhetoric,
went to Valence for law, and here received his doctor's degree.
On this he remarks : " They gave me my letters for the doctorate,
but I had no conceit for putting myself on the list of lawyers, this
profession being scarcely suitable to that of a noble ; however,
the title of doctor is always useful. Cedant arma togce"

We find here among the personal ideas of Jacques the pre-
judice of the times in which he lived — a prejudice which Louis
XIV., by an excessive development of, the military spirit, spread
and deepened throughout France. Still, with the instinct of his
race for fitting himself to exercise with ability and honor differ-

592 A FRENCH COUNTRY FAMILY [Aug.,

ent functions in the state, he allows that " the title of doctor " is
not to be disdained.

Scarcely out of the University of Valence, he was eager to
enroll himself in the royal musketeers. For this he had need of
a friend at court, and found one in his cousin of the elder branch,
Scipion, Comte du Roure, at that time governor of Montpellier,
and who, like his fathers, nobly acted on the great principle of
solidarity which binds in one all the different branches of the
same family.

" My grandfather, when ninety years of age," writes Jacques, " fell dan-
gerously ill. M. le Comte du Roure came to visit him and testified that he
had always held his merit in great consideration ; to which my grandfather
suitably replied. . . . He then recommended to him his family, and, calling
me, he said, ' Here is a child whom I give to you — the child of my heart. I
hope much of him.' M. le Comte did me the honor to press my hand and
assure me before my grandfather that he would have a care of me in all
that he could."

The old man then sent round to his neighbors his wishes for
" a thousand benedictions on them," and his entreaties for their
prayers, thinking his end was near. Nevertheless he recovered
from this sickness and lived another three years.

" It was on the loth of January, 1660, on a Saturday, at midnight, that he
died, aged ninety-three. He loved me greatly. Can I ever forget him ? Tall
in stature and of fine appearance, he had a robust temperament and an
agreeable air. Held in high esteem by the noblesse of these parts, he oc-
cupied himself both in public affairs and in those of private persons with
great enlightenment. He had learning, knew history, was versed in the
reading of the poets, and his memory was so good that they who most
piqued themselves on reciting Latin verse were never able to outdo him
in the game of beginning by the last letter with which they ended. He
knew every part of the Holy Scriptures and had read the Fathers. He be-
came a Catholic in his latter years."

This portrait, which is one among many, very similar, of that
period, needs no comment. The more deeply we dive into the
recesses of old France the more cause we find for indignation at
the misrepresentation of which her sons have been the object.

The nobles who are described to us as priding themselves on
not knowing how to sign their name and in oppressing their pea-
santry were regarded as a public disgrace and scouted by their
order. But for one knave or fool we find abundant contempo-
rary types like that of Claude de Beauvoir.* For instance, in an
ancient family in the Rouergue the Livres de raison, kept from

* See Les Families (by M. Ch. de Ribbe), vol. ii. ch. iii., " Le Menage rural," p. 295, etc.

i882.J IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 593

1346 to the present time, show us in Guillaume de Curieres de
Castelnau a man of the same stamp. He and his wife were the
providence of the country round, and " when they died " (so
their son wrote of them) -"it could not be said whether the
mourning was greater in the bourg or in our house, so exceeding-
ly were they cherished and adored by the peasantry."

To return to Jacques de Beauvoir. The Comte du Roure
kept his promise.

" My father, taking me, . . . went to pay his devoir to him at Montpellier,
and was received with much kindness. M. le Comte would have me with
him, and recommended me to M. de Vitrac, who kept an academy in that
town. My father paid this latter four louts per month to teach me to ride,
with two and a half lout's to the dancing-master, half a louts to the master-
of-arms, and the same to him who taught me mathematics, arithmetic,
geometry, cosmography, geography . . .(!) Nothing was spared to make
me all that it was befitting I should be, for I had an honest man with me to
serve me." After a time (the comte and comtesse being absent) " the de-
sire I had to enter the musketeers made me return home. I prayed my pa-
rents to send me to Paris, that being much more to my profit than to re-
main at Montpellier."

At last the restless Jacques is content. He is enrolled in the
musketeers. The war, however, between France and Spain, in
which he hoped to reap abundant laurels, ended soon afterwards,
in 1659. Disappointed of his hopes of advancement, he returned
to the Comte du Roure, accompanied him when, with the Due
de Mercosur, he went to quell the insurgents at Marseilles, and
was present at the declaration of peace at Aix in 1660, before the
young king, the queen-mother, and Cardinal Mazarin.

Shortly after his return home his maternal grandfather died,
M. de Broche —

" Of whom," he writes, " our family ought lovingly to preserve the
memory. He had much economy in the good cultivation of our domains,
and took great care of all our affairs. He lived in close unity with my fa-
ther, and no less loved my mother, to whom he had given half his posses-
sions and made her heiress of all the rest. Before dying he called all his
family and gave us his benediction. He exhorted me in particular to fulfil
all my duties, ' surtout a ayder man pere et ma mire dans le soin de leurs af-
faires, et a estre pieux' He breathed forth his spirit while reciting the
Apostles' Creed. He had always been very devout, and so continued until
his last sigh."

This death seems, with regard to Jacques, to have put an end
to his propensity for change, and from that time he settled down
to help his father steadily in the management of his estates. His
journal now becomes the land-book of the house, in which all the

VOL. xxxv. — 38

594 A FRENCH COUNTRY FAMILY [Aug.,

principal details of management, acquisition, or exchange are
noted. Claude de Beauvoir, if a large proprietor, had a nume-
rous family to bring up and daughters to endow. "And how,"
exclaims his son, " could I have pressed him for fresh expenses ? "
He regretted to have cost him so much, for " the years were
often bad and the harvests poor ; we were behindhand, and it
would have been of use to sell some land, but a too apparent
diminution of our property might have done prejudice to the
establishment of our family." Upon this Jacques resolves to
marry and pay off divers loans with the dowry of his wife. In
1669, therefore, he married Mile, de Boniol de St. Ambroix, a
Protestant with a Catholic father and a Protestant mother. His
first care was to secure suitable dowries for his sisters. Two
were already married, and two dead, but for the four remaining
at home he, with the concurrence of his father-in-law, provided
"to the satisfaction of his parents and the good of the family."

After fourteen years of the absorbing duties which then de-
volved upon the heir of a large property, who worked inces-
santly, not for his own advantage, but for the profit of all the
family, we approach the great event, recorded with a special
solemnity in the Livre de raison — the return of the De Beauvoirs
to the Catholic faith.

Turenne, while yet seeking the truth, which his thoughtful
and upright mind was not long before it found, wrote to his
wife : " You must feel in your conscience that minds turn rather
to disputation than to true devotion. ... I will own frankly
that many of our ministers seem to me full of prejudices and to
have none of that simplicity which persuades. It is because
they are accustomed to people who content themselves with terms,
and who know not that, to satisfy the mind, it is much better to
own one's self in the wrong than to elude a reason." Bossuet,
in like manner, observed that " these gentlemen of the so-called
1 reformed' religion obscured by misrepresentation and invective
the true teaching of the Catholic Church, and thus, under hide-
ous falsehoods, .concealed the root of the matter."

This " root of the matter " the great bishop resolved to make
known to the many deluded by their preachers, and wrote,
for Turenne and others, his calm and lucid little formulary
called The Exposition of the Teaching of the Catholic Church on the
Matters of Controversy. On the appearance of this treatise in
MS., numerous copies of which were quickly asked for, many
honest Protestants declared that the author " would not dare to
print it, being certain to incur thereby the censure of all his

1 882.] IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 595

communion, and especially the thunders of Rome." Even when
the French bishops and clergy warmly approved and demanded
its publication the Protestant minister, Noguier, observed : " I
make no great case of the written approbation of the bishops.
After all, the oracie of Rome must speak on matters of faith."
The oracle spoke. Pope Innocent XL approved the work and
praised the author, who " by his method had found the means of
winning from the most obstinate a sincere confession of the veri-
ties of the faith." The treatise was printed by thousands. For
a whole year the royal press, directed by Anisson, issued no
other work.

Jacques de Beauvoir, in the retirement of his domains at Bar-
jac, followed with interest the great questions of conscience
which were agitating not only France but the greater part of
Europe. He read the Exposition of Bossuet, and was so deeply
impressed by what he found there that "it was always in his
mind." Its approbation by the pope decided him. He and his
family, parents and children, in 1685 returned to the unity of the
church.

" They spoke to us," he says, " of the Roman Church as a mother
whom our fathers had abandoned. I had often thought upon her unity,
her duration, the succession of her pastors. ... I took counsel, so as not
to act with prejudice. Confessing my own weakness, I threw myself into,
the arms of God's mercy, and, reasoning with a man of age and merit and!
exemplary piety " (his grandfather, who had preceded him in returning to.
the Catholic Church), " this good personage said, with me, ' My God, thoai
art the Way that I would follow, the Truth that I would believe, and the
Life by which I would live.' ... I had in my mind the book of the Bishop
of Condom and Meaux, as approved by the pope and the cardinals, wherein
each of the controverted articles is satisfactorily answered. . . . Assem-
bled, we drew up a paper and signed it. ... I know no safer conduct than
to ask the divine Comforter, the Holy Spirit, to fill our hearts with his
grace and grant us the light of his Jieavenly consolations."

Our MS. has already recorded more than one peaceful and.;
patriarchal death. The next mentioned is that of the writer's
young sisters, Louise and Suzanne, " who gave such great marks
of piety and charity that, by the orders of my father and mother,
I noted down all that they said and did during their sickness, so •
as to leave thereof a mirror for us to keep in our family." Nor
are the servants without mention : " On the I9th of August
died at our house Jean du Bois, aged eighty years, seventy of
which he had been our servant. He had never married. He
was devout and attached with great fidelity to the welfare of
our tamily."

596 A FRENCH COUNTRY FAMILY [Aug.,

Next it is the turn of his parents :

"My mother was in her seventy-eighth year; and as for my father, he
had continued very feeble ever since his great sickness. We heard them,
in converse full of sweetness, speaking together of heaven and assiduously
praying to God. My sisters, De Pons and De Bres, were with us to help us
in attending upon them, as was our duty. My good father and mother
often said to us : ' Be mindful to preserve the happiness of being in the
grace of God. We prize more this treasure in you and your children than
all the advantages of the world.' Years, which weaken love, far from les-
sening theirs, only increased it. ...

"M. Fargier, cure, spoke to my mother very suitably and pronounced
the absolution for her sins, for which she showed great contrition. . . .
Then . . . she gave us all her benediction, and cast on me a look which was
the last token of her tender love, and which sweetly pierced me. Joining
her hands, she expired, with the same gentleness that she had shown
through all her life, on the 2oth of March, 1686, about six in the
evening. . . .

" I would fain leave to our family the mirror of her virtues. I shall
have no difficulty in saying that often, in the best company and among the
wisest persons of these parts and the neighborhood, my dear mother was
declared to be in the first rank among the most virtuous and the most
esteemed. I am bound to mark well that she had ever been gentle in her
speech, tranquil in her manners, vigilant in the care of the numerous family
God had given her and in that of her affairs, having a great strength of
soul in the divers accidents of the family, in our sicknesses, and at the
deaths of my brothers and sisters. After all the succor she had freely
lavished upon us for the soul and for the body, one saw her full of the
grace of heaven and crowned with glory."

We have found it impossible to deprive this beautiful portrait
of a single touch, and must, therefore, glance very briefly at the
companion-picture, representing the equally peaceful departure
two years afterwards of the husband, Claude de Beauvoir, in his
eighty-fifth year :

" He spoke in a most Christian manner to M. le Comte du Roure, who
did us the honor to see him often. . . . After making his confession and
giving us his blessing he said, looking upon me, ' There is a good son! ' At
these words I felt all the movements of the tenderness I owed to the best
of fathers. God gave me grace to pray with him and not interrupt an ex-
ercise so necessary in these so pressing moments. The religious [Capuchin
fathers] then came ; ... he answered the responses, . . . and, falling into
a peaceful repose, he quietly departed at ten that night."

We find the chief of the elder branch always present on these
solemn occasions. The Comte du Roure, with all the nobles of
the neighborhood, attended the funeral and put all his house-
hold into mourning. This count, Louis Pierre Scipion de Gri-
moard, son of the one already mentioned, was among the most

1 882.] IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 597

brilliant of the French noblesse! He married Marie du Guast
d'Artigny, friend and companion of Mile, de la Valliere, and in
less than a year after fell at the battle of Fleurus.

It is only now that the foremost figure in the MS. becomes
that of Jacques de Beauvoir himself. Born on the confines of the
old society with its simplicity and solid virtue, and the new
with its rising spirit of frivolity and luxury, he is faithful to the
family traditions and remains the living image of his ancestors.

The close of the seventeenth century was the date of a crisis
in numberless families in France. That of De Beauvoir was
among them. By his marriage with Mile, de Boniol, Jacques
had twelve children, eight of whom were sons. The story of his
cares and sacrifices, under new difficulties from without, shows us
the lights and shadows, the greatness as well as the dangers and
anxieties, peculiar to the period. The noblesse, though no longer
able, as in former times, to furnish the principal corps of the
army, gave their sons to the service of their king and country.
They were, in fact, demanded of them to such an extent that
families were decimated, and agriculture suffered by a system
which exhausted the nation while it acted prejudicially on its
public and private morality.

In 1688, to the great regret of Jacques de Beauvoir, Louis,
his eldest son, an intelligent lad of fifteen, informed him " that it
would be to his advantage to go to the Academic, for that the
profession of arms was that of a gentleman." More than thirty
years before Jacques had said the same thing, but then it was
when he had finished his course of studies and obtained the
doctorate. " I had," he writes, "an extreme regret (deplaisir] to
see him discontinue his studies ; but, seeing him so bent upon this,
and not wishing to force the inclinations of my son, I ended by
giving my consent." Louis, therefore, accompanied to Paris
the Comte du Roure, who, after much difficulty, from the extra-
ordinary number of applications at that time, obtained his ad-
mission to make his novitiate in arms at Besangon, where was
one of the nineteen schools for cadets newly established by
Louvois, and which had turned the heads of all the young no-
bility of France.* In giving up his eldest boy Jacques hoped
that his second, who was making good progress with the Jesuit
fathers, would grow up to be the " support of the family."

* Formerly the eldest, the guardian of the home, after having- bravely paid with his person
in the service of the king, resumed the charge incumbent upon him for the family interest. Now,
however, it was in early youth that he engaged himself for an indefinite time in a standing army,
thus almost entirely forsaking his family ; and where younger brothers did the same the family
often incurred no small risk of extinction.

598 A FRENCH COUNTRY FAMILY [Aug.,

Scarcely, however, had he attained the third class before he, too,
must follow his brother to Besangon.

" My expenses," wrote their father, " are heavier than ever.
I spare nothing, nor yet from my other children, whom I bring
up as well as I can." Thus when his sons obtained a sub-lieu-
tenancy he had to pay their fees and charges, " to equip them
with their outfit and uniforms at great cost, and provide them
with horses and valets." Luxury had penetrated to the lowest
grades in the army — not through the fault of Louvois, who bare-
ly tolerated the gold and silver stripes on the uniform of the
officers. " It is ridiculous," he wrote, " to think of giving ser-
geants velvet trimmings, gloves, and lace cravats." *

Among the children of Jacques de Beauvoir his third boy,
Frangois, was particularly dear to him from his noble -qualities
and tender heart. Anxiously he hoped to be able to keep this
son with him. But an outward pressure which overruled all
domestic affections and duties carried him also, at the age of
eighteen, into the army. It was not only the rank and file which
was recruited by compulsion: the intendants of provinces did
the same by the sons of noble families. Saint-Simon relates that
Le Guerchois showed him " an order to seek out all the gentle-
men of his neighborhood who had sons of an age to serve, but
who were not in the service ; to urge them to enter, to threaten
them, even ; and to double and triple the capitation tax of those
who did not obey, and to cause them all the vexations and an-
noyance in his power. " \ Frangois, on entering the service, was
.provided with horses, two mules, and all things necessary for
serving in a campaign, his father cutting down some of his woods
to enable him to meet these additional expenses.

In the October of that same year the young soldier was
killed by a cannon-shot before Valence.

"When I received the tidings," writes the father, "my grief was so great
that I could not shed a tear. The blow which had struck my child struck
me also. I had kept the impression of his tender adieu to me when with
his arms around me, on the night of his departure, he repeated that he went
away sorrowful at leaving me indisposed. I write these lines for my sons
and daughters, that the memory of their brother may always be to them a
model of honor, and I entreat them ever to maintain among themselves
that tenderness which is natural in our family."

* In one of the lists of purchases quoted by M. de Ribbe we find, among other things for a
young sub-lieutenant, ten pairs of silk stockings, several dozens of shirts trimmed with fine
lawn, and everything else to correspond.

t Memoires de Saint-Simon, v. viii. p. 109.

1 882.] IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 599

This, however, was not his greatest trial. A passion for
gambling infested the army, as it infested the salons of that day.
Louis de Beauvoir, in spite of parental warnings, having several
times fallen into this snare, contracted heavy debts which he
was unable to discharge, and which his father was obliged to
borrow money in order to pay.

" Those historians," says M. de Ribbe, " who glorify the
Revolution for having freed the family from the insupportable
tyranny of despotic fathers have not, as we have, read the thou-
sands of texts which, on the contrary, prove a kindness which
nothing can tire out." " Correct thy son, and despair not of
him," say the Holy Scriptures. That, in this spirit, Jacques de
Beauvoir persevered in influencing his son less by fear than love
is evident from the touching remonstrance with which we bring
our notice to a conclusion :

"I am willing to hope," writes the father, " that reflection will restore
you to what is becoming in an honest man. What I ask of you by a re-
turn of gentleness is, to examine my conduct in your regard from your in-
fancy. I have been, as I was bound to be, your pedagogue, to instruct you
in your duty. In your youth I placed you suitably for your advancement,
confided you to my friends, and spared nothingwhich might give you satis-
faction. When you were initiated in the service your mother and I stint-
ed you in nothing for your equipment. When you plunged yourself, and
us with you, into embarrassment I suffered all that a good father could suf-
fer. If I have had to bear reproaches and be in confusion on your account,
I have borne them with patience ; and if you have put me to pain and quest,
and God has permitted me to find friends to succor me, I have sought to
reimburse them from the best of my possessions. Finally, if you have
damaged me in my affairs, as when I was forced to sell a portion of my
lands to repair your faults, never forget that you were the cause of this
necessity. No one can lay to my charge that I have been a dissipator [of
the property]. Had you been orderly you would have had the fruits there-
of and we should not now be so tried.

" I write this in order that you may keep in memory the kindness of your
father for you. I will add nothing further on this matter."

The father's hopes were not disappointed. The prodigal
proved the sincerity of his repentance by a lasting change of
life. In 1701 he married Jeanne de Lauzeas. Their daughter,
Marguerite, became the last representative of the family, and in
her Guy Joseph de Merle, Baron de Lagorce and Lord of Si-
zailles, married the sole heiress of the younger branch of the
house of Grimoard de Beauvoir du Roure.*

* The home of Jacques de Beauvoir, and his domains of Barjac and Mejannes, now belong
to Mme. de Merle de Lagorce, Vicomtesse de Pontbriant, heiress of Guy Joseph de Lagorce and
Marguerite de Beauvoir.

6oo THE IRISH IN CHILE. [Aug.,

The MS. ends with the mention of two deaths, those of two
of the younger brothers of Louis, one at the battle of Friedlingen
in 1703. What befell the others we do not know, for the rest of
the family history is wanting. But enough has been preserved
to show, in this " mirror " of filial respect and parental devotion,
ef what nature were the sources whence were drawn those re-
serves of chivalrous courage which enabled France, without
utter exhaustion, to pass through a long forty years of war.

THE IRISH IN CHILE.

N. P. WILLIS informs us in his Pencillings by the Way that in
every European country which he visited he found Irish " ad-
venturers of honor," as he terms them, who held in the military
service of the various continental kingdoms positions of rank,
trust, and dignity. Something like this has been seen in Chile.
There seems to be something in the character of the Chilenos
congenial to the nature of Irishmen. They are certainly the
most energetic and intellectual people in South America. This
has been attributed to the mixture in Chilean veins of Spanish
and Araucanian blood. Of all the Indians of South America the
Araucanians are the most daring, vigorous, and intrepid. No-
thing could subdue their courage or cow their indomitable forti-
tude. In their continual resistance of invasion, in their fierce
determination never to submit or yield, they equalled the most
heroic races in Europe and surpassed all the other natives of the
Western hemisphere. Rarely defeated and never conquered,
they fought battle after battle, age after age, during three hun-
dred years, and we might say of the native Araucanian what
Horace says of his indomitable philosopher :

" Si fractus illabitur orbis
Impavidum ferient ruinae."

At the time of the revolution Chile was the poorest and per-
haps the most backward of the South American colonies, the
least prepared for the terrible and trying ordeal into which she
was fated to plunge. In the chorus of liberty which burst sim-
ultaneously from all the Spanish colonies, however, the intona-
tion of Chile was by no means the least audible. The cause of

1 882.] THE IRISH IN CHILE. 60 1

this unanimity, this vehement passion for liberty, was to be found
in the condition of the mother"-country, which the South Ameri-
cans felt to be an insult and an outrage to the whole Latin race.
They were scandalized at the elevation of Joseph Bonaparte to
the throne of Spain,, the abdication of the legitimate king, the
proclamation of his successor, Ferdinand VII., and the imprison-
ment of the latter at Bayonne. The extraordinary incidents of
which Spain was the theatre furnished an ample apology for
that tempest of agitation which shook the Spanish colonies like
an earthquake. Like one man the Spanish settlements flung off
the Spanish yoke, proclaimed their national rights, and plunged
into a war which, lasting fifteen years, finally ended in their total
and triumphant independence. The first steps on the road to
freedom taken by Chile were by no means fortunate. She de-
pended on the patriotism of volunteers to realize her proclama-
tion of independence. These raw and undisciplined levies were
by no means a match for the warlike and well-trained veterans of
Spain, bronzed by the fire of battle in the sanguinary engage-
ments of the great peninsular war — Vimiera, Badajos, Salamanca,
and Albuera.

But if the rank and file were untrained the generals who
commanded them were experienced and well instructed.
Amongst these a foremost place must be assigned to Bernard
O'Higgins. This officer was the son of a remarkable Irishman
named Ambrose O'Higgins, who by native talent, integrity, and
perseverance rose, in spite of national prejudices and innume-
rable obstacles, from the humble station of a carpenter to the ele-
vated rank of captain-general of Chile and viceroy of Peru, the
latter being the most exalted dignity in' the gift of the Spanish
crown in the colonial empire of Spain. The offspring of an ille-
gitimate union, Don Bernardo, the son, was sent in early boyhood
to Spain, w-here he received an excellent military education.
When his education was finished he returned to Peru, where the
passion for national independence to which he devoted his after-
life was openly manifested and burned in his heart like fire in a
forest. He was one of the first to enlist in the force which Car-
rera organized in 1813, and which acquired so much glory and
suffered so many disasters. O'Higgins was not long in attract-
ing attention by his courage in action and the extent of his mili-
tary acquirements. Early in his career a brilliant achievement
established on a permanent basis his military reputation. The
patriot army was surprised and attacked by the Spaniards in an
unguarded position on the i/th of October, 1813, routed and put

602 THE IRISH IN CHILE. [Aug.,

to flight in an instant. One portion were precipitated into the
river Itata, while another, rallied by O'Higgins, who held the
rank of colonel, and animated by. his example, succeeded in trium-
phantly repelling the Spanish attack.

When the commander-in-chief of the patriots, Carrera, was
deposed in 1813 O'Higgins was elected by the army and the
country to succeed him. The moment he attained the supreme
command the war assumed a more serious aspect and more for-
midable proportions. At the same time the Spanish army was
powerfully reinforced by the viceroy of Peru, who placed at its
head a brave and experienced general named Sainga. O'Hig-
gins advanced upon this army in March, 1814, but the Spanish
general did not wait to be attacked. He quit his position and
advanced by rapid marches on Santiago, the capital of Chile,
which at that time was wholly defenceless. O'Higgins pursued
and was rapidly gaining on his enemy when the latter, availing
himself of diplomacy to avert collision, proposed an armistice,
which O'Higgins assented to. This armistice, however, did not
meet the approval of the viceroy of Peru, and the war, as a con-
sequence, broke out afresh. Carrera, who was ambitious of re-
covering the supreme command which O'Higgins at that mo-
ment enjoyed, availed himself of the viceroy's displeasure and the
popular dissatisfaction with the armistice to intrigue for the
restoration of his original rank. With this view he established a
junto, placed himself at its head, and demanded the restoration
of supreme command. As O'Higgins was reluctant to surren-
der his dignity and Carrera was determined it should be his, an
appeal to arms was the inevitable resource. Accordingly the
rival generals came into collision on the banks of the Maipu on the
26th of August, 1814, when a battle was fought with no decisive
result. The following day the conflict was about to be renewed
when the startling intelligence reached them that a Spanish
army had landed on the coast of Chile. The invaders were com-
manded, they were told, by Brigadier Osorio, and were rapidly
advancing on Santiago. In the presence of a danger so appal-
ling mutual jealousies were forgotten, union was established, and
the combined forces advanced against the enemy. The patriots
occupied the small town of Rancagua, twenty leagues south of
Santiago, where they awaited the Spanish army. O'Higgins
occupied the town. Carrera was posted two leagues in the rear.
The Spaniards cut off the water, burned the suburbs, and attack-
ed the place on four sides at the same moment. These attacks
were constantly renewed during the ist and 2d of October, 1814,

1 882.] THE IRISH IN CHILE. 603

but were constantly repulsed by O'Higgins. Of the two thou-
sand men whom O'Higgins commanded seventeen hundred were
killed. At the head of the survivors, three hundred in number,
O'Higgins cut his way through the Spanish besiegers. Flush-
ed with their success, the Spaniards marched on Santiago and
took possession of the capital, and misnamed their victory "the
pacification of Peru." Though O'Higgins was defeated, his de-
fence had been so heroic that he reaped more glory from disaster
than the enemy from success. He increased his military repu-
tation and renovated the waning hopes of Chile.

Followed by the broken relics of his vanquished army,
O'Higgins climbed the Andes and descended into the Argentine
Republic, where he found in a province named Mendoza a re-
fuge for himself and his weary soldiers. At that time the gov-
ernor of that province was Don Jose de San Martin, a man des-
tined to be famous in Spanish-American history. The conjunc-
tion of these kindred spirits was an auspicious omen to the pa-
triots. It elicited an idea which like an electric flash shed lustre
upon both and dissolved the chains of Spanish America. O'Hig-
gins and San Martin during the summer of 1817 managed to
raise in the Argentine Confederacy an army of three thousand
men. At the head of this army they penetrated the passes of
the Andes — narrow, rough, precipitous, and rocky, clothed in
snow and rigid with eternal winter. Impeded at once by the
horrors of the way and the hostility of the Spaniards lurking in
the half-explored defiles, man and nature seemed to combine
to shower destruction on the adventurous patriots. Gigantic
mountains, towering above them to inconceivable heights, blend-
ed their eternal snows with the wintry skies. Frightful chasms,
yawning beneath them into dark and impenetrable depths,
seemed to open an entrance of the infernal abyss. Torrents,
rocks, forests, and avalanches threatened them on every side.
Above all, the subterraneous thunders, of those cavernous
mountains, reverberating at every footfall, seemed to rebuke
with indignation the temerity which dared to invade solitudes
so appalling.

Finally the patriot forces, issuing from the gorges of the
Andes, encountered the Spanish army in a fierce and sanguinary
engagement on the I2th of February, 1817. Of this battle Miers
gives us the following account:

" It seemed as if the Spaniards conceived that San Martin's division
consisted entirely of cavalry, never believing it possible for a body of in-
fantry to march in the space of eight days over rugged mountain-passes of

604 THE IRISH IN CHILE. [Aug.,

three hundred miles in length, which in some places attain an elevation of
twelve thousand feet. With this impression they received the advanced
party in a square. The fogginess of the morning and the dust of the van-
guard favored the deception, and it was only when the infantry advanced
within a quarter of a mile from the enemy that O'Higgins ordered the
bands of music to strike up and led his comrades to the charge. The
Spaniards now discovered their error, and the troops were ordered to de-
ploy into line. But before this could be effected the cavalry rushed in be-
tween them, disordered their ranks, and foiled their manoeuvres. Terror
and dismay seized them to such an extreme that these veteran troops fled,,
scarcely firing a gun. Their rear was harassed by cavalry and Guaso vol-
unteers. A detachment of cavalry sent by the pass of Tavon descended
into the plain just as the royalists began to give way, joined in the pursuit,
and destroyed great numbers, etc." *

The advantages conferred on the revolutionary cause by the
victory of Chacabuco amply repaired the injuries inflicted by
the disaster at Rancagua four years previously. General
O'Higgins, who commanded a division of the army, was the
hero of that glorious day. Abandoning the capital in haste, the
Spaniards, alarmed at the victory of the patriots, retreated to
the south in confusion and disorder. Four days subsequently
the patriots entered the capital, where they organized a national
government and placed O'Higgins at its head with the title of
supreme dictator of Chile. The political career of General
O'Higgins thus commenced on the i6th of February, 1817. Of
that career Lord Cochrane remarks (vol. i. p. 69) :

" Like many other good commanders, O'Higgins did not display that
tact in the cabinet which so signally served the country in the field, in
which (though General San Martin, by his unquestionable powers of turn-
ing the achievements of others to his own account, contrived to gain the
credit) the praise was really due to General O'Higgins."

"This excellent man," he adds, "was the son of an Irish gentleman of
distinction in the Spanish service, who had occupied the important position
of viceroy of Peru. The son had, however, joined the patriots, and, whilst
second in command, had not long before inflicted a signal defeat upon the
Spaniards, in reward for which service the nation had elevated him to the
supreme dictatorship."

Though a government was established in Chile, the war was
not concluded in South America. The patriots were triumph-
ant in the north, but the south was still occupied by the Span-
iards. It was necessary, therefore, to renew the war while the
enemy were still paralyzed by their discomfiture at Chacabuco.
In this struggle, in which the object of the Spaniards was the

* Travels in Chile.

1 882.] THE IRISH IN CHILE. 605

preservation of power, of the patriots the extension of liberty,
the most conspicuous character was O'Higgins.

The Spanish army, routed at Chacabuco but reinforced by
recruits from Peru, encountered the patriots at Talcahuana, a
place which the royalists had perfectly fortified. In this en-
counter fortune deserted the patriots ; they were compelled to
fall back from a field strewn with their dying, dead, and wound-
ed. To revive their fainting spirits O'Higgins administered, in a
solemn and public manner, the oath of independence, and at the
same time abolished armorial bearings and titles of nobility in
Chile.

The Spanish army, flushed with victory and commanded by
General Osorio, advanced from Talcahuana ; and O'Higgins, in
conjunction with San Martin, placed themselves at the head of
the patriot forces, when an incident occurred which brought the
cause of freedom in South America to the verge of u.tter and
irretrievable ruin. A more disastrous blow never visited the
popular cause. Encamped at Canchayarada, the troops were en-
gaged, on the I9th of March, 1818, in celebrating the anniversary
of San Martin's birth, when they were suddenly surprised in the
dead of night and overwhelmed with destruction by General
Osorio. O'Higgins endeavored to rally his troops on that
dreadful occasion, showing great presence of mind and person-
al bravery ; but his arm was broken by a musket-ball and he was
forced to retreat toward Santiago. Osorio followed at the head
of his victorious troops, flushed with success and confident of
victory, but was arrested on the plains of Maypu on the 5th of
April by troops collected by San Martin. Here a fierce and
sanguinary battle took place. The Spaniards were five thou-
sand in number, and the patriots nearly as numerous. The farm-
house of Espejo, round which the storm of battle raged with
terrific fury, was successively captured and recaptured twenty
times, and during the greater part of the day victory seemed to
favor the Spaniards. The Spanish centre and the right wing
had a decided advantage, and the defeat of the patriots seemed
almost inevitable. The other Spanish wing, however, seemed
to shrink from the patriot attack, and the destinies of South
America were trembling in the balance when the Spanish regi-
ment' of Burgos, to remedy this defaillance, attempted to form
into square. At this critical moment, while death fell in showers
around him, the gallant Colonel O'Brien, a native of Ireland, who
had some time before joined the patriot forces, and who com-
manded a body of patriots termed Horse Grenadiers, precipitated

606 THE IRISH IN CHILE. [Aug.,

himself upon the regiment of Burgos, charged them with such
irresistible fury that they broke, fled, and threw the whole wing
into confusion. A panic immediately seized the royalist arm}7.
Routed and dismayed, it was overwhelmed with destruction, and
the victory of the patriots was brilliant and indisputable.

The independence of South America was established by this
victory on an imperishable basis. Thenceforth the viceroy of
Peru confined himself to defensive operations and recognized as
invincible realities the independent republics of Chile and La
Plata. Meantime the task of liberating Peru, which San Martin
had projected, devolved upon O'Higgins as supreme director of
Chile. To realize this project a fleet was indispensable, and
Chile was wanting in all the elements of maritime evolution.
O'Higgins nevertheless contrived, at the cost of many sacrifices,
to equip a few vessels, which he placed under command of Ad-
miral Blanco Eucalada. The admiral contrived with this fleet to
seize in the bay of Talcahuana a magnificent Spanish frigate
named Maria Isabel. The capture of this vessel filled Chile with
exultation, as it was the first maritime victory Spanish Ame-
rica had ever obtained.

Finally O'Higgins had the satisfaction of seeing a naval ex-
pedition tinder the command of Lord Cochrane take the wind in
Valparaiso for the liberation of Peru. Chile at this time had
been harassed by the vicissitudes of revolution during ten years,
had waged an active war against a powerful enemy during six-
teen years ; she was crippled by innumerable obstructions and em-
barrassed by pecuniary difficulties of a painful character ; never-
theless O'Higgins contrived, by means of voluntary gifts and ex-
traordinary contributions, to send out an expedition for the libe-
ration of Peru on the 2Oth of August, 1820. Consisting of eleven
men-of-war and fifteen transports, this expedition contained four
thousand one hundred soldiers, and arms and provisions for fifteen
thousand. Under San Martin, who commanded the military, and
Cochrane, who was lord high admiral, it was destined to liberate
Peru and elevate her from the degradation of a colony to the
dignity of a new and independent nation. The military career
of O'Higgins, which commenced when the first surge of revolu-
tion broke on the shores of Chile, terminated only when the
power of the oppressor had entirely ebbed away and Chilean
liberty was permanently established on definite foundations. He
had the merit of creating institutions which, through laws that
govern and tribunals that adjudicate, have rendered Chile supe-
rior to her sister-republics ; and we may trace to the intelligence

1 882.] THE IRISH IN CHILE. 607

of his mind and the benevolence" of his character the stream of
prosperity which strengthens -it with power and mantles it with
opulence. He opened the " Library and National Institution,"
which the Spaniards closed during their transient resumption of
authority, endowed commerce with liberty and encouraged agri-
culture by legislation, and improved cities with salubrity and
beautified them with decoration. He founded cemeteries for the
repose of the dead and promenades for the recreation of thei liv-
ing, and administered, with a zeal which was indefatigable and
an honesty that was unquestionable, the pecuniary resources of
Chile.

As the government of O'Higgins, extending from 1817 to
1822, though benevolent, was dictatorial, some abuses crept into
the administration, and the people, as a consequence, clamored for
a constitution. Resisting at first, he finally yielded and assem-
bled a congress to frame a constitution in 1822 ; but as a large
measure of power was conceded by this constitution to the su-
preme director, the people, discontented, renewed their clamors
and manifested in several provinces symptoms of revolution. A
public meeting was held in Santiago, which called on O'Higgins
to abdicate ; and as he was aware that he could not resist the
national will and was not sustained by public opinion, he laid
aside the ensigns of authority and descended from his magisterial
throne rather than kindle in a country he loved the flames of
civil war. In 1823 he turned his back on Chile and proceeded
to Peru, where he spent the evening of his life at the rural retreat
of Montaloan in retirement and tranquillity. He died on the 24th
of October, 1842. Such was the close of the career of one of
the most illustrious generals and rulers that Spanish America has
hitherto produced.

Don Patricio Lynch, who in the recent war between the rival
republics of Chile and Peru obtained a well-deserved celebrity,
is at present commander-iii-chief of the Chilean army in occupa-
tion of Lima. Son of a wealthy Irish merchant who married a
Chilean lady, Rear- Admiral Lynch was born in Santiago in 1825.
His naval career began on board the sloop-of-war Libertad, which
formed part of the expeditionary squadron sent by Chile to Peru
in 1837 with the view of liberating that republic from the tyranny
of Santa Cruz, a Bolivian adventurer who had unified two re-
publics in the hope of erecting a throne on the ruins of popular
liberty in Peru and Bolivia. In that expedition young Lynch
exhibited so much address, intrepidity, and intelligence that the

6o8 THE IRISH IN CHILE. [Aug.,

government of Chile sent him to England, where he entered the
navy and served under Admiral Ross. In the war against China,
on board the frigate Calliope, and under command of an Irishman
named Sir Thomas Herbert, he was repeatedly rewarded with
knightly distinctions for brilliant services in naval engagements.
On returning to England he successively served in several men-
of-war, and in this way visited the most celebrated harbors in the
Mediterranean, whose historical renown excited his scholarly in-
terest. In 1847 ne returned to Chile, where he entered the navy
as lieutenant. We find him, when thirty years of age, in com-
mand of a frigate, which he gave up to the government in 1854
and retired from the service, when the frigate in question was
converted into a state prison for the detention of political pris-
oners. Eleven years afterwards, in 1865, he re-entered the service
when Spain was waging war against the republics of the Pacific
and the naval talents of Lynch were deemed necessary to the
safety and honor of Chile.

In this war he held successively the appointment of naval
.governor of Valparaiso, colonel-organizer of national guards,
and commander of a man-of-war. In 1872 he became Minister of
Maritime Affairs, and in 1879, when war broke out between Chile
on the one hand and Peru and Bolivia on the other, he was still a
member of the government.

Among the many services which he rendered to Chile during
this memorable war the most brilliant was unquestionably his
expedition to the north of Peru. At the head of a naval and mili-
tary expedition he undertook the invasion of the northern pro-
vinces of Peru, which up to that time had been unvisited by war,
and which furnished the enemy with abundant supplies. This ex-
pedition, which required on the part of the admiral courage and
science of no ordinary character, was conducted with consum-
mate ability and terminated in brilliant success. With a mere
handful of soldiers he ravaged the enemy's territory, spread
desolation far and wide, captured cities containing ten thousand
inhabitants, and then, retreating to the south, took part in a cam-
paign which reduced Lima, and terminated in a glorious and
decisive manner the war between Chile and Peru. A division
of the Chilean army was commanded by Admiral Lynch in the
famous battles of Miraflores and Chonilles, where the Chileans,
twenty-seven thousand in number, routed the Peruvians, en-
trenched in admirable positions and forty thousand strong. In
these battles the part taken by Admiral Lynch was decisive in its
results, perilous in its daring, and glorious in its renown. Such

1 882.] THE IRISH IN CHILE. 609

was the trouble he gave the enemy, he inflicted such damage
upon them, that for some time his division was the exclusive ob-
ject of the murderous attack and united fire of the whole Peru-
vian army. The audacity of his onset, the intrepidity of his de-
fence, his consummate knowledge of the art of war, his daring
and his fortitude, combined to render Lynch perhaps the most
illustrious commander in the Chilean war.

The result of those fierce and sanguinary battles in which
Lynch took so distinguished a part was the immediate and un-
conditional surrender of Lima, capital of Peru, and of Callao, the
principal harbor and strongest fortress in Spanish America.
Lynch was appointed prefect of Callao and invested with the
power of exercising conjunctively civil and military authority.
A little time subsequently he was pitched upon by the public
opinion of Chile as the most suitable person to exercise the func-
tions of commander-in-chief of the army of occupation. It has
been calumniously asserted that the victory of the Chileans
was the establishment of oppression. After the battle of Mira-
flores, according to mendacious rumors, eight hundred Italians
serving in the Peruvian army were massacred in cold blood by
the victorious Chileans. There is a slight difficulty in accept-
ing this statement, inasmuch as the eight hundred Italians had
no existence. They were invented for political purposes. The
enemies of Chile " made the giants first and then they killed
them." The presence of life, according to logic, must precede its
destruction. Now, according to the testimony of the Italian
consuls of Lima and Santiago, there was not in the Peruvian
army a single Italian soldier, and therefore the Chileans did not
stain their laurels with a heinous and unnecessary effusion of
Italian blood. Indeed, the best guarantee of the mansuetude of
the Chileans is the reputation of Admiral Lynch. Such a man
could not befoul himself with cold-blooded massacre. It Avould
be impossible for a government contemplating oppression and
bloodshed to place such a man in so lofty and powerful a posi-
tion. It is an old observation that the only justification of con-
quest is the improvement of the subjugated people's condition.
Now, of all people in South America the Chileans are best calcu-
lated to ameliorate the condition of the Peruvians and Bolivians,
because they have improved their own. They know that op-
pression " does not pay," and are therefore unlikely, with their
inevitable good sense, to practise it. That frightful succession
of military dictators who have trampled on law and established
arbitrary power in the neighboring republics have never existed
VOL. xxxv. — 39

6 io THE IRISH IN CHILE. [Aug,,

in Chile. The Chileans are a rational and fortunate people,
whose elevation, like that of the sun, is certain to enlighten and
benefit South America.

It must be confessed that the- Chileans appear to be the only
people able and energetic enough to carry out a policy involv-
ing such immense consequences, at once so large and benevolent,
so capable of endowing all Spanish America with wealth, forti-
fying it with inviolable security, and dignifying it with imper-
ishable honor and making the people worthy of the continent.

One thing is certain : Admiral Lynch, in command of the
army of occupation, preserved the peace of Peru, rendered her
cities habitable by establishing an efficient system of police, by
repressing theft and punishing disorder, and spending every
month nearly a million of dollars in the conquered territory.
During this time, which might be termed a period of expecta-
tion, a native government sprang into existence, of which Garcia
Calderon was the presiding or animating principle. It was a
bad government, no doubt, but preferable unquestionably to so-
cial chaos. It was not called into existence by Lynch. It Avas
evolved from native elements and supported by Chilean arms,
in order that it might assume an appearance of power and be
capable, in the eyes of the world, of signing a treaty of peace.

This native government was supplied by Lynch with six
hundred Remington rifles. He limited the number to six hun-
dred, that it might be strong enough to maintain order but not
strong enough to attack him. When the Peruvians were thus
armed they formed a secret conspiracy to subvert Lynch and
annihilate his army. This proceeding did not meet the appro-
bation of the rear-admiral. He had stipulated, when confiding
the rifles to Garcia Calderon, that he should confine himself to
six hundred, should not increase this number or use any save
Remingtons. When Calderon's men — who had been, many of
them, prisoners of war — were thus equipped they conceived the
idea that the life of a brigand in the mountains was more check-
ered by vicissitude, more attractive from adventure, than the
dull monotony of military duties in casern or camp; and so
they stole away in a clandestine manner, with their rifles slung
behind, to join Cacere, the guerrilla chief, and this apparently
with the approval of Garcia Calderon. Owing to this equivocal
conduct the admiral seized Garcia Calderon and sent him a pri-
soner to Chile. He then found that instead of six hundred Gar-
cia was in possession of twelve hundred rifles, manufactured for
the most part by Peabody ; he found in addition one million

1 882.] THE IRISH IN- CHILE. 611

two hundred thousand cartridges — in short, all the evidences of
a treasonable complot to subvert his power and massacre the
forces of Chile. The seizure of Calderon produced a world of
discussion in the United States, a storm of vituperation ; but no
commander on earth would, under the same circumstances, have
acted otherwise, " even supposing Garcia Calderon to have
been recognized by all the powers in the world, and not merely
by the United States and Switzerland alone." In this way the
rights of Chile were vindicated by Lynch, who put an end to a
war which, provoked by Peru, reddened the waters of the -Pa-
cific with human blood.

Although Admiral Lynch has already acquired an illustrious
name by his past services to Chile, he will no doubt at some fu-
ture time prove himself still more worthy of that country, and
demonstrate the truth of what the London Times grudgingly ad-
mitted on one occasion : " No better governors of colonies can be
found than Irishmen."

Among the " adventurers of honor," the knights-errant of
modern times, who during her struggle for independence ar-
rived in Chile to offer to the young republic the service of their
sword, their science, their valor, and their blood, Don Juan
MacKenna was by no means the least remarkable. Born in Ire-
land, he emigrated to South America when the first trumpets of
revolutionary war were sounding

" The song whose breath
Might lead to death,
But never to retreating."

His frank and manly character, the generosity of his heart,
the native nobility of his cultivated mind, opened him a fore-
most place among the organizers and leaders of the first army of
Chile. He held during the early years of the revolution the
most important position of military governor of Valparaiso, the
first harbor in Chile and the second city of the republic. When
General Carrera, in 1813, was placed at the head of the first army
of Chile one of his best and bravest officers was MacKenna.
Arrived at the rank of general, he figured in all the early battles
of the revolution — in Yerbas Buenas, in San Carlos, and the
siege of Chilian, etc. The brilliant conduct of MacKenna in all
these conflicts, in which the fortune of war was ever favorable to
liberty, raised him to the command of the second division of the
army, the first, owing to the deposition of Carrera, being under

612 THE IRISH IN CHILE. [Aug.,

the orders of O'Higgins. General of the second division, Mac-
Kenna encountered the Spanish army — immeasurably superior
to his own in numerical force and military discipline — in the
battle of Juilo, fought on the ipthof March, 1814, and in the battle
of Membrilla, which occurred on the following day. In both
these encounters he routed the Spanish forces in the most bril-
liant and decisive manner.

General MacKenna rendered services to the republic which
were not confined to the civil and military circle. He figured
occasionally as a diplomatist. He and O'Higgins were appoint-
ed plenipotentiaries to negotiate with the Spanish general whom
MacKenna had defeated a truce or treaty of peace, which, under
the name of the " tratado de Lircai," they brought to a successful
conclusion. After the terrible disaster which in 1814 prostrat-
ed the standards of patriotism MacKenna followed O'Higgins
across the Andes, entered the Argentine Confederation, and
aided in organizing the army of liberation which was fated, in
the battles of Chacabuco in 1817, and of Maypu in 1818, to re-
dress the balance and break the chains of Chile.

In these battles, unfortunately, MacKenna was not destined
to participate. He was prevented by an incident of a tragical
nature. He was provoked, while residing in Mendoza, to fight a
duel with Luis Carrera, brother to the general of the same name
who was the first president and commander-in-chief of Chile.
In this duel he received a bullet in the neck which stretched him
dead upon the soil. General MacKenna married a young lady,
a native of Chile, and left a family which is at present one of the
most illustrious in the republic.

General O'Brien wras born in Ireland, and, like MacKenna,
ranked amongst the most heroic officers in the war of indepen-
dence. In 1817 he accompanied San Martin in the liberation of
Chile, and in 1820 accompanied the same general in the libera-
tion of Peru. In the battle of Maypu, fought in 1818, his gallan-
try attracted general attention. In Peru he reached the zenith
of his reputation by the services he rendered to the cause of
independence under O'Higgins and San Martin. When Peru-
vian liberty was permanently established he returned to Chile,
and there resided until his death. Like MacKenna, he married a
Chilean lady and left a family highly respected in the land of his
adoption.

1 882.] ST. PETER'S CHAIR.

ST. PETER'S CHAIR IN THE FIRST TWO CEN-
TURIES.*

PART SECOND.

IT has been shown that the chair of Peter, i.e., his supreme
authority and power, was regarded in the earliest period of Chris-
tian history as the original and source of unity in the episcopate
and in the entire communion of the Catholic Church. By virtue
of this inherited and participated power, bishops were teachers,
judges, and rulers in their singular and collective capacity, arch-
bishops of various grades exercised a limited jurisdiction over
their colleagues, and the Bishop of Rome, in the chair of Peter,
besides fulfilling all these functions within particular spheres, ex-
ercised alone the office of universal primacy.

We have endeavored to set forth the real one-ness of the
Papacy with the episcopacy, which has been by some schismati-
cally divided from it and placed in an attitude of separation and
opposition. The apostolic college was one, and the other apos-
tles were like St. Peter, without prejudice to his principality.
Likewise, the episcopal college, constituted in its essence and
substance after the apostolic model and succeeding to the apos-
tolate, is one ; all bishops being like the pope without prejudice
to his sovereign pre-eminence. Nothing can be plainer than the
fact that in the first two centuries supreme priesthood, supreme
teaching authority, supreme power of judging and ruling in
spirituals, were ascribed by all professed Christians who were
not open heretics, to the episcopal order in the Catholic Church.
It is also plain that this Catholic episcopate, with the clergy and
the people subject to their rule, were regarded as one universal
organized body. Further, that within this whole there were three
great parts, whose respective centres were Rome, Alexandria, and
Antioch, besides probably three or four other lesser portions
lying between the greater divisions of the West and the East,
which certainly made separate exarchates in the fourth century,,
and may therefore be fairly supposed to have existed from the
earliest period. It is also unquestionable that Rome was the

* By an error of the press an important sentence in our previous article was turned into
nonsense. The last sentence of the last paragraph but one (p. 507) reads : "The indirect, im-
mediate, and diffused influence of the primacy, etc." It should read : ''indirect, mediate, and
diffused influence."

614 ST. PETER 's CHAIR [Aug

first among- the three great apostolic sees, and it has been proved
that the Roman pontiff, as holding the place of Peter, possessed a
principality among and over all bishops, claimed pre-eminent
jurisdiction by virtue of his place, and was generally acknow-
ledged to possess this right, notwithstanding opposition or re-
sistance to his exercise of authority in certain instances. We
have given good reasons to show that the Roman See of Peter
was the centre of unity in the Catholic Church, that from his
primacy all episcopal jurisdiction, and organization into lesser
and greater dioceses, were derived, and, in particular, that all
pre-eminence of one bishop over others was merely a concession
of prerogatives belonging exclusively by divine right to the suc-
cessors of Peter. There is no question of a jus divinum, except
in the Papacy and the episcopate. The bishops in general suc-
ceed to the place of the college of apostles. The pope succeeds
to the Prince of the Apostles in his principality, as well as to the
ordinary apostolic episcopate. The distinction between these
two terms of the divine right of apostolic succession, their rela-
tion, mutual attitude and adjustment, constitute the complete
doctrine concerning the subject of the supreme hierarchical
power.

The primary object of this power is the preservation of the
unity of faith in the church, on which all else depends. The re-
lation of the Papacy to the episcopate in respect to the office of
preserving, teaching, and vindicating the Catholic faith, as mani-
fested by the documents and facts of the earliest period of Chris-
tianity, must be, therefore, its fundamental relation. An exposi-
tion of the office of St. Peter's primacy in the supreme teaching
magistracy of the church will suffice for all else which this office
comprehends ; and it will lead our argument upon the ground
where we desire to have it, away from the merely exterior disci-
pline of government, into the interior relations of the Papacy
with the essential doctrines of Christianity.

Our task is twofold — on the one hand, to show the Papacy
existing, together with that faith which the Roman Church has
always confessed as the very essence of Christianity, each one in
the closest relations with the other, and both intrinsically the
same as they are now, at that early period we are reviewing ; on
the other hand, to show both together to have been at the close
of that period the unaltered religion which the apostles promul-
gated and which they received from Jesus Christ. Catholicism
and Christianity are two names of one work whose author is
Jesus Christ. Its whole nature is implicitly or virtually con-

i8&2.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 615

tained in, and may be represented by, one terse and concise ex-
pression of Catholic faith : Jesus Christ is truly God, and Peter
is his vicegerent. It is a historical fact that this is Christianity.
" There is one God, and Mohammed is his prophet " is the for-
mula of the Mohammedan religion, as all must admit to be
historically certain, whether believers or unbelievers in Islam.
" There is one God of Israel, and a Messiah to come " is the for-
mula of Judaism, by the common admission of those who main-
tain and those who reject it. In like manner, Mohammedans,
Jews, unbelievers in Christianity of every sort have often ac-
knowledged that the formula of Christianity is the one which
Catholics profess.

It is, in fact, given in the Gospel itself, as clearly as the Mo-
hammedan formula is given in the Koran. St. Peter, making his
confession to the Lord at Csesarea-Philippi, " Thou art the Christ,
the Son of the Living God," while his name was still Simon, or
more properly Simeon ; and receiving the name Peter, in the
original Kepha, with the well-known promise annexed, is pre-
sented to us by the evangelist as an impersonated epitome of
Christianity. He represents the apostles, his own future suc-
cessors and theirs, all popes and oecumenical councils, all com-
ing Fathers and Doctors, and the multitude of true believers, to
the end of the world. All Catholic faith and theology are the
explication of the epitome of his confession. The complete his-
tory of Christianity is the explication of an epitome of itself con-
tained in the words of Christ addressed to Peter. By his faith
he was made fit to be the Rock and Foundation of the church.
In fulfilment of the promise typified by his new name, he was
made unfailing in faith and entrusted with the office of confirm-
ing his brethren, teaching arid ruling the whole flock of Christ,
bearing the keys of the kingdom of heaven, the symbol of the
viceroyalty which was given to him as the vicegerent of Christ
on earth. The promise and grant extended to the end of the
world by their formal terms, the foundation and constitution of
the church once established were permanent and unchangeable
by their very nature. It was necessary, therefore, that Peter
should live and rule in his successors, and his chair be established,
an everlasting spiritual throne, the supreme seat of divine truth
and law, the Holy See by pre-eminence, possessing the princi-
pality, rtjv apxrjv, both in the sense of source and origin and in
that of supremacy. The immutability of the faith of Peter which
was the principle of his firmness is necessarily the primary and
fundamental principle of unfailing strength and durability in his

6i6 57*. PETER'S CHAIR [Aug.,

chair and his successors — a principle which is the chief support
of unity in faith and communion underlying- and sustaining the
universal church in all ages. History bears witness to the indis-
soluble union between the Papacy and the faith in the Divinity
of Christ. Roman faith has always been Catholic faith. From
St. Paul to St. Cyprian unanimous testimony is given to the
Roman Church as the principal stronghold of the faith — that
church whose faith the apostle says is proclaimed throughout the
whole world, to which, the archbishop says, faithlessness can
have no access. It suffices to refer to the passages already cited.
Similar eulogiums have been pronounced by eminent Protes-
tants, some of whom assign as a principal cause of the power of
the Roman Church its steadfast adherence to that one form of
faith which they acknowledge to be apostolic. One citation may
answer as a sample of many similar ones. Casaubon says : " No
one who is skilled in the knowledge of the affairs of the church is
ignorant that God made use of the efforts of the Roman pontiffs
during many ages for preserving the doctrine of the right faith "
(In Anna/. Baron. Exercit. xv.)

It has already been amply shown that the great defenders of
the faith in the early period under review referred to the unani-
mous teaching of Catholic bishops as the standard of genuine
apostolic doctrine, and to the principal apostolic churches,
especially the Roman, as the depositories of authentic tradition,
as the most learned Protestant writers acknowledge. St. Ire-
nseus represents all these, and is the most competent and
authoritative witness to the universal belief and teaching of the
immediate successors of the apostles concerning the external
proximate rule of faith, and the special office of the Roman
Church and pontiff in the Ecclesia Docens, the supreme tribunal
of teaching and judging in matters of doctrine and morals.

Mosheim avows that the complete idea of the papal constitu-
tion of the church is logically implied in the principles laid
down by St. Irenaeus and St. Cyprian. He says that "no one is
so blind as not to see that between a certain unity of the univer-
sal church terminating in the Roman pontiff, and such a com-
munity as we have described out of Irenaeus and Cyprian,
there is scarcely so much room as between hall and chambers or between
hand and fingers " (De Appel. ad Condi. Univ., sec. xiii.) It is only
the perverse determination to separate and divide one part of
Christianity from another, and to accuse the fathers of the age
following the apostolic age of innovating and altering, which can
blind one's eyes to the obvious fact that the reason why the ex-

1 882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 617

plicitly formulated doctrine of "later ages is contained implicitly,
or at least virtually, in that of earlier times, is that they received
it from the apostles in the beginning'.

The first principle of all this sophistry, and the seat of its
noxious plausibility, lies in the change of terms by which a false
theory of alteration, or of new growth by the assimilation of ex-
ternal and foreign elements, is ignorantly or adroitly substituted
for the true idea of historical development and progress in Chris-
tianity. It is important, therefore, to pause for a moment at this
point, and explain the true doctrine of development. Cardinal
Newman has made the most thorough and admirable exposition
of it in one special Essay on Development, and In many other parts
of his writings. We will take, however, a short and summary
statement of the same from the pages of another eminent author,
a French bishop, abridging it as much as possible by quoting
only so much as is absolutely necessary :

" It is the constan^ teaching of the Fathers that a certain progressive
illumination is produced as time passes, in the church, by the works of her
doctors, and especially by her supreme decisions, and that this progress is
ordinarily effected by the occasion of contradictions and conflicts awaken-
ed by innovators. . . . This progressiveness of illumination in the church
. has an immediate reference to the manner according to which Jesus Christ
revealed his doctrines to his disciples. For the Saviour did not deliver his
dogmatic instruction to the apostles as a speculative system, rigorously
co-ordinated and enclosed in invariable formulas. He wrote nothing. He
gave forth his teaching historically and, as it were, according to circum-
stances ; attaching it to certain exterior acts and always mingling with it
moral considerations. And although the. teaching which he dispensed in
this manner forms a complete religion perfectly linked together in all its
parts, yet he awaited the sending of the Holy Spirit for imparting a com-
plete understanding of it to his apostles. They themselves followed an
analogous method in the fulfilment of their own mission. Founding at the
beginning doctrine upon preaching, they gave to the faithful a summary of
the truths to which all other truths are related ; they connected their in-
struction with certain rites and certain sacred institutions, and, although
they suppressed nothing, especially in their lessons to the pastors whom
they established, of all which the Saviour had commanded them to teach,
and of that which was useful, they insisted principally on those dogmatic
and moral truths which were either necessary to the organization of the
church or the most directly suitable for forming the. faithful to a truly
Christian life. The writings composed by several of their number are
conceived in a sense conformable to this line of conduct. None of them
show any trace of an intention to present a complete view of Christianity.
Having inherited the same spirit, the Catholic Church, who possesses also in'
her bosom the whole divine truth, does not declare it in a manner which is
always and absolutely the same. ... In the process of time the dogmatic
truth is made manifest in the church by the writings of her doctors and

6i8 ST. PETER' s CHAIR [Aug.,

her authoritative decrees with greater splendor than it had before ; it is
defended by more solid argumentation, it is stated with greater precision ;
in regard to certain points that which is really contained in the divine rev-
elation is ascertained with greater certitude ; but it always remains the
same in substance. ... It is declared in a more solemn manner; but
before this declaration it was generally regarded as revealed. It is ex-
pressed in more precise terms ; but these new terms 'are employed to in-
terpret the sense of a faith which has never been new. The dogmatic pro-
gress which is accomplished in the church is therefore an exterior and
relative progress in the formality of the doctrine, and not a substantial
progress in its intrinsic reality. . . .

"The assertions of those modern rationalists who regard Christianity
as a merely human work, and its actual dogmatic teaching as a natural
development wrought by the human mind, lack an historical foundation
and are manifestly proved to be false by a series of facts. Catholicism is
exhibited as the only true form of Christianity, since it is in its bosom that
the doctrine of Jesus Christ was primarily deposited and has been pre-
served without alteration to the present day.

"What do I say? This doctrine itself shows itself to be manifestly
divine in its history ; for if it were true that Catholic dogma, unformed and
uncertain on many points at its origin, became formed only by little and
little, by means of foreign elements and across numerous incertitudes and
variations, it would bear in itself, however full of wisdom it might seem to
be in other respects, the marks of a human opinion, and its divinity would
be manifestly in peril. But if it can be proved that the doctrine which the
Catholic Church now professes, formed and perfect from its origin, has
remained substantially the same during its march across the ages ; that
amid the diverse movements to which human society has been subjected
it has always been sufficiently understood and sufficiently professed ; . . .
that the progress of light which has been visible in it is not a progression
in its interior reality of being but in the form of expression and instruc-
tion, not due to principles exterior to itself but to the innate virtue of its
animating spirit ; there is no more room for doubting that it has been in-
troduced into the world by a superior intervention. For a doctrine which
has produced itself, established, preserved, perpetuated itself with such
characteristics, and so completely beyond the conditions of the existence
of all human opinions, doctrines, and beliefs, bears, in its origin and its his-
tory, the visible signature of the hand of God." *

To apply this now to the primacy of St. Peter and his succes-
sors : all that the church has denned or will ever define as of
Catholic faith respecting this primacy is contained either expli-
citly or implicitly in the divine revelation whose sources are
Scripture and apostolic tradition. The entire jus divinum of the
Papacy and of the episcopate is contained in the commission
given by the Lord to St. Peter and the apostles, and can neither
be increased nor diminished. The indefectibility and infallibility

*Ginoulhiac, Hist, du Dogme Cathol., Introd.

i882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 619

of the chair of Peter, and of the dispersed and collective episco-
pate in communion with it, and of 'the universal church under
these legitimate pastors, are included in the grant and promise
given to Peter and the apostles, although not expressed in these
precise terms. The ideas expressed by these terms were embed-
ded in the Catholic consciousness, and were most energetically
operative, especially in the Holy See itself, the centre of vital
power, during the earliest ages.

A complete epitome of this primitive phase of the doctrine
which was more precisely formulated in later times is contained
in the language of St. Irenaeus of which we have already given
the citation and the literal exposition. He most distinctly and
emphatically affirms the necessity of all churches and all the faith-
ful agreeing and being united with the faith and communion of
the Roman Church, the chief rule and standard of orthodoxy,
through whose succession and tradition the faith had been uni-
versally promulgated and preserved, and in which it had its most
full demonstration. The " most powerful principality " which he
ascribes to the Roman Church because it has the chair of Peter
is a principality, whose prerogatives are exercised by a su-
preme doctrinal authority imposing consent and obedience, and
holding the universal church in the bonds of unity, as one com-
munion professing one faith. It is obviously absurd and impos-
sible that the Catholic Church should be held by the obligation
of such bonds under the principality of the chair of Peter, unless
it were made by the divine power indefectible and infallible.
Supreme authority to teach, with a correlative obligation on the
disciples to hear and obey, implies the possession of a deposit of
divine revelation with a perpetual assistance of the Holy Ghost
to preserve and promulgate the same unfailingly and unerringly.
For the same reason the Catholic episcopate must be, as a body,
indefectible and infallible in union with its head. For it has
divine authority to teach, with a correlative obligation on the
faithful to believe and obey. The whole body of the church is
indefectible and infallible, because it adheres to the doctrine of
a supreme teaching authority which is rendered an unfailing and
unerring rule of faith by the perpetual presence and grace of the
Holy Spirit. Understood in this sense, the proposition that St.
Peter was the representative of the whole college of the apos-
tles and of the whole church is perfectly true. The chair of
Peter, in the same sense, is the representative and organ of
the episcopal college and of the entire society of the Catholic
Church. All co-exist together after the manner of one, and con-

620 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [Aug.,

stitute a perfect and inseparable organized unity. It is the One,
Holy, Catholic, Apostolic Church which is indefectible, infallible,
unchangeable, and perpetual, the Spouse of Christ, the Taber-
nacle of the Holy Spirit, possessing and confessing the true faith
once delivered to the saints, from the first day of Pentecost to the
end of the world. Having said enough in vindication of the spe-
cial office of the primacy of St. Peter and his successors in the
church, we shall henceforward cease to speak particularly and
separately of this, and consider the Catholic faith in a general
sense as the common and universal confession of all the faithful
everywhere in the earliest age, believed always, everywhere, and
by all, identical with the faith which Catholics now profess, and
which the apostles delivered as they received it from Jesus
Christ, aided and inspired by the Holy Spirit.

It is a historical fact of which we have given sufficient proofs
that in the second and third centuries there was such an objective
faith distinctly recognized as Catholic, in opposition not only to
Jewish and pagan errors, but also to every kind of heresy and
sectarian opinion. Its criterion was its priority and its creden-
tials of authenticity as being the tradition of pure legitimate de-
scent from the original teaching of the apostles. There is not a
trace of Protestant supernaturalism or of Protestant rationalism
to be found, at this early time, except among the heretical sects.
The notion that the pure Christian religion is something which
each individual believer imbibes for himself from the Scriptures,
by the help of a personal illumination of the Spirit, was alto-
gether absent from the Catholic consciousness. The notion that
Christianity is a philosophy resting on private reason, and prov-
ing itself by merely natural principles through argumentation, is
one absolutely scouted as profane and heathenish. The idea of
Christian doctrine as a collection of positive articles of belief, re-
vealed by God through the oral teaching of Jesus Christ to the
apostles, and made known by them through preaching, and em-
bodied in creeds, rites, and ecclesiastical institutions, preserved
and handed on by a living tradition, is the one idea which was
prevalent and universal. This idea cannot have become peace-
ably prevalent and universal by a change and alteration which
Christianity underwent during the second and third centuries.
And, moreover, there is a chain of continuous and unbroken
testimony going back to the apostolic age itself, which proves
that this is the authentic and apostolic idea of Christianity.

The Acts of the Apostles and the Epistles of St. Paul, St.
Peter, etc., show to even a cursory and superficial inspection that

i882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 621

the faith was something positive, distinct, certain, having as its
rule the preaching of the apostles. The Gospels record the com-
mission of Jesus Christ to the apostles to teach in his name, accom-
panied by the promise of the Holy Spirit. The last of the apos-
tles, St. John, in his Apocalypse, Gospel, and Epistles, is a witness
to the soundness of the faith and the legitimacy of the constitu-
tion of the Catholic Church at the end of the first century. All
the heretics and sectarians existing at that time are unsparingly
condemned by the last of the apostles ; and authentic history
proves him to have superintended that ecclesiastical order and
instruction in the Asian diocese the counterparts of which exist-
ed in Italy, Asia Minor, and Egypt, as well as other parts of the
world ; to have been the master and teacher of the first of that
line of Fathers whose doctrinal testimony culminates so splen-
didly in St. Cyprian. In the Epistle which St. John wrote to the
churches of Asia as an introduction to his Gospel he most clearly
lays down as a criterion of discernment between true Christians
and heretics : " We are of God. He that knoweth God heareth
us: he that is not of God heareth us not: by this we knoiv the
Spirit of truth and the spirit of error " (i Ep. iv. 6).

This is the precise doctrine of St. Clement, St. Ignatius, St.
Irenseus, and Tertullian. St. John addresses primarily the bish-
ops, and as there were no other apostles surviving with himself,
the We and Us must -be referred to his colleagues in the episco-
pate. The testimony contained in the inspired writings of the
apostles is certainly not to be excluded, but there is no reason
to consider their written testimony as exclusive of their oral doc-
trine preserved by tradition. Dr. Fisher, in his able and beauti-
ful article on " The Christian Religion," * says : " A distinction
must be made . . . between Christianity and the Bible. . . . Chris-
tianity existed and was complete, and it was preached, before a
syllable of the New Testament was written " ( p. 180). Of course,
then, it remained and was an objective, certain, recognizable real-
ity by virtue of this original preaching of it in its completeness,
after the writing of the New Testament was finished, which was
not until seventy years after the Ascension. Moreover, although
the writings of the apostles were of paramount authority as well
as their preaching, their meaning was necessarily interpreted
by the doctrine and institutions which made up the complete
Christianity already existing. Just as now a Catholic will un-
derstand the declaration of St. Paul, " We have an altar," to refer
to the altar of the Eucharistic sacrifice, and a Presbyterian will

* North American Review, February, 1882.

622 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [Aug.,

interpret it in a mystical and allegorical sense, because there are
altars in Catholic churches and none in those of Presbyterians ;
so, in the primitive times, that which was commonly believed
and practised would concur with the verbal expressions of a sa-
cred writing to determine the real meaning of the inspired wri-
ter. That traditional sense of the true nature and purport of the
apostolic teaching, coming down to us through historical docu-
ments and embodied in facts, which agrees with the Catholic
sense of the Scriptures of the New Testament, must therefore be
the correct sense. It is worth just as much in handing down the
true sense of these writings, and in testifying to the nature of
that Christianit}^ which was complete and was preached before
they were written, as it is in vouching for the authenticity of the
writings themselves.

Dr. Fisher refers to St. Irenaeus as an unimpeachable witness
to the authenticity of the Gospel of St. John :

" Irenaeus, a man of unquestioned probity, Bishop of Lyons in the lat-
ter part of the second century, by whom, as by all of his contemporaries,
the fourth Gospel was received without doubt or question, had personally
known in the East the martyr Polycarp, Bishop of Smyrna, and had heard
him describe the manners and appearance of the Apostle John, whom Poly-
carp had personally known at Ephesus, where the apostle spent his clos-
ing years. It is morally impossible that Irenzeus received a Gospel as
from John which Polycarp knew nothing of, or that Polycarp could have
been mistaken on a point like this " (Ut supr. p. 196).

It is just as impossible that Polycarp, Ignatius, Clement should
have been mistaken in regard to any other important matter of
apostolic doctrine and order, and that Irenaeus, Victor, Tertul-
lian, Cornelius, Stephen, Cyprian should have received as from
Peter, Paul, John, and the other apostles and apostolic men, as
divine and Catholic tradition of faith and law, of doctrines and
principles, anything unknown to their .immediate disciples and
successors. It is morally impossible that the universal, tradi-
tional understanding of the sense of the Holy Scriptures, receiv-
ed by the Fathers and Doctors who flourished either before or
after the Nicene Council, should have come in and become domi-
nant either through an honest misinterpretation or an intentional
alteration of Christianity. They had no doubt of the perfect
agreement between the inspired writings of the New Testament
and Catholic tradition. They were honest and sincere, intel-
ligent and learned. They could not have been deceivers or
deceived. Either they were right or the New Testament is
worthless as a rule of faith, and Christianity a delusion. If

1 882.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 623

Christianity and the Bible are to be interpreted by the illumina-
tion of the Holy Spirit give-n to sincere and holy men, never
were there so many men of such heroic sincerity and sanctity
as in those early ages of the church ; never were the gifts of the
Holy Spirit poured out in such abundance as in the spring-time
and seed-time of Christianity. If human reason and human
knowledge suffice, never were the natural facilities for under-
standing what Judaism, paganism, and Christianity really were,
so abundant and available as then ; never were men better capa-
ble of judging them than those who were eye-witnesses and par-
ticipators in their great struggle with each other for the mastery
of the world. There is such a thing as personal and individual
illumination by the Holy Spirit, if the Holy Scriptures inter-
preted by the unanimous consent of the Fathers and Doctors of
the church are credible. But the men who have given the best
evidence of possessing this inner light have been led by it to con-
form their belief to that which the Catholic Church has always
professed. There is such a thing as a rational philosophy and a
scientific history of Christianity resting on a solid basis of cer-
tainty. We do not fear to submit the evidences of the Catholic
religion to this test. They can stand an appeal to the New Tes-
tament interpreted either by the general suffrage of the most
learned or that of the most holy students of its divine pages.
They can stand an appeal to reason and history. In respect to
the question what is the real meaning of the New Testament,
and what the real meaning of the original Christianity of Christ
and the apostles, there is no view or hypothesis, other than the
Catholic theory, which can command any general suffrage or
secure any permanent assent. If there is anything at all intelli-
gible and certain in regard to the matter, from reason, history,
the New Testament, and the tradition of Christianity, the Chris-
tianity of the third century was the same unaltered religion
which Jesus Christ commissioned his apostles to preach. And
this was neither the system of rationalistic or supernaturalistic
Protestantism in any of their phases. Not one of these has
any objective, historical, or rational verity in it, as an exposition
of what Jesus Christ and his apostles actually taught as divine
revelation, or actually did as founders of a religion for the
world. They are all subjective opinions, conjectures, systems of
some imaginary religion or philosophy which they suppose to
have pre-existed to the actual and historical Christianity, be-
cause of some individual and a priori conceptions of their own,
or some private interpretation of certain texts of the Holy Scrip-

624 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [Aug.,

ture, or some personal religious experience. The doubt and
hesitation with which these various opinions are held and ex-
pressed even by learned men, by those whose office it is to in-
struct others, are daily becoming more manifest, and those who
resolutely adhere to their convictions of the truths of natural re-
ligion, and even to their belief that there is a truth revealed by
God through Christ for the salvation of the world, who detest
and shudder at the atheism and scepticism of avowed apostates
from Christianity, are more and more becoming aware that they
are only seekers and inquirers but not possessors of this truth.

It was not so with the faithful of the apostolic age or with
those who believed in Christ and confessed his name during the
ages of martyrdom. Tertullian makes the characteristic dif-
ference of a Catholic from a heretic to consist in this : that the
one is certain of possessing the truth which the other professes
to be seeking after. He became a precursor of all those who
have departed from this Catholic truth to follow the delusion of
false lights, by abandoning his own principle. The principle
stands, however, on its own basis, and it is the same which is
proclaimed by St. Irenaeus, St. Vincent of Lerins, and all other
great writers on the rule of faith who flourished during those
earlier ages upon which Catholics, Greeks, Anglicans, and all
others of the more orthodox Protestants look back with reve-
rence. The complete fulfilment of the plan of argument we
have proposed requires that we should show, in respect to all the
principal parts of the entire system held and recognized in the
second and third centuries as Catholic, by a series of testimonies,
that they were professed continuously from the times of the apos-
tles to the middle of the third century, without alteration. For
the present we will merely summarize them in a brief general
statement, giving only an outline and the principal features of
that primitive Catholic theology, but not attempting to enume-
rate all its particulars.

God has made his final and complete revelation through Je-
sus Christ.

Jesus Christ has committed this revelation to a perfect and
unequal society, hierarchically constituted in strict, organized,
catholic unity, as the medium of the illumination and sanctifi-
cation of men by the Holy Spirit.

The primary truth of this revelation is the being of the God-
head essentially and substantially One, subsisting in Three Per-
sons, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

The second truth of this divine revelation is the personal

i882.J IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 625

identity of Jesus Christ with God the Son, on account of which
he is truly and properly God as well as Man, having been born
of the Virgin Mary in order 'to redeem mankind from a fallen
state the consequence and penalty of the sin of Adam.

The application of this redemption to each individual is nec-
essary to his salvation from original and actual sin, and is made
by the grace of the Holy Spirit.

The conditions of receiving this grace, for those who have the
use of reason, are faith and good works, with the reception of
the sacraments in the Catholic Church ; and for others the one
condition is the reception of the sacrament of baptism.

All grace and salvation are conferred upon men in view of
the merits of Jesus Christ, who offered himself on the cross a
sacrifice for the human race, rose again, ascended into heaven,
will come again to consummate the present order, and will confer
on the saved a share in his own glory in the kingdom of hea-
ven.

As a consolation to the church, deprived of his visible pres-
ence on the earth, the Lord has left to her a legacy of love in the
Blessed Eucharist, in which he is truly present, offering himself
continually as a sacrifice and giving himself in the sacrament to
those who receive it, as a source of life and grace to all who are
worthy. In the other sacraments he effects that which they sig-
nify, through the operation of the Holy Spirit working by them
as instruments, except in so far as the unfitness of the recipient
hinders the effect of grace.

A catechumen seeking for the truth and for salvation in the
Catholic Church had a plain way before him. He was taught
that there is but one true church, the only way of salvation,
easily discernible from sects of heresy by its plain marks. He
submitted with unquestioning docility to the instructions of his
teachers, who disclosed to him the doctrines of the faith summed
up in the Apostles' Creed ; as revealed by God and proposed by
the church ; after a sufficient moral preparation. By baptism
and confirmation he was made a Christian and a child of God
and sealed with the sign of the Holy Spirit. Introduced among
the faithful, he found the great act of Christian worship to be
the mystical sacrifice of the Body and Blood of the Lord, the
highest Christian privilege to be the communion with Christ
through the participation of the same oblation. Henceforth
he had only to persevere in the communion of the church, in
the profession of the faith, and in the observance of the com-
mandments, in order to make his salvation sure. If he sinned

VOL. xxxv. — 40

626 ST. PETER'S CHAIR. [Aug.,

grievously after baptism, the way was open to him to be re-
conciled through penance and absolution. The teaching of his
bishop and priests, according to a plain and well-known rule of
common, Catholic faith, and the public reading of the Scriptures,
gave him all the Christian knowledge and edification which were
needful, and if he could obtain and read some or all of the books
of the Holy Scripture, they were an unfailing source of inspired
wisdom to whose meaning his Catholic faith gave him the key.
If he chose the higher path, the evangelical counsels invited him
to follow Christ along their straight and narrow road. If he
married, his nuptials were hallowed by a sacramental grace, his
children could be sanctified in baptism from their birth and his
household made a miniature of the church. Priests whose con-
secration came from the hands of Christ ministered to him in
holy things, and prayed over him at the hour of death, absolv-
ing him from his sins, giving him the viaticum, and anointing him
with oil in the name of the Lord. Holy rites blessed his burialr
and prayers were offered for the repose of his soul, unless he were
so happy as to become a martyr, when he was commemorated
and invoked at the altar among the saints. He was one of a great
assembly of angels and saints in heaven, and of faithful Chris-
tians united in the grand communion of the Catholic Church on
earth under the benign government of the successors of St. Peter
and the apostles, Jesus Christ himself being the supreme king
and pontiff of the triumphant and militant church.

This was the religion which was propagated in such a mar-
vellous way daring the first three centuries of the Christian erar
and triumphed in the fourth through Constantine. We have
proved the correctness of our description already hi great partr
either directly or indirectly, in our series of articles of which
the present is one. The evidence for the remainder may be
given hereafter.*

* NOTE. The author is obliged to discontinue this series daring the summer months, bat
hopes to finish it later..

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 627

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

IV.

BEFORE returning1 to London the Mowbrays took a short trip
on the Continent. By the time they returned " many things had
happened," to quote a phrase of the new premier that was ac-
cepted as a witticism. The government had been thrown out —
encountered a disastrous defeat, in fact. The Home-Rulers had
shown surprising strength and returned most of their men.
Lafontaine was beaten by a neck, and had just time to run over
to England and slip in for Broadbridge, where his family con-
nections were strong.

Public excitement ran high. Great expectations were form-
ed of the new government and no little anxiety as to its foreign
policy. European affairs were in a delicate condition. There
was trouble brewing in the East, and the new premier had always
insisted that England was a great Eastern as well as a great
Western power. He had views of his own, too, as to the posi-
tion England ought to occupy in European affairs, and now was
the time to test them. There was much noise in the clubs and in.
society. The younger members of the successful party went
about with a jaunty, aggressive air and a dash of war in their
coat-tails, and English opinion was being unconsciously fanned,
into a flame against somebody or something. The new chief had
a contempt for the local littlenesses of English politics, which he
considered matters for a tax-gatherer rather than a statesman.
His ambition was imperial, and he had once likened the late
government to a company of vergers.

All this tended not a little to agitate society and make a lively
season, to which the irruption of Home-Rulers added a spice of
novelty.

" What do you think of them ? " was asked the chief.

" They are exceedingly picturesque," he drawled. " They
will help to break the gloomy monotony of the opposition
benches."

Later on in the season he gave the word to his followers to
" cultivate those fellows. They hardly know what they are after
yet, but they are numerous enough to make mischief were they
only gifted with the un-Irish vice of union. We must keep them

628 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Aug.,

scattered, and bag them where you can. They would make
capital sand-bags between our fortress and the enemy. I see

G is roaring against us in the north. But he is too angry,

and passion spoils his aim. He is shooting over the heads of
people, not at their hearts ; and the English people soon tire of a
verbal mitrailleuse. But get our women to invite these Irishmen.
They are an imaginative and impressionable people. They love
splendor, and all resemble, my old friend Moore in this: they
dearly love a lord." The chiefs will was law even in social
affairs, and the Home-Rulers found the sealed doors of the great
salons open to them as if by magic.

D'Arcy's maiden speech in the House was a very quiet affair,
on some small matter connected with his constituency. It called
for no rhetoric and received none. The subject was common-
place and the speech in keeping. It did not last ten minutes.
The House was prepared to listen with interest as the member
for Castle Craig rose — the youngster who had beaten the late
government's favorite. It saw a good-looking young fellow with
some character in his face. It heard an accent that wrould be
•called purely English. The voice was pleasant to hear ; the
demeanor of the man attractive by its quiet modesty. Having
stated his case in a brief and business-like manner, he sat down
amid the applause which the usage of the House always pre-
scribes for a maiden effort, no matter how bad it may be. The
powers of the speaker were as yet ungauged. As he sat down
the chief looked up and asked who he was. " That is D'Arcy,"
was the answer. " And who is D'Arcy ?" "The new member
for Castle Craig, who beat Lafontaine." ".Ah ! " said the great
man. " That was a promising speech for a young member. He
knows how to state a case." The promising speech in question
was reported in two lines of next morning's Times.

Later on in the session Mr. Butt brought forward his motion
to consider the state of Ireland and explain his demand for
Home Rule. The Home-Rulers showed fight, and some of them
a great capacity for debate. The House was filled with a bril-
liant assembly, and as Lafontaine was expected to speak on Irish
affairs in defence of the late government, Gertrude obtained an
order admitting her to the Bird-cage. It was her first visit to
St. Stephen's, and she caught the excitement of the hour as she
looked down from the grilled gallery behind which the ladies
were hidden in an obscure corner of the chamber that contained
the legislators of an empire as great as Rome in the zenith of its
power.

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 629

Gertrude's knowledge of politics was as limited as that of
most young ladies ; and as for. Irish politics or the state of Ireland
she was as ignorant as the government itself. Mr. Butt made a
magnificent speech from an oratorical point of view, and his
strong eloquence created quite a flutter in the Ladies' Gallery.
To cool judges, however, it was a little vague, and perhaps dif-
fuse, as bearing on a question of practical politics and legislation.
But it warmed the House and at once created a desire on the
part of every one to speak. The debate soon waxed hot and fu-
rious, and the pent-up wrath of the late government burst forth
in a scorching stream on those whom it chose to designate as
Irish deserters. Later on in the evening Lafontaine was put up
to answer a damaging attack on the late Irish administration.
Gertrude felt her heart glow with pride as his tall, sinewy form
rose like a young gladiator's amid the now tumultuous assembly,
that stilled to listen to the ex-under-secretary. It grew more
still as his icily cool and calmly confident tones were heard. His
reply was admirable from an under-secretary point of view. He
rebutted loose charges with force and skill, showed up the con-
tradictions of the Home-Rulers themselves in the actual de-
bate, presented a few half-facts from his own experience that
seemed to throw a new light on the whole subject, and one
strongly in favor of the late government, which was just on the
eve of doing great things for Ireland when Irishmen, with their
usual skill in detecting and rewarding their best friends, united
with a party who had never brought forward a single measure
of peace or good-will to the Irish people, but had opposed to the
death every movement in that direction. It was Irish influence
that had overthrown Ireland's friends. He congratulated the
government on its new allies. The alliance would last until the
government was mad or foolish enough to imitate their conduct
and attempt some measures for Irish relief. They would then
experience the customary gratitude of the Irish people and find
their benefits thrown back into their teeth.

There was a tinge of passion in his tones as he closed that
told upon the House, and he sat down amid a storm of cheers and
counter-cheers. The tumult extended even to the Ladies' Gal-
lery. Gertrude felt as though she had been witnessing something
grand and heroic, and listened with a sense of delight to the ad-
miring comments of the ladies around her. "Lafontaine is ad-
mirable," said Mrs. Beauchamp. " What a pity so fine a young
man is not on our side ! He must really be converted. Hush!
who is that replying ? "

630 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Aug.,

Gertrude looked eagerly forward at a man whose back was
for the moment turned in their direction. A hush of expectancy
had fallen on the House, for Lafontaine's speech had been a tell-
ing one and had turned the current of debate into a new chan-
nel. It was thought that one of the leading lights of the Home-
Rule party would have been put up to reply. But here was a
young man, who had only addressed the House on one or two
occasions and in the briefest possible way. " It is a debate
of infants," whispered the chief contemptuously to his neigh-
bor, and he drew his hat lower over his eyes and stared into
vacancy.

The voice of the new speaker did not at first reach to the La-
dies' Gallery ; but as it went on it gained strength and firmness.
A sudden interruption by an honorable member seemed to pro-
voke some quick retort, for the House laughed and cheered.
Here the speaker turned, and Gertrude saw that it was D'Arcy.

And now all his words came floating up to her and she felt a
strange tingling sensation through all her being. She did not
understand a word of what he was saying. To her he was still
standing half in the shadow, half in the sun, and telling her the
quaint story of Eva's Tear. House and parliament and affairs
of nations faded from her vision, and away in the distance some-
where a rich baritone was ringing out in gay freedom. Then a
beautiful girl came like a burst of sunlight through the fairy
foliage, and the baritone faded away, leaving a mocking echo
after it.

She was roused from her reverie by an exclamation from Mrs.
Beauchamp of "Who is he?" and a roar rose up from the
heated assembly below. It was not laughter this time, but de-
fiant cheer answering to defiant cheer. Gertrude looked down
and saw that men were angry and excited. The only men cool
and collected she could see were her hero the chief and D'Arcy.
He had evidently caught the ear of the House, and more : he
had moved it to passion, and passion vibrated in his own tones.
Gertrude listened now with all her ears, just as D'Arcy was
overturning point by point the defence of Lafontaine. What a
multitude of facts and figures that young man seemed to have
stored away in his solid-looking head ! These enabled him to
supply and supplant the half-facts that Lafontaine had given out
with bureaucratic confidence, and the latter began to experience
the uncomfortable feeling that he ought to have been more fully
prepared. As the speech progressed the speaker launched into
a wider and bolder field, and took up the taunt of the govern-

1882.J THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 631

ment that the Home-Rulers themselves did not know or could
not explain what they meant "by Home Rule. There came a
play of sarcasm dashed with strong indignation as he scornfully
held up for show men so palpably ignorant of Irish affairs under-
taking not only to defend an erring and deceitful government
but themselves to govern a country of which they knew nothing.
There were " Oh ! oh's ! " at the use of the word deceitful, but
the speaker held to it and enumerated the cases in which the
Irish had been deceived by a government calling itself liberal.
" It is a government of pledges and of promises," he concluded
—"of pledges broken and promises unfulfilled. I can find no
word but deceitful to apply to such actions, sir. We have
heard much of ingratitude to-night — the ingratitude of the Irish
people to the late government. What have you done for us that
you should claim our gratitude ? " he asked, turning full on the
leader of the opposition. " Gratitude for what or to whom ? I
look at the history of my country, not in the dead past, but in the
living day, in this century, and from its dawn to the present I
search in vain for any adequate motive of gratitude, not to the
late government alone but to any English government." (" Oh !
oh ! " and cries of " Emancipation ! ") " Emancipation ! " he re-
torted fiercely. " Are we to be grateful for freedom to worship
God according to our conscience? You robbed us of our na-
tional Parliament — an honorable gentleman takes exception to the
word robbed, but I believe it is an accepted fact that the Act of
Union was brought about by as gross corruption and bribery as
ever disgraced even an English government." At this there was
an angry outcry, and as it died out D'Arcy, addressing the.
Speaker in the blandest tones, said : " I trust, sir, that a member
of this House is not by his oath bound to defend every action of
every government that has ruled this realm. It is easy to show
whether my statement of the Act of Union be correct or not,
but, if correct, I consider robbed a very mild term to apply to
such gross corruption and bribery." (A voice : " They were only
too glad to be bought.") " True ; but I claim that a few traitors
cannot sell a nation, and I cannot conceive free men defending so
vile an act. Well, sir, you merged our national Parliament in
your own ; for which act, of course, we are to be grateful. You
refused to allow a Catholic to sit in that Parliament, which was
equivalent to allowing the Irish people no representation — an-
other motive for gratitude ! You had already killed our national
industries in favor of English traders, and driven the masses of
the people to scrape an existence out of the land." (" Question !

632 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Aug.,

question ! ") " Sir, this is the question. We have been accused
of ingratitude at great length and in various forms, and we have
been asked what we meant by Home Rule. I am giving the
reasons for our gratitude, and when you have them all you will
see that the demand for Home Rule is completely unjustifiable.
We must be grateful, then, because O'Connell forced Emancipa-
tion upon you and forced his way into this House. We must
be grateful for the famines that desolate — " (A voice : " The gov-
ernment is not responsible for famines.") " The government that
kills national industries, dooms a nation to subsist on the uncer-
tain products of the soil, and makes the laws governing the
holding of that soil laws of penury and starvation for the tenant
is responsible for what befalls them. We are truly grateful for
the generous relief afforded, that resulted by death and emigra-
tion in the loss of two millions of our people within two years.
And coming down from that period to the fall of the late admin-
istration, for what have we to be grateful ? For the destruction
of that disgrace to English legislation — the maintaining of a reli-
gious establishment totally opposed to the conscience and con-
victions of a people ; and for an attempt, wholly inadequate, to
make the existence of those who subsist by tilling the soil in Ire-
land possible. Sir, I find here no other motives for \vhich to be
grateful. Government after government pledged itself to relieve
these evils. Was I wrong in describing such as governments of
pledges broken and of promises unfulfilled ? The great mass of
the tenants in Ireland are to-day not a season's remove from
starvation. And who is responsible for that state of things?"
(" Yourselves.") " Ourselves ! Well, sir, that brings us back to
the question. We wish to make ourselves responsible for our
own well-being. And that is what we mean by Home Rule —
the power to mind our own business, which this House under-
takes to mind for us ; to control our own affairs on our own
soil, among and by our own people. We wish to take Irish leg-
islation out of the hands of such conspicuously competent states-
men as the honorable gentleman who preceded me. We are
part of you in imperial interests, nothing more. Gratitude is
for favors received. We owe no gratitude for natural rights.
The state of Ireland is one of grave disaffection, and the criminal
causes of that disaffection have been set forth and charged home
here, to the English government and people, by no man more
forcibly or lucidly, or with such surpassing eloquence and truth,
as by the right honorable gentleman who now asks our gratitude
for favors that are still left to be conferred."

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 633

He bowed to the head of the late government and took his
seat. Butt rose from his place, his broad face beaming with de-
light, and joined his young lieutenant. He patted him on the
back and shook his hand lustily. Cheers rose on the govern-
ment side as well as among the Home-Rulers. The speech pro-
duced so marked an effect that the opposition leader himself rose
to reply, his face pale with excitement and passion, and his eyes
shooting flame. After complimenting the young member on his
remarkably able speech, and congratulating the House on such
an addition to its debating power, the veteran proceeded, with
all his force and more than his usual vehemence, to pull the re-
markably able speech to shreds and overwhelm his young an-
tagonist with invective. Soon leaving him, he launched into a
defence of his administration against all attacks that had been
made on it. He said that he claimed no gratitude from the
Irish people. He and the great party he had the honor to lead
acted solely from conviction and an honest sense of justice.
They looked for no reward save the approval of their conscience
for deeds well done, and would be prepared when the time came
to go on in the path they had entered on — that of bringing to-
gether two divided peoples by striving by every means in their
power to remove the barriers of centuries and the bitter legacies
of the past. This they would do with or without Irish assist-
ance, though if the Irish people rejected all attempts at good-
will their sorrows be upon their own heads.

It was, of course, a powerful speech and made a strong de-
fence. At its close the debate was adjourned. D'Arcy had
been paid the highest possible compliment to a new member —
he had been answered on the spot by one of the leaders of the
House. As he passed out he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turn-
ing, he saw the chief of the government. The old man's face
was full of kindly encouragement. " Very good, very good in-
deed," said he, patting him on the shoulder. " You brought
back my young days to me to-night. Keep on. Don't waste
yourself; and if you think my advice worth anything at all you
may command it. Good-night, good-night." And the great
man hobbled away. The gout was twitching him.

Mrs. Beauchamp was full of the debate as she drove home
with Gertrude. But Gertrude was silent for the most part, or
only responded in monosyllables. She complained of a head-
ache and was glad to reach her room.

Mrs. Beauchamp belonged to the party that was now in the
ascendant, and always spoke of the government as "we." The

634 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. . [Aug.,

chief had great faith in woman's influence in politics as in all
things. " A five minutes' conversation with a witty and pretty
woman will often effect more than a great debate," was one of
his maxims. As the season wore on it became apparent that
England was being drawn into the tangle of foreign complica-
tions, and the feeling in the country was much divided. It was
impossible to gauge public opinion with any degree of accuracy,
and a great debate was coming on in which the whole foreign
policy of the ministry was to be assailed. If the assault proved
successful it meant the overthrow of the government, and the
whippers-in had an extremely anxious time of it.

On the eve of the great debate Mrs. Beauchamp gave a party.
It was to be a quiet party, so she informed those whom she in-
vited. "You will meet just a few friends — people you will like,"
she told everybody. " Not a formal affair at all, you know. I
am getting tired of formal affairs. But everybody will be some-
body, so come." And as everybody imagine themselves to be
somebody, everybody came.

•Gertrude was there, radiant in her beauty, but Lafontaine
was not, being engaged at a rival house. Perhaps she had lost
a breath of the naive freshness and violet softness that consti-
tuted her chief charm at her first coming-out ; but she was
undoubtedly a very beautiful girl, and her beauty was informed
with intelligence and spirituality. Her face and air were those
of a woman the very sight of whom repelled the commonplace.
Men felt that to address the conventional small things to this
goddess was to offer her an insult and to demean themselves.
Those who attempted it found themselves at once in an uncon-
genial atmosphere, and were abashed by the calm, open, search-
ing glance of the deep hazel eyes that looked into their little
souls and saw their emptiness.

As the evening wore on Mrs. Beauchamp's quiet party turned
out to be a great throng, where most of the men were celebrated
and most of the women beautiful. The lights of London were
there in force. One jostled against members of Parliament, men
distinguished in letters and in art, members of the foreign em-
bassies. There was a fair sprinkling of the leading representa-
tives of the Irish movement, and great attention was paid to Mr.
Butt by the hostess, while his younger followers were ensnared
by her fair sirens.

Once again Gertrude encountered the great Nan. A sensa-
tion accompanied his entry, but was apparently unmarked by
him. He seemed in the best of health and spirits. He moved

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 635

about with quiet gayety, dropping a sparkling epigram at times
that was immediately taken up and passed around for the ad-
miration of the company, as a gem of art might be. To Ger-
trude he seemed the same as when she first met him. Yet he
was now the ruler of Great Britain, and for the time being more
powerful than its sovereign. But no sense of this was visible in
his demeanor or conversation. He was to all appearance simply
a very delightful old gentleman, and not at all like the man
who to-morrow would be arraigned before the country for his
policy by a host of foes who were giants in assault. But under
the smile and the nod was a face full of power and dauntless re-
solve ; and now and then the deep eyes flashed out a glance that
shone over the heads of the glittering throng around him into a
region apart that only this man of all present seemed to know
and search. • It was the look of a man who could face Fate and
bend it to his will.

" You have not changed much," he said to Gertrude as he
looked into her face. " You have been brushed a little by the
world. That must be. But it has not brushed yourself away or
hidden you under its diamond-dust, which is only dust after all.
There is no jewel like a fresh young soul."

. " But you are changed," said she, " and I rejoice at the
change."

" No, no," was the response, with a sad shake of the head.
" After a certain time we get beyond change. Things shift a
little, and we shift with them. That is all. When I was young
and ardent I used to think that we made changes. Now I have
almost come to conclude that changes make us."

" And yet you are now the first man in the country."

There was a faint shrug of the shoulders and a half-smile of
good-natured contempt as he answered : " I am precisely the
same man I was a year ago, only that I now sit on a different
bench." Then he added more gravely : " There is no first man
in England ; or rather there is a multitude. There are two
powers : the sovereign and the people. Ah ! " and his eye lit up
with pleasure, " here comes one who may be a power some day,
if he cares ; but the men who can do not always care. Come
here, you young rebel," he called to some one — "come here and
be converted to loyalty. Miss Mowbray, I leave this rebel in
your hands. He has a bad disease that you should cure him of.
So you are going to turn us out to-morrow night, eh ? This is
Mr. D'Arcy, Miss Mowbray, a born Irish rebel. I am not sure
but I shall charge him with high treason some day and have

636 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Aug.,

him sent to the block. So if you would save his head appeal to
his heart." And, nodding and smiling, the great man left them
together.

Gertrude felt herself blushing to the temples, and was angry
for blushing, the more so that D'Arcy was looking at her with
a quiet smile in which she fancied she detected a faint play of
mockery, as though he were enjoying her evident perplexity.
He broke what threatened to be an embarrassment by saying,
with genuine good-nature in his tones and with all his coaxing
Irish voice :

" This is our second introduction. I esteem myself a very
fortunate man, Miss Mow bray. You see it is impossible for you
to escape me."

She yielded to his grace and said : " Indeed I am pleased to
meet you again, Mr. D'Arcy."

" No, you are not," said he, still in his jocular way, and with
not a shade of malice or ill-will in his face or voice, " and you
know you are not."

How provokingly cool the fellow was ! She looked hurt at
the reception of what she intended as a kind greeting, and asked :
" Why should you think so?"

" Because I feel that you are not. You were not pleased to
meet me in Dublin. Why should you be pleased to meet me
here ? But no matter. We may at least speak civilly to each
other a little, may we not ? "

1 She felt that he had reason to think as he spoke, and her con-
science gave her a little twinge of reproach. She was resolved
on dissipating the unpleasant impression he had formed of
her.

" I have every reason to be civil," she said. " You were very
kind to us."

" How and when ? " he asked in genuine amazement.

" When we first met you — when you entertained us so pleas-
antly."

He gave a low laugh and seemed highly amused. Gertrude
began to feel that she must appear silly to this man.

" I remember," he laughed. " Yes, of course I was very
kind— kind enough to rise from a weather-beaten old bench to
make place for an elderly gentleman and his charming daughter.
That was cheap kindness."

" Nevertheless, you did it, and we thought it kind." And
then, after a slight pause, she asked suddenly : " But why did
you leave us so abruptly ? "

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 637

" What should I have done ? Stay and bore you to death ?
I felt myself to be an intruder. You would not have a man force
himself on you. So I went away, and our second meeting con-
vinced me I did right."

" No, no, do not think that. We enjoyed your company
greatly. I remember your beautiful little story by heart. Be-
lieve me, you mistake us, if you think we were not pleased to
meet you again."

She spoke earnestly, and he felt that she did. He looked
down into the pleading eyes, and a puzzled expression stole over
his face. " No matter," he said ; " it is nonsense, anyhow. 1
suppose I was brusque, as I sometimes am. And now believe me
in my turn : I would have lingered with pleasure, only I thought
it better to go."
' " Why ? "

" I feared the fate of Eva's suitors. I am a very matter-of-
fact young man. That is the only thing to be nowadays."

"And am I Eva?"

He looked at her again earnestly, and then said with sudden
energy : " No. She cannot have been half as beautiful."

From another Gertrude would have resented such a speech ;
•but somehow she could not be angry any more with this bold,
brusque stranger, who said and did just what he pleased.

" What is the use," she asked gaily, " of trying to talk
against you Irishmen? You can beat us all at words. I am
half Irish myself. Ah ! if your deeds only half equalled your
words what a people you would be."

His bright face darkened and grew set.

" You are right," he remarked, with an emphasis that was al-
most fierce. " You have hit on the weakness of some of our
people who talk where they ought to act. But what would you
have? It is only the other day we were allowed to speak even.
Give us a little time, and perhaps speech may shape itself into
action. The Irish have shown themselves a long-lived nation
under a rule of assassination. Life under such trial is not pre-
served for nothing. No, no ; God's hand must be in it all, though
we are too blind to see it. But pardon me ; this is not the place
for such speech."

" I heard you speak so before."

"You did? Where?"

" In the House of Commons when you gave your great
speech that made them all angry."

" Were you indeed there ? "

THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Aug.,

i •; [." Yes, and you made me angry, too. You were so severe on
my friend Mr. Lafontaine."

" And he is your friend ? Well, I congratulate you on hav-
ing such a friend! He is a gallant fellow, and I felt sorry that I
had to beat him at the election. He fought fairly, and I am con-
vinced he always would, in love as well as in war."

He looked at Gertrude and noticed her color rise as he spoke
the last words. He turned his gaze away and added : " In the
debate he was not up in his facts, and I happened to be. That
was all. I was not fighting him then. I was fighting his gov-
ernment. It was a bad government. But there, again I am
drifting into politics. So you were angry at my speech ? "

" Yes ; but I love to listen to men who are in earnest, even if
I do not agree with them. And I am glad to see you can be in
earnest."

" Why, did you doubt it?"

" Oh ! you are an Irishman, and Irish earnestness is like Irish
weather — fitful."

" Yet you tell me you are half Irish."

" Yes ; but mine is the earnest half, therefore I am wholly
earnest."

" Then you are a very exceptional young lady."

" Well, Gertrude, have you succeeded in converting this
rebel?" broke in Mrs. Beauchamp.

" We were not talking politics, Mrs. Beauchamp."

" But you ought to be. It is the only subject worth talking
about. Why didn't you attack him, you foolish creature ? We
might have secured his vote in the coming debate."

" I know nothing about politics, dear Mrs. Beauchamp."

" So much the better. That is where we women have the
advantage over you ; is it not, Mr. Rebel ? "

"The government seem to think so," said D'Arcy. "They
follow your standard, Mrs. Beauchamp. The less they know the
more they legislate, and this is what is called a spirited policy."

" Rebel, rebel ! A born rebel ! There, go and lead my pet
to supper."

Gertrude enjoyed that evening very much and in her new
companion forgot even the chief for the moment. But that great
man had long since disappeared. D'Arcy interested her, and she
showed herself eager to dispel the impression that she had
created in his mind. He struck her as being more clever than
most of the men with whom she came in contact. It was not
the warped and biting cleverness of men who are, so to say,

1 882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. 639

clever by profession. It was tempered by a genial gayety, a
sympathetic nature that uttered itself now and then in true
heart-tones. He did not pay court to the beauty at his side.
He did not seem to regard her astonishing beauty as anything at
all to be noticed. He paid her the truest compliment that a wo-
man of sense could desire : he talked to herself and not to her
face or her person.

TO BE CONTINUED,

THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS.

No one possessing any practical knowledge of the temper
and thought of the modern political world could be surprised at
the reception which greeted in many quarters the appearance of
the pastoral of the late Provincial Council of Cincinnati. It
would have been more than strange if it had not encountered
hostile and angry criticism. It certainly was saluted with the
heavy artillery of wild abuse — the only argument that our Ame-
rican Jacobinism could direct against the Christian doctrine that
all civil power comes* from God. To the principle that God is
sovereign in the world, which he created, the secular press of
this country in a large measure uttered a fierce denial. Ana-
charsis Clootz seemed to have risen from his dishonored grave ;
for the language of the critics of the Cincinnati pastoral was
not different in thought, and hardly less blasphemous and brutal
in tone, than his revolutionary aphorism, " The people is sove-
reign of the world ; they are God."

In any period of the world's history prior to the last century
the statement that God is the fountain and origin of all civil
power would have been read and accepted without dissent. It
would have been regarded as a moral and political truism upon
which no instruction was needed. Leibnitz describes " two
zealous, -thick-headed logicians who reduced the first six books
of Euclid to syllogisms." Eighteen centuries of Christian
thought would most probably have viewed in the same light any
one who would view through a dialectic mould the political
axiom that all power comes from God. The rejection of the
theistic basis of society is an illogical as well as an irreligious
act of which the last century must bear the disgrace. And with

640 THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug.,

the disgrace society since that time has been compelled to bear
the punishment. The doctrinaires of that time preferred to
the inspired truth of the Apostle of the Gentiles the hypocritical
fictions of the French Declaration of Rights, which the apostate
Fouchet so accurately condensed into one line : " In the govern-
ment of this world man is God ; this is the truth." If this is a
social truth it is unlike all others that the world has known.
Changing the very nature of truth, like a solvent it has destroy-
ed Christian society. It was, in the language of Burke, " a sort
of institute or digest of anarchy."

While the un-Catholic world was amazed that a religious
document should recognize a divine force in law, the necessity of
a divine will to direct the destiny of human society, Catholics,
the most enlightened as well as the most ignorant, solely because
they are Christians, accepted it not only in its substance but in
its most distant conclusions. They know and can conceive of
no social organism of which the Christian family is not the life
and liberty-giving germ. Of the germ and its full development
-the incarnate God is the head. The doctrine of the pastoral
could not jar in the least upon the framework of their minds.
It had to their ears no more the ring of new discovery nor the
voice of a new prophecy than a sentence from a Catholic child's
catechism. The false and subtle social theories of these days
might have dimmed in the minds of some 'Catholics other truths
which Catholic faith requires them to hold. But they have not
darkened their belief in the existence of God as the lawgiver of
the human race. It would be necessary to assume this to make
room for the supposition that they do not hold that all power
comes from God.

Whatever others may be, Catholics are not less logical, and
they cannot be less religious, than the pagan who told the Athe-
nians in dramatic song that " power and law are born in the up-
per air and had an eternal throne in the heavens." Greek philo-
sophy, with its uncertain light, had reached the truth, which the
Apostle of the Gentiles proclaimed in all its fulness. And a
Greek chorus, weaving that truth into the beauty of tragic verse,
recites it not as a startling invention but as an ethical platitude.
The most stupid or the most irreverent frequenter of the Athe-
nian theatre would not quarrel with it. When Cicero builds the
political power of society on the same foundation he is only
clothing with his fervid eloquence the spoils of Greek science
which the arms of its legions brought to Rome. He knew that
duties not only precede rights, but they alone stamp man as a

i882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. 641

moral being; that these duties' are the outgrowth of a divine law
that has an eternal sanction/ If the cultivated pagan of any race,
trained in any school, following any of the countless pagan rules
of religion, had been told that all power comes from the Crea-
tor of the universe, he would have answered, Certainly. He
might have also asked his instructor, Who is so foolish as to
question it?

It might be inferred from this allusion to the doctrines of
classic paganism that our age of culture could sit with profit at
the feet of the writer of Antigone and learn valuable wisdom
from the lips of the prince of Roman orators. Paganism, horri-
ble, revolting, degrading as it was in its sacrifices and worship,
was certainly more ennobling and elevating in its belief in the
supernatural, to which it linked its whole religious life and wrap-
ped all its religious thought, than the political and social phases
of modern naturalism. There is a touching, pathetic truth in the
lines of Wordsworth :

" Great God, I had rather be

A pagan suckled in some creed outworn ;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses, that would make me less forlorn."

The modern world has found a lower depth in the social abyss
than the pagan. The latter would have wisely shrunk from the
plague of political atheism that is devouring society. The pro-
verbial greed of the hungry Greek or the uncurbed ambition of
the proud Roman patrician might make either indifferent to the
injustice and dishonor of a political spoils system which we have
perfected, or make either blind to the rights of society. But
neither was the less sensible that a divine law ruled society, to
which all were subject. Neither was so depraved as to teach
that society could exist without God. But to-day an idol not
known to the pagan pantheon has millions of worshippers. They
may not be as candid, as honest in their worship in this country,
but they are just as eager and active as the Berts and Gambet-
tas to eliminate the idea of God from the political world. A
large portion of the secular press subscribe to this creed. They
adopt the whole liturgy of political atheism. No wonder they
raged when the pastoral of the Provincial Council of Cincin-
nati struck a blow at their loved idol. Their fault is not greater
or their cry not more irrational than the furious complaint of
the silversmiths of Ephesus when they saw that Christian truth
would diminish the profitable offerings to Diana.

VOL. XXXV. — 41

•

642 THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug.,

Of course the baser motives of the loud outcry against the
pastoral had to be hidden. The covering was an homage which
the modern politician is compelled to pay to the lingering Chris-
tian tradition that God has a right to a throne in his own world.
The covering was very thin and worn from long usage, but it
had done good service in the past. It was safe to conclude that
the experience of the past would be repeated. The old machi-
nery of ignorant prejudice was set in motion. The doctrine of
the pastoral was denounced as one of many signs that the Ca-
tholic Church is the irreconcilable foe of civil liberty. It would
be an idle task to notice the clamor of opposition pitched upon
that key. The very doctrine which the bishops promulgated,
and which was so senselessly assailed, is the only force that can
conserve human freedom. Separate the recognition of the truth
that liberty, like every other good that blesses individual or na-
tional life, descends from the " Father of lights," and there will
be left, as the history of the world proves, only

" The name
Of Freedom graven on a heavier chain."

From this doctrine, as all thinking men can see without labor-
ed reasoning, flows all personal freedom. Without the security
-of personal freedom which an incarnate God first taught to the
world national liberty can never draw the first breath of life.
Liberty without God sings no song of gladness. It increases,
does not heal, the wounds of society. It has 'only to be proclaim-
ed to give way to the reign of brute force. This has been the
never-varying historical record of liberty divorced from the re-
straints of a divine and supreme lawgiver. God is liberty, says
the Angelic Doctor. It is the most perfect definition of the Ru-
ler of the universe which his wondrously illumined mind could
fashion. Because she is the church of God, in her path through
the world the Catholic Church has been strewing for centuries
the blessings of human liberty. Hence Mr. Freeman says that
the liberties of which the modern civilized world boast were
" broadened down " in mediaeval times when the spiritual sway
of the Catholic Church was undisputed. Freedom was not then
the possession of a few nor the heirloom of a privileged titled
caste, but it was the birthright of all, because all, the lowly as
well as the great, belonged to the family of God. It was in these
very mediaeval times that the civil rights of the many, the politi-
cal descendants of the pagan proletariat, found a defender, and a
defender that power could neither frighten nor corrupt. It is to

1 882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. 643

this beneficent spiritual power of the Catholic Church watching
over the cradle of modern society, fearlessly protecting the seed
of human liberty which a divine Husbandman had sown, we
wish to draw attention.

One of the journalistic critics of the Cincinnati pastoral has
distinguished himself above his fellows by discovering that its
doctrine on the origin of power is only a veiled effort of the
church to restore the civil pains and penalties of ecclesiastical
excommunication. To his dismay he sees rising from the grave
the ghost of that " usurped priestly domination which the Re-
formation was supposed to have buried for ever." Unfortunately
for modern society, hopelessly broken into fragments, chaotic as
every social world must be where heresy assumes to teach, the
restoration* which the critic fears is impossible. In the civil
and political strength of mediaeval excommunication human lib-
erty found its refuge. It was a citadel that saved it from death.
It was a sacred sanctuary where religion protected it from the
hands of tyranny. He has read the past only to multiply his de-
lusions who does not see that in the exercise of its mediaeval
right of excommunication the Catholic Church was performing
this service for humanity. And he is equally mistaken who
believes that the church sought or employed for selfish and
ambitious designs judicial prerogatives in the domain of poli-
tical society. They were congenital with society that was built
upon the clean-swept site of paganism. They formed an essen-
tial as well as an important part of the texture of Christian so-
ciety. The social organism which Christianity quickened into
life amid the death-throes of the pagan world was identified with
the Catholic Church, as the church was one with God as the in-
terpreter of the divine law. In it society " lived and moved and
had its being." To deny its competency to sit in judgment upon
the acts of the civil power would have been social apostasy from
Christ, in whom all power, civil as well as spiritual, centred.
That crime of apostasy was at last committed. The only fruit, as
far as we can see, has been the groans of human bondage, the un-
dertone of human despair, that mingles with the hopeful cry of
every modern revolution. The power of mediaeval excommuni-
cation was not an abnormal excrescence on the political body. It
was not, as we are told, the product of spiritual chicanery. It was
not injected into the veins of society as a foreign poison. It grew
from within. It was not a destroying parasite, but it was de-
veloped silently, and yet divinely, with the growth and needs of
Christian society, seeking protection for that liberty which its

644 THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug>,

divine Founder bequeathed to it. This instrument of terror to
oppression was forged by the hands of Eternal Justice, and it will
be restored to the world as the guardian of human rights, if
Christian society is ever reconstructed. The proof of this truth
lies in the very nature of spiritual censure and in the benign ef-
fects which it wrought in the life of European society when the
constitutional law of the Christian world classed those upon
whom the spiritual censure fell as social criminals and political
offenders. We ask no stronger or more convincing vindication
of the church as the watchful warder of civil liberty. The his-
tory of mediaeval jurisprudence is trumpet-tongued in its de-
fence. From the first promulgation of Christianity according to
apostolic ordinances the effect of excommunication was to de-
prive the believer not only of the spiritual advantages peculiar
to Christians, but also of certain social advantages and privileges
which depend on the freewill of individuals. The latter can be
withheld without violating any rights of others or the neglect of
any duty. Such, for instance, are the ordinary marks of friend-
ship, politeness, and courtesy. Ecclesiastical history furnishes
numerous examples of this ancient discipline of the early ages of
the faith. It was considered no less important to preserve the
faithful from the contagion of bad example than to excite the
guilty to penance by a salutary fear.

There is one circumstance connected with the institutions of
the church, says Guizot in his History of European Civilization,
which has not, in general, been as much noticed as it deserves. I
allude to its penitential system, which is the more interesting at
the present day because, so far as the principles and application
of moral law are concerned, it is almost completely in unison with
the principles of modern philosophy. If we look closely, he says,
into the punishments inflicted by the church ; if we examine its
system of public penance, which was its principal mode of punish-
ing, we shall find the object was, above all others, to excite re-
pentance in the soul of the guilty, and then to stir up the heart of
Christian society with the moral terror of example. But there is
another idea involved in these public penalties— the idea of expia-
tion ; that is, in all punishments there is, independently of the idea
of awakening the guilty to repentance and of deterring others
from the commission of crime, a secret and imperious desire to
sxpiate guilt. Putting this question, however, aside, it is* sufficient-
ly evident that repentance and example were the objects which
the church desired to reach by its system of excommunication,
e attainment of these ends is the legitimate scope of every

1 882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. 645

truly philosophical legislation. In defence of these principles
the most enlightened jurists Have clamored for a reform of the
penal legislation of Europe in modern times. Open the books of
these legal reformers — those of Jeremy Bentham, for example —
and the reader will be astonished at the numerous resemblances
which he will find everywhere between his plans of punishment
claiming originality and the penitential canons of the church.
These canons, rigorous though they be, are a part and parcel of
that wondrous system of charity by which the church endeavor-
ed to soften the rugged manners of barbaric kings and princes,
and to render them more just in their conduct towards the weak.
At the same time it sought to inculcate a life of morality among
the poor, inspiring them with higher hopes than their lowly
lot would give them. In this spirit the church labored constantly
for the improvement of civil and criminal legislation during the
middle ages. It is impossible to compare the laws of the church
with the codes of the barbaric founders of European nations
without at once admitting the superiority of the church in mat-
ters of jurisprudence and legislation.

The close alliance which the ecclesiastical and civil powers
contracted in all Christian states after the conversion of Cori-
stantine gave rise to the practice of confirming the divine and
ecclesiastical laws by the authority of the sovereign. This was
the origin of the correlative practice of punishing any violation
of these laws with civil penalties. In time there was scarcely
an important article of the doctrines or discipline of the church
which was not confirmed by the civil power. Such is the true
and just basis of the temporal penalties decreed by Roman (civil)
law and the Christian states of Europe in the middle ages against
heresy, apostasy, sacrilege, blasphemy, and many other crimes
against religion. From this source arose the temporal effects
attached to public penances and censures, among which was
counted the forfeiture of secular offices and dignities. We have
only to refer to the Capitulars of Charlemagne and his successors,
or to the decrees of many councils or mixed assemblies in the
same epoch, to be convinced that this discipline was then in vigor
throughout Europe. It was established and formally recognized
by the civil power.

From the seventh to the twelfth century the practice of pub-
lic penances fell into disuse in consequence of the disorders of
society during that turbulent period. It was then found neces-
sary to restrain the wild passions and horrible excesses of a bar-
barous and undisciplined people by a different kind of punish-

646 THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug.,

ment. Religion was clothed with the only authority they re-
spected. Ecclesiastical censures, but especially excommunication,
appeared alone capable of reaching and answering the wants of
the social body. Sovereigns themselves, according to William
of Malmesbury, had no more powerful means of controlling their
rebellious barons. It alone could shiver the destroying lance
and break in twain the blood-stained sword. In the cause of jus-
tice and peace kings took advantage of the strict union between
the civil and ecclesiastical powers, and succeeded in attaching to
the spiritual penalties, which the church prescribed for crimes,
temporal effects like those which had long previously been at-
tached to public penances.

The first example which history furnishes us of this privation
of civil rights as a consequence of spiritual excommunication is
found in a constitution of Childebert II. It was published in the
year 595. In this document the king of the French makes se-
vere laws against incestuous marriages. Those who contracted
such unholy alliances and refused to break their sinful bonds
were not only excommunicated — entirely stripped of all the spi-
ritual privileges of Christians — but they were forbidden by civil
law access to the palace, and their temporal goods were declared
forfeited in favor of their heirs. The successors of Childebert,
finding that the secular arm grew stronger in its battles for the
preservation of society by aiding spiritual authority, gradually
extended the temporal effects of excommunication. One of the
most remarkable ordinances of this kind was promulgated by the
Council of Verneuil, assembled in 755 by order of Pepin the Short.
The ninth canon of this council not only closes the doors of the
church against the excommunicated, but it decrees the punish-
ment of exile against all who refuse to recognize this separation
from the faithful. Another capitular denies to the excommu-
nicated the right of accusation or defence — the right of being
plaintiff or defendant in a court of justice. Similar enactments
in considerable number show that this legislation existed in Eng-
land under Ethelred and Canute. They appear again and again
in the acts of the Saxon and Danish monarchs' reigns, and Can-
ceanus' Barbarorum Leges Antiqiuz quotes them as the most
beneficent regulations of a warlike age that the temporal power
single-handed could not soothe nor soften.

The concert of the two powers in the establishment and ap-
proval of this discipline is formally acknowledged by modern
writers, even while they censure the practice and contest the
maxims of the middle ages on this point. They do not hesitate

1 882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. 647

to say that temporal power favored it as the safeguard of order,
and they are ready to confess that the church did not suggest
nor enforce these punishments of the state in the hope of strength-
ening its own authority. Charlemagne, says the continuator of
Velly, far from being jealous of the power of the bishops, thought
it his interest to augment it, that it might serve as a counterpoise
to the growing arrogance of his barons. Bred to the use of
arms, and having the chief strength of the kingdom at their dis-
posal, they often grew impatient under the just restraints of royal
power. He therefore introduced not only into the schools he
founded, but also into the ecclesiastical tribunals, whose jurisdic-
tion he extended, and into the parliaments or general assemblies
of the nation, new maxims as favorable to the church " as they
were contrary to the rights of the sovereign." Charlemagne, in
granting these prerogatives to the bishops, knew full well that he
was giving to the throne a new element of strength that could
spring from no other source. Additional security to his rights
could hardly be " contrary to them."

The germs of this new policy were not of slow development.
Kings and emperors, having communicated a portion of the
civil and political power to bishops, and being interested in the
execution of ecclesiastical sentences, enlarged the pains and pen-
alties following excommunication. It soon became a general law
in Europe that an excommunicated person, if he had not the dis-
position to obtain absolution in a given time, was declared civilly
accursed. He lost caste ; his rights of citizenship were annulled ;
he was proscribed and banished from society. Society was then
sensitively Christian. It traced its whole life to a Christian su-
pernatural root — -the Incarnation of Jesus Christ. The church
was his representative, clothed with his authority. The Chris-
tian civil law of Europe, conforming itself to the legislation of
the divine Founder of society, echoed his own doctrine : " If any
one will not hear the church, let him be to thee as a heathen or
publican." Long before the pontificate of St. Gregory VII., to
whom Protestant writers falsely attribute the invention of the
temporal penalties of excommunication, civil law had sharpened
its sword against public hardened transgressors of the laws of
Christianity. For centuries before the .memorable days of Hil-
debrand it had not only been unsheathed but wielded with an
unsurpassed severity. By the civil statutes of earlier times it
was forbidden even to kindred and servants to hold any inter-
course with any one whom the spiritual tribunal had condemned,
except in what was indispensable for the support of his life.

648 THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug.,

This extreme rigor, inflicting death upon all civil and social
rights, was solely the creation of the common law of Europe ; it
was strictly enforced upon public enemies of the commonwealth
whenever they refused obstinately to release themselves from
spiritual censure within the period determined by the laws or
usages of each particular state.

So far was the church from introducing these edicts into the
body of European law for the extension of its own dominion
that she was the first to oppose the severity of this discipline.
When civil rulers would have made it Draconian her voice of
charity was successfully raised to mitigate it in many points.
Strange as it may sound in this age, that has falsely given to
Gregory VII. all the features of the most unscrupulous tyrant
in advancing the cause of spiritual despotism, he was most promi-
nent among the pontiffs of the middle ages in abridging the civil
and social disabilities which secular legislation decreed against
the excommunicated. He threw the protection of papal power
around the home of the worst criminal. He removed the pres- .
ence of the civil ban from the fireside. By a law enacted
during his pontificate the wife, children, and servants, and all
whose company would not encourage the excommunicated in his
crimes, were allowed to associate with him. This decree was
afterwards inserted in the body of canon law. A still greater
mitigation of regal rigor was made by Martin V. in the Council
of Constance. By pontifical rescript he smoothed away the
sternest features of a discipline which civil law had enforced
for centuries. In the face of remonstrances on the part of tem-
poral rulers he commanded that unrestricted intercourse should
be permitted with all who were not excommunicated publicly and
by name. This is the present discipline of the church. There
were many stages in the history of the mitigations of these pun-
ishments. But at every stage it is the church which covers the
outlaw with the mantle of mercy. It is the church that lifts its
repelling, warning hand against the officers of the civil power.
The general principle remained untouched that the obstinate
and impenitent under the sentence of excommunication were lia-
ble to be deprived of every temporal dignity. It remained be-
cause it was the dictum of common law, which the church did
not establish and had no power to abolish. It had a strength
which the church could not destroy— the strength of custom and
written law.

It is a principle universally admitted that the public and pri-
vate law of any community, in all that is of human and arbitrary

1 882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. 649

legislation, is manifest not only from written law but likewise
from custom. Length of years and universal acceptance give to
many a custom the form of law. Whether the notification of a
law be made by writing or by proclamation of officers appointed
for the purpose, or by universal tradition and practice, like the
common law of England, is of little moment in determining the
justice of the law. An immemorial custom approved or not ex-
pressly condemned by the legislative power in any state has the
force of law. Even when originating in error or abuse, but in
process of time identified with the institutions and policy of a
country, such a custom becomes an essential part of the common
law of the people who have approved of the custom. The ap-
proval need not be more marked than a silent acquiescence. As
Montesquieu observes, such a custom could not have become
universal if it had not been congenial to the usages of the people.
A submission of centuries that utters no protest against a cus-
tom elevates it to the dignity of law. This submission, unvaried
by a single protest in the history of the middle ages against the
right of affixing temporal penalties to excommunication, is an
historical fact. When Gregory VII. excommunicated Henry
IV. of Germany the boldest partisans of the emperor admitted
the existence and justice of this principle. The only subject on
which there was a division was whether a sovereign could be the
object of a sentence which involved such consequences. This
question was solved in the affirmative by the common law of the
epoch. That common law laid its hands not only upon the
banned baron, but claimed obedience from the wearer of the im-
perial diadem. Imperial disloyalty to God and his church rent
by the hands of civil law the vassal's oath of loyalty to the
crown ; and by the decision of the same judge, which civil society
elected to settle dispute between king and subject, the stain of
certain crimes upon the king's soul was reflected in a stain upon
the purple of Christian royalty, in the desecration and loss of
kingly power. The same handwriting of justice that expelled
the impenitent knight from his castle drove the contumacious
emperor in disgrace from his throne. While it is true that all
nations of mediaeval Europe recognized this code of discipline,
and prized it as the strongest curb on the lawlessness of human
will sitting in high places, nowhere was the text of these laws
so clear, so precise, so explicit in determining the punishment
to be visited upon excommunicated royalty, as in Germany.
The old Saxon love of liberty inherited from pagan times gave
the sharpest edge to the laws which could punish the violators of

650 THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug.,

that liberty when every other protection was brittle as glass and
weak as reeds. These laws, prepared and adopted in the heart
of the empire, were the most comprehensive and most effective
Bill of Rights that any age has ever enjoyed. Comprehensive
they certainly were when the head bound with gold must needs
bow to their decision as well as his vassals. And surely they
were effective when they won for oppressed peoples far more
than all the boastful reformations and bloody revolutions of later
times have been able to accomplish. They were really God's
gifts to humanity groaning from time to time under the lash of
king or noble. And God's .gifts are always without repentance.
A popular appeal in those days against political wrong, unless
supported by the anathema of the church, would have been as idle,
as vain as the bleating of the lamb against the wolf, as the cry of
the Irish against the butchery of Cromwell. It would only have
whetted the tiger vengeance of many a mediaeval oppressor. The
excommunicated who preyed upon society might not always be
sincerely converted. But the fear of the civil penalties which
•followed in the train of spiritual condemnation stayed the ravag-
ing hand and forced it to restore its stolen spoils to the weak
and helpless. Some one has said that justice may prevail in
private but never in political life ; otherwise the great nations
would not fall into decay and their history one after another
be written in the dust of death. But this saying is not univer-
sally true. There was a time when political justice triumphed —
in the middle ages, when ecclesiastical censures carried with
them political consequences, when the crown of an unjust ruler
weighed light as a feather against the rights of the meanest of
his subjects. The laws of those times show that this is no exag-
geration. Take the codes of Saxony and Suabia compiled in the
thirteenth century, containing the ancient customs of the empire,
that had crystallized by the process of time, under the watchful
eye of the church, into imperial laws. The third chapter of this
" Body of German Laws, containing the statutes enacted and
ordained by the Roman emperors and electors, prescribing all
that should be done or omitted for the sake of the common peace
promulgated by the holy empire and confirmed by the voice of
antiquity," conveys a clear idea of the salutary union of the two
powers of the world in enforcing these peculiar laws. It im-
presses the conviction that the declaration that these laws were
made for the common peace is no arrogant, ill-supported preten-
sion. We quote some of these laws at random : " If any one is
excommunicated by the ecclesiastical judge, and continues in

1 882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. 651

that state for six weeks, he can be proscribed by the secular
judge. If he be excommunicated before being proscribed for his
crimes he must be absolved from the spiritual ban, if he be
worthy, before civil proscription is removed. But neither the
civil nor the ecclesiastical magistrate can release him from the
proscription before he has made satisfaction for the fault for
which either of the sentences was incurred. If a proscribed or
excommunicated person cites any one before a civil tribunal the
summons can be disregarded, but if he himself is summoned he is
bound to appear." He who had become a public and obstinate
malefactor was made a political pariah as well as a spiritual
leper. No hereditary dignity, no official rank could screen him.
Coats of mail could not ward off the civil death with which this
arrow of justice was winged. There was no immunity to do
wrong hedging any office ; then a bold villain did not mock and
avert justice with the trappings of exalted station. These laws
were made so general as to be "no respecter of persons." Jus-
tice was ever blind to the glitter of high social position when it
spoke through these civil-ecclesiastical laws.

The legislation of England and France was substantially the
same. The same plant of Catholic faith in different soils pro-
duced the same fruit. According to Saxon law, an excommuni-
cated person who took no care to be absolved in forty days after
his sentence was denounced to the king's officers, who threw
him into prison. If he persisted obstinately in his guilt for an
entire year he was branded with infamy. If the offender was a
baron or lord of any higher rank his vassals were released from
their oath of allegiance, and his fiefs could be seized and held by
his suzerain until he atoned for his crimes. Such was a decree
of a Council of London held in 1342. A law of greater sternness
against guilty magnates of the realm marked with the seal of
spiritual judgment is recorded among the statutes of an assembly,
composed of bishops, earls, and thegns, held at Lambeth in the
preceding century. It would be difficult to magnify the coercive
power of laws which could make the first-born of Godwin, the
great king-maker in the Saxon days of England, a stranger in
his native land, a criminal confessing his sacrilegious guilt to
friend and foe, a weary, way-worn pilgrim seeking peace for his
soul at the foot of Calvary's mount and welcoming the extinc-
tion of his justly incurred sentence in the silence of a foreign,
grave. Sweyn, heir of the powerful Godwin, surrounded by his
men-at-arms and the adherents of his father's house, could bid
defiance to the armies of the Saxon kingdom ; no physical force

652 THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug.,

could stay the invasion which his burning vengeance excited ;
but civil justice, armed with the sacred power of Him who
calmed in a moment the white-capped waves of Galilee, subdued
his haughty will and furled his rebellious banner.

In France, as in England, amid the din of arms these laws,
and these alone, were never silent. The writings of the learned
Ives of Chartres, the light of the West in the twelfth century,
abound in proofs of the excellent results of this blending of the
authority of crown and crosier, of sceptre and shepherd's crook,
in repressing the worst classes of crime. In a collection of laws
in vigor in his time, published under the title of the Decretum, he
declares that this discipline was invoked by the most intelligent,
the wisest of the guardians of the public good. It was as
healthy as it was universal. These laws he holds to be the out-
growth of a sacred compact between the two powers of the
state, mutually preserving and strengthening the highest in-
terests of society. In a letter of this prelate to Laurence, a monk
of La Charite, apparently written about the time of the excom-
munication of King Philip of France by Urban II. on account
of his scandalous marriage, he represents the canons relating to
the excommunicated as the marriage of divine mercy and human
justice. An ordinance published in 1228 by St. Louis of France
indicates in a decisive manner the legislation prevailing in France
on this point. It enjoins on all secular judges to enforce the
temporal penalties enacted against the obstinate under sentence
during a year. It is well to note the purpose expressed in the
ordinance : " in order to bring back by the fear of chastisement
those who were unmoved by the dread of divine justice." " We,
therefore, command all our bailiffs," says the text of the law, " to
seize, at the expiration of a year, all the movable and immovable
effects of the excommunicated, and to hold them until they are
reconciled to the church." In all regulations of similar kind
which form the code called " The Establishments of St. Louis," in
which Montesquieu, although reluctant to attribute all of them
to the saintly sovereign of France, finds the most perfect and
beneficent criminal code ever devised by human wisdom, there
is one supreme aim— the reformation of the guilty. This refor-
mation is sought by the surest path, as the discerning Montes-
quieu frankly testifies. In the light which the history of the
early discipline of the church throws upon these later laws they
lose all their rigor. Viewed in relation to the rights of the
nstian society that accepted them, they shine amid the dark-
iess of feudal records with the splendor of the most perfect in-

1 882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. 653

vention of charity. No one can question that they were a miti-
gation of the still more ancient discipline imposed upon public
sinners. The latter subjected the guilty to the most painful and
humiliating practices, which continued for many years. Nor was
the spiritual ostracism revoked, as in the middle ages, when sat-
isfactory signs of repentance were exhibited. Nor should it be
forgotten that excommunication, with all its baneful effects, was,
in the infancy of the church, incurred for far less grievous
crimes.

It is* obvious to the most superficial thinker how beneficent to
society were the consequences flowing from this discipline when
applied to tyrannical princes. It was a power capable of enforc-
ing submission upon the haughtiest autocrat when he would
make his will override the laws of his kingdom. Their deposi-
tion by the action of spiritual authority, while it was the only
refuge for civil liberty, was nothing more than the application
of prevailing jurisprudence. It had its wholesome root in some-
thing stronger than custom approved by the pious and learned.
It was a written principle of European, Christian law. No one
was more competent, by his knowledge of history and jurispru-
dence of the middle ages, to judge of the true and legitimate
foundation of this law than the Protestant Leibnitz. Without
indiscriminately approving every execution of the law of de-
position against excommunicated princes, he maintains and
proves by citations of civil laws that this authority rested upon
the maxims and usages adopted by the sovereigns themselves.
In the dissertation on the use of " Public Acts," which is the pre-
face to the Codex Diplomaticus Juris Gentium, he says it must be
confessed that the vigilance of the popes in the maintenance of
ecclesiastical discipline, enforcing it upon all alike, arrested a mul- ,
titude of disorders. The acceptance of a crown and the tem-
poral effects of excommunication were made by law inseparable.
Nothing was more common, says Leibnitz, referring to the
treaty of Bretigny in 1360, than to see kings in their treaties
submit themselves, as if it were an indisputable law, to the cen-
sures and correction of the church. But it is principally in his
treatise on the Right of Supremacy (" De Jure Suprematus ") that
Leibnitz demonstrates that, while the sentence of excommunica-
tion was entirely spiritual, it was the provision of civil law of
the Roman Empire, the justice of which no humbled emperor
vjould reasonably question, that dethroned him. It was the
xirse which civil law pronounced on him on the day of his
x)yal consecration, if he should prove faithless to the contract he

654 THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug.,

made with his subjects on the day of his royal consecration. No
prince of the Christian commonwealth embracing all Europe
could place himself, argues Leibnitz, beyond the reach of this
civil ordinance. Its limit was the horizon of Christianity. The
king's privileges and his submission to this organic law were
correlative. It was a power behind and higher than the throne,
representing the people. As long as it existed it could be truly
said that the voice of the people was the voice of God. The
shadow of that power followed not only the feudatories or vas-
sals of the Holy See, who owed to it obedience by its right of
suzerainty, as some writers have argued, as some Gallicans have
pretended, like Bossuet denying to the church anything more
than a directive power in the deposition of princes. In Catholic
days the title of Christian prince was something more than a
sounding name. It carried with it, as Leibnitz observes, the
obligation of homage to Jesus Christ — an homage that expressed
itself in the official observance of every human right which the
Gospel had secured to the meanest of his subjects. When any
Of these rights were invaded the prince was logically regarded
as having forgotten his oath of fidelity to the religion which had
clothed his subjects with the dignity of freemen. His deposition
was involved in the very nature of the position which he had be-
trayed and dishonored. Leibnitz is not blind to the benefits
which the Christian world reaped from this Christian form of the
body politic. He mourns over the disappearance of this close,
well-regulated connection between things sacred and profane.
He laments the death of that resistless avenger of tyranny
which struck the guilty and saved the innocent victims of mis-
rule.

In the place of this angel of mercy the modern world has
been able to invent no other substitute but brutal, bloody revo-
lution, inflicting new social wounds and healing none. Christen-
dom has been torn into shreds. The Christian world, composed
of Christian nations ligatured by Christian law, has become a
wreck. In the sad ruin which heresy has made in the political
world the law which rang out for centuries an appalling doom
against abuse of royal authority was buried. Every element of
political disorder sang a song of triumph over its grave. Kings,
impatient of restraint, longing for the hour when their will
would be sovereign law, when they could say, I am the state,
read most clearly the advantages of such a victory. For the
future they were hampered in the indulgence of passion or in the
assumption of lawless authority only by parchments which the

1 882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. 655

sword could divide with impunity. Their subjects, ignorant of
the chains they were forging- for their own limbs, joined their
rulers in the mockery of the strong-handed, divinely-constituted
justice that had so long protected them. What power have they
been able to evoke from the ruin to regain the rights they so
madly cast away ? We need not wait long for an answer. It
comes to us from the thousand dens of European secret societies,
schoo]s of murder and rapine. The sign of the Son of Man has
been contradicted and torn down. It has ceased to be a sign of
terror to the rulers of the world. They tremble now only at the
dagger and torch of the Nihilist. This is hardly a profitable
exchange for a papal anathema that relieved enslaved subjects,
humbled royal arrogance, adjusted all political relations, reform-
ed broken social compacts, without weakening in the slightest
degree the bonds of society, without impairing on the one hand
the rights of rulers, or mutilating on the other the inherited
liberties of the subject. It was the Catholic Church, and it alone,
that could endow civil law with this power. By her unity she
impressed upon political life the truth that all men are brethren,
the human race one family, and rulers were only fathers of the
people and must obey one Master and render an account to a
supreme judge — God. By her sanctity the church reprobates
all crimes. No sympathy, then, or union could exist between
her and despotism, which is a foul infraction of the laws of God
and man. On the one hand she enforces the precepts of reli-
gion which condemn civil oppression ; on the other she holds
up to view the fate which awaits oppressors invoked by the cries
of a down-trodden people. As fearless as she is sinless, she
never quailed before human fury. She is the mother strong in
the might of her affections, as she casts her long arms around her
offspring to shield them from suffering and death. By her apos-
tolicity she preserves the heritage of Jesus Christ and his apos-
tles— the doctrines which they taught for the government of
society in regard to the rights of the people and the duties of
their rulers. All ages are before her eyes. She sees the causes
of the prosperity and the ruin of nations. She loves no novel
diplomacy or legislation which cannot be traced to the primitive
laws of natural justice. If man's policy effects changes in funda-
mental laws which assail the liberties of manhood she points to
a divine standard of right, to her divine Author. She calls upon
all to abide by the divine decision of the Gospel, and she clings
ever to its conservative principles. Vainly have unjust rulers
essayed to break the chain of authority that binds her to the

656 THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug.,

past, or subject to their perverse will her teaching, that has al-
ways been swift to condemn them. Embracing all nations as a
teacher of divine morality, she has the right of inspection over
the conduct of rulers in behalf of their subjects. In the vast
dominion which she holds she pursues with sleepless eye the
enemy of liberty. He cannot conceal from her vigilance his
projects, and conspiracies, and outrages against the welfare of
the people, nor escape the high and holy indignation which
streams in burning anathemas from her lips to compel obedience
to law. Watchful over all and over every land, the lordly and
the lowly, the king who riots in rapine and the slave who is
crushed beneath his iron foot, she lifts her voice first in prayer,
then in command, finally in menace. She stretches forth her
benignant arms to embrace all classes of men, to improve the
condition of the unhappy, and by her divine mediation to save
the oppressed and confound the oppressor. " Who is just with-
out compulsion ? " asks ^Eschylus. And we ask, What was this
rod of compulsion, and what is it to-day, for wicked kings or
lawless revolutionists, but the Catholic Church? So reasoned
Leibnitz in his letter to Grinaret, in which he regrets the ex-
tinction of the temporal penalties of papal excommunication, the
re-establishment of which, in his opinion, would revive political
justice and restore the golden age. I would give my vote, he
says, " for the erection of a tribunal at Rome to decide the con-
troversies of princes, and to make the pope president of it, as he
formerly filled the office of judge of Christian kings."

Another Protestant, Eichhorn, son of the celebrated commen-
tator of the Bible and professor of history in the University of
Gottingen, in his History of the German Empire and its Laws, sums
up in the following manner the system of the public or common
law of Europe on this subject in the middle ages : " Christen-
dom, which in virtue of the divine destiny of the church embraces
all the nations of the earth, forms a whole whose welfare is con-
fided to the care of a power which God himself has granted to
certain persons. This power is of two kinds, spiritual and tem-
poral. Both are confided to the pope in virtue of his office as
vicar of Jesus Christ. It is from him, and consequently under
his dependence and supervision, that the emperor, in his quality
as visible head of the Christian commonwealth in temporals, and
all princes in general, hold their power. . . . The church and
state form but a single society, although they appear exteriorly
to be two separate societies, and regulate their mutual relations
as such by concordats or contracts." To prove this expos6 the

1 882.] THE CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS Cxi TICS. 657

author cites the organic laws of the principal states of Europe in
the middle ages. While we may not adopt his views on the ex-
tent of papal power in temporals, his quotations of law in defence
of his position should moderate the tone of sciolists, both Catho-
lic and Protestant, who, without a tithe of the learning and with-
out the slightest claim to the erudition of Leibnitz, hurl their
smart sarcasms at the pope and his harmless thunderbolts.

This class of shallow writers ought to be more astonished at
the opinion of Voltaire in his Essai sur les Mceurs : " It appears to
me that the princes who had a right to elect the emperor had
also the right to depose him, and the making of the pope presi-
dent of this tribunal was equivalent to acknowledging him the
judge of the emperor and the empire." A contemporary of Vol-
taire, one whose animosity against the popes yielded in nothing
to the philosopher of Ferney, could not help making the same
avowal. " Unfortunately," says he, " nearly all sovereigns, by an
inconceivable blindness, labored themselves to accredit, in public
opinion, a weapon which had and could have no power but by
the force of this opinion. They charged themselves with the
execution of the sentence which stripped a sovereign of his states,
and they submitted their own to the same jurisdiction." But
they did not submit blindly to this jurisdiction. It was written
in large, bold hand in every national code of Europe. That juris-
diction was as solid and legitimate as the hereditary tenantry of
crowns. As Mr. Freeman is forced to confess in his History of
William Rufus, the Roman pontiff in those days " seemed the one
embodiment of right and law, the one shadow of God, left upon
the earth in a world of force and foulness of life — a world where
the civil sword was left in the hands of kings like William and
Philip, and where an unemperor-like Henry still wielded it in
defiance of anathemas." That jurisdiction was a divine protec-
tion thrown around society, which then wore the now forfeited
dignity of being the one fold of Christ — a spiritual barrier de-
fending its temporal life, too deep to be undermined by royal in-
trigue, too strong to be shaken by royal threats. Against it the
waves of royal iniquity beat only to be broken.

In every historical anathema of the Holy See pronounced
upon the possessors of temporal power human freedom found its
voice. While the name of empire was preserved it was the ex-
communicating power of the popes that made organized Euro-
pean society a Christian republic in its highest and widest and
most attractive meaning. In fact, the text of mediaeval laws
more than once inserts this title. It was papal power that made

VOL. xxxv.— 42

658 Tff£ CINCINNATI PASTORAL AND ITS CRITICS. [Aug.,

a Christian commonwealth possible, as it was the doctrine of
Christianity tracing all power on earth to a heavenly source that
gave solid substance and enduring life to human liberty. In the
spiritual and temporal order the highest freedom of man is to
give obedience only to God. To subject soul or body to any
authority less exalted is slavery. The Catholic Church was the
first teacher to proclaim to the world that man, as man, has no
right of dominion over his fellow-creature. The thunderbolt of
papal excommunication, heard so often amid the raging social
storms of mediaeval times, only enforced this golden truth of the
Gospel. The insatiable selfishness of human power quailed before
it. The American principle that rulers exist for the benefit of
their subjects was not only born but was triumphant centuries
before the " embattled farmers at Concord fired the shot heard
round the world." As the late Sage of Concord truly said, " the
Catholic Church during the middle ages was the democratic
principle of Europe, for she lived by the love of the people."

Liberty never did exist except under the shadow of the cross.
Equality has no home except at the altar on which the shadow
of that cross falls. Fraternity is a dream or becomes a curse to
humanity when it is not rooted in the charity which the divine
Victim of the cross preached with the undying eloquence of his
death. When the imperial substitutes for the Roman Caesar
mocked the poor, the weak, the suffering in their helplessness,
as Caesar sneered at the divine representative of afflicted hu-
manity in Pilate's hall, the Catholic Church secured for the op-
pressed the rights that the Son of God had given to them as
their heirloom. If the incarnate God had not appeared in the
world liberty would not have been born. Take the Catholic
Church out of the world and liberty would sink into an eter
nal grave. If Protestant nations are free it is because they once
were Catholic. If a republic was built in this New World Ca-
tholic principles were the architect. All that is good, and shape-
ly, and beautiful in this new. temple of liberty are the results
of the long struggle between the Son of God and Caesar, the
Vicar of Christ and mediaeval imperialism, the power of excom-
munication and the power of royal lawlessness. The arm of God
conquered with the weapon of excommunication, and liberty
survived to bless ungrateful generations. Liberty will be a lost
treasure when we forget that all power comes from God. That
doctrine does not impair but fortifies all legitimate civil autho-
rity. It rests the temporal order on a basis so strong, so en-
during that it mocks the tyranny of the one or the many, Caesar

i882.] DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. 659

or the mob. With it is bound up all freedom of conscience and
the free exercise of religion. • Abandon it and religion sinks, as it
has done wherever the principles of the Reformation prevailed,
into a department of the state, and conscience is regulated by
the bludgeon of the police. To revive the coarse, vulgar tyranny
of pagan Sparta would not be a very creditable or cheering sign
of progress. Yet to this political complexion must we come if
God be not the source of all civil power. In this principle lies
the whole difference and distinction between the strong dignity
of a citizen and the helpless infamy of a state chattel. The Ame-
rican character must undergo a sad transformation to prefer the
latter condition. Before the American citizen can reach that
state of degeneracy not only the political past of this country
must be forgotten, but a political earthquake like the French
Revolution will have overturned the whole foundation of the
republic. Then we shall have society without God. It will
hardly be a gain, for infidelity will be glorified.

DENIS FLORENCE MAcCARTHY.

So many of the great luminaries in the world of poetry have
recently gone out that our eyes, dimmed at their eclipse, have
not perceived the twinkling of some lesser light that ceased. A
star of no mean order has set for ever, and to the long list of Ire-
land's losses must now be added that of her greatest poet since
Moore. It would be ungrateful were these pages to make no
mention of one whose pure Muse has sung the highest mysteries
of the Christian faith and cheered his fellows in the hour of their
country's trials.

Denis Florence MacCarthy was born at Dublin in 1817. He
was admitted to the Irish bar, but never practised. He was ap-
pointed by Dr. Newman professor of English literature in the
Catholic University when it was first established, but he held the
position for a few months only. His first poetical works were
published in the Nation, founded at Dublin in 1842 by Mr. (now
Sir) Charles Gavan Duffy. From 1848 to 1853 Mr. MacCarthy
was a frequent contributor to the pages of the Dublin University
Magazine. The first volume of his poetical works appeared in
1850 under the title, Ballads, Poems, and Lyrics, original and
translated (Dublin). This was followed some years later by

DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. [Aug.,

The Bell-Founder, and other Poems (London, 1857), consisting
of a selection from the above volume, with but two new
poems. The same year appeared at the same place Under-
glimpses, and other Poems. These three modest volumes, long
since out of print, together with some poems scattered through
the pages of various periodicals, constitute all the poet's origi-
nal work.* His translations will be noticed hereafter.

A glance at these volumes will convince the reader that Mr.
MacCarthy's genius is essentially lyrical, and that his works are
conspicuous for their delicate fancy and musical rhythm. Only
four of his poems are narrative in form, although tinged more or
less by the lyrical spirit. These may be considered first, espe-
cially as they are among the poet's most popular and successful
productions.

The " Bell-Founder " is a poetical version of the well-known
legend of the " Bells of Limerick Cathedral." Near Florence,
in the vale of Elsa, lived Paolo, the young bell-founder, who is
plighted to the fair Francesca. The days of betrothment are
over, and now " two faces look joyfully out from the purple-clad
trellis of vines." The bell-founder prospers, broad lands lie
about his cottage, young footsteps trip lightly around, and the
grateful Paolo vows eight silver-toned bells to the Church of
Our Lady that stands at the head of the vale. The casting of
the bells is described in a brief passage that may be 'compared
not unfavorably with the similar scene in Schiller's great poem :

" In the furnace the dry branches crackle, the crucible shines as with
gold,

As they carry the hot, flaming metal in haste from the fire to the mould ;

Loud roar the bellows, and louder the flames as they shrieking escape,

And loud is the song of the workmen who watch o'er the fast-filling
shape ;

To and fro in the red-glaring chamber the proud master anxiously moves,

And the quick and the skilful he praiseth, and the dull and the laggard re-
proves ;

And the heart in his bosom expandeth as the thick, bubbling metal up-
swells,

For like to the birth of his children he watcheth the birth of the bells."

Then the firm, sandy moulds are broken and the bells are
brought to the convent church that stands on the cliff overhead.
Inexpressible was the rapture "the deep cadence of the bells

It was Mr. MacCarthy's intention as long ago as 1868 to publish a new edition containing
all of his uncollected pieces, but this purpose was, for some reason, never carried out.

i882.] DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. 661

bore to the old campanaro reclining in the shade of his vine-
covered door."

" And thus round the heart of the old man, at morning, at noon, and at

eve,

The bells, with their rich woof of music, the network of happiness weave.
They ring in the clear, tranquil evening, and lo ! all the air is alive,
As the sweet-laden thoughts come, like bees, to abide in his heart as a

hive.
They blend with his moments of joy, as the odor doth blend with the

flower;
They blend with his light-falling tears, as the sunshine doth blend with the

shower.
As their music is mirthful or mournful, his pulse beateth sluggish or

fast,
And his breast takes its hue, like the ocean, as the sunbeams or shadows

are cast."

Alas ! " feuds fell like a plague upon Florence " and " the
war-demon swept o'er the vale." Paolo's children, grown to
manhood, perished in the thick of the fight, and his darling Fran-
cesca lay down full of love by their side in the tomb. The church
was levelled in the dust and the sweet-sounding bells borne
away by the hand of sacrilege. The old campanaro had but one
dream — " to seek up and down through the world for the sound
of his magical bells." He wanders through Italy, to the shrine
of Loretto, to Rome and Tivoli.

" He listens when matins and vesper-bells toll,

But their sweetest sounds grate on his ear, and their music is harsh to his
soul."

He sails away to Santiago in Spain ; but again his hopes are
blighted, and he goes on board a bark bound for Erin and soon
enters the Shannon :

" And now the fair city of Limerick spreads out on the broad bank below. ]
Still nearer and nearer approaching, the mariners look o'er the town ;
The old man sees naught but St. Mary's square tower, with its battlements

brown.

He listens. As yet all is silent ; but now, with a sudden surprise,
A rich peal of melody rings from that tower through the clear evening

skies !

" One note is enough. His eye moistens ; his heart, long so withered,

outswells :
He has found them, the sons of his labors — his musical, magical bells !

662 DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. [Aug.,

At each stroke all the bright past returneth ; around him the sweet Arno

shines :

His children, his darling Francesca, his purple-clad trellis of vines !
Leaning forward, he listens, he gazes ; he hears in that wonderful strain
The long-silent voices that murmur, ' Oh ! leave us not, father, again ! '
Tis granted— he smiles ; his eye closes ; the breath from his white lips hath

fled:
The father has gone to his children— the old campanaro is dead ! "

In " Alice and Una " we have an Irish legendary tale with
fairies and a phantom horse. The hero, Maurice, is led to his
beloved by a gentle fawn, the fairy Una in disguise, who rescues
the daring hunter when the Phooka Horse carries him to the
abode of the fairies, where, like Tannhauser in the Venusberg, he
forgets his earthly love. The poem opens with a fine apostro-
phe to the pleasant time when the world was fresh and golden
and the earth -peopled with graceful spirit-people. The descrip-
tion of Alice shows the author's fondness for rhyme and his
great ability in using it :

"Alice was a chieftain's daughter, and, though many suitors sought her,
• She so loved Glengariff's water that she let her lovers pine ;
Her eye was beauty's palace, and her cheek an ivory chalice,
Through which the blood of Alice gleamed soft as rosiest wine,
And her lips like lusmore blossoms which the fairies intertwine,
And her heart a golden mine."

" The Foray of Con O'Donnell " is a stirring ballad of border
raids and rude chivalric deeds. An aged bard sings at Con's
table the praises of MacDonnell's wife, steed, and hound, and
Con swears that all three shall be his. The band of Con takes
MacDonnell's castle by surprise and Con's oath is kept. Con's
conscience smites him on his return, and he reflects:

"If I behold my kinsmen slain,
My barns devoid of golden grain,
How can I curse the pirate crew
For doing what this hour I do ? "

and he nobly sets at liberty his prisoners and restores a hundred-
fold the plunder his band had taken.

We have left to the last the longest and most important of
MacCarthy's narrative poems, " The Voyage of St. Brendan."
Few mediaeval legends have enjoyed greater favor than that of
the Irish monk who sailed away to the west and saw strange
sights and found new lands, the fame of which long lured the
bold navigator to perilous voyages. In MacCarthy's poem the
bold monk relates his exploits to his nurse, St. Ita, and tells how

1 882.] DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. 663

" he grew to manhood by the western wave, among the mighty
mountains on the shore." His occupation was

"Time's unheeding, unreturning flight
And the great world that lies beyond the grave."

The monk dreamed of a more sunny clime beyond the waste
of waters at his feet, and thought he saw the enchanted isle,
Hy-Brasail, which, once touched by a spark of earthly fire,
would remain fixed and no longer fade and be lost in an azure
grave. Then angels came and whispered :

" ' This is no phantom of a frenzied brain —

God shows this land from time to time to tempt

Some daring mariner across the main :

By thee the mighty venture must be made,

By thee shall myriad souls to Christ be won !
Arise, depart, and trust to God for aid ! '

I woke, and kneeling cried, ' His will be done ! ' '

After this Brendan sailed away to the blessed Enda, " beneath
whose eyes, spread like a chart, lay all the isles of that remotest
shore," and the pious father told him all he knew, and Brendan
made ready his wicker boat covered with ox-skins, chose his
companions from the good monks, and waited for the wind to
leave the shore.

The third canto describes the voyage of the pious sailors as
they prayed and sang, or " some brother drew from memory's
store

" Some chapter of life's misery or bliss,
Some trial that some saintly spirit bore
Or else some tale of passion, such as this : "

and then follows the beautiful legend of " The Buried City " seen
by the hero from his bark :

" And now the noon in purple splendor blazed,

The gorgeous clouds in slow procession filed ;
The youth leaned o'er with listless eyes, and gazed

Down through the waves on which the blue heavens smiled.
What sudden fear his gasping breath doth drown ?

What hidden wonder fires his startled eyes ?
Down in the deep, full many a fathom down,

A great and glorious city buried lies.

" Beneath the graceful arch the river flowed,

Around the walls the sparkling waters ran,
The golden chariot rolled along the road-
All, all was there except the face of man.

664 DENIS FLORENCE MAC€ARTHY. [Aug.,

The wondering youth had neither thought nor word :

He felt alone the power and will to die ;
His little bark seemed like an outstretched bird

Floating along that city's azure sky."

When the brother had finished his tale a glorious isle with pur-
ple hills and sunbright peaks gleamed on their gladdened sight.
This isle was known as the Paradise of Birds, and the poet
paints in gorgeous colors the feathered dwellers in that happy
home:

" Oft, in the sunny mornings, have I seen

Bright-yellow birds, of a rich lemon hue,
Meeting in crowds upon the branches green,

And sweetly singing all the morning through ;
And others, with their heads grayish and dark,

Pressing their cinnamon cheeks to the old trees,
And striking on the hard, rough, shrivelled bark,

Like conscience on a bosom ill at ease.

" And diamond birds chirping their single notes,

Now 'mid the trumpet-flower's deep blossoms seen,
Now floating brightly on with fiery throats,

Small-winged emeralds of golden green ;
And other larger birds with orange cheek,

A many-color-painted, chattering crowd,
Prattling for ever with their curved beaks,

And through the silent woods screaming aloud."

Brendan and his companions tarried not, but sailed on and
came at last to the Promised Land, which is described in a pas-
sage of great beauty. For fifteen days they wandered through
this land, and reached at length " a mighty stream whose broad,
bright waves flowed from the east to west." They were about
to cross its placid tide when an angel on their vision broke and
thus addressed Brendan :

" Father, return ; thy mission now is o'er:

God, who did call thee here, now bids thee go.
Return in peace unto thy native shore,

And tell the mighty secrets thou dost know.
But in the end upon that land shall fall

A bitter scourge, a lasting flood of tears,
When ruthless tyranny shall level all

The pious trophies of its earlier years ;
Then shall this land prove thy poor country's friend,

And shine, a second Eden, in the West ;
Then shall this shore its friendly arms extend,

And clasp the outcast exile to its breast."

i882.] DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. 665

We have bestowed much space upon this beautiful poem, be-
cause it is, in many respects, the author's finest production, and
because it affords a very happy treatment, it seems to us, of a
mediaeval theme — a treatment that might be followed with profit
by our own poets in these days, when so many lessons are still to
be learned from that period.

Before passing to the purely lyrical poems we must rpause a
moment at the noble ode on the death of the Earl of Belfast, a
gifted young nobleman, who died at Naples in his twenty-sixth
year. The ode in question was recited at the unveiling of a
statue of the earl at Belfast in 1855. The proem contains some
beautiful anapaests and shows MacCarthy's great command of
his language — a gift that shines forth pre-eminently in his Spanish
translations. It begins :

" Maidens of Italy,

Napoli's daughters,
Send the sad requiem
Over the waters."

The ode proper is a song of Italian maidens, the response to the
invocation of the proem.

If we turn to the purely lyrical poems we shall find them
marked by the same smoothness of diction and delicate fancy.
They are full of charming pictures, as in " The Pilgrims " :

" See yonder little lowly hut,

Begirt with fields of fresh-mown hay,
Whose friendly doorway, never shut,

Invites the passing beams to stay ;
Upon its roof the wall-flower blooms,

With fragrant lip and tawny skin,
And through the porch the pea perfumes

The cooling breeze that enters in.

" Sweet-scented, pearly hawthorn boughs

Are in the hedges all around ;
Sweet, milky, fragrant, gentle cows

Are grazing o'er the dewy ground ;
The rich laburnum's golden hair

O'erhangs the lilac's purple cheek,
While, stealing through the twilight air,

Their hives the honey-plunderers seek."

The following beautiful one is from " The Meeting of the Flow-
ers " :

666 DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. [Aug.,

" Nor was the Marigold remiss,

But told how in her crown of gold
She sat, like Persia's king of old,
High o'er the shores of Salamis ;

"And saw, against the morning sky,

The white-sailed fleets their wings display ;
And, ere the tranquil close of day,
Fade, like the Persian's, from her eye."

In " The Progress of the Rose " we have this beautiful stanza :

"At first she lived and reigned alone:

No lily-maidens yet had birth ;
No turbaned tulips round her throne
Bowed with their foreheads to the earth."

The two poems just mentioned form part of a cycle denominat-
ed " Underglimpses " and devoted to the various phases of the
year. Especially beautiful are the ones entitled " The Spirit of
the Snow " and " The Year- King." In the former the varying ef-
fects of the snow are portrayed with a master's hand ; in the lat-
ter the hackneyed theme of the old year's death is treated under
the novel representation of a monarch's life, in which the diffe-
rent ages are the seasons. The last poem of the cycle, " The
Bridal of the Year," contains a fine description of the poet :

" But who is this with tresses flowing,
Flashing eyes and forehead glowing,
From whose lips the thunder-music

Pealeth o'er the listening lands ?
'Tis the first and last of preachers —
First and last of priestly teachers ;
First and last of those appointed
In the ranks of the anointed ;
With their songs like swords to sever

Tyranny and Falsehood's bands !
Tis the Poet — sum and total
Of the others,
With his brothers,
In his rich robes sacerdotal,
Singing from his golden psalter."

Another side of the same character is portrayed in " Fatal
Gifts " :

" The Poet's heart is a fatal boon,
And fatal his wondrous eye,
And the delicate ear,
So quick to hear,
Over the earth and sky,

1 882.] DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. 667

Creation's mystical tune !

Soon, soon, but not too soon,
Does that ear grow deaf and that eye grow dim,
And Nature becometh a waste for him

Whom, born for another sphere,

Misery hath shipwrecked here."

A very touching expression of the poet's own feelings is to be
found in " Truth in Song " :

" I cannot sing, I cannot write

To show that I can write and sing —
I cannot for a cause so slight ,

Command my Ariel's dainty wing :
Not for the dreams of cultured youth,

Nor praises of the lettered throng';

Ah ! no, I string the pearls of song
But only on the chords of truth."

The poet's intense sympathy with nature which manifested
itself in the cycle above mentioned is found in some beautiful de-
tached poems, one of which, " Summer Longings," is perhaps
MacCarthy's best-known work. We have space but for tn*e first
and last stanzas :

" Ah ! my heart is weary waiting,

Waiting for the May —
Waiting for the pleasant rambles
Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles,
With the woodbine alternating,

Scent the dewy way.
Ah ! my heart is weary waiting,
Waiting for the May.

" Waiting sad, dejected, weary,

Waiting for the May.
Spring goes by with wasted warnings,
Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings ;
Summer comes, yet dark and dreary

Life still ebbs away.
Man is ever weary, weary,
Waiting for the May ! "

The same thought is continued and the poet's longing answer-
ed in " Sweet May " :

"The summer is come ! the summer is come !

With its flowers and its branches green,
Where the young birds chirp on the blossoming boughs,
And the sunlight struggles between ;

668 DENIS FLORENCE MAC€ARTHY. [Aug.,

And like children over the earth and sky
The flowers and the light clouds play ;
But never before to my heart or eye
Came there ever so sweet a May

As this —
Sweet May ! sweet May ! "

In the last stanza is given the reason for this revulsion in the
poet's feeling :

" For ah ! the beloved at length has come,

Like the breath of May from afar,
And my heart is lit with her gentle eyes,
As the heavens by the evening star."

We have left ourselves but little space to devote to MacCar-
thy's national poems. These, few in number and written be-
tween 1843-49, display a pure patriotism and broad liberality,
and contain lessons that might well be heeded to-day.

" Oh ! the orator's voice is a mighty power,

As it echoes from shore to shore,
And the fearless pen has more sway o'er men

Than the murderous cannon's roar!
What burst the chain far over the main,

And brightens the captive's den ?
'Tis the fearless pen and the voice of power.

Hurrah for the Voice and Pen !
Hurrah !

Hurrah for the voice and pen !

" Oh ! these are the swords with which we fight,

The arms in which we trust,
Which no tyrant hand will dare to brand,

Which time cannot dim or rust !
When these we bore we triumphed before,

With these we'll triumph again ;
And the world will say no power can stay

The Voice and the fearless Pen !
Hurrah !

Hurrah for the voice and pen ! "

The admonition, " Cease to do evil, learn to do well," cut in
the stone above the entrance of the penitentiary where O'Con-
nell and the other political prisoners were confined in 1844,
inspired the poet with some stirring lines addressed to the
Liberator :

i882.] DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. 669

"If haply thou art one of genius vast,

Of generous heart, of mind sublime and grand,
Who all the springtime of thy life hast passed

Battling with tyrants for thy native land ;
If thou hast spent thy summer, as thy prime,

The serpent brood of bigotry to quell,
Repent, repent thee of thy hideous crime —

' Cease to do evil, learn to do well ! ' '

One of the earliest and most popular of MacCarthy's poems
is the ballad, if it may so be called, of " The Pillar Towers of
Ireland " :

"The pillar towers of Ireland, how wondrously they stand
By the lakes and rushing rivers through the valleys of our land !
In mystic file, through the isle, they lift their heads sublime —
These gray old pillar temples, these conquerors of time !

"The names of their founders have vanished in the gloom,
Like the dry branch in the fire or the body in the tomb ;
But to-day, in the ray, their shadows still they cast —
These temples of forgotten gods, these relics of the past !

" How many different rites have these gray old temples known !
To the mind what dreams are written in these chronicles of stone !
What terror and what error, what gleams of love and truth,
Have flashed from these walls since the world was in its youth !

" Where blazed the sacred fire, rung out the vesper bell,
Where the fugitive found shelter became the hermit's cell ;
And hope hung out its symbol to the innocent and good,
For the Cross o'er the moss of the pointed summit stood !

"There may it stand for ever, while this symbol doth impart
To the mind one glorious vision, or one proud throb to the heart ;
While the breast needeth rest may these gray old temples last,
Bright prophets of the future, as preachers of the past ! "

Under the head of political and occasional poems may be
mentioned, in conclusion, the odes for the O'Connell Centenary
in 1876 and the Centenary of Moore in 1879, recited before im-
mense audiences with great enthusiasm. As we have said before,
all the above poems are buried in a few rare volumes or scattered
through the pages of periodicals. The worthiest monument his
much-loved countrymen could raise to his memory would be a
complete edition of his original poems.

In the volume of Ballads, Poems, and Lyrics, published in 1850,
appeared a number of translations from the French, Italian, Span-
ish, and German. These were distinguished by their grace and

670 DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. [Aug.,

fidelity, and showed the wide range of the poet's reading. Some
years earlier MacCarthy's attention had been directed to Calde-
ron by Shelley's translation of some scenes from " El Magico Pro-
digioso," and in 1847 appeared his first labors in a field he was
afterwards to cultivate with such success. That year he pub-
lished in Duffy's Irish Catholic Magazine (Dublin, vol. i.) an intro-
ductory essay with scenes from " El Purgatorio de San Patricio."
From 1848 to 1852 he contributed to the Dublin University Maga-
zine analyses of five other plays with occasional translations.* In
1853 these five plays and the one above mentioned were published
in a complete translation, under the title, " Dramas of Calderon,
Tragic, Comic, and Legendary. Translated from the Spanish, prin-
cipally in the metre of the original. London : C. Dolman, 1853.
2 vols. i6mo." In 1858 MacCarthy published in the Atlantis (a
register of literature and science conducted by members of the
Catholic University of Ireland) " the only complete version that
has ever appeared in English " of one of Calderon's autos sacra-
mentales. This auto, " The Sorceries of Sin " (Los Encantos de la
Qulpd), was republished two years later together with two of
Calderon's secular plays, " Love the Greatest Enchantment "
and "The Devotion of the Cross" (London: Longmans, 1861,
4to).f In this volume the Spanish text was printed side by side
with the translation. MacCarthy's interest in the autos of Cal-
deron grew and resulted in a valuable, charming volume with
the somewhat misleading title, " Mysteries of Corpus Christi.
From the Spanish. Dublin, 1867." This work contained trans-
lations of two complete autos, " Belshazzar's Feast " and " The
Divine Philothea," and the first scene of another, " The Poison
and the Antidote," together with an elaborate introduction and
essay from the German and Spanish of Lorinser and Pedroso.
This volume was followed by " The Two Lovers of Heaven :
ChrysantJms and Daria. From the Spanish of Calderon. Dublin,
1870." This translation is dedicated to our own Longfellow in
two beautiful sonnets recording days spent together in Rome.
MacCarthy's last work in this field appeared in 1873— Calderon s
Dramas: 'The Wonder- Working Magician," "Life is a
Dream," 'The Purgatory of St. Patrick";}: (London: H. S.

* Dublin University Magazine, vol. xxxii. pp. i, r«;l8 . vol xxxiv> vo, xxxvi;i

325 ; vol. xxxix. p. 33.

lin •^^K-elT5 * ^^ title'Pa£e : Three Dramas of Calderon. From the Spanish. Dub-

mt HnefZn'T ? " ""* ^^ of St" Patrick " «, with the exception of a few unimpor-
nes, an ent.rely new translation, and not a reprint of the version of 1853.

1 882.] DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. 671

King & Co.) This mere enumeration of labors extending over
nearly thirty years would naturally beget in our minds respect
for the author's industry — a respect which is greatly enhanced
on comprehending the difficulties with which he had to deal and
which he successfully overcame.

Calderon's plays, it is hardly necessary to say, are all in verse
of various metres. The one most frequently employed, and
which, so to speak, constitutes the woof of the fabric, is the eight-
syllable trochaic verse ending in the asonante, or vowel rhyme.*
The difficulty which presented itself in translating this verse was
twofold : first, the genius of our language is iambic and not
trochaic ; and, secondly, the asonante rhyme is almost impercep-
tible to the English ear, even in Spanish verse, where the vowel-
sounds are more open and where a greater variety in this
species of verse is possible than in English. Some attempts had
been made to reproduce this exotic form in English, but the
results were not of a character to encourage Mr. MacCarthy,
who, in his first translations, substituted for it the unrhymed
trochaic of eight syllables, sometimes varying it with monosylla-
bic terminating lines, sometimes increasing the number of sylla-
bles, and in one play alternating the unrhymed trochaics with
rhymed lines. He even went so far as to introduce blank verse
in one or two scenes, although he acknowledged that " this noble
measure is, generally speaking, quite unsuited to the lyrical form
and spirit of Calderon's poetry." In the introduction to the
auto, " The Sorceries of Sin " (in the Atlantis), partly reproduced
in the preface to the Three Dramas of Calderon, MacCarthy
changed his opinion and says: " Yet this 'ghost of a rhyme,' as
Dr. Trench calls it, is better than none at all, and I have found
from my own experience that an inflexible determination to re-
produce it, at whatever trouble, even though with imperfect
success, enables the translator more closely to render the mean-
ing of the original, and saves him from the danger of being
tempted into diffuseness by the facilities for expansion which an
uncontrolled system of versification supplies." To this rule
MacCarthy henceforth firmly adhered, allowing himself only the
slight liberty of substituting for a certain Spanish asonante an-
other less rare and more perceptible English one. That he was
wise in this determination we think cannot be denied. In no
other way was it possible to give the English reader a correct

*The asonante may be single, double, or even treble, consisting in the similarity of the
vowels, beginning with the last accented one in the line. Desdin and cruil, fam6sa and bdc a,
alamo and fdjaro, are examples of the three classes, the last of which is very rare.

6;2 DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. [Augy

idea of Calderon's form ; and in this case the form was of su-
preme importance. As to his reproduction of the spirit of the
original, and the extraordinary fidelity of his versions, there can
be no doubt whatever.

We have been guided in our selection of a few specimens of
MacCarthy's translations by a desire to show his reproduction
of characteristic Spanish forms, and also to give passages which
offered some attraction in themselves. The first passage is from
" Love the Greatest Enchantment " (pp. 88, 89), and is mentioned
with great approbation by Mr. Longfellow in a letter to the
translator :

" You scarce had gone when near
The margin of a lake, that crystal-clear
Seemed a smooth mirror for the beauteous spring,
A heron rose ; so sudden its quick wing
Bore it amid the sky elate and proud
That at one moment it was bird and cloud,
And 'twixt the wind and fire

(Would that such courage had my heart's desire !)
So interposed itself that its bold wings.
Wheeling alternate near,
Now the diaphanous, now the higher sphere,
Were burnt or froze,

As down they sank or upward soaring rose,
In all the fickleness of fond desire,
Now in the air and now amid the fire.
An emblem, as it were,

This heron was, betwixt each opposite sphere,
Of one who is both cowardly and bold,
Can burn with passion and yet freeze with cold,
And 'twixt the air and fire still doubts his place."*

The following soliloquy occurs in " Life is a Dream," and is
one of the gems of that wonderful production. The form is the
redondilla, or eight-syllable trochaic verse, the first and fourth,
and second and third, lines rhyming. This is, after the asonante,
the most favorite form in the Spanish drama :

"... Since 'tis plain,
In this world's uncertain gleam,
That to live is but to dream :
Man dreams what he is, and wakes
Only when upon him breaks
Death's mysterious morning beam.

*The metre of this extract is known as the silva, a mixture of seven and eleven syllable
rhymed iambics, with no division into stanzas. It occurs frequently in Calderon's dramas.

1 882.] DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. 673

The king dreams he is a king,
And in this delusive way
Lives and rules -with sovereign sway ;
All the cheers that round him ring,
Born of air, on air take wing.

And the rich man dreams of gold,

Gilding cares it scarce conceals,

And the poor man dreams he feels

Want, and misery, and cold.

Dreams he, too, who rank would hold,

Dreams who bears toil's rough-ribbed hands,

Dreams who wrong for wrong demands,

And in fine, throughout the earth,

All men dream, whate'er their birth,

And yet no one understands.

What is life? Tis but a madness.

What is life ? A thing that seems,

A mirage that falsely gleams,

Phantom joy, delusive rest,

Since is life a dream at best,

And even dreams themselves are dreams."

We must hasten, however, to the most characteristic form,
the asonante. This occurs in two forms in Calderon, the single
and double. In translating the former Mr. MacCarthy has al-
lowed himself the slight liberty of adding consonants, although
rigidly preserving the original asonante.

The following example is from the auto of the " Divine Philo-
thea," and contains a curiously-worked-out metaphor that re-
minds one of Bunyan's " Holy War " :

" You will think the metaphor,

'Twixt a castle of defence
And the human body, doubtful,

But a strange coincidence
You will find they both exhibit

If you look to either sense.
In all strongly guarded places,

From the outward battlements
To the central fort, the earthwork

Made of clay its form presents,
Seeming almost the whole structure ;

If, then, as it is, of earth
Is the human body fashioned,

And the castle's circling girth
Made but of the same material,

In this unity of birth
VOL. xxxv.— 43

674 DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. [Aug.,

All must see a certain likeness,

Whatsoe'er may be its worth.
Then as to the guard, whatever

Ammunition of defence
That a castle needs, the body

Hath as well : Intelligence
Sits presiding o'er the council,

Which takes up its residence
In the brain's secluded chamber,

And the body rules from thence ;
War, too, hath its proper council,

Of whose board in permanence,
Like a general commanding,

Is the heart the President,
To whose orders the remaining

War-troop ever are attent ;
Like a body-guard around him

They their faithful breasts present,
Thinking only of his service,

On no other thing intent."

Then follows a description of the sentinels Sight and Hear-
ing, directed by Faith, who commands Smell also. Taste is
the warden of the castle, the prevent of which is supplied by
Touch.

As an example of the double asonante we have selected a
passage from the auto of " Belshazzar's Feast," containing a
highly poetic description of the Deluge and the building of the
Tower of Babel. The vowels in the Spanish are u a, as in for-
tzm#, j#sto, dura, etc. In the English the vowels used very
nearly represent the same sound, u e being the predominant ones,
.as s«bj^ct, thzmd^r, triumphant, etc.

" Calmly was the world enjoying,
In its first primeval summer,
The sweet harmony of being,
The repose of perfect structure ;
Thinking in its inner thought
How from out a mass so troubled,
Which by poesy is called
Chaos, and by Scripture Nothing,
Was evolved the face serene
Of this azure face unsullied
Of pure sky, extracting thus,
In a hard and rigorous combat,
From its lights and from its shadows,
The soft blending that resulteth
From the earth and from the waters.

1 882.] DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. 675

First began a dew as soft
As those tears the golden sunrise
. Kisseth from Aurora's lids ;
Then a gentle rain, as dulcet
As those showers the green earth drinks
In the early days of summer;
From the clouds then water-lances,
Darting at the mountains, struck them :
In the clouds their sharp points shimmered,
On the mountains rang their butt-ends ;
Then the rivulets were loosened,
Roused to madness ran their currents,
Rose to rushing rivers, then
Swelled to seas of seas : — O Summit
Of all Wisdom ! thou alone
Knowest how thy hand can punish.
Drinking without thirst, the globe
Made lagoons and lakes unnumber'd;
Then a mighty sea-storm rushed
Through the rents and rocky ruptures
By whose mouths the great earth yawns,
When its breath resounds and rumbles
From internal caves.'7

The above is but a fragment of a long passage remarkable for.
its poetic beauty.

MacCarthy's translations were received with the greatest
favor by the foremost Spanish scholars of the day. Mr. Tick-
nor says, speaking of the volume Three Dramas, etc.: " It is, I
think, one of the boldest attempts ever made in English verse.
It is, too, as it .seems to me, remarkably successful. Not that
asonantes can be made fluent and graceful in English verse, or
easily perceptible to an English ear, but that the Spanish air and
character of Calderon are so happily and strikingly preserved.
... In the present volume Mr. MacCarthy has far surpassed
all he had previously done ; for Calderon is a poet who, when-
ever he is translated, should have his very excesses and extrava-
gances, both in thought and manner, fully produced in order to
give a faithful idea of what is grandest and most distinctive in
his genius. Mr. MacCarthy has done this, I conceive, to a de-
gree which I had previously supposed impossible. Nothing, I
think, in the English language will give us so true an impression
of what is most characteristic of the Spanish drama, perhaps I
ought to say of what is most characteristic of Spanish poetry
generally." Mr. Longfellow, a profound Spanish scholar, and
a translator of the highest order, as the readers of the Coplas de

DENIS FLORENCE MAC€ARTHY. [Aug.,

Manrique know, says: "It seems as if Calderon himself were
behind you whispering and suggesting." Mr. MacCarthy's la-
bors in Spanish met with still more flattering and substantial
recognition than the mere praise of delighted readers. He was
elected a member of the Spanish Academy — an honor rarely be-
stowed—and last year that body presented him with a medal
struck in commemoration of the bi-centenary of Calderon's
death, as a token of their "gratitude and appreciation " of his
translations of the great poet's works.

MacCarthy's Spanish studies brought him into correspon-
dence with several American scholars. Mr. Ticknor he never
met, but Mr. Longfellow, whom he desired greatly to see, he met
in Rome, and he commemorated this meeting in the two beauti-
ful sonnets prefixed to The Two Lovers of Heaven. Mr. Long-
fellow spoke with delight of the many charming qualities
of the Irish poet, and treasured their meeting as one of the
pleasantest episodes of his journey. To Mr. Bradford, of Bos-
ton, an accomplished Spanish scholar, Mr. MacCarthy was in-
debted for a copy of the former's MS. index to Clemencin's edi-
tion of Don Quijote, and he says of it in a private letter : " I
value it as one of the most interesting volumes I possess."

It is for those who knew him more intimately to speak of his
personal character. A writer in the Dublin Freeman s Journal
says : " It is no exaggeration to say that no more genial or de-
lightful companion has existed in our time. He was the very
soul of brightness and gayety, and his wit was as unfailing as it
was natural and unforced. His early friends and the friends he
made through life remained his friends to their last hour or his,
and he never had an enemy that we heard of." His love for his
native country was never weakened by his interest and labors in
a foreign literature. While in France a friend sent him an Irish
shamrock to wear on St. Patrick's day. The very day he re-
ceived it he wrote in reply the verses, " A Shamrock from the
Irish Shore." Two stanzas may find a place here :

" Dear emblem of my native land,

By fresh, fond words kept fresh and green,
The pressure of an unfelt hand,

The kisses of a lip unseen ;
A throb from my dead mother's heart,

My father's smile revived once more —
Oh ! youth, oh ! love, oh ! hope thou art,

Sweet shamrock from, the Irish shore.

1 882.] WAS ST. PAUL IN BRITAIN? 677

"And shall I not return thy love,

And shalt thou not, as thou shouldst, be
Placed on thy son's proud heart above

The red rose or the fleur-de-lis ?
Yes, from these heights the waters beat

I vow to press thy cheek once more.
And lie for ever at thy feet,

O shamrock of the Irish shore."

We cannot conclude this very inadequate notice better than
by applying to the poet, as a writer we have just quoted has
done, his own lines on Moore :

" But wheresoe'er the Irish race hath drifted,

By what far sea, what mighty stream beside,
There shall to-day the poet's name be lifted,
And be proclaimed in glory and in pride."

WAS ST. PAUL IN BRITAIN ?

AMONG the many gratuitous claims put forward at various
times by members of the Protestant Church of England, and of
its daughter, the Protestant Episcopal Church in these States,
there is one which, forgotten for a while, seems now to make
every effort to revive, and which, now more than ever, is insisted
upon as one of the 'highest importance. The Rev. J. A. Spooner,
A.M., in a pamphlet lately published, and highly praised by the
Guardian, and the Church Standard of New York, thus expresses
himself on this subject:

" As it is the glory of the English Church, so it is the only warrant for
her existence, that her descent is traced from the hand of our Lord Jesus
Christ through the mission of his apostle St. Paul to the British Isles. If
the English [Protestant] Church is not that, she is a grievous delusion to im-
mortal souls" (Thoughts on the Early British Church, p. 2).

This claim, as we have already remarked, is not a new one.
It was defended more .than two centuries ago by Archbishop
Usher and by Stillingfleet, and after them by Burgess, Oden-
heimer, and others. Mr. Spooner's late pamphlet on this subject
is only a rehearsal of what had already been said by these wri-
ters, whose words and misquotations he often literally repeats

678 WAS ST. PAUL IN BRITAIN? [Aug.,

with a solemnity and conviction which, if sincere, would recom-
mend his simplicity in the highest degree.

Before examining the arguments brought in support of this
claim, which, not to appear " partisans," we propose to refute by
Protestant authorities, it will not be out of place to remark that
even if it were true that St. Paul had been in Britain and estab-
lished the church there, this would not be by any means " a war-
rant " for the existence of the Protestant Church of England,
unless this should be proved to be the identical church in faith
and government founded there by the apostle nineteen centuries
ago, and not, as it is in reality, a new sect, or, to use an expres-
sion of a Protestant historian, Lord Macaulay, " a bundle of re-
ligious systems without number '' (On Gladstone, Essays, ii. p.
488) whose existence may be dated from the period of the divorce
of Henry VIII. from his legitimate wife, Catherine.

But is it proved that St. Paul ever was in Britain ? Angli-
cans who have undertaken the task of proving this give us seve-
ral statements which they call " arguments." Thus, we are told
that St. Paul went to Britain " because he had time and oppor-
tunity to go there " ; " because he had the zeal, and was the most
likely of all the apostles to go there." Granted, what would this
prove? If anything, it would merely prove that St. Paul could
have gone to Britain — a point which nobody denies. The ques-
tion is not whether he could, but whether he did really go and
establish the church there. Yes, "he did it," answers Mr.
Spooner (p. 4), because, " Britain being a gentile land, it came
within the appointment and the duties of St. Paul to plant the
church there." Well, and was not China " a gentile land " as
well as Britain ? It came, then, within the appointment and the
duties of St. Paul to plant the church in China. Did he do it ?
We think not ; consequently the fact of his having been appoint-
ed " Apostle of the Gentiles " does not imply that he should have
established by himself the church in each and every gentile
land, and therefore does not prove that he did plant 'it in Bri-
tain. This receives further confirmation from the remarks we
are going to make on the other Scriptural argument, which is
taken from St. Paul's Epistle to the Colossians (i. 23) where he
says, " The Gospel was preached to every creature which is
under heaven." But, argues Mr. Spooner, the Britons " were
creatures under heaven," therefore St. Paul planted the church
in Britain. There is one little fault in this reasoning which spoils
its beauty— viz., the conclusion is too big for the premises. St.
Paul, it is true, says that " the Gospel was preached to every

1 882.] WAS ST. PAUL IN BRITAIN?

creature," but by whom? By himself or by others? The text
does not say it, and the context proves that he is not speaking of
himself but of others. Thus, if we believe Protestant commenta-
tors, the very church of Colossas to which this epistle is ad-
dressed was composed of " creatures under heaven " to whom
the Gospel was not preached by St. Paul.

That St. Paul himself did not plant the church of Colossae,
though he was " the Apostle of the Gentiles " and Colossae was
"a gentile land," is the opinion of Rosenmiiller, Michaelis, De
Wette, Steiger, Credner, Neander, Olshausen, Myers, and others.
We will be satisfied with one quotation. Dr. Ph. Schaff, former
professor in the Theological Seminary at Mercersburg, Pa., in his
History of the Apostolic Church (p. 323, New York, 1853), says :
" The church of Colosse, a city of Phrygia, not far from Lao-
dicea and Hierapolis, was not founded by St. Paul himself, but
by his disciples, particularly by Epaphras." Moreover, let us
suppose St. Paul to have asserted that " the Gospel was preach-
ed to every creature which is under heaven " by himself ; must
we understand St. Paul to imply Britain in these words? We
must not. For if St. Paul did go to Britain he went there
only after his first imprisonment. This is the only date assigned
by those who defend this pretended journey. Now, it is a fact
that the Epistle to the Colossians containing those words was
written, as Davidson, Whitby, Hewlett, etc., testify, not after
but during this first imprisonment, A.D. 62. How, then, could
St. Paul mean Britain in those words when confessedly he had
not yet been there ?

What is, then, the meaning of the passage in question? We
think the correct explanation is given by the Protestant com-
mentators, W. J. Conybeare and J. S. Howson. " St. Paul," they
say, " is, of course, speaking hyperbolically, meaning : The teach-
ing which you (Colossians) heard from Epaphras is the same
which has been published universally by the apostles " (The Life
and Epistles of St. Paul, v. ii. p. 397, London, 1853). This same
remark may be applied to the other text, as quoted by Mr.
Spooner, from 2 Tim. iv. 17: "The Lord stood with me, and
strengthened me, . . . that all the gentiles might hear."

But let us come to the direct historic witnesses. Those
quoted by Mr. Spooner are five in number — viz., Venantius For-
tunatus (sixth century) ; Theodoret (fifth century) ; St. Jerome
and Eusebius (fourth century) ; St. Clement (first century).
"Those all," says Mr. Spooner (p. u), "affirm that by St. Paul
the church was planted in Britain."

68o WAS ST. PAUL IN BRITAIN ? [Aug.,

Now, the fact is that no one of them affirms any such thing.
We will begin by St. Clement, who is the oldest. The pas-
sage in which he is said to " affirm that by St. Paul the church
was planted in Britain " is taken from his first Epistle to the
Corinthians (ch. v.), and is given as follows by Stillingfleet, Bur-
gess, Odenheimer, and Spooner (who seem to have copied each
other): "St. Paul preached righteousness through the whole
world, and in doing so went to the utmost bounds of the West."
The reader scarcely needs to be told that there is no mention
made of Britain either in the passage referred to or in the whole
chapter from which it is taken. Nor can it be said that Britain
is implied in those words, " He 'went to the utmost bounds of the
West," for, even granting that St. Clement did say these words
(which is denied, among others, by the Protestant Dr. Lardner),
there is no reason why by " the utmost bounds of the West " we
have to understand Britain. " Anglican theologians," says Dr.
Schaff (1. c. p. 341), " interested in the apostolical origin of their
church, have referred this phrase of Clement to Britain, still
more remote from Rome. But rsp^a (boundary), if ever in-
terpreted geographically, admits also of being taken subjec-
tively, and may possibly denote only what was for Paul the
limit of his apostolic labor, or what appeared to the Corinthians,
to whom Clement was writing, to be the boundaries of the
West. And even aside from this the whole passage is plainly so
colored by rhetoric and panegyric that it cannot possibly fur-
nish of itself adequate ground for so important a hypothesis."
" I think," writes Dr. Lardner, commenting on this same pas-
sage, " that Clement only meant Italy or Rome, where Clement
was and where Paul suffered. From a note of Le Clerc upon
the place we learn that Bishop Fell so understood Clement."
And he proves this from the very passage in question, as it Ought
to have been translated — viz., " And having come to the borders
of the West." L'Enfant and Beausobre, in their general preface
to St. Paul's Epistles (p. 33), say : " The bounds of the West signify
nothing but the West. It is an expression borrowed from the
Scriptures, in which the borders of a country denote the country
itself. In like manner, by those words Clement intended Italy "
•(see Lardner's Works, vol. v. p. 531, London, 1838). And, to omit
many others, Dr. Davidson declares that " it is exceedingly im-
probable that Clement meant Britain, either solely or as includ-
ed in the phrase (extremity of the West). Nor is there any other
evidence to show that Paul preached in our island [England]. Theo-
doret, who is the first writer that names Paul in connection with

1 882.] WAS ST. PAUL IN BRITAIN? 68 1

Britain, mentioned no more than a floating and baseless tradition "
(Introd. to the New Testament, v. ii. p. 101, London, 1849).

And, in fact, Theodoret, who is another witness quoted as
" affirming that St. Paul planted the church in Britain," in the
passage referred to by Mr. Spooner, far from affirming this, does
not even make the remotest allusion to Britain. Where, then, did
Mr. Spooner read the words which he ascribes to Theodoret :
" The Britons were among the nations converted by the apos-
tles " ? Certainly not in the commentary to which he refers his
readers (Comm. in 2 Tim. iv. 17). There is not a word there about
Britain or Britons ! And even if the text were genuine, by what
rules of interpretation must we understand " apostles " to mean
Paul?

The same remark would apply to the testimony of Eusebius,
if he had said what Mr. Spooner makes him say — viz., " Some of
the apostles preached the Gospel in the British Isles." But the
exact words of Eusebius are : " Some of them crossed over to
the British Isles " (Dem. Evang., 1. iii. c. v.) Now, to whom does
the pronoun "them" refer? Certainly not to St. Paul, whose
name does not appear in the whole context, where Eusebius is
speaking of the preaching of " the twelve apostles " and of " the
Seventy disciples." Whether by the pronoun " them " he meant
some of the twelve apostles or some of the seventy disciples we
are not told by Eusebius. His line of argument would make us
believe that he is speaking of some of the seventy disciples. At
any rate we know this for certain — and this is enough for our
present purpose — that none of " them " was St. Paul ; for he was
neither one of " the twelve apostles " nor one of " the seventy
disciples."

The assertion that St. Jerome (Works, bk. xiv. pt. ii. De Script.
Eccles.) and Venantius Fortunatus (Life of St. Martin, \. iii. p.
317) "affirm that by St. Paul the church was planted in Britain "
we must emphatically deny. St. Jerome does not speak of Bri-
tain— he merely says that " St. Paul preached in the western
parts " ; and Venantius Fortunatus, in the passage referred to,
does not speak of St. Paul but of his writings, " which," he says,
" have penetrated into every country and have even crossed the
ocean into Britain." (See for the correct reference St. Jerome,
De Viris Illust., c. v., and Venantius Fortunatus, De Vita S. Mar-
tini, Migne, P. L., vv. 23, 88, p. 406.)

We doubt very much whether Mr. Spooner has ever seen the
works of these Fathers, and are sure that he has not verified any
of the quotations which he gives in support of his thesis, and

682 WAS ST. PAUL IN BRITAIN? [Aug.,

which, very likely, he blindly copied from Dr. Burgess, mixing
up all his references. For, strange enough, not one of Mr. Spoon-
er's references is the correct one. Had he verified his quota-
tions how could he now avoid the charge of recklessly misquot-
ing and misrepresenting them ? With what honesty could he
have coolly assured his readers (p. 11) that "the testimony of
these Fathers was quite satisfactory and conclusive to one not a
partisan "? But this is an age of wonders, and the reader will
not be surprised to hear the editor of the Church Standard of
New York recommending Mr. Spooner's pamphlet as an excel-
lent "tract for the people" and "a valuable contribution to
ecclesiastical history," declaring at the same time that he has
" verified some of its more remarkable statements and conclu-
sions, and cannot see any escape from Mr. Spooner's thesis and
from the proofs which he adduces in its behalf" (February 8,
1882).

The last point which we propose to notice would be, if true, " a
very valuable contribution to ecclesiastical history." Mr. Spoon-
er assures us, " as an evidence of the thorough manner in which
this question of planting the church in Britain has been investi-
gated," that St. Paul so far organized the church in Britain as to
place a bishop over the Christians there A.D. 64 — that is, seven
years before his martyrdom — and that such a bishop was the
Aristobulus mentioned by St. Paul in Romans xvi. 10. How
Mr. Spooner, or Usher, whom he quotes, found this out is a
mystery, and will remain a mystery to all readers, their state-
ment being totally unsupported by proof.

But who was this Aristobulus? The Protestant commenta-
tor, Adam Clarke, gives the following details about him : " It is
doubted whether this person was converted, as the apostle does
not salute him but his household, or, as the margin reads, his
friends. He might have been a Roman of considerable distinc-
tion, who, though not converted himself, had Christians among
his servants or his slaves. But whatever he was, it is likely that
he was dead at this time " (Comment., p. 87, Philadelphia, 1842).
See also Rosenmuller's commentary on Romans xvi. 10, who
agrees with Clarke and many other Protestant writers in think-
ing Aristobulus dead at the time this epistle was written (A.D. 58).
If these details, derived from Protestant sources, are to be re-
lied upon we are bound to conclude that the first Protestant
bishop of the Church of England was either a person not con-
verted to Christianity or a man who, before his appointment
(A.D. 64) to the primatial see of England, had been dead for at

1 882.] THE REVIVAL OF ITALIAN LETTERS. 683

least six years. We leave it- to Mr. Spooner and to his friends
to settle this domestic trouble, and we beg of them to consider
attentively that if the fact of St. Paul planting the church in
England " is the only warrant " for the existence of the Protes-
tant Church of England and of its daughter in America, they
both are "a grievous delusion to immortal souls."

THE REVIVAL OF ITALIAN LETTERS IN THE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

THE oldest literature of modern Europe has exhibited a
greater number of variations than any of its contemporaries.
Direct descendant of that old Roman one which had dominated
the world, it rose from the wreck of the empire, not uncontam-
inated by northern barbarism and Arabian fantasy. The thir-
teenth century witnessed its rapid growth; Italy had then
workers in the field not unworthy of her ancient renown, whose
scattered materials were gathered up and welded into a living
whole by the genius of her greatest singer. Dante was followed,
somewhat timorously, by his two illustrious countrymen, Pe-
trarch and Boccaccio. Historians were the next to try their
hands ; even the inmates of convents — Passavanti, Cavalca, St.
Catherine of Sienna — wrote their religious tracts and pious
meditations in the now classic Tuscan. Everything seemed to
point towards a long and vigorous life for the new tongue, of
which the great books it contained were its chartered right.
Its elastic capabilities were fathomed, its periods fixed, its har-
mony, especially for the purposes of poetry, developed in widest
range.

Suddenly its inspiration seemed to fail, its voice became
mute, and the old Roman tongue again obtained the ascendency.
What was the cause of this retrograde movement ? Principally
the discovery of the ancient classics, in which Italians, of course,
felt much pride ; to a less degree the unconscious influence of
the church, whose language was Latin, the want of a common
centre for Italian learning, and the arrival of the Greek refugees
flying before the Moslem conqueror — all these impelled towards
the attainment of classic lore. Italian writers soon disdained to
write but in Latin, abandoning the lingua volgare to the vulgar in-

684 THE REVIVAL OF ITALIAN LETTERS [Aug.,

deed, who mutilated and debased it by provincial dialects. But
the banishment of the Italian tongue could not last. Italians soon
found that the ancient language, suited as it was to the grandeur
of old Rome and the majestic worship of the church, fell in but
ill with the state of the modern motley races. Este at Ferrara,
the Medici at Florence, the Gonzagas at Mantua, chose to patron-
ize the subtle lingua volgare in preference to the idiom of the peo-
ple of Quirinus, with their haughty senators and warrior consuls.
So came the sixteenth century, second era of Italian literature.
Machiavelli, Guicciardini, Ariosto, Tasso, Berni, Michelangelo,
Palladio — these are a few whose stars shine brightest in that
galaxy of genius illustrious in almost every branch of letters and
of art. Brilliant, polished, flourishing externally like a green
bay-tree, the epoch flashed upon a world ready to applaud and
to imitate; yet in it was sown the seed of future decay. Or, to
vary the metaphor, there was no heart in it, only a foul and
rotten core. The polish was the polish of voluptuous courts, of
unprincipled aristocracy, purchased at the expense of that blunt
energy characteristic of the old writers, born in the midst of
stormy republican independence. Italian history in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries is one of the sad epochs in the history
of the world. Spanish viceroys and French conquerors struggled
for victory over the prostrate country. Well might the noblest
of her sons in those dark times mourn Italy's " deadly dower of
endless miseries " and pray that she might be less fair or more
strong. But what are merely external wrongs compared with
the internal tarnish of the spirit ? The endurance of the Italians
gave way ; the iron truly entered their souls. Debased, ener-
vated, corrupt, every feeling poisoned at its inmost source,
misery and ignorance were but the outward symbols of inward
degradation. From such a nation what was to be expected, in
the shape of literature, but a false polish on vicious matter, the
natural offspring of prostituted genius ?

Still, however, though the seventeenth century, the age of
Seicentisti, has been justly stigmatized as degraded in literary
as well as political condition, it would be an error to imagine
that such corruption was universal. Spain had borne off the
palm of victory, but her yoke did not weigh upon the whole
peninsula. Her power, rooted at both ends, at Naples and at
Milan, extended not to Rome, Piedmont, and Tuscany, nor to
the republics of Venice and Genoa. Thus the very divisions of
Italy, which had facilitated her invasion and partial conquest,
were the means of preserving parts from foreign rule and its con-

1 882.] IN THE ElGPITEENTH CENTURY. 685

sequent degradation. Land-love, if we view it rightly, is a mighty
thing. Enlightened cosmopolitanism, a feeling for the whole
race of man, it is not wished to deprecate. But charity begins at
home. We must love our country first, and then extend the
sphere of our affection, if possible. And is not the one the true
basis of the other? If we love not our own land how can we
sympathize with the struggles of those whose motive power is
found in this sentiment? Why has America, ay, the whole
world as for that, sympathized with Ireland in her efforts for
freedom? The same cause moved her heart towards Poland,
Hungary, France — every land under the sun struggling for
emancipation ; and that cause is found in the love of her citizens
for their own country. The seventeenth century witnessed the
beginning, or at least the reappearance, among Italians of a long-
ing for freedom — an aspiration which, having glowed in their
fervid imagination to white heat, we have seen in our own age
lead them even into great crimes. Genoa, Venice, Tuscany,
Rome, the little scraps of their country free from foreign domi-
nation, though fallen and decaying, were yet the ideal centres
round which clung the dearest hopes of many.

It was amid such surroundings that Italian genius in the
seventeenth century found itself. Here and there rays shoot
forth over the dark night, lurid, fitful, jagged as the lightnings,
yet better than blank darkness, inasmuch as the old fire, im-
perishable, blazed up. Davila, Tassoni, Chiabrera, Gui^di, FiU-
caja ; learned prelates like Bentivoglio and Pallavicini ; the
Jesuits Segneri and Bartoli ; Salvator Rosa and Campanella
in the southern extremity of the peninsula, throwing out wild
flashes volcanic as the land of their birth — these surely redeem
in some measure Italy's century of dishonor. Science has its
representatives, too : Galileo, Cassini, Torricelli, Malpighi.
Spanish infantry, French cavalry, German mercenaries have
not, it appears, succeeded in trampling the life out of the land.
Stifled under despotism and . corruption, rolling in dim, chaotic
agony, the better elements, though with uncertain and often err-
ing course, still strive upwards and on.

During this period the French, though a younger language,
was the fashion in all the courts and among the nobility of
Europe. The splendor of Louis XIV.'s reign, the ease and cur-
rency of their idiom for familiar discourse, and also the real mer-
it of their dramatic and prose writers gave to the French of
the seventeenth century an undisputed intellectual sway. Italy
could produce no dramatist to rival Corneille, Racine, Moliere ;

686 THE REVIVAL OF ITALIAN LETTERS [Aug.,

no moralist to match against Bossuet, Fenelon, Pascal, La Bru-
yere. " The French," says Corniani,* " first found the art of dis-
tributing, with measure and taste, a certain sum of ideas and of
knowledge— the modern art, in short, of making books. They
introduced in their works clearness and precision, an easy man-
ner of expression, with a befitting proportion of ornaments.
Italy, no doubt, preserved her literary and scientific powers, but
the French have known better how to make use of theirs " — a
criticism that remains true to the present day. But the French
repaid such just*and candid views by undervaluing their former
teachers. What a spectacle do their critics of this and the fol-
lowing century present— judging flippantly of Italian literature
without knowing it, sneering at authors whose equal France has
never produced ! Boileau's " clinquant du Tasse," the epigrams
of Bouhours, Fontenelle, and Voltaire, remain a lasting monu-
ment of presumptuous levity and conceit.

Thus, Italian literature, ridiculed in the works of her popular
neighbor, had small chance of being known beyond the Alps.
Most foreigners seemed to think the language, that mighty engine
shaped by the hands of Dante, unfit for anything but amatory
poetry, and that of a very watery kind. Metastasio, the grace-
ful, the effeminate, came just then to confirm the idea. In Italy,
indeed, the circumstances were sufficiently unfavorable. There
were little coteries of authors, very much like mutual-admira-
tion clubs, revolving round each municipal centre and scarcely
known beyond the borders of their respective provinces. Says
Giordani : " The circuit of literary reputations in our divided
country has always been extremely slow."

The dawn of the eighteenth century witnessed the emancipa-
tion and rejuvenation of Italy. The wars of the Spanish succes-
sion and of the empire broke the iron sceptre of Spain, and the
peninsula, with the exception of Lombardy, achieved indepen-
dence under native sovereigns. Even in the latter province the
Austrian government proved beneficent, and the reign of Maria
Teresa was long remembered with gratitude by the Milanese.
One day of peace followed another ; princes of mild character,
enlightened ministers, wise and saintly pontiffs held sway over
the contented population. Chiefly valuable as the pulse of a
land, showing its state of vitality, is literature ; and the revival
of the never-dying genius of Italy was the first-fruit then and is
the testimony now of Italy's independence and renewed life.
Amusement had been the chief staple of the previous century's

* I Secoli del la Letter atur a Italiana.

1 882.] IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 687

literature ; but now the spirit of investigation and deep reflec-
tion was at work. Maffei and • Muratori in the province of an-
tique study and of history, Vico and Giannone in philosophical
inquiry, with the assistance of some others, ushered in the new
era amid great splendor. It was, however, more toward the
middle of the century that the spirit of the epoch began to
manifest itself. The torch of rational philosophy, taken up
timidly at first, began to pass from hand to hand, illuminating
the empty places of ignorance and prejudice. Even the bold
novelties, many of which have been since demonstrated to be
erroneous, but were then so fashionable among neighboring na-
tions, were viewed with indulgence by the rulers so long as they
remained in the region of mere speculation. " It was then that
the writers of Italy separated into two families, the one con-
sisting of worshippers of the past, the other of partisans of
emancipation. The former pleaded the cause of ancient litera-
ture in those hallowed regions and under the same sky where
the Latin muses had long and nobly held their sway. The
others maintained that the spirit of literature ought to follow
the bent of the social system ; they showed the weakening effects
of an imitation protracted through centuries — imitation which
at last had reduced itself to the external form of the classics —
after the spirit had long fled and was irrevocably lost." *

Philosophy and poetry were not neglected ; indeed, they are
to be counted the principal fruit of such a revival and the princi-
pal end of historic investigation. But, as nothing could better
exhibit the spirit of the new era, the present paper is confined in
its notice of writers to this latter province of letters. If it be
true of other nations that we can best judge them by their own
self-examination, it is doubly true of Italy. The lingua volgare,
from the time of Dante, who first raised it to the dignity, had
been struggling for a place in literature. Now successful, now
defeated and driven back, its checkered career was about to issue
again from the shadow into the sunlight of triumph. Every in-
vestigation of her past literature was therefore doubly valuable ;
and the abundant flood of such works was but a sign of the gen-
eral revival.

Many authors, both native and foreign, have written on the
history of Italian literature. Among the latter may be reckoned
the Swiss Sismondi, whose Calvinist prejudices mar his eloquent
work,f and whose acquaintance with this section of his subject

* Delia Letteratura Italiana, etc., Ugoni, preface, p. 15.
t Histoire Littiraire du Midi de P Europe.

688 THE REVIVAL OF ITALIAN LETTERS [Aug.,

was extremely slight. Bouterwek confined himself chiefly to the
poets. But much the most notable was Ginguene, who under-
took a complete Histoire Litttfraire d' Italic, though death stopped
him in the midst of its publication. All these derived their mate-
rials, not from original research, but from Italian historians.

Every state of Italy, almost every city, has its literary chroni-
cles, annals, and biographies. This was rendered inevitable by
the division of the country, as Giordani complains above. But
the new period stimulated some Italian thinkers to undertakings
of wider scope, and in order to appreciate the profound earnest-
ness of the revival I shall proceed to notice these in turn.

First on the list is the learned and indefatigable Muratori.
His life, serene and tranquil generally, but informed by a spirit
of deep speculation, was well fitted for the task that fell to its
lot. From an early age he exhibited a predilection for literary
pursuits. When he entered into holy orders he would accept
no ecclesiastical office, but determined to devote his spare time
to calm research, especially into the history of his native country.
His opportunities were great, and he laboriously made the most
of them. His first appointment, as one of the librarians of the
Ambrosian Library at Milan, secured for the world two notable
books from his pen on the various Greek and Latin fragments
there lodged. In 1700 he was called to Modena by the duke and
placed in charge of the famous D'Este library, at the same time
holding a pastoral office in the church of St. Mary at Pomposa.
Here for a period of half a century he lived and labored, happy
and content. His works, covering a vast extent of ground and
including criticism, history, liturgy, dogma, even medicine, and,
not the least, Italian antiquities, are too many to enumerate.
Suffice it to say his researches fill forty-six folio volumes, thirty-
four quarto, thirteen octavo, and a number of duodecimo. Amid
all this prodigious labor it is gratifying to note one fact : the
simple priest never made the labor of the pen an excuse for
neglecting his proper work. His exactness in discharging the
duties of parish priest was beyond all praise, and several of the
charitable institutions of Pomposa were founded by him. Gene-
rally serene and tranquil, I have said, was his life — nay, even
cheerful ; as how could it fail to be, filled thus by unwearied
labor, contemplating high pursuits, but equally diligent in hum-
ble and humane affairs ? Not without a storm, though — a cloud
that swiftly passed away. It might seem that such a life as his
would disarm envy herself; but no, ever busy and malicious,
her thousand tongues began to wag. In the compass of so much

1 882.] IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 689

toil many flaws there doubtless were ; and these, being snail-like
picked out, were presented -against him as a grand indictment.
But his detractors reckoned without Muratori ; in the gentle
priest of St. Mary's there was a fund of virile energy they little
dreamed of. He appealed to the pope, who was the learned
Benedict XIV. What did the pope? Lo ! instead of the con-
demnation so confidently expected, he paid a warm and generous
eulogy to the sterling uprightness of the man. The pope dis-
agreed with many of Muratori's opinions, as he took care to
say, but at the same time pronounced them free from the impu-
tation of being contrary either to the doctrine or to the disci-
pline of the church. So the provost of St. Mary's came out
unharmed — nay, crowned with new glory ; for the agitation ex-
tended his reputation, which was only confirmed by the praise
and encouragement of the pope.

I dwell on Muratori at some length because it is rare to see
centred in one man such enlightened diligence, such sober good
sense, such virtue, modesty, and true merit generally. Men like
these are the salt of the earth, not only spiritually as priests but
in the kindred function of intellectual dominance. To read of
them in the dry wastes of learning is like coming upon a spark-
ling spring in the desert ; we drink of the waters and rise re-
freshed and strengthened. Was I not right in saying his life
was fitted for its task ? And a truly arduous one it was. Thirty
years, a whole generation — the life of an ordinary man — this was
the limit. Day and night came and went, month after month,
year after year rolled away, and there, in the library of Este,
unceasingly toiled Muratori. Let us look into the room. It is
the 28th of January, 1750. There at his desk sits an old man ;
his shoulders are bent over; his hair is silvery gray, but his
eyes beam with unconquerable intelligence. . . . Presently a
pale spectre glides in and places its hand on those stooping
shoulders. Death calls at last and finds him pen in hand. But
his task is complete, his work is done. He is called hence, leav-
ing no unfinished legacy behind him, but a splendid and well-
nigh perfect monument of human labor.

Rerum Italicarum Scriptores, begun in 1723 by the issue of the
first volume, had swollen in thirty years to twenty-eight enor-
mous folios. Gigantic in conception, every detail was worked
out with minute care. Princes, nobles, the higher clergy had
zealously seconded and assisted the presiding genius. Its nature
and scope may be indicated by the fact that it embraces all the
chronicles of Italy from the fifth to the sixteenth century. It
VOL. xxxv —44

690 THE REVIVAL OF ITALIAN LETTERS [Aug.,

was accompanied by six folio volumes of dissertations on the re-
ligious, social, political, military, commercial, and literary rela-
tions of Italy with all her divided states during that vast period
of time. Not exempt from errors, of which the most was made,
as we have seen, this grand work is still regarded as a treasure-
house of Italian antiquities. As regarding the special subject of
this paper, the matter in it had a most important and immediate
influence on the thought of the eighteenth century. A new im-
pulse was given to the study of Italian language and literature,
and Muratori's work seemed the signal for the pouring forth of
a multitude of works on the same theme. Significant, too, is
this : Muratori wrote in Latin ; his followers adopt the lingua
volgare. So had it been in the revival of the thirteenth century :
Dante argued for Italian in Latin, but illustrated and established
his theories in his grand epic. Likewise in the eighteenth cen-
tury victory was won for the lingua volgare on its enemy's
ground, and thenceforth Italian is classic.

Salverio Bettinelli, a Jesuit, was the next laborer in the field
of- historic Italian letters. The period of time covered by his
work coincides with the period of Muratori's work. In it he
traces the progress of mental development, and by the name be-
stowed on the book clearly marked out the new epoch — Risorgi-
mento d' Italia negli studj, nelle arti, ne costumi dopo il Mille* It is
valuable yet, both for its abundant erudition and for the philo-
sophical manner in which that erudition is displayed and ar-
ranged. He begins by tracing back the moral condition of the
Italians during the three ages preceding the revival, from the reign
of Charlemagne to the eleventh century. The sketch of the cru-
sading times, in which feudal pride and turbulence were con-
trasted with monastic fervor and seclusion, when Latin was the
only written language and priests the only men who could write,
is full and animated. Dark as those times seem, there was a
germ of promise in them. The Crusades, while appearing as an-
other disturbing element in the general uproar and chaos, were
in fact the motive power towards a new order of things. For
on those distant Syrian fields of battle, to which they were called
by the voice of spiritual authority, baron and burgher, lord and
peasant, struggled together for one common object. The iron
network of the authority of feudalism was broken for a time by
the dominance of a higher authority, which appealed, not to the
old forms, but to feelings which had an equal sway over the
hearts of all. This is what clothes that extraordinary epoch

* The Revival of Italy in studies, arts, and manners after the year One Thousand.

1 882.] IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 691

with interest for us now. Look at the tenth century. The cor-
ruption of the secular clergy, the ignorance of the laity, the
wretchedness of the people, sunk under the fivefold scourge of
Hungarian irruption from the north, of Saracenic invasion from
the south, and of the wars between the Italian lords, the counts
of Provence, and the German emperors, contending for the inse-
cure possession of a blood-stained crown — all these calamities
had extinguished the last spark of learning. A report had also
got abroad that the end of the world was at hand — fitting catas-
trophe for such a scene of horror ; and the apprehension of this
deterred men from the idea of wasting their days in acquiring an
empty and now useless knowledge. The Crusades, pouring in-
to the East a deluge of European turbulence, and leaving behind
the power of baronial anarchy so weakened that it speedily suc-
cumbed to the efforts of the kings and the teaching of the church,
cleared, in some measure, the darkened field. Law came to be
recognized as a force, and consequently a civilized society was
rendered possible. In Italy the province of human activity in
literature was marked by the renaissance of the thirteenth cen-
tury, besides many other beneficent effects.

Another Jesuit follows Bettinelli — the " good " Tiraboschi, as
the French republican and philosophe, Ginguene, calls him. Tira-
boschi, as a figure of Italian literature, fills a space second only
to Muratori's, whom he succeeded, after an interval, as prefect
of the magnificent library of the house of Este. He had long
meditated the work for which opportunity was now afforded.
Besides resorting to the rich stores of the ducal library, he made
extensive researches in other archives, the result of all which
was the Storia della Letteratura Italiana (1772-1783), extending to
thirteen volumes.* Tiraboschi more minutely goes over the
same ground as that of Muratori and Bettinelli, bringing the
record to the end of the seventeenth century. A repetition of
Bettinelli in the history of the middle ages, the special value
of Tiraboschi's work is in the light it throws on the intellectual
condition of the peninsula during the brilliant period from Dante
to Tasso.

Many subsequent studies of single epochs have but revealed
the substantial accuracy of Tiraboschi's truth-loving mind. In-
deed, inquirers have generally, after testing for a while, found it
convenient to follow him almost verbatim. Thus, Ginguene, who
afterwards wrote in French on the same subject, made a free use
of Tiraboschi's extensive information, and, says Ugoni, " copied

* The best edition is that published at Milan in sixteen volumes, 1826.

692 THE REVIVAL OF ITALIAN LETTERS [Aug.,

much without always quoting him "; in fact, had it not been for
the hard-earned erudition of the "good " Jesuit the French wri-
ter could never have written his Histoire Litttraire d 'Italic* But
Ginguene, it must be admitted, though a philosophe, not only
bears this mute testimony, but, while proclaiming his difference
of opinion, again and again is an open and honorable witness to
Tiraboschi's historical fidelity. The Italian's conscientiousness
led him to only one great error, or rather defect of plan. He is
too minute in biographical details, forgetting at times his pur-
pose of writing the " history of a literature " rather than that of
" men of letters " — a failure which I for one can heartily for-
give ; an admirer of biography could only wish every similar
work built on the same principle and dealing less in vague gene-
ralizations.

The city of Brescia produced three investigators who, one
after the other, labored in the field of Italian antiquities. First
was Conte Mazzuchelli, who, in the middle of his life, formed a
great design which he did not live to complete. The reception
of a scientific work he had produced was the flattering encourage-
ment of this new undertaking. A copious and instructive series
of biographies of Italian writers, ancient and modern, arranged
in alphabetical order — this was the gigantic task before him.
The first two volumes, covering only the letter A, appeared in
1753 ; and at the time of his death (1765) four more volumes had
carried it on to the end of B. These six tremendous folios,
going over such a narrow extent of the ground contemplated,
afford some measure of the vastness of Italian literature.

Next came Conte Corniani, who wrote / Secoli della Lettera-
tura Italiana, in which he describes the Italian writers since the
twelfth century, in separate articles, forming, as it were, a gal-
lery of miniature sketches. Each article is divided into three
sections containing respectively accounts of the life of the
author, of his works, and of his character. It is complete — a
dwarfed reproduction of Muzzachelli's scheme — that is to say,
each author has less space, but the book covers the ground con-
templated. Useful and pleasing is it for those who cannot wade
through the learned but enormous volumes of Muratori and
Tiraboschi, and who yet may wish to become acquainted with
the literary fasti of Italy. Corniani's work extended only to the
middle of the century ; and so Baron Ugoni, a townsman of the
conte, undertook the continuation of the same task to the con-
clusion of the century. Ugoni's work f is far superior to Corni-

* Ugoni, vol. iii. p. 358. f Delia Letteratura Italiana nella seconda meta del secolo xviii.

1 882.] IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 693

ani's, inasmuch as he recognized the distinct revival of Italian
genius in his own days, and -this tends to throw much light on
the matter he handles. It is only fair to add that the principal
materials of this article are derived from him.

A view of the historical writers of Italy in the last century
would be incomplete without some mention of Denina. The first
edition of his great work — Delia Rivoluzioni cCItalia — involved
him in some trouble. It was printed, it appears, at Florence,
with the approbation of the local authorities. But this was not
enough for a Pie.dmontese subject, a law being then in force
that no Piedmontese should publish a work, even in a foreign
land, without the permission of the Turin censors. Consequen-
ces : the edition was suppressed, Denina having to pay the ex-
penses of printing, and the author, deprived of his professor's
chair at Turin, exiled to Vercelli. Disgusted by this rough
treatment, he quitted Italy and accepted the hospitality of Fred-
erick of Prussia, who eagerly invited him to his court and pro-
mised him every facility for literary studies. Denina's quarrel
with the authorities of his native land was arranged somehow,
for the work that occasioned it appeared at Turin in 1769-70.
But he never returned to Italy. After dwelling in Berlin for
many years (1782-1804), during which he produced some half-
hearted essays on German history and literature, he went, on
Napoleon's invitation, to Paris, where he dwelt to the day of his
death. He was the author of a multitude of works, but none of
them rival his Rivoluzioni d1 Italia and his other works on the poli-
tical and literary history of Italy. Of these Ugoni observes
that they exhibit Denina's special talent of putting into order the
scattered materials of his country's history, and of raising a well-
defined edifice, simple, bold, and concise. " But as he was the
first who undertook the task of deciphering and remodelling the
rude work of the old chroniclers and annalists, he had little
leisure to adorn them. Generally scrupulous with regard to the
correctness of the outline of facts, he was not so successful in the
art of shading and coloring his sketches." * Denina's Revolutions
of Italy is considered still a standard work. Denina's style is
marked by a certain nerve and precision not always to be met
with in Italian narrative.

But Denina's contribution to the history of letters, though
second only in merit to the Rivoluzioni, is more important in the

* Ugoni, vol. iii. p. 258. Denina was not, as Ugoni has in three learned volumes been
showing, " the first who undertook the task of deciphering and remodelling the rude work of
the old chroniclers and annalists."

694 THE REVIVAL OF ITALIAN LETTERS. [Aug.,

view of the present paper. Discorso sopra le Vicende della Lettera-
tura (Turin, 1761), or general history of letters, ancient and
modern, traced in a succession of miniature etchings, is a truly
wonderful thing. No book seems unknown to him ; innumera-
ble writers are portrayed and their products described in laconic
and very characteristic sentences. Unlike most compilers, too,
Denina's erudition is not skin-deep. Sharp and swift but pro-
found criticism bespeaks him a man who has purchased this easy
transition from theme to theme by long-continued familiarity in
all the realms of knowledge. Impartial as a judge, the highest
value attaches to the work as an exponent of Italy's place in
literature, because here her authors are laid down side by side
with those of all the world.

To what do all these works on Italian letters point? They
are indications, signs, of the general awakening of Italian genius,
whose most natural impulse it was to study first the works of
their ancestors, thus placing themselves on the true lines of pro-
gress. Their lingua volgare was in process of being vindicated
again, never more to lose its place among the languages of the
world. Henceforth Italian is a tongue, not broken dialects
merely, but a vehicle shown to be capable of expressing the
highest and the deepest truths and of ranging freely to the
widest extent. Accordingly, from the time of Muratori down,
along with these necessary studies, a steady development in
every department of thought is visible. In the extremity of the
peninsula Vico rose, expounder of the " new science," and was
followed by a long line of philosophers — Genovesi, Verri, Carli,
Galiani, Pagano, Beccaria, and many others — who applied his
principles to practical affairs ; poets — Passeroni, Monti, Foscolo,
Parini, Cesarotti ; dramatists — Alfieri, Gozzi, Goldoni ; critics
and philologists — Baretti, Borga, Buonafede, Gozzi (brother of
the dramatist), Milizia, Lanzi, Gerdil, Turchi. These are a few
who took part in the revival of Italian letters in the eighteenth
century — a renaissance perturbed and partly suppressed by the
red deluge of the French Revolution that closed the epoch.

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 695

DONNA QUIXOTE.

COME to a long-, low, porphyry beach whose upper red, un-
wet, lies dull like freestone, but whose base shines out like fire
in the sunlight as the lapping waves roll in from the blue Medi-
terranean. To seaward the horizon is broken by two little isl-
ands, the Lions of the Sea and Land — the latter hugging- shore.
To westward the land is flat for a few miles, where a once
grand Augustan harbor has been filled by washed-down moun-
tain debris ; but this stops after a couple of miles, and farther
On bold cliffs called -Roque-brun abruptly cut the view. A little
up from the beach we might see the eastward chain of Esterel
Mountains, but a projecting point running coaxingly out to
the Lion de la Terre hides them from us at this level, and the
air is so motionless and the water so lazy that we had rather
lie still on this St. Raphael beach.

An artist is working near by, sketching from the groups of
sardine-fishers who are carrying up their finny treasure in bas-
kets, and the shades of blue and silver in the still living fish are
like polished steel. If it were less blue the painter thinks that
it would do for certain gleams of armor in his great tournament
picture, and paints memoranda of it on the wrong side of the
canvas.

Men and women are drawing in seine and loading more fish,
and form long lines on the beach, the seine hanging gracefully
in festoons between them, or is gathered up by old women to
spread on the sands ; and these commtres have begun the mend-
ing by which they earn the few sous needed for daily living in
this heavenly climate.

Now our artist looks up through some olive-trees to see the
blue of the sky through their willowy silver tinge, and wishes that
he could paint the atmosphere in which all this is showing. He
wonders if the people half way around the world will believe in
his cork-trees, for which he has made a hundred color-studies sit-
ting among them. He tumbles them over in his portfolio, holds
them up, and compares them, as often before, with their stalwart
originals in distant sight farther inland. That group has just
been peeled and left to their seven years' rest. It ought to be
twelve. Their poor stripped trunks are the dusky color of red
bricks, and they lift the lower bleeding branches like arms

696 DONNA QUIXOTE. [Aug.,

stretched pitifully skyward. The upper moss-grown limbs seem
trying to hide their wounds as the wind forces down the scal-
loped foliage (for the cork-tree is an oak), and they move in
sympathy. The cork-cutters have two shops in the village,
which, with the fishing and briar-pipe cutting, are its " indus-
tries," and to-night they are bringing down the cork refuse to
throw into the sea. Two children avail themselves of the har-
vest to make and launch boats of wonderful lightness. One of
these children, a young Provengal boy, is vexed because the
wind blows his craft in-shore, and he kicks it far out, after many
failures, saying :

" Go, villain boat ! May the saints no longer protect thee !
Thou art not worth the half-scale of a bad sardine ! "

" Softly, softly, my prince," urges his companion, a girl of ten ;
" the boat was good, but the wind has changed. See how the
smoke has turned, that half an hour ago blew from thy chimney
toward our own. Vex not the saints, either ; thou wilt want
their aid to-morrow. Let us go up and play in the wrecks."

• The children run on to a sand-strip where the fishers drag
out their boats each night for safety, since the harbor is open
and some of them grow old and are never launched again.
Were we to go among them we should find most of them named
from the calendar, like the children of this population. One of
them, the largest and oldest of all, wears on her stern in ragged
white letters La Volonti de Dieu. Into this the youthful pair
have climbed, and, looking up the little street that ends near the
sea, begin to sing. Perhaps the evening smoke of the kitchens
suggests Beranger's return -song of the French wanderer :

" O France adored ! O country sweet !
After long years again appear
My village, and adown its beach
The curling wreaths from hearthstones dear.
How quickly tender grows my mood !
I greet thee ! " etc.

The girl's French speech is more elegant than that of the boy,
as if she belonged to a higher social class, and her movements
are, like his, vivacious. But here all resemblance ends. The
boy's dark hair and Spanish tint are like a hundred others in the
town ; but the girl is thin-faced and reddish-haired, with an ex-
pression of great good-humor but keen, while the boy's, if ruf-
fled, is fiery, and at rest is like a gathering cloud. Clearly they
are of different races.

" Estagne, do you see the ships out there ? On one of them

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 697

perhaps my papa is sailing, sailing, and will come some day to
take me away to the cold lands." And Estagne, who has heard
that story all the years that he remembers, sings in doggerel
rather than says :

" Oh ! yes, oh ! yes ;
And then, I guess,
You'll long old France's soil to press; "

continuing: " How droll to have a papa that one never knows! "
But the girl has told unconscious truth this time. Out on
the sea, just in sight, and nearly hidden behind another sail, a
good ship bound for the port of Toulon was nearing harbor.
On the deck Captain Gregory stood looking coastward and say-
ing:

" Over there on the land lies St. Raphael. I can almost see
the bay. There my little girl is living. How strange to have a
child that one has never known ! " and breaks into a low hum-
ming of another verse of the same people's song of B6ranger,
who wrote for all of them —

"Under a sky where youth's seething blood
Bubbles to love, it was lavished on me."

(A truce to translating the inimitable ! )

This was not so strange as would seem at first, the child
singing the song of those about her, and the father reminded of
it by the proximity of the place where he had learned it. The
captain draws out of his pocket a little parcel of letters, unties a
black ribbon, and reads from one of them: "And when you
come back this time I shall not be here to welcome you ; only
this little Donna will be left, whom you must love and make
happy, as you have made me, for the few glad years of my liv-
ing I owe to you." This was from the pen of a little New Eng-
land " school-ma'am " whom Captain Gregory had found on one
return cruise in a bleak New Hampshire school-house as lonely
and cheerless as her orphan life. And he wooed and won and
married her, so quickly that she said " It took away her breath
to think of it," because he had soon to sail again, and sailor
nuptials are wont to be speedy. Everything in her life had been
uphill until this sun-burnt sailor's advent, and, if she had not re-
flected upon her choosing as long as wiser people would have
done, heaven smiled upon it while she lived. And when the
poor little creature, who had worn her strength away in thank-
less toil, began to wilt, Captain Joe took her aboard ship and

698 DONNA QUIXOTE. [Aug.,

brought her to southern France, which gave her five good years
of added life. They had found the small town of St. Raphael in
one of their pleasant times ashore, and here she finally used to
stay and await the captain's coming and going. In the entire six
years of their wedded life they had not spent a whole year to-
gether, even computing the fractions of weeks. " But that," said
Captain Joe in his cheery way, " never gave us time to quar-
rel ! "

If Mary Gregory had not known the nature of passionate
loving or led the life of other wives in continuous happiness,
this was far greater happiness than she ever had known, and it
did very well. Joe was a prince of good-humor, fond and kind
ashore if not heart-broken in absence. Let the philosophers
choose which is best, the un-ease of intense loving or the tran-
quillity of the calmer sort.

Our captain thought it well done of Mary to have thanked
him so prettily for his kindness to her, and, " after so many
years," he was still sorry that she died, and the picture of her
sweet, sad face as he last remembered it brought a tear to his
eye " after so many years," as he sighed again.

It had happened that Joe, having sailed for New York and
hoping for a return freight to Havre, which would bring him
back to Mary at or near the birth of their child, met with a dis-
appointment common to captains, and had been half around the
world again before he saw the infant, a year old and an orphan
from her sixth week. Surprise and grief were for the moment
absorbed in embarrassment. What could he do with this year-
ling— a sailor with ten days' leave of absence? He could not
take her on shipboard, and, if that were practicable, there was
no one to receive her, except distant Aunt Hannah in far New
England, unconsulted, and with family cares of her own that
suggested but doubtful welcome. So that when Mere Menille,
the widow of the late notaire, declared that she should be
"wholly dtsoltte" if separated from "the mignonne" whose mam-
ma's friend she had ever been, and to whom the dying wife
had " confided her angel," Captain Gregory thought it a most
fortunate circumstance and felt that nothing could have been
more opportune. So, placing a fairly generous sum at the good
dame's disposal and looking at the " angel " as a very unfledged
one, he paid visits to poor Mary's grave and thought it very
improbable that he should ever marry again, which was as
strong a reflection as any that he could afterwards recall.

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 699

Meantime the little one grew and throve, and was to all ap-
pearance and in usage a little French child. Four times in sub-
sequent years had the captain seen his daughter, and on the
fourth and last occasion remembered that he did not know her
name.

" What is Donna's full name ? " he asked. " Has she been
baptized anything?" — the ceremony, as he thought it, being of
importance chiefly in this result.

" But, monsieur," replied the horror-stricken Mere Menille,
" is it that monsieur deems us not Christians ? Tell to papa thy
name, then, little one."

" Marie Veronique Angelique," sweetly replies the child in
musical southern semi-drone. " Marie for the Blessed Virgin
and for dear mamma, and Veronique for the holy saint who — "
she was continuing.

" But where do you get the Donna out of all this ? " inter-
rupted her puzzled papa.

" Ah ! " resumed Mere Menille, " these other names are so
fatiguing for a little one, to whom one always speaks caressingly,
as monsieur knows. But between this child and the beautiful pic-
ture of Our Lady in the church there is strange resemblance, in
spite of the difference of features, so that an artist who copied
the painting began to call our child Madonna ; then we all saw
the likeness, and Madonna, or Donna, she has always been. We
believe that it was because her poor mamma sat so much regard-
ing that picture in the months before her birth — however the
savants say that such things cannot be ; but poor Madame
Gregoire had much affection for the picture."

Then the captain went over to the church and looked at the
picture, which he called "a handsome thing, though red-haired
and long-faced " ; but it did not grow into his heart as it had into
that of his wife. And he copied his child's name from the parish
register — a precaution in nowise useless, for he would otherwise
have forgotten it — and during the year Mere Menille died and
Donna was again adrift.

This time no one offered to take charge of our waif, and
" Capitaine Gregoire" was duly notified, in a letter from the
authorities, to seek out and provide for his offspring. Had there
not been enclosed in it a note of kindlier vein from the cure
Captain Joe would have thought himself ill-used. As it was, the
sense of injury that arose from reading the notification was
soothed by the assurance from the good priest that while await-
ing her father's orders Donna was being cared for in his own

7oo DONNA QUIXOTE. [Aug.,

house. Still, he was stung, and more on account of the legal
phraseology, to which he was not used, than the action it in-
dicated. One thing was clear — the child must be provided for ;
and again the way was opened to our lucky friend. Aunt Han-'
nah had just buried her youngest and favorite daughter, her
other children were married or away from home, and, the be-
reavement occurring at the time of the captain's second dilemma,
she offered to receive our Donna in her home.

In consequence of which Captain Gregory exchanged situa-
tions with another captain bound for Toulon, and at the moment
we are describing was about to make real the long idle dreams
of the little girl on the wreck. Two days later brought Captain
Gregory to the house of the cure, while the nearest gamin was
despatched to seek Donna. This was not difficult. Donna was
a child with a mother-heart, one to which anything hurt or sorry
instinctively turned ; and just now a little beach boy, having
stepped on a fish-hook and imbedded it well in his heel, refused
to bear the taking out until " Donna came." And Donna was
found holding his head and saying his prayers for him while he
roared.

" So that's what she's good for, is it?" was her father's com-
ment when the returning comrade appeared to excuse a little
delay.

" Yes," said the cure. " Mile. Donna divides my cares, and
is, I think, nearly as often called for, if the case is one requir-
ing consolation. A plea is often made, when any one is sick or
suffering, that Mile. Donna will be so gracious as to accompany
me, and the women say that she is already an excellent little
nurse. But she is not strong and tires easily ; so it is less for the
labor that she accomplishes than the good-will that she shows
that she is so often demanded."

After some waiting Donna was brought in, pale but trium-
phant, fish-hook in hand, and as she spoke to the cure", " See, mon
pere, how the little one had to suffer!" grew weak at the
thought and was forced to sit down. Then her " other father,"
as her thoughts phrased it, came to her and spoke kindly, and
she rallied with the force of new emotions.

Vastly easier would it have been for either had the relation-
ship been more remote ; but for parent and child to meet know-
ing that neither could possibly have recognized the other in any
casual encounter, and without the affection that seems insepa-
rable from the close relationship, was indeed a trying position.
As if to increase the difficulty of the situation, the clock now

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 701

struck six, and, like the rest of the devout population, Donna and
the old cure knelt to their" " Angelus," while the captain, not
quite knowing what was expected of him, looked out of the win-
dow and thought, " Of course the child has grown up a Catho-
lic," while poor Donna herself offered her Angelus for the poor
papa that " he might become Chretien."

Next morning matters advanced a little. The captain attend-
ed Mass and behaved as a well-informed gentleman would wish
to do, and, if less devout than those about him, was so fully reve-
rent that " it made pleasure to see," commented the populace.
And after the Mass they went to visit the cork-cutters together,
and the mill where the heath-roots were reduced to the rude
outlines of pipes in readiness for the future operations of the
carver, and a stone pier had been built since the captain's last
visit, and such people as remembered him came for friendly
salutation.

Donna had her few possessions to collect and pack withal,
and so the day wore away ; and just before the stroke of the
evening Angelus the child, going to the cemetery that she might
repeat it at her mother's grave, found her papa there with a very
sober face and a suspicion of tears hastily brushed away. This
was the key that opened heart to heart — this little pile of dust,
this grave of the poor little school-teacher, who had never seem-
ed to be of much use in the world, and had died without bring-
ing very powerful emotions to any one, yet was now drawing
together in sympathy two natures much stronger than her own.
For the child inherited nothing weak but her body, her soul hav-
ing the strength of a score, and her vivid imagination mingled
the love of her dead mother, who had in her last years become
a Catholic, with that of the dear Mother of God, through the
picture in the church which she was said to resemble.

The captain and his child walked home that night very silent-
ly but with a full understanding established between them, and
Donna told the cure on the morrow that " she had now no fears,
for her papa would surely love her and be very kind." And the
cure smiled at the confidence of a child who could not foresee the
storms of life, or even those that might in an hour deprive her
of her new-found protector in this world, and, giving her a rosary
with his farewell blessing, bade her never forget her best Fa-
ther, God, who had so strangely shaped the ways of her life
hitherto.

The voyage was a novelty and at first a dream of delight,

702 DONNA QUIXOTE. [Aug.,

sun, storm, or wind alike appreciated ; but it gradually became
rude, and Donna's first sensation of real cold was appalling.

The child who was fearless in danger shrank before the mys-
tery of cold. How much worse was their arrival in winter in a
land of leafless trees and grassless fields, and finally how heavily
a New Hampshire snow-storm weighed upon her spirits, is best
told in her own words written to the cure.

" Tell Estagne," was her message, " that the snows that lie
only on the tops of our distant Esterel come down here into the
valleys and carpet the ground, and the cold of this snow and the
sharp air that moves over it are like the sting of the burning iron
that we once touched at the blacksmith's.

" And, dear cure," she writes on, " there are no Masses in the
churches here, and they are only opened on the Sundays, when
the cure1 speaks to the people without vestments, in words that
I do not understand. And the good tante Hannah is so afraid
that I shall break my rosary that she has hung it high above
the mirror ; but I can see the crucifix, so I kneel before that and
make the decades as best I am able with my fingers. I hope
that when I am older, and do not break the cups in washing
them, that she will give me back my beads again ; for there is no
other crucifix in the house, only a picture of one in a large book
that she sometimes reads, like the great missal in our sacristy.
And when I kiss the feet she nods and smiles, but when I bless
myself she frowns. What kind of Christians are these? " I am
afraid that her words were : " Quels drdles de Chretiens."

Poor little Donna, in blissful ignorance of the English tongue,
did not know that " tante Hannah " had deprived her of her ro-
sary for any other reason than the same that substituted a coarse
earthenware cup at table for the china one that she had broken
in the dish-washing one morning when the little hands were
" very cold."

"Very cold." These were almost the first English words
that she learned to speak, and she was slow to apply them to the
Northern hearts about her. So she wrote to her papa, now ab-
sent from her again, that " the people look at me very steadily,
because you are gone away and they are sorry," and she return-
ed their careless staring with sweet smiles.

In the same innocent generosity she observed that " tante
Hannah occupied her very constantly, that she might not suffer
from ennui in the absence of papa," thus charitably construing
her heavy portion of the housework as a kindness.

As she went about and saw that the rule of life in cold cli-

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 703

mates was labor, untiring toil, for all who would thrive, she
was puzzled and reported :

" They work all the day long, these New-English, harder
than our travailleurs de mer, who rest between the fishings, lying
often on the beach by day ; but these never rest except at night
in sleeping." And truly to a child acclimated to the brief morn-
ing house-labors and long outdoorings of the poor in southern
France this toil was a mystery. Think of a village with no fires
to build except those needful for'cooking or the blaze to remove a
chill at dusk, no woollens to care for, carpets to sweep, heavy
bedding to make up in winter or watch in summer, no flannels
to make, no moths to hunt or hurt, no overcoats to mend or
pack with camphor, and no great revolutionary house-cleanings
from extreme changes of seasons or dirt of winter ashes ; houses
where through open doors and windows sweet air playing all
day long keeps life and tenants " clean " habitually, and the peo-
ple cluster outside their doors with distaff or knitting, or with
neither, at all hours of the day. Even the poor have leisure.

But worse than the toil was the absence of festival days.
What would not the elastic French nature have invented had
not the joyous Sundays and saints' days of their religion have
given them opportunities for holy gladness and innocent rejoic-
ing? Donna wrote with clearer appreciation some time later:

"And as there are no crucifixes and no Masses in the
churches, I see now why they are locked on Christmas day,
like every other during the week; but for what are they opened
on the Sundays at all ? "

Aunt Hannah's useful Christmas gifts of well-knit hosiery
and mittens hardly cheered the little sore heart that had placed'
her empty shoes at the hearth with a faint hope of bon-bons
and a few playthings, some muslin roses, perhaps, and other child
trumpery. " Tromperie ! " The translation well expresses what
American and English feeling find in such trifles, but is it a very
bad human nature that " cheats " itself to innocent joys by tri-
fles?

A naughty little girl in an orphan asylum once vexed one of
the worthy managers by clinging lo a necklace cheap but pret-
ty. It was taken away, and the action was sustained by gentle
women of " the board," in their own homes indulgent, on grounds
of " vanity which her circumstances would never permit her to
indulge." A looker-on thought that a chance in the girl's re-
form had been carelessly, yes, cruelly, thrown away. Better ju-
diciously train that vigorous offshoot universally (hence divine-

704 DONNA QUIXOTE. [Aug.,

ly) implanted in the female mind than prune so close that the
whole vine wither near the root.

Toward the close of February Donna had lung fever and the
lamp of her young life nearly went out; but the wonderful New
England nursing, and the skill which this climate develops
promptly among physicians in all pulmonary diseases, served
her, and above all her never-forgotten " Bon Dieu " (for which
" the good God " is but a feeble translation) heard her poor little
prayers and wished to save her.

" And since it was his holy will that I should live," she
writes her one old friend who alone answers her letters, " it is
quite my purpose to try to be a better girl and please more the
dear Aunt Hannah, who was as a good angel by night and day."

Aunt Hannah has been softened by the overshadowing wing
of the dark angel that threatened so heavily ; and as she went to
one extreme to make a thrifty, good housekeeper of the feeble
child, so she touched the other now in waiting on Donna and
tending her like a princess. But indulgence cannot spoil her,
' and her loving little heart warms and cheers the elder woman
in phrases of affection that she never received from her own
brood, never having taught them by example, but which runs
over from Donna's lips without shyness or reserve, now that she
is learning to speak English so well. No matron of New Eng-
land cares to be caressed in the fashion of a Provencal mother ;
but Donna's fine perceptions interpret rightly, and, when it isn't
"right 'fore folks," she turns Aunt Hannah's heart fairly over
with her cooing and caressing, who does not dislike, in turning
the heated pillow, to be told that she is the angel that brings
good dreams, or, when she opens the blinds and first shows her-
self in the morning, to be hailed as a porte-bonheur — one of the
words whose meaning Donna has taught without translation.

That Donna's manner was " improving " even before this ill-
ness Aunt Hannah admitted. " I break no more the Sabbath
nor the dishes," said Donna, looking regretfully at a doll banished
from Saturday to Monday by request of her relative. But even
now the good lady complains that Donna is too shy of "the
minister." It was not possible for Donna to be less than civil to
any one ; but cordiality vanished with his coming, and when, in
some of her most trying days, the good man strove to draw from
her. some " satisfying evidences of a Christian hope," she pre-
tended or really construed his intention into a little pantomime
on Jacob's Ladder. Donna secretly believed that he was a
blacksmith, having seen him engaged in such secular occupa-

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE.

tions as the clergy in remote districts were used to mingle with
more spiritual avocations, and to shoe a horse on Saturday and
preach on Sunday bred confusion in this little ignorant mind.
But she could afford to discard the parson, she thought, now
that Aunt Hannah was won, and the rest of the winter and
spring, with housing and nursing, cemented their friendship
firmly. Donna had learned much English out of an illustrated
copy of Bunyan's Pilgrims Progress. Aunt Hannah was afraid
that a large black Apollyon in silhouette would prove " scare-
babe " to Donna, as it had done to her own little Jeremy, who died
at seven ; but it merely appealed to her sense of the grotesque.
And as for the pictures of pope and pagan, they gave all the zest
of the " Giant-killer " to the book without creating a suspicion
of the author's aim. From a personal resemblance of the for-
mer cut to the parson she innocently substituted for her old
name for him, preacher-blacksmith (martchale-predicateur), that
of Giant Pope, and, to his dismay, the children of the vicin-
ity adopted it.

But what joy summer brought to this poor little girl, who
had supposed that the cold " northlands " were as perpetually
wintry as the poles ! To see the resurrection of vegetation and
the budding of tree and flower, and feel the warm, warm air
once more with open windows and doors, " as we do in France " ;
to measure the height and beauty of the elms, and rest in the
majesty and stillness of the pine woods, hearing the singing of
strange birds, brought such gladness to this little exiled heart
that at times she said "it ached, it was so glad."

There was a small piece of turf in these pine woods where a
few trees had been felled years ago, and now grown smooth, and
to Donna's imagination the close shade of remaining trees on
three sides, with overarching branches, outlined something so
like a green and living chapel that she so named it and came to
it every day to say her prayers. Of some acorns given her in
autumn she had fashioned a new rosary while ill in bed, quietly
stringing the decades, with the " cups " for large beads, before
Aunt Hannah ; and it must have been a heart of stone indeed that
would have hindered the pale, tiny fingers in their toil. This
one was not taken away. On the most central tree at the far
end of her chapel Donna had hung a rustic cross fashioned as
her little fingers cleverly contrived to, and a very well-cut figure
in white paper recalled to her devout soul Him who bore our sor^
rows. From time to time this had to be renewed, but by careful
shelving under a granite boulder it would last several weeks.
VOL. xxxv. — 45

7o6 DONNA QUIXOTE, [Aug,,

Judge of the surprise of a good Canadian missionary, who
was one day traversing the woods in August, to come suddenly
upon this forest shrine, to see its little worshipper devoutly tell-
ing her acorn beads, and — is it possible ? — in pure French accent !
So deep was her devotion, so noiselessly had the good pere
knelt behind her, that it was only with the final gesture of bless-
ing that she rose and discovered him. Her momentary terror
vanished before his first French sentences, and with tearful, radi-
ant face she asked him in all simplicity " if our dear Mother
had not sent him to instruct her." She was a little perplexed
at the absence of the clerical garments without which she had
never seen a priest ; but he soon convinced her of his identity as
such, and his blessing, conferred in the dear familiar manner of
the old cure, reassured her fully.

For an hour they talked together, Donna telling her strange
story and receiving explanations of surroundings that had been
wholly mysteries. With perfect gentleness he laid the lives and
habits of these New England people before her, and, even in giv-
ing her necessary cautions about her faith and living, did not
fail to enforce that most Christian charity which, if it cannot
sacrifice safety, sacrifices all else of self for others.

"Your mother was once of these people, my child," said he ;
"and if God's goodness placed you in a beautiful land and gave
you a holy religion, see that it recommends itself through you
to those who have been deprived of it thus far."

Eagerly did Donna desire to know when and where he would
soonest celebrate Mass ; and, accompanying her to the farm-house,
the good missionary urgently entreated Aunt Hannah to allow
Donna to go to his nearest station, only five miles distant, on the
coming Sunday. He came but once a year. Only kindness to
Donna, and something that she felt of the gentleman in the priest,
prevented Aunt Hannah from making this- interview of the brief-
est nature, and positive refusal was the result. But he gave
Donna a few more words of such good counsel and encourage-
ment, and exchanged for her acorn rosary one of such resem-
blance to her old one of Aunt Hannah's removal that she cheer-
ed a little. " God will not always deprive you of the blessed
privileges you crave, I am sure," were his parting words, and to
himself he murmured : " The forest chapel will bring a house
made with hands," which Donna cherished, with his spoken
words, as prophecy. After this the chapel was dearer than ever.
She almost felt as if it had been consecrated.

That autumn Captain Gregory made a visit to them, and, with

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 707

much discussion between himself and Aunt Hannah, it was de-
cided that Donna, who had how gained quite a volume of Eng-
lish speech, should be sent to the academy in the town, a mile
• distant, during the coming winter. She was to go in with
Farmer Brown, who sold milk, and return at night with the mail-
carrier, who never passed later than six o'clock, and who would
call at the school on his way just before leaving town. This
was Donna's entering into the world ; and the microcosmic New
England town is a world in its way, if not quite Boston or Paris.
The inhabitants of this one believed that they dwelt therein be-
cause they preferred to do so, and hence argued some superiority
of Dalesborough over either of the great cities. When they
questioned Donna she was too polite to complain of the climate
of fearful extremes and sudden changes ; other strangers, chiefly
summer visitors, were equally reticent or willing to praise sum-
mer beauty ; and so these dwellers in a corner of the world wore
away their sad winter months and intolerable, changeful, raw,
and muddy springtides, saw their families thinned by annual
" fall fever " and ever-present consumption, and thought them-
selves a favored people.

Who shall teach people where to live ?

Three sects of preachers assumed the province of teaching
them how : Baptists (so named for the non-baptism of children —
" lucus a non lucendo "), Congregationalists, and a feeble glim-
mering of Adventists who shone with unsteady light, occasional-
ly flaming out into the near fulfilment of prophecy with a vigor
that scared the timid youth, and even some nervous women, of
Dalesborough.

" The world is going to end, Donna Gregory," said a play-
mate of ten ; " they say it will all be gone next week." At which
Donna made up an indescribable French mouth, so full of the
" incr6dule " that for very shame the boy grew red and mum-
bled a non-sequitur of " not wanting to lose the hatching of some
Plymouth Rocks " which he had looked on coeval with gen-
eral destruction, and he still " left to see."

TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.

708 THE WORD MISSA, MASS. [Aug.,

THE WORD MISSA, MASS.

THE derivation of the word missa is again exercising the in-
genuity of the learned. For several weeks the London Tablet
has published letters on the subject from various quarters which
show that this etymology is still an open question and which give
evidence of considerable thought and research for its settlement.
We venture to offer the result of our study of the subject, not to
condemn the opinions of others, but merely to state what has
occurred to us on a matter which has for years engaged our at-
tention in occasional spare moments.

It is impossible to enumerate the liturgical and catechetical
works in all languages which, in treating of the Mass, endeavor to
explain the origin of the name missa. The derivations, how-
ever, may be reduced to two or three, which seem to be handed
down from author to author through the entire catalogue. One
of these is from the Hebrew mesach, or missach, signifying a vol-
untary oblation ; and this would be abundantly satisfactory were
it not for the fact that Hebrew was almost a dead language, even
at Jerusalem, in the days of the apostles, and that the word was
entirely unknown to the earliest writers of the Eastern Church.
St. Augustine gives another when he says : Fit MISSA catechumenis,
manebunt fideles ; and St. Isidore states it more clearly: Catechu-
meni mittuntur jftrar, et inde missa. From these texts a strong ar-
gument could be drawn in favor of the usual derivation from the
dismissal of the catechumens at the Offertory, when the deacon
said or sang, Ite, missa est. For the catechumens were not allow-
ed to assist at the oblation and consecration and communion ;
they were not even instructed in the nature of these mysteries
until, after a full test of their sincerity and firmness, they had re-
ceived baptism. But the word missa was already an old word in
-the language of the faithful when those two Fathers wrote, and
the question still remains as to the authority on which the deri-
vation rests. Remigius of Auxerre follows the beaten track
along with many others, but he adds a remark which gives a
clue to another source, saying that " we may also consider the
Mass (missa) as the sending of prayers and oblations to God
through the hands of the priest." For what we have given so
far we are indebted to Migne's Dictionnaire des Rites Sacres ; nor

1 882.] THE WORD MISSA, MASS. 709

was anything new or remarkable brought to light from a number
of other works consulted on- the subject.

It can hardly be doubted, from the weight of testimony, that
the derivation from mitt ere, to send, is correct. But there is a
want of plausibility in the reasons given for it. " Ite, missa est,"
in this supposition, must mean " Go, there is a dismissal " — i.e.,
of catechumens. How to connect their dismissal at the Offer-
tory with the sacrifice which followed, so as to attach the same
name to both, is not easy to see, even in etymology, where so
many strange things are met with. If missa comes from mittere
there must be a better reason than the above, and this is what we
have been seeking.

In stating our opinion we begin by adverting to what is
known as the " Disciplina Arcani " of the early ages, by which
the church concealed her mysteries from the pagans ; and also
to the fact that the Greek language from the first had a large
share in forming the sacred terminology of the Christians, ow-
ing to its being spread over the entire East. The " Disciplina
Arcani " invented a special language for the use of the faithful,
which they alone understood ; that is, there were common words
used by them in a special sense, or words taken from the Greek,
either in their original form or in Latin words corresponding to
them. Pagans might hear the words or see them written and
not suspect their true significance. This was necessary in times
of persecution ; and though the " Disciplina Arcani " was laid
aside when persecution had ceased, yet some of the words used
to conceal the sacred mysteries had become so well established
in common use that they remained along with other and clearer
words and phrases which were then introduced.

The prevalence of the Greek language leads us more directly
to our point, which is to derive missa from Tcopnri. Among the
Greeks the word no^nr] had a peculiarly religious significance.
When a powerful god was to be propitiated, a celebrated shrine
to be visited for a revelation by the oracle of the cause of some
calamity or of a course to be pursued in some emergency ; when
an angry god was to be appeased for some offence committed, it
was the custom for a nation, a city, a king, a commander of an
army, or even of a private citizen of wealth, to prepare a 7to^7cr\
— that is, a solemn embassy to the temple or shrine of the god ;
and this consisted of a number of persons specially delegated as
ambassadors, with their various officers and attendants, charged
with gifts and offerings, animals for the sacrifice, salt, meal, and
wine to be used in the immolation. This embassy went forth,

THE WORD MISSA, MASS. [Aug.,

sometimes by a long voyage on sea or journey by land, to the
sacred spot where the god was to be worshipped. There they
formed in solemn procession to the altar and offered their gifts
and slaughtered their victims. See a remarkable example of
this in Iliad, book i. The same or a similar honor was paid to
kings, whether as a testimony of fealty or as a means to propi-
tiate a conqueror. Hence the no^7tr\ came to signify any public
procession or display ; and from this we have the word pompa,
pomp, in our languages.

There is ample proof of this peculiar sense of the word no^nrf.
Stephanus, in his Thesaurus, quotes from Herodian, ei'nero rj
fiaaikiKr/ 7to}.i7trf, the royal procession; Synes., no^nr) STtirixioS,
the triumphal procession ; Thucid. ii., offa ispa ffnevr/ Ttepi rs ra?
Trounce? jcai rov? ayoovaS, the sacred rites and the games ; tr\v
7to}t7tr\v TTs/Mpavrae, those who sent the sacred embassy ; and Hero-
dot., ftr/Tpi Oscav nopLnr\v rshovffiv, they perform a solemn service to
the mother of the gods ; Pindar, Ol. vii., ju.qA.Gov nviGaeffGa 7to)Ji7tr\,
the sweet-smelling oblation of sheep. Damm, in his Lexicon Homeri,
says expressly, Apud recentiores no^nr) est vox sacra. We find the
same sense of the word in Latin, as in Virgil, j£Ln. v., Annua vota
tamen sollennesque ordine pampas.

Now, it is well known that in the early ages it was the cus-
tom of the faithful to bring their offerings to the church, each
one contributing his share to the sacrifice to be offered — bread,
wine, and at times other gifts destined for the use or the adorn-
ment of the altar. When the time came in the course of the lit-
urgy, after the epistle and gospel and the homily upon them were
over, the Offertory was made — that is, the assistants came forward
to the altar in a kind of solemn procession, each one giving to the
priests and deacons the oblation he had brought. For those early
converts from, paganism the similarity of that oblation to the
no^nr to which they had so long been accustomed must have
been strikingly obvious, and they could hardly help using the
same term to express it. But to secure its sacred meaning from
the knowledge of the pagans the Greek word was literally trans-
lated into Latin, missa— a. word used by all that spoke Latin, but
in a quite different sense, and so distant from its Christian sense
that no pagan could ever get a clue from it to the mysteries he
was not to know. It was at that part of the liturgy that the
deacon sang, " Ite, missa est " ; and now there is a satisfactory
meaning in the words : " Go, you catechumens and others who
are not to share in the sacrifice ; the missa, or oblation, begins
for the faithful, who will now offer the bread and wine which

1 882.] EXCERPTA. 711

will be consecrated, and of which, when changed into the body
and blood of Christ, they alone can partake."

The word once introduced in this manner, under the Disci-
plina Arcani, would naturally maintain its position, especially as
the church, emerging from the Catacombs and taking her place
at the head of the empire as the mother and guide of emperors
and kings, as well as of their subjects, retained the same word in
her liturgy and sang the " Ite, missa est " as before, only chang-
ing its place from the Offertory to the end of the sacrifice, as the
altered circumstances required.

This explanation may be acceptable to some of the scholars
who have been investigating this subject, and if it is we shall
be amply repaid for our labor.

EXCERPTA.

RELIGIOUS instruction has been stopped in the primary schools of near-
ly all the communes of France, and will soon probably cease in all. One
cure writes to the Association of St. Francis de Sales: "Our instructors
no longer teach the catechism or offer a prayer, and are forbidden to make
the sign of the cross." Another writes : "The poor little girls of the lay
school come no more to church nor to the catechism instruction, notwith-
standing the repeated appeals which I have made to parents and to chil-
dren." The Bulletin of the Association contains every month numerous
complaints of this nature. They are described as sad and "frightful "; for
who can see without fear a generation of men and women grow up with-
out religion ? What will be the character of the succeeding generations,
if the mothers of the families have not the faith ?

The number of bad books and journals which have made their appear-
ance in France since the change in the administration of public affairs is
so great as to create an alarm among Christian people. The pastoral letters
of several bishops have treated of the grave subject, and their words show
not only the depth of their apprehensions, but will not be inappropriate in
this country. The venerable Bishop of Puy, as he said, " consecrated the
last remnants of a failing voice and an expiring ardor to warn his dear
flock of the two great evils of the present hour: one, that of bad books
and journals, was the most terrible quicksand to which the human mind
was exposed." With great energy he denounced the unhealthy and ac-
cursed literature which goes so far to corrupt pure minds incapable of
defence against its allurements. " France, beautiful and mild, the earthly
domain of Jesus Christ, presents to-day a sad spectacle : on all sides, by a
thousand organs of the press, as by so many instruments of war, the foun-
dations of religion, of morals, and of society are assaulted. Under one
form or another the church and her ministers are daily made food for the

EXCERPTA. [Aug.,

foul passions of the multitude. Our dogmas are scoffed at, the upright
Christian despised, and the priest pointed out to the public prosecutor as a
malefactor." "The abuse of the press is the great crime of modern days,"
said the Bishop of Perigueux. He then described the influence of a bad
press in the past — that is, in the work of destruction which preceded and
accompanied the French Revolution — and then exposed its frightful ravages
at the present time. An official investigation made in 1853 showed that of
nine millions of volumes then in circulation eight millions of them be-
longed to the class of immoral books. Another investigation would show
that the evil had now greatly increased. In one week in 1874 the sum of
thirty-seven thousand francs was expended to spread in the west of
France a mass of infamous pamphlets. The press was never so dangerous
as at this day by the audacity of its denials, its blasphemies, its impudence,
and its obscenity. To this evil, which threatens alike all spiritual and tem-
poral interests, there is only one remedy : "that consists in the interdiction
of all writing and of all reading which is contrary to religion, to morality,
and to the public good. This is commanded by the natural and divine law
as well as by the sacred oracles and the code of ecclesiastical law."

The Bishop of Nevers said of the press : " Of the various combinations
arrayed against us this one is like the powder to the projectiles, for it com-
municates to them a power of expansion and destruction which they of
themselves have not." He describes the different measures employed and
the means put in operation for the work of destruction. All things unite
for their condemnation. But the results of the press designate it as the
worst workman of evil. It corrupts minds, breaks up families, disorgan-
izes society, and shows clearly that it labors under the inspirations of him
who was a murderer from the beginning. " It will not be sufficient," con-
tinued the bishop, " to rest on the defensive in face of the invasions of an
evil press ; it is necessary to take the offensive ; it is necessary to oppose
to it the action of a good press, and it is our duty to make ourselves its
devoted patrons as far as our circumstances will permit."

The eminent Bishop of Annecy insisted upon the danger of bad books
as like the danger of evil companions, from whom one should fly to avoid
becoming evil like them. They were poisonous fruits, not to be touched
if we would escape death. In answer to those Christians who have little
scruple and a desire to read everything under the pretext that it is neces-
sary to know all things, and that they are besides sufficiently strong to
handle evil books without peril, the prelate demonstrated that the evil
works enfeebled and killed the faith, defiled the mind, corrupted the heart,
even before their sad victims were conscious of their ravages. There is no
illusion like that of the malady which conducts to death.

His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. addressed a brief note to M. Moigno, the
director of the Cosmos-Les-Mondes, which traces a programme for the direc-
tion of Catholic studies and efforts. The note was sent by Cardinal Pitra,
with a letter in which the latter said :

" It is for you, your fellow-laborers and successors, a programme that
wiU serve well for all reviews published by Catholics.

." There are at this time in the scientific world vast researches, experi-
ments, and discoveries which touch the highest religious questions and
confirm more and more the authority of the Scriptures. To the labor of

1 882.] EXCERPT A. 713

men the work of Providence is added to bring forth from the ground the
most unexpected monuments; archaeology, geography, geology, and all the
physical sciences have become our auxiliaries and prepare a new apology,
both monumental and scientific, for Christianity."

The following extract is from the note of His Holiness dated February
ii, 1882 :

" We well know that in undertaking this mass of labor you have
chiefly aimed to demonstrate most fully, as well by that which the re-
searches and experiments of the masters in the physical sciences have
everywhere discovered as by that which the profound studies in archaeolo-
gy and geography and geology have reached and brought to light in the
course of time, that the progress and the developments of the sciences, so
far from doing prejudice to religion, have, on the contrary, resulted in
making far more brilliant and resplendent every day the truth and autho-
rity of the divine Scriptures.

" We compliment you highly for the energetic resolution that you have
taken to make your labors aid in the defence of the truth of the Catholic
religion, and to apply all your care and efforts to make the great work of
yours render continually more manifest through itself the perfect har-
mony of revelation and science.

" We pray God to grant the strength you so much need to pursue the
purposes and labors which have been of such meritorious service to reli-
gion ; expressing at the same time the ardent hope that many, excited by
your example and uniting their strength in those studies and writings,
may labor with you in the defence of the Catholic religion."

Some successful results have been obtained in the use of the telephone
at long distances in France. The first instance was on the line from the
station in Paris to the one at Nancy. The length of the wire was two hun-
dred and twenty-one miles. During an hour several engineers at one of
the stations conversed with the engineers at the other. A simple tele-
graphic wire of the line served for the communication between the two
telephones. Another experiment was made on May 17 between Paris and
Brussels, a distance of two hundred and fifteen miles. Owing to the per-
fection to which the telephone has been brought the communication
passed along the wire indifferent to electrical currents passing on adjacent
wires. M. Van Rysselberghe, the director of the Belgian meteorological
service, obtained successful results from a single wire while using upon it
at the same time the telephone and the telegraphic apparatus.

The English and French astronomical expeditions to observe the
eclipse of the sun in May last were stationed at Sohag, on the banks of the
Nile. From the account of one of the English party it appears that the
first contact took place a little over an hour before totality, and as the
moon proceeded on her voyage across the solar disc the air became cooler
and dark shadows were seen to cover the horizon. The observers, draw-
ing each other's attention to the strange effects of illumination, involunta-
rily reduced their voice to a whisper. On went the moon, the darkness
increased, a narrow strip of the sun only was left, and everybody silently
withdrew to his post. A few minutes more and the corona shot out behind
the dark edge of the moon, but a brilliant spark still showed that totality

EXCERPTA. [Aug.,

had not arrived and that the last ray of the sun still found its way into our
atmosphere. The spark is reduced in size ; it has disappeared. The signal
is given. The critical seventy seconds have arrived, during which every
one is to do his work silently and steadily. There are moments, however,
during which it requires a strong effort of the will to remain silent, and
when, in addition to the corona for which everybody was prepared, a large,
brilliant comet was unexpectedly seen close to the sun, remarks were in-
terchanged and words passed which were not on the programme. Luck-
ily, however, no serious disturbance took place, the totality was fully as
long as was expected, and when the first ray of the sun had forced its way
again over the edge of the retreating moon all observers who could imme-
diately judge of their results expressed themselves satisfied. It was some
time before the photographic results were known, but they also proved
satisfactory. An approximate idea of them cannot be easily given at pre-
sent. The French party consisted of Messrs. Trepied, Thollon, Puiseux. A
great part of their work was done during the partial phase of the eclipse ;
the edge of the moon was carefully examined by them with two identical
spectroscopes constructed by M. Thollon which unite great dispersion with
good definition. Messrs. Trepied and Thollon express themselves with
commendable caution as to their results, but there seems no doubt as to
certain facts, and the only explanation which has at present occurred to
•them is the existence of the much-discussed, often-doubted, sometimes al-
most disproved, but always suspected lunar atmosphere.

" We are enabled," says the British Medical Joiirnal, " to state with
authority that the rumors which have lately been circulated as to the
illness of Leo XIII. have no real foundation. Similar statements used to
be made about this time in former years in reference to the health of Pius
IX., and grave assertions were often published that the Vatican physicians
strongly advised change of air as the only means of prolonging the life of
that aged pope. Leo XIII. is a thin, ascetic, and delicate man, liable to
slight temporary ailments, and with too sensitive a nervous system for all
the brainwork he has to do. He is, in consequence, often tired and de-
pressed, and unable to receive the many visitors who throng to see him ;
and it is well known that he dislikes receiving all and sundry, being in
this respect just the opposite of his predecessor, who had the greatest
pleasure in seeing his audience-rooms crowded with visitors. He is not,
however, suffering from any organic disease ; is free, just at present, from
even temporary indisposition ; and is probably quite as fit to bear his
confinement to the Vatican and its grounds now as he was at the date of
his election."

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 715

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

SAINTS OF 1881 ; or, Sketches of lives of St. Clare of Montefalco, St. Lau-
rence of Brindisi, St. Benedict Joseph Labre, St. John Baptist de Rossi.
By William Lloyd, priest of the diocese of Westminster. London :
Burns & Gates. 1882.

The church is never long without canonizing saints — that is to say,
without declaring that certain men and women who have gone to their eter-
nal reward have earned by a life of heroic piety the right to be regarded
with certainty as among God's chosen ones in heaven. No well-read Ca-
tholic needs to be told how impartial, how searching, how exacting, how
sceptical, one might say, is the investigation which is made into the re-
cords of the life of the candidate for this super-excellent degree of saint
before the decree of canonization is published. An instance is offered in
the case of St. Clare of Montefalco. She died in 1308, and in 1316 Pope
John XXII. ordered that the process for her canonization should be
begun, but it was interrupted by his death shortly after. Three centuries
later Clare was enumerated among the blessed by a bull of Urban VIII.,
and now, nearly six hundred years after her death, the humble virgin
whose holiness shed a light over the whole of her beautiful country of
Umbria has at last been declared a saint of God whose prayers may be in-
voked by the faithful. Certainly in this case Rome has been very delibe-
rate. Father Lloyd, in the preface to this little volume, says : "The canoni-
zations are meant to teach lessons to ourselves. I cannot hope that
these hasty pages will do much in bringing these lessons home to us ; but,
till fuller lives are written, they may supply a want, and rekindle here and
there love of holiness of life and trust in His grace who is wonderful in his
saints."

St. Clare of Montefalco was born twenty-two years after the death of
her namesake, the foundress of the Second Order of St. Francis, or Poor
Clares, as they are commonly called. Her life was passed as a contempla-
tive nun in the diocese of Spoleto, in the midst of that beautiful part of
Italy whose yellow hills, blue skies, and dark green olive-foliage have al-
ways been the delight of painters. Shallow people talk of the " recogni-
tion of woman " as a mark of our age in particular. What higher recogni-
tion can woman have than that of being numbered among the saints of
God, and when has not the church recognized this right? Women cannot
be degraded where Our Lady is held in veneration.

Giulio Cesare de' Rossi was born at Brindisi in 1559 and became a Ca-
puchin friar under the name of Fra Laurenzo — Brother Laurence, as we
would say in English. He was successively superior of Capuchin convents
at Venice and Bassano, provincial of his order in Tuscany, then provin-
cial of Venice, and finally definitor-general of the order. When the so-
called Reformation had spread into southern Germany, at the instance of
the Emperor Rudolph he personally founded houses of his order in Aus-
tria and Bohemia. When the Turks were moving against Hungary he
was chosen by the emperor to arouse the energies of the subordinate
princes, Protestant and Catholic, and everywhere he was successful. Friar

7 ! 6 NEW PUBLICA TIONS. [Aug. ,

Laurence was to be found wherever there was danger, or wherever there
was need of an appeal to the common sense of Christendom against the
advancing hordes of Mohammedans. To quote Father Lloyd : " When
Mahomet recrossed the Danube he had lost thirty thousand of his finest
soldiers. ' Next to God and Our Lady,' said De Mercuric, second in com-
mand to Matthias, ' we owe that victory to Father Laurence.' " Here was a
real " fighting chaplain." It would be long to go through St. Laurence's
career — a man of the world, in the sense that his best faculties were con-
stantly brought into use to further the welfare of mankind ; and a man of
God, in the sense that always, amid a multitude of distractions, he was de-
voted prayerfully to the contemplation of God. In 1602 Friar Laurence,
at the General Chapter, was elected general of the Capuchins.

It may not be amiss to remark that Father Lloyd several times makes
a slip which is altogether too common, even among otherwise careful wri-
ters, but which is certainly surprising coming from a Catholic pen. Here
is an example : "On the day of the battle a monk was again on horseback,
cross in hand, in advance of the front rank " (p. 37). The italics are ours.
The monk that is meant is St. Laurence. A Capuchin, or a member of any
of the mendicant orders, is not a monk but a friar. The brood of anti-
Catholic writers, beginning with Rabelais, and continuing on through Cal-
vin and his disciples down through Voltaire to M. Paul Bert, have made
a point of confounding contemptuously in one lot, under the name of
" monks," all the religious orders or societies of men of the Catholic
Church. It ought not to be necessary to say that the term " monk "-
monachus — is properly applied, in the Latin Church, to a member of one
of the various branches of the Benedictine Order only (Benedictines, ordi-
narily so-called, Carthusians or "Charter-House " monks, Cistercians or
Trappists, etc.), and that a member of any one of the mendicant orders
(viz., Franciscans — in their several branches, Observants, Recollects or
Reformed, Conventuals, and Capuchins — Dominicans, Carmelites, and Au-
gustinians) is a "friar," while Jesuits, Passionists, Redemptorists, etc., are
" regular clerks " — that is to say, clerics living under an approved rule of
life. This criticism is not captious ; it is made simply in favor of accuracy.

The Life that probably will attract the most attention in this volume,
short as is the account of it, is that of St. Benedict Joseph Labre. In Holy
Week 1783 the one cry throughout the city of Rome was, "The Saint is
dead." The saint referred to was a Frenchman, whose strange self-abase-
ment had, in spite of his humility, made him for long one of the conspicu-
ous characters of Rome. He was a young man, too, in years — thirty-five—
yet the most of the years of that life had been passed in a complete servi-
tude to prayer and pious works. This saint was a beggar, a real beggar,
whose time was so taken up with the adoration of his God that he had
none left to give to the earning of money, and he stretched out his hand
for a dole in the name of God, giving the superfluity over and above his
own very meagre needs to his more worldly poor brethren. Of course this
looks like folly to us in this hard, practical, work-a-day world ; still, in St.
Benedict's case it Was merely one form of the folly of the cross. Lazarus
would scarcely meet with the veneration of the world were he to stalk
forth among us now, yet we all know the relative position the Bible puts
him in to Dives.

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 717

The fourth of the saints canonized last December, and whose life is
sketched by Father Lloyd, is St.. John Baptist de Rossi. De Rossi, or
De' Rossi, was the family name of St. Laurence of Brindisi also — a rather
singular coincidence. It is likely, however, that in spite of the similarity
of name there was no relationship between the two saints. St. John Bap-
tist de Rossi was born in 1698 at Voltaggio, about fifteen miles north of
Genoa, but spent most of his life as a secular priest at Rome, where he be-
came a devoted missionary among the poor and the unfortunate. This
Life is the best written in the book, and it is at once evident to the reader
that Father Lloyd is dealing here with a subject in every way congenial to
himself. In the thirty-five small pages that outline the career of the saint
the reader will see evidence that, as Father Lloyd says, " St. John Baptist
de Rossi loved the poor. The world talks about them and writes about
them, but the world would look a long time before it could point to one of
its votaries living a life like this."

AN APOSTOLIC WOMAN ; or, The Life and Letters of Irma le Fer de la
Motte, in religion Sister Francis Xavier. Published by one of her sis-
ters. With a preface by M. Leon Aubineau. Translated from the
French. New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 1882.

Irma le Fer de la Motte was born at St. Servan, in Brittany, in 1816, and
here until 1838 she lived in the midst of her family and relatives, who form-
ed in themselves quite a numerous circle. The story of her life is mainly
told in the letters she wrote to different members of her family, and they
impart a freshness and lifelike character to the work which it would have
been difficult for any biographers, looking only from the outside, to have
realized. From these letters we learn how in her youth she devoted her-
self to the instruction of the poor and ignorant, how she formed the desire
of spreading the Catholic faith in other lands, how she was led, almost
against her will, into a religious order, and how finally she came, as she had
always wished to come, to our own country. Here she lived for sixteen
years in the first house of the Sisters of Providence, and died in 1856.
Some of her first impressions of America are interesting and amusing, per-
haps we may say instructive. For example : " One thing that astonishes
me greatly is the fashion here of contracting debts. From the highest to
the lowest every one follows it. Our boarders, to be in the fashion, do not
pay us." There are many interesting details of the early days of the church
in Indiana. Here is the account given by Sister Francis Xavier's superior
of the cathedral at Vincennes in 1840: " We went to the cathedral. Our
barn at Soulaines is better adorned and better kept. Whilst considering
the poverty I wept so bitterly that it was impossible for me to examine the
church that day. The next day I looked into it with more calmness. It is
a brick house with large uncurtained windows, the panes of which are
nearly all broken. At the gable end there is a sort of unfinished steeple,
resembling a large chimney in ruins. The interior corresponds perfectly
with the exterior : a poor wooden altar ; a balustrade (altar-rail ?) which
is not finished, but which seems to be falling from decay; the episcopal
seat is a poor red arm-chair which a peasant would not wish in his house."
The bishop's house is no better than the cathedral. And the material
buildings of the church did not suffer more than her spiritual head and
ministers in their own persons. The bishop and his priests " often want

NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Aug.,

what is necessary." Writing in 1841, Irma tells us that " six years ago In-
diana counted but one priest, and he in prison for debt." And on page 213
there is a very graphic picture (too long to extract) of the contest of Bish-
op Brute and Father Corbe over the bed-covers, which were not enough
for both.

We must not omit to call attention to a higher excellence of the book
the spiritual instruction to be found in it. Perhaps some may find them-
selves unable to raise themselves to the full height of all Sister Francis
Xavier inculcates and exemplifies ; perhaps others will think it in some
things what, for want of better words, we must call feminine and French ;
but all will be able to learn many lessons from these letters and this re-
cord of a saint-like and devoted life, and will be grateful to her sister, Mme.
de la Corbiniere, for having placed in their hands the record of a life so in-
teresting and edifying and spiritual.

The book in all respects, typography, paper, type, ink, binding, etc., is
a credit to its publishers.

TRACTATUS DE ACTIBUS HUMANIS. Auctore Gulielmo J. Walsh, S.T.D.
Dublin : M. H. Gill & Son. 1880.

Dr. Walsh, the president of Maynooth College, a theologian of high re-
pute, has prepared the treatise whose title is given above as a class-book to
be used in lieu of the corresponding part of Gury's Manual. The great de-
fects of Gury's text-book, which is used, it seems to us, merel)r for want of a
better one equally convenient in arrangement, have induced the learned
theologian of Maynooth to amend and improve it, without discarding its
substance and form, acknowledged by all to be excellent. In particular,
he has incorporated into the text the annotations of the late illustrious Fa-
ther Ballerini. Ballerini, in our opinion, has added to Gury's text a great
amount of matter of more value than the text itself. Of all recent authors
in moral theology with whom we are acquainted we regard him as the one
who was the best fitted to write an elementary class-book for students.
Dr. Walsh has undertaken a work which was really needful, which, we
trust, he will complete in such a manner that the judgment of those who
are engaged in teaching moral theology will award him the palm of suc-
cess. The writer of this notice, having been suddenly called upon for it in
the place of one more competent, cannot give a critical opinion of a work
which he has not carefully examined. The author's name will suffice to
recommend it to all who are specially interested in its subject-matter.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE REAL PRESENCE.

This lecture was delivered before the Philosophical Society of Chi-
cago by the Rev. R. A. Holland, and is reprinted from the Journal of
Speculative Philosophy for January, 1882. It is an attempt to answer the
objection to the Real Presence derived from the pure spirituality of
the Infinite ; but, although the lecture is not without interest and value,
the Real Presence which the author defends is very different in charac-
ter from that which the Catholic Church teaches, and the objection is
answered in a manner which is incompatible with still higher truths.
For in showing that the Real Presence is in accordance with the essence
of religion the Object of all religion is affirmed to be " both infinite and

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 719

finite, an infinite that finites itself and' appears in its self-finitings." This
is to us a self-contradictory notion destructive of every reasonable con-
cept of God. But, as we have said, the lecture is not without value and
interest : the pages in which the author points out the existence of re-
ligion as a fact, the vindication of the inherent power of the human mind
to arrive at truth, and of the utility and beauty of the sacramental system,
seem to us both valuable and interesting, and make us wish that not the
German mystifiers of the nineteenth century but the Christian enlight-
eners of the middle ages had been the author's guides and teachers.

CHRIST'S EARTHLY SOJOURN AS CHRONOLOGY'S NORMAL UNIT AT.IKE IN
ALL CREATION AND IN ALL PROVIDENCE : Being a virgin mine of reli-
gious and political evidences. By an Honorary Fellow of St. John's
College, Manitoba. London : James Nisbet & Co. 1882.

The object of the author of this pamphlet is to herald a possibly forth-
coming work in which it is to be shown more at length that the number of
years of Christ's sojourn on earth is the unit of numeration not only in
the historical order but also in the physical ; that the date of every great
event is some multiple or other of thirty-three or thirty-four; that the num-
bers which represent the bulk, superficies, periphery of every orb in the
sky involve in some way the same sacred period ; that the law of gravita-
tion by which the universe is ruled is " impregnated " with it. For this
purpose the author takes a survey of history, ancient and modern, bringing
his narrative down to our own days and finding in the career, but just fin-
ished, of Lord Beaconsfield, and in the still unfinished career of Mr. Glad-
stone, exemplifications of his thesis. It would be quite in accordance with
the spirit of our times to hold up to ridicule all attempts of this kind, and
any one inclined to severity would find many things to criticise in the pre-
sent publication ; but remembering how much attention the Fathers of the
church have given to numerical periods, that God " has ordered all things
in measure and number and weight " (Wisd. xi. 21), that our Lord is the
" first-born of every creature " (Coloss. i. 1 5), we are not inclined to deny the
possibility of the author's thesis ; as to its actuality we would reserve our
judgment until the publication of the book, which it has been the work of
half the author's life to compose, and will content ourselves with calling
the attention of those interested in such studies to this very remarkable
production.

HUMAN LIFE IN SHAKSPEARE. By Henry Giles, author of Illustrations of
Genius, etc. With introduction by John Boyle O'Reilly. Boston : Lee
& Shepard. 1882.

All truth is one, and the poet who constructs to the eye of fancy the pic-
tures for which his imagination has furnished the subject perhaps, and at
any rate the form and the color, is but a .seer in the natural order, and his
poetry, so far as it is really poetry, is but a contribution to our knowledge
and enjoyment of the truth. Christianity is the sum of all truth, and,
though a man may be a poet without being a Christian, his poetry will,
after all, be an illustration of some of the truths of Christianity. Hu-
man life, which is the theme of the greatest poets, cannot subsist apart
from God. This fact no one qf the great poets, not even yEschylus, has
more fully recognized in practice than Shakspere. Shakspere did not

720 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Aug., 1882.

" drag in religion," as the expression is, neither did he exclude religion.
He saw with the eye of a poet that religion is the one real factor of our life,
and with the skill of a poet he worked it in in its place as the warp of all
his serious work. Still, he was a poet, not a theologian ; hence he treats
religion as a concrete part of man's life, and not as a series of abstract for-
mulas for the use of students.

Years ago Cardinal Wiseman made it tolerably clear that Shakspere
was a Catholic. There is one argument, however, that ought to be suffi-
cient. It is this : Shakspere lived and wrote in Elizabeth's time and, to a
certain extent, for Elizabeth's court. Yet, though he distorted history in
favor of the Tudors, and though it was the fashionable thing at court to
rail against Catholicity, there is not, from one end of his works to the other,
anything that, if rightly understood, is in opposition to Catholic dogma.
Shakspere's religion, which is everywhere present in his serious works, is
undoubtedly Christian and Catholic. The cultivated Catholic, in fact, finds
meanings in Shakspere that are continually missed, or ludicrously misun-
derstood, by the most learned of Shakspere's non-Catholic commentators.
One great defect, indeed, of a certain German school of Shaksperean com-
mentators has been that it has striven to measure the morality of Shak-
spere by an atheistic fatalism.

There is a very slight flavor of this German school, or rather, perhaps,
.of its New England adaptation, in Mr. Giles' lectures, which are now repub-
lished with an introduction by Mr. O'Reilly. Yet it would be hard to find
anywhere a small volume which throws so much light in unexpected places
on what are called the feelings of men as they appear in Shakspere.
There are in Mr. Giles a playfulness and delicacy of fancy, a fine humor,
and a shrewd perception of human weaknesses that make him a fit expo-
nent of the lighter side of Shakspere's genius. The volume consists of
seven exceedingly interesting chapters, originally delivered as lectures be-
fore the Lowell Institute in Boston, and first published in 1868, and it de-
serves to be read by every student of Shakspere. Mr. O'Reilly's introduc-
tion to this edition is a graceful and deserved tribute to the talents of the
author.

GOLDEN SANDS. Translated from the French. Third series. New York :
Benzigers. 1882.

These leaflets of pious reading make a pretty little volume of short,
pithy sayings and thoughts for those who wish to snatch here and there
five minutes from care and business to give a brief glance at the spiritual
world. Spiritual Lozenges would be a better name for them than Golden
Sands.

THE DAILY PRAYER-BOOK. Compiled from various sources. London : Burns & Gates. 1882.
MISSOURI HISTORICAL SOCIETY. Publication No. 5. Samuel Gaty. (Pamphlet.)
MISSOURI HISTORICAL SOCIETY. Publication No. 6. Notes on the Archaeology of Missouri.
Hilder. (Pamphlet.)

A PRACTICAL METHOD FOR LEARNING SPANISH. By A. Ramos Diaz de Villeeas. New York :
William S. Gottsberger. 1882.

A SAINT AMONG SAINTS. A sketch of the life of St. Emmelia, mother of St. Basil the Great.

By S. M. S. Dublin : M. H. Gill & Son. 1882.
ANTINOUS : A ROMANCE OF ANCIENT ROME. By George Taylor. From the German by Mary

J. Safford. New York: William S. Gottsberger. 1882.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXXV. SEPTEMBER, 1882. No. 210.

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND THE NATIVE MEXI-
CANS.

OF all the nations that have been added to the Catholic
Church since the so-called Reformation none is perhaps more
worthy of attention than Mexico. Its Indian population forms
the largest body of heathens that has been converted to Chris-
tianity for many centuries, and no one acquainted with the coun-
try can doubt of the sincerity and strength of their faith even at
the present day. Whatever the conduct of its politicians may be
with regard to the church, the bulk of the people of Mexico are
to-day as devoted Catholics as those of almost any country of
Europe, and among them none are more thorough in their at-
tachment to the faith than the Indians of pure blood, the lineal
descendants of the men who once sacrificed human victims by
thousands at the shrines of Huitzilopochtli. The hostility to
the church which is so distinguishing a trait of modern so-called
liberalism has never found an echo among the Mexican Indians,
and even the national antipathy which a large portion of them
feels towards the European race does not prevent them from be-
ing thoroughly devoted to the church.

What have been the means by which a population of fierce
idolaters, naturally exasperated by the overthrow of their once
powerful empire and ardently attached to their national religion,
was thus changed into a Christian people ? The ordinary non-
Catholic will at once explain it by the Spanish conquest. In his

722

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND [Sept.,

mind the conversion of the Aztecs to Catholicity was simply a
matter of brute force on the part of Cortez and his followers not
unlike the imposition of Mohammedanism on the races conquered
by the Arabs under the standard of their false prophet. The
supposed fanaticism of the Spanish adventurers who overthrew
the empire of Montezuma is imagined to be an all-sufficient ex-
planation of the Catholicism now so firmly rooted in the hearts
of the Mexican Indians. If such were indeed the fact, how can
it be explained that the attachment of the Indians to the faith
should continue unchanged while the descendants of their con-
querors, or at least the dominant class among them, are them-
selves engaged in assailing the church ? Forced conversions do
not generally survive the downfall of the force which effected
them, unless some other agency has been at work on the converts
than mere force. If the Catholic Church has won the warm at-
tachment of the Aztecs and Toltecs it must have been by other
means than the fear of Spanish swords, and that it has won
such an attachment is unquestionable. What those other means
'were we shall briefly speak of.

It is usual to speak of the fanaticism of the early Spanish ad-
venturers, as if zeal for the diffusion of the Catholic faith was an
overruling trait of their character. It is true that such was the
case with Columbus and some other of the nobler spirits of the
discovery and colonization of America ; but it is simply absurd
to attribute such feelings to the mass of the conquerors. There
is no doubt but that, like the rest of their countrymen in the six-
teenth century, the followers of Cortez and Pizarro were tho-
roughly Catholic in belief; but something more than belief in the
doctrines of the church is needed to make men apostles. The
Conquistadores, it must be admitted, were much more intent on
finding gold and gaining fortunes than on teaching the natives
Christianity. Men like Alvarado and Bernal Diaz would indeed
be glad enough to see the Indians made good Christians as well
as subjects of their own ; but they were much more interested
practically in reducing them to subjection than in teaching them
the doctrines of the church. It was not from them that the na-
tives of Spanish America acquired the religion which they still
cherish. It was from men of a widely different class, whose hero-
ism and self-devotion are little known to fame, but who in truth
reflect far higher honor on their native land than the whole race
of Conquistadores. If admiration is justly due to the daring
energy, the coolness, and the tact which enabled a Cortez or a
Pizarro to establish the rule of Spain in barbarous empires, how

1 882.] THE NATIVE MEXICANS. 723

much more is it the right of. men who displayed equal courage
and tact, combined with the noblest self-devotion and heroic
self-sacrifice, in winning the Indians to a free acceptance of Ca-
tholic truths ! The names of Betanzos, of Luis Cancer, of Moto-
linia and Zumarraga, are as worthy of note in history as those of
Cortez and Alvarado, if it be history's function to preserve the
record of noble deeds and noble men.

The first mission for the conversion of the lands added to the
Spanish dominions by Cortez was sent out almost immediately
after the fall of Mexico. Five Franciscans, priests and lay bro-
thers, arrived at that capital in 1523 in answer to the request for
missioners made by Cortez in his despatches to the Spanish
court. He had particularly urged the necessity of sending
members of the religious orders, as the best qualified for the task
of converting the Indians. The reputation enjoyed in Spain by
the " frailes " was very great. Cardinal Ximenes had ably used
his power as primate by rigidly enforcing the primitive disci-
pline among his own and the other religious orders, and the
fruit of his measures was shown by the enthusiasm for missions
exhibited by all. The heads of the religious houses were beset
with applications for the missions of the New World, and it was
with difficulty that a choice could be made among the candidates.
The five Franciscans were quickly followed by twelve of their
brethren under the guardianship of Fray Martin de Valencia,
and as many Dominicans with Fray Tomas Ortez as their head.
Among the latter was Father Betangos, or Betanzos, who had al-
ready spent some years in the West Indies and had been an in-
timate friend of the celebrated Las Casas.

The Dominicans were detained some time in San Domingo
on their voyage, but Martin de Valencia and his companions
proceeded at once to Vera Cruz. The journey from that port
to the city of Mexico up the steep side of the mountains they
made on foot in the usual Franciscan fashion. The Indians, who
had been accustomed to the state maintained by Cortez and the
other Spanish conquerors, were struck by the poor appearance
of these Europeans who travelled in such laborious fashion un-
der the scorching heat of a Mexican sun, clad only in coarse
serge and with sandals on their feet. At Tlascala, the well-
known Indian city, which had been so firm an ally to Cortez, the
people crowded round them with expressions of wonder. The
friars tried to open some communication with them, but could
only do so by signs. The Tlascalans repeated frequently the
word " motolinia," or poor, in reference to the strangers ; and one

724 THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND [Sept..

of the Franciscans learning its meaning, he adopted it as his own
name. Henceforward he always signed himself Torribio Mo-
tolinia, and under that name he is always mentioned in Mexico
instead of his family one of Paredes. The name was certainly a
significant one, and neither Father Motolinia nor his companions
belied it by their subsequent acts.

The Spanish city which rose in place of the ruined Aztec
capital was in process of erection when the Franciscans reached
it. The conquerors had resolved to rebuild it on a scale that
should rival the finest cities of Europe, and the labor of the
natives was ruthlessly used for the purpose. Several hundred
houses of such size and strength that each might serve at need
as a fortress had been planned by different individuals, and, as
there were no beasts of burden available, all the materials for
their construction had to be carried on the shoulders of Indian
laborers. Father Motolinia describes the noisy scenes that met
his eyes in graphic language. A hundred men were sometimes
seen carrying a single cedar trunk in from the mountains, and
the streets were all but impassable from the throngs of Indians
at work under the broiling sun and kept to labor by the lash in
the hands of the overseers. The colonists assumed that they
had a full right to exact any labors from the unhappy Indians,
who, in fact, were treated as slaves. They received the Fran-
ciscans cordially as countrymen and priests, and a convent was
assigned them by the authorities. A serious difference of
opinion, however, with regard to the rights of the natives
quickly showed itself between the soldier-colonists and the reli-
gious. The latter entirely denied the lawfulness of enslaving the
Indians and exerted themselves actively in their behalf. Re-
monstrances with the colonial authorities and letters home were
both used to mitigate the sufferings of the natives, and meantime
the Franciscans applied themselves diligently to the work of
their instruction. The children were gathered to the convent to
receive lessons in Spanish, and were taught music at the same
time and trained to take a part in the church ceremonies.
When sufficiently instructed the more advanced pupils were
sent to make short visits among their friends and to endeavor
to give them an idea of the Christian doctrines. The friars
themselves applied with the utmost diligence to the study of the
native languages— no easy task, without books, dictionary, or even
interpreter, for anything beyond the common wants of every -day
life. Father Martin de Valencia never could master the difficul-
ties of the Aztec, but he indemnified himself by teaching the

1 882.] THE NATIVE MEXICANS. 725

boys in the convent-school Spanish and instructing them through
that means in religion. Several of the others, especially Father
Motolinia and Peter of Ghent, a lay brother, who had been one
of the first five arrivals, were more successful and preached suc-
cessfully in the native languages after some time. Motolinia
especially distinguished himself by his knowledge of the lan-
guage, both as spoken and as embodied in the strange picture-
characters of the Aztecs. It seems that he was the first to col-
lect and explain Aztec writings, of which some have been pre-
served to the present day, and he was especially forward in hav-
ing the language taught scientifically in the colleges of Mexico.

Though science owes a large debt to the diligence of the
Franciscans in thus preserving from destruction the monuments
of the former civilizations of America, they were far from look-
ing on such occupations as the real end of their mission. To
make true Christians of the Indians, and to protect them from
the cruelty of their European masters, were the great objects
of their lives. In pursuance of these ends they urged on their
converts the destruction of the idolatrous temples and idols
which still remained through the country. The conquered
tribes still carried on their worship, after the fall of their em-
pire, in remote districts, and as the Franciscans won their con-
fidence these temples were destroyed one by one. Five hun-
dred such are said by the superior of the mission to have been
destroyed within seven years by the exertions of his order alone.
The idols used in the Aztec ceremonies were usually burned to
prevent their being used as relics. For this a good deal of
blame has been given to the Franciscans, and especially to
Zumarraga, the first bishop of Mexico. It is asserted that in
destroying those superstitious objects they inflicted a serious
injury on historic science, and the title of bigot is sometimes
attached to the bishop for that reason. Remembering what the
hideous rites of Aztec worship really were, and that in years
before the conquest thousands of victims were annually sacrificed
to its blood-stained idols, it seemed perfectly natural to the early
missioners to obliterate every trace of such a system from the
minds of the natives. To save their souls by conversion was the
guiding motive of their actions, and, as they deemed the destruc-
tion of the idols needful for that purpose, they unhesitatingly
destroyed them. But at the same time they carefully studied
the languages and antiquities of the country, and if anything has
been preserved of the old native history it is mainly due to
Father Motolinia and his religious brethren.

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND [Sept.,

Among the missioners none was more conspicuous than the
lay brother Peter. His family name is entirely unknown, though
he was of high birth and even believed to be a relative of the
Emperor Charles V. Though highly educated and possessed of
remarkable talents, he refused, like the patriarch of his order, St.
Francis, to receive ordination, through humility. He was pro-
posed at one time for the archbishopric of Mexico, but no per-
suasions could induce him to accept t"he dignity. His proficiency
in the native languages, however, made him be employed as a
preacher in the absence of priests familiar with the Indians, and
in that capacity he gained enormous influence. But his labors
were not confined to preaching. He built a large school in the
capital, into which he gathered six hundred native boys within a
few years after his arrival. These were taught by a kind of
monitorial system by the more advanced pupils, who received
their training from the brother himself. The children were
taught to read and write in Spanish, and at the same time were
trained in the doctrines of Christianity ; but their instruction
did not end there. Brother Peter was an accomplished artist
and musician, and music, carving, and various trades were among
the branches of knowledge which he taught his pupils, some of
whom made most remarkable progress. The orphans, who had
been made such by the siege under Cortez, as well as by the pes-
tilences which afterwards devastated Mexico, were the special
object of his care. Besides teaching them he provided for the
support of many hundreds of them, and as they grew up he set-
tled his pupils in little colonies around the city. Indeed, it is
hard to find any of the really useful devices of modern educa-
tionists that was not applied to the benefit of the Aztec children
by this nameless lay brother three centuries ago. Humboldt,
who saw the results of his work during his visit to Mexico, justly
styles him an extraordinary man. Extraordinary as were his
talents and energy, they are less so than the profound humility
which has left him no patronymic but that of his native city-
Peter " of Ghent."

It must not be supposed that the Franciscans received much
aid from the authorities during the commencements of their mis-
sion. The commissioners to whom Cortez left the government
of Mexico on his departure for Honduras in 1524 quarrelled
among themselves and almost brought on a civil war during the
two years of their rule. The royal commission which was final-
ly appointed to succeed them under the presidency of Nuno de
Guzman was even worse. Guzman was an adventurer of the

1 882.] THE NATIVE MEXICANS. 727

worst type, ruthless, greedy, unscrupulous, and fearless, and he
violently resented any attempts made to protect the natives from
his rapacity. Knowing that his power was short, he and his fa-
vorites sought to make their fortunes in the quickest possible
way by plundering the natives and working them to death.
The Franciscans interposed, and the adventurers retaliated by
declaring the Indians were not fit for Christianity — in fact, that it
was mere waste of time to do anything for them except work
them like beasts. False and brutal as this assertion was, it found
advocates among the more greedy adventurers and was even
maintained in Spain by their agents. Indeed, the fate of the
Mexican Indians threatened to be a dismal one under the regime
of Guzman. One of the greatest of the missioners, Betanzos,
anticipated the speedy extermination of the whole native popula-
tion. Guzman reduced numbers of free men to slavery, and by
constant raids on the other provinces carried on a profitable
slave trade. Luckily for the natives, however, they found a pow-
erful protector in the Franciscan Zumarraga, Bishop of Mexico,
who had been appointed to that see in 1527. Zumarraga de-
clared the enslaving of free men unlawful, and was threatened
with execution, in return for his remonstrances, by Guzman. As
these threats were unavailing the government seized on his reve-
nues, and the bishop finally laid the city under an interdict.
Guzman and his friends endeavored to represent this step as
an act of rebellion, but the court of inquiry sent out fully ab-
solved the bishop and confirmed him in his office of protector of
the natives.

Though a bishop, Zumarraga as far as possible lived strictly
according to the rules of his order, and even made his visitations
on foot. The mode of Hfe of the Franciscan missioners, and in-
deed of all the religious orders, was most severe. Their cells
were without windows or doors, with no furniture but a bed, ta-
ble, and chair, the bed having only one blanket and no pillow
except the habit of the day rolled up. A single robe of serge
was their only outside dress, and to travel on foot everywhere
the constant rule, no matter how hot the sun. The strict laws of
fasting prescribed by the rules were rigidly observed. The Do-
minicans never used meat, and the Franciscans but rarely, no
matter what the labors they had to undergo. It is not surprising
that such a mode of life was trying to the strength of the new-
comers. Of twelve Dominican friars who arrived in Mexico in
1526 five died in the course of a few months. But others were
not wanting to supply their places, and the heroism of their

728 THE CA THOLIC CHURCH AND [Sept.,

deaths was not lost on the minds of the natives for whose con-
version they thus laid down their lives.

The question of the fitness of the Aztecs for Christianity and
civilization was a burning one in the early days of Charles V.
Grave doubts were alleged, as has been said, by the adventurers
interested in the system of peonage, as to the use of making any
attempt at their education. Zumarraga strenuously defended the
cause of his flock and referred to the progress they had alreadv
made in the schools of the Franciscans as the surest proof of
their natural capacity not only for Christianity but to be admit-
ted to holy orders. A vigorous letter of his to the Spanish court
is preserved, together with another to the same purport from the
Bishop of Tlascala, the first bishop appointed in Mexico. Both
the prelates asserted that the intelligence of the native Mexicans
was fully equal to that of the Spaniards, and their assertions
seem to have had considerable weight with the Spanish Council.
A new commission, or Audiencia, which was sent to supersede
the bod)- presided over by the tyrannical Guzman pronounced
in favor of the views of Zumarraga and the Franciscans. The
head of the commission and virtual governor of Mexico was
Fuenleal, the Bishop of San Domingo. Under his rule a college
was established for the higher studies in Mexico, to which the
Indians were admitted as freely as the Spaniards. The practice
of making slaves or of exacting rack-rents from the natives was
stopped. The bishop also recommended that a certain amount
of self-government should be given to the natives in their vil-
lages, as well as to the Spanish vecinos, or settlers. It seems his
suggestions were carried out to some extent, and certainly a stop
was put to the grosser oppressions which a few years before had
threatened the entire destruction of the native race.

The Dominicans who had been sent from Spain at the same
time with the Franciscans had been detained awhile in San Do-
mingo, and only reached Mexico in 1526, two years after the
Franciscans had established themselves there. The first party
numbered twelve, with Tomas Ortez for. prior ; but five died in
a few months, and Father Ortez was recalled on urgent business,
so that in the course of a year only one priest and some lay
brothers were left to represent the order on the North American
continent. But this priest, Betanzos, was a host in himself. His
career had been an extraordinary one. Belonging to a rich
family in Salamanca, he had studied law in its university, but
after receiving his degree he and a friend devoted themselves
mainly to works of charity similar to those of the modern So-
ciety of St. Vincent de Paul. Their devotion soon attracted

1 882.] THE NATIVE MEXICANS. 729

considerable attention, and to escape distinction .even in such a
course Betanzos retired to a hermitage in Ponza, near Naples,
leaving his property entirely to his relatives and actually beg-
ging his support on the way through France and Italy. In Pon-
za he passed several years in solitude, living in a cave and divid-
ing his time between work and sacred studies. His hair grew
gray from his austerities, but nothing could induce him to relax
them, and he only returned to Spain in accordance with a pro-
mise made to his early companion before setting out. He ex-
pected to bring the latter back to follow the same austere life,
but on his return to Salamanca, where he was not recognized
even by his father, so changed was his appearance, he found his
friend had joined the Dominicans. Betanzos presented himself
at the Dominican convent as a mendicant, but was recognized by
his friend and after some conversation was induced to enter the
order himself. The missions of America attracted his attention
after his ordination, and he was sent to San Domingo, to the con-
vent there, several years before the expedition of Cortez. In
San Domingo he was the confessor of Las Casas, the great phi-
lanthropist, who, like himself, had spent his early life in business
pursuits, but was then devoting all his energies to the protection
of the Indians against the rapacity of the Spanish conquerors.
At his persuasion Las Casas, who was then a priest, was induced
to enter the order of St. Dominic. The two continued close
friends afterwards. Betanzos had not the fiery spirit of Las Ca-
sas, which boiled over in passion at the wrongs of the Indians,
but his zeal in their behalf was equally great. He denounced
slavery as steadfastly as his friend, but even the fiercest of the
conquerors were awed by his almost unearthly character, and he
was regarded with equal affection by both races. Alvarado, the
dashing and reckless lieutenant of Cortez, became his penitent in
Mexico after his conquest of Guatemala, and at his request Be-
tanzos, as soon as new priests arrived in Mexico, set out with a
lay brother to that settlement. The whole journey from Mexico
to Guatemala he made on foot, and what such a journey is only
those familiar with the tropics can fully appreciate. In Gua-
temala he preached vigorously against the oppression of the
Indians, and, though his remonstrances were not immediately
successful, they produced considerable effect. He was offered
ground for a convent and church, but he would only accept a
small plot for that purpose. The entire disinterestedness which
marked his whole character was shown in this as in other mat-
ters. He was not, however, long left in his new field. The
Mexican Dominicans recalled him for the purpose of sending him

73O THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND [Sept.,

to Rome in 1531 to give an account of their mission to the
Holy Father.

It is not surprising that, with such men as those we have been
describing, the work of conversion had been rapid. The Bishop
of Mexico wrote at the same time to the head of his order, in-
forming him of the work of the Franciscans, and stated that the
number which they had received into the church in seven years
amounted to a million. The Dominicans had ngt been less suc-
cessful in proportion to their numbers, and Betanzos had to re-
port the progress made to the Sovereign Pontiff and to ask that
Mexico should be made an independent jurisdiction. A present
of Indian works in gold and feathers was sent along with him as
a convincing proof of the abilities of the new converts, and also
some of the sacrificial knives of obsidian that had formerly been
used in the rites of Aztec idolatry. However anxious Betanzos
might be for the success of his newly founded mission in Central
America, he did not hesitate a moment about yielding to the
wishes of his colleagues, and in 1531 he sailed again to Europe.
In Seville he entrusted the presents for the pope to a faithful
messenger and set out himself on foot for Rome. On his way
across France he turned aside to a shrine of St. Mary Magda-
len, to whom he was specially devoted, and through penance he
made several leagues of the road on his bare knees. Having
finished his penance, he continued his journey to Rome, where he
was received most favorably by the pontiff. The separate juris-
diction was readily granted, and the pope then desired the am-
bassador to ask any favor he might desire for himself. The
request made was an unexpected one. The saintly Betanzos
asked that while he was on the mission any priest should have
faculties to absolve him even from reserved sins. The pope at
once granted the request, which was perhaps the most extraor-
dinary proof of humility that the noble Betanzos had given even
in his extraordinary career, and the pontiff ordered a present of
a hundred ducats to be made to Father Betanzos to defray his
expenses back. This sum the latter at once presented to the
merchant who had brought the Indian presents from Seville,
and, having made this display of " monkish covetousness," he re-
turned on foot to Spain, and sailed thence to Mexico in the
year 1534.

Mexico in the meantime had made rapid progress, both mate-
rially and morally, under the government of Fuenleal The cus-
tom of making slaves had been practically stopped and the ex-
actions practised on the natives much lessened. The Spanish
government now erected the "kingdom of New Spain" into

1 882.] THE NATIVE MEXICANS. 731

a viceroyalty. The Count de Mendoza was appointed the first
viceroy, and the services of Fuenleal were rewarded with a place
in the Council of the Indies at home. The Indian question was
still the object of Charles V.'s solicitude. Though personal
slavery had been prohibited, except in the case of prisoners made
in lawful war, the condition of the natives was by no means
settled. The custom had grown up during the conquest of
granting large estates to individuals by the crown, much as
William of Normandy allotted the lands of England to his fol-
lowers, and the Indians residing on such properties were held to
be vassals of the owner. As might be expected, this system,
though closely analogous in name to the feudal tenures of
Europe, led to gross injustices on the natives. The Dominicans
stood forward as their defenders during the interminable de-
bates on this subject which occupied the attention of the Span-
ish government. Las Casas, who was not less active as a states-
man than zealous as a missioner, published a remarkable work in
1535 on TJie Only Way of Converting the Indians. In this work —
which, it must be remembered, was published with the approba-
tion of his superiors in the order — Las Casas emphatically lays
down that the Indians only could be made Christians by persua-
sion and instruction, and that all attempts at forcing them to be
baptized were contrary to Catholic doctrine. He further de-
nounced absolutely all wars of conquest as criminal invasions of
the rights of humanity. It had been a favorite sophism with
many of the adventurers who conducted conquering expeditions
in America that by so doing they were Christianizing the na-
tives (as well as enriching themselves). The great Dominican
indignantly denied the justice of such proceedings. " Evil must
not be done that good may come of it," was his constant text,
and vigorously did he enforce it, both by his writings and his
negotiations, in Spain as well as in America. That his efforts
were not useless may be judged from the difference between the
fate that has befallen the Mexicans and other natives of Spanish
America since his time and that which fell on the unfortunate
natives of the West Indies. In consequence, it may fairly be
supposed, of the representations of the friars, Paul III. in 1537
solemnly pronounced the enslaving of the Indians unlawful and
denounced excommunication against all who should reduce free
men to slavery. The following year the Spanish government
issued a law to the same effect, which was followed in 1542 by
the still more sweeping enactment known as the " New Laws,"
by which the freedom of the natives was fully guaranteed as far
as the power of the home authorities extended.

732 THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND [Sept.,

It need not be supposed that the doctrines laid down by Las
Casas and his brethren were well received by the Spanish colo-
nists. His ideas were loudly denounced as Utopian and the
most virulent attacks were made on himself and his books. An
opportunity, however, soon offered of testing his theories practi-
cally which was eagerly seized on by Las Casas. In Guatemala
one district of fierce and uncivilized Indians had long baffled the
invasions of the Conquistadores. Three times had they attempt-
ed its conquest and been driven back, until the name of " Land
of War " was unanimously conferred on the district. Las Casas,
on the part of his brethren, undertook to convert the people of
this district by persuasion alone, if a guarantee was given by the
governor of Guatemala that no attempt should be made on their
liberties. A formal document to this effect was drawn up and
signed by the representatives of the government on the one hand
and by Las Casas on the other. By this it was stipulated that in
case the Indians should become Christians no Spaniards should
be allowed to settle in their country nor should their freedom
be in any way interfered with. Las Casas, with three compan-
ions, Fathers Angulo, Ladrada, and Cancer, commenced their task
by learning thoroughly the Quiche dialect, which those Indians
used. They then composed a summary of Catholic doctrine, in-
cluding the articles of faith of first importance, in verse in the
Quiche language, and set the whole to music of an Indian cha-
racter. This chant they taught to some Catholic natives who
used occasionally to visit the hostile s for trading purposes, and
instructed them to repeat the whole in the gatherings of the
pagan Indians. The curiosity of the latter was aroused. They
asked the singers where they had learned the wonderful tale, and
were told it was from certain padres among the Spaniards. The
Indians, who had seen little of Christianity in their experience of
Alvarado's soldiers, inquired what new kind of Europeans those
padres were. The messengers declared that they, were men clad
in poor black robes, who sought no gold, were not married, and
fasted and prayed much. The Indian chief resolved to send
some of his subjects privately to Guatemala to find if there real-
ly were such men among the Spaniards. Finding that there
were, he asked that some of them would come to see him and
explain more fully the doctrines he had heard from the messen-
gers. Father Luis Cancer, who spoke Quiche fluently, at once
set out for the hostile land. The chief and his people discussed
his teachings, and after some time declared themselves Christians.
Father Cancer was obliged to leave them for some time after-
wards, but they remained steadfast in the faith. The neighboring

1 882.] THE NATIVE MEXICANS. 733

tribes threatened them with war. in consequence ; but the ca-
cique stood firm in his religion, and finally even the hostile tribes
were won over. The Dominicans were not content with con-
verting : they induced their converts to adopt a more civilized
form of life. They had hitherto been scattered in clusters of
two or three families in the woods, only rarely meeting at fairs
or dances. Las Casas induced them to build a town which, un-
der the name of Rabinal, is still in existence and populous. The
Spanish government faithfully kept its promise, and the district,
which received the appropriate name of Vera Paz (true peace),
continues to be inhabited by an exclusively Indian population
who have never swerved from the faith they received from the
Dominican missioners.

The conversion of Vera Paz, from its connection with Las
Casas, is more fully recorded than most of the early missions,
but it was only a type of many others. Even now around Mexi-
co there are numerous Indian villages where the inhabitants
jealously exclude European settlers, but which nevertheless are
intensely Catholic. The Catholic priest alone is privileged to
reside among them freely. They have learned by long expe-
rience that from the influence of the church they have nothing
to fear, and the fact shows conclusively that not by force but by
persuasion was Catholicity established among them. Indeed, all
through the history of Spanish colonization we find the church
standing forward as the protector of the natives, from the days of
Zumarraga of Mexico down to the missions of California, the
last of which was founded within almost the present generation.
Enough has been said to show that the work so nobly done
by the French missioners in the north was worthily paralleled
by the apostles of Spanish America. That the latter have not
obtained equal recognition in American literature is an undoubt-
ed fact. The glamour of the conquest has overshadowed the
work of the missioners in Spanish America, and the misdeeds of
the conquerors are often charged on the very men whose repro-
bation of them has preserved their record to the world. The
cruelties which stained the Spanish conquests would be un-
known to the world were it not in great measure for the ardent
denunciations of Las Casas, and yet he and the missioners who
devoted their lives to saving the natives from such acts are
included in the condemnation awarded to them by modern his-
tory. It is surely time to dissipate this error and to place in
their true light the character of the men who planted the cross
in the greater part of the New World, and whose deeds in truth
form one of the noblest chapters of the history of the world.

734 How THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND [Sept.,

HOW THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND FINDS ITS

PASTORS.

THE manner in which benefices are often bestowed and ob-
tained in the Church of England has of late years attracted
much attention and aroused much comment within the realm of
which that church is so old an appanage, and many who are, no
doubt, conscientiously devoted to its doctrines, as well as many
more who are not, have seen in the disposal of the cures and
cares of that ecclesiastical organism heinous and flagrant scan-
dals. It is, however, necessary, in order to understand how the
abuses to which we refer arise, to have a clear idea of the system
of appointment to ecclesiastical place sanctioned and ordained
by the law of England ; and in explaining this S37stem we shall,
so far as possible, avoid legal technicalities while regretting that
the very nature of our explanation is such that the total avoid-
ance of these phrases is impossible.

By Act of Parliament (44 Geo. III. c. 43) it is enacted
that no one shall be ordained " deacon " in the Protestant or
Established Church of England who shall not have attained the
age of twenty-three years, unless by virtue of special dispensa-
tion or faculty granted by the Archbishop of Canterbury. By
the same act the age before which no person can be ordained
" priest " is definitely fixed at twenty-four years. A clergyman
legally ordained can only hold a benefice, or self-remunerative
cure of souls, by having been " presented " or appointed to the
living by the patron or owner of the advowson.* After his
nomination by the owner of the living the rector, vicar, or per-
petual curate, as the case may be, must, as a rule, be instituted and
inducted by the bishop or his mandate. To this rule, however,
exists an exception which we shall explain further on. The
bishop's power of veto on any proposed appointment to a bene-
fice is strangely limited, and certainly gives one but a low idea
of the standard of morals approved in their clergy by those
whose enactments and dictums have come to make up the statute
and common law of England. The episcopal power of objection
is limited to those who are of illegitimate birth, outlawed, excom-
municated, or under the legal age, while the law-books go on to
say with reference to the nominee :

" Next, with regard to his faith or morals, as for any particular heresy
* A clergyman who is owner of an advowson may present or appoint himself.

1 882.] FINDS ITS PASTORS. 735

or vice that is malum in se ; but if the bishop alleges only in general that
he is schismaticus inveteraius, or objects a fault that is malum prohibition
merely, as haunting taverns, playing at unlawful games, or the like, it is no
good cause of refusal."*

" An advowson " is the right of nomination or presentation
to, or the patronage of, any church or spiritual living, and
should, according to the spirit and intention of English law, be
regarded as in the nature of a temporal property and spiritual
trust. There are various descriptions of advowsons. i. " Pre-
sentative," divided again into " appendant," "in gross," and
" partly appendant and partly in gross " ; 2. " Donative " ; and 3.
" Collative." A " presentative advowson appendant " is a right
of patronage annexed to some specific inheritance or property ;
a " presentative advowson in gross " is a right of patronage be-
longing individually to any patron quite irrespective of any
particular property or inheritance ; and an advowson " partly ap-
pendant and partly in gross " is one of which the owner grants
to another person every second presentment. Such an advow-
son is, therefore, appendant for the grantor's turn, because he
fulfils it by virtue of his inherited or acquired properterial right,
while it is in gross for that of the grantee, who fulfils it merely
because of the power granted to him individually. The second
important kind of advowson, that styled " donative," is one over
which the bishop has no control whatever. These advowsons,
of course, like all others, can only be held by a person holding
legal letters of ordination, but, as we have said, may be filled up,
and always are filled up, without the least reference to any au-
thority other than the patron's will. The third species of ad-
vowson, the " collative," is one belonging to a bishop, disposable
of by him of his own motion.

By the canons of the English Protestant Church simony is
declared a heinous offence, and its tenth canon, made in 1603, in
the reign of James I., " to avoid the detestable crime of simony,"
so "execrable before God," prescribes an oath to be administer-
ed to every person assuming spiritual or ecclesiastical office. By
this oath the taker swears that he has not made any simoniacal
payment, contract, or promise, direct or indirect, for procuring the
position he is about to enter into ; and, further, by it he declares
that he will not carry out any such contract should such have

* Stephen's Blackstone's Commentaries, iii. 685. English legalists distinguish between
malum in se, " a thing evil in itself," and malum prohibitum, " a thing evil because prohibited."
Murder is "an evil in itself," but the exportation or importation of prohibited goods is only
counted punishable as an evil because of the prohibition.

736

Ho iv THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND

[Sept,

been made on his behalf, with or without his knowledge. By
parliamentary enactment— 31 Elizabeth, cap. 6— simpny is pro-
hibited and various and varied penalties attached to its commis-
sion, so that there can be no question that, both according to the
canon law of the English Protestant Church as well as accord-
ing to the statute law of England, simony is a forbidden thing.
But English lawyers have long since discovered that it is pos-
sible to dispose of the reversion, or right of succession, to ec-
clesiastical benefice or place without committing the crime to
which the canon and civil law of their creed and land gives such
an ugly name. They are unanimous in declaring that while the
disposal of a vacant benefice is simony, to sell the right of suc-
cession to one still filled is not. From this reading of the law
spring the evils we are about to recount.

The total number of benefices, in public or private gift,
in the English Church is nearly fourteen thousand, as the fol-
lowing return * shows :

Patrons.

In conjunction with
Bishops, under 6
and 7 Vic., chap.
37, sec. 21.

.£•£
* •

ins

2 |S
Is*

"2 2 « C

0 0 B.O

li
l-frf

With Bishops,
Deans, Chapters.
Universities, and
Clerical Patrons.

•B

a .

C
M

Public patronage :
The Crown.

223

12
I

125

21
646
41

2,383
867

54
42
15

703

752

234
1,014

354

22
667
42

2,659
894

54
44
15

718
754

250

1,022

Prince of Wales

Lord Chancellor

Duchy of Lancaster. . .

Archbishops and Bish-
ops . .

223

8
4

Deans and Chapters.. .

Eton College

Winchester College. . .

Oxford and Cambridge
Universities

7
2

3
8

5
i

Trustees, various. . . .

Hospitals, Companies,
Parishioners, etc ....

Rectors, Vicars, etc.. .

Totals

223

30
19

71
32

51
37

6,897
6,140

7,495
6,228

Private patronage

Total number of benefices in public and pri

vate gift

13,723

By this return it will be seen that nearly half the patronage

* Taken, with some alteration of form, from the Report of the Royal Commissioners ap-
pointed to inquire into the Law and Existing Practice as to the Sale, Exchange, and Resigna-
tion of Ecclesiastical Benefices. 1880.

1 882.] FINDS ITS PASTORS. 737

of the Church of England is in the hands of private patrons, and
that, according to what is admittedly the correct interpretation
of the existing law of that country, this half of its ecclesiastical
patronage may be trafficked in, bartered, and dealt with at the
sweet wills of its owners — always, of course, providing that
these owners take care to carry on such traffic before &\\y actual
vacancy is known to have taken place in the clerical occupancy
of their properties.

This power of dealing with ecclesiastical property as so much
merchantable or marketable material has brought into being a
special trade or profession, whose members, calling themselves
" Ecclesiastical Agents," devote their energies to the facilitating
of that trading which the law admits, and seemingly, if their own
words mean anything, to the cloaking of much of that kind of
dealing which the law prohibits, which it styles simony, and
against which each cleric takes solemn oath. To justify this as-
sertion it seems fitting that we should quote some extracts
from the evidence given before the Royal Commissioners,*
from whose report we have already borrowed, by one of these
" agents," a Mr. Wilson Emery Stark. This gentleman, in re-
ply to the Bishop of Peterborough, said :

" In all my transactions with my clients I have always stated that they
are illegal transactions. Whenever I have been asked my opinion, and re-
peatedly without being asked, I have pointed out the illegality of the par-
ticular transaction. In most sales I have no power or voice in the matter
of possession, it being arranged by the two clergymen. . . . t Their object
is to get an advowson with immediate possession, and they know that they
are contravening the law, and they ask the transaction to be kept private ;
that is the reason for privacy."

The manner of trading adopted by these " Ecclesiastical
Agents " presents many amusing and interesting features. Of
course they advertise, in the Times and other leading journals,
for who can hope for business in this advertising century with-
out the aid of printer's ink ? We have already referred to Mr.
Stark, and, as he is admittedly the most eminent and respectable
of all these agents, we feel inclined to still present him as a
typical example. In reply to a letter sent to his firm requesting
a copy of their list of advowsons for sale the present writer re-
ceived the following letter :

* These commissioners were the Duke of Cleveland, Earl of Devon, Viscount Midleton,
the Bishop of Peterborough, the Bishop of Ely, Lord Justice James, Sir W. H. Stephenson,
Archdeacon Palmer, George Cubitt, M.P., Rev. George Venables, and Francis H. Jeune.

t In reply to a question put by Archdeacon Palmer.

VOL. xxxv. — 47

738 How THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND [Sept.,

" ST. PAUL'S CHAMBERS,
" No. 23 BEDFORD STR'EET, STRAND,
"LONDON, February ii, 1882.

" DEAR SIR : In reply to your favor we have the pleasure to enclose a
copy of our Church Preferment Gazette, and shall be happy to give you our
best assistance in the purchase of preferment.

" Yours faithfully, W. EMERY STARK & Co."

Enclosed with this letter was a two-page circular and a pam-
phlet of nearly fifty pages, the Church Preferment Gazette. The
circular was chiefly intended as a puff for the Gazette, and we
may content ourselves with the following extract from it :

" Briefly, the special advantages of these publications [i.e., Messrs.
Stark 's] are :

" (i) They reduce very materially the necessity of advertising these
important and necessarily confidential matters in the public newspapers,
which is now so universally objected to.

" (2) Our clients have a certain moral guarantee that they are placed
in direct communication with bond fide principals only, acting on behalf of
clergymen prepared with the highest references as to character, etc.

" (3) These publications, which are the only ones of their kind issued,
practically embrace the essence of the whole work which is going on in
connection with the sale and exchange of preferment."

The full drift of " special advantage No. 3," with its italics, we
shall not attempt to interpret, but rather pass on to the Gazette,
merely remarking that this circular, as indeed all of Mr. Stark's
publications, bears a gigantic mitre and is dated from the
" Ecclesiastical Offices, St. Paul's Chambers." The full title-
page of the Gazette reads as follows :

" For private circulation only. * The Church Preferment Gazette, con-
taining full and confidential particulars of Advowsons, Next Presentations,
etc., for sale by Private Treaty. Edited by Mr. W. Emery Stark, and issued
only by Messrs. W. Emery Stark & Co. Principals, Mr. W. Emery Stark,
A.J.A., F.R.G.S., M.S.A., and Mr. F. C. Hitchcock. Only offices, St. Paul's
Chambers, Bedford Street, Strand. February, 1882. N.B. Messrs. W.
Emery Stark & Co. trust to the honor of all parties to keep this register
strictly private, and to treat all particulars given therein with implicit con-
fidence."

This pretence of privacy is plainly the merest assumption of
modesty. The publication is registered at Stationers' Hall, is
freely circulated by the firm themselves, and has been handed in
as evidence, by themselves also, to the Royal Commissioners.

* Messrs. Stark have themselves waived this proviso, for their senior partner himself handed
m this publication to the Royal Commissioners, and they send it to any person who may, as did
the present writer, ask for their list of advowsons for sale. The Gazette is in no sense a private
publication.

FINDS ITS PASTORS.

739

We shall, however, in any quotations we may make reserve the
real name of the benefice offered for sale. At page 9 of the
Gazette we find the following paragraph :

"Mr. W. Emery Stark would desire to call the special attention of clients
to those preferments in this work which are being offered for sale with in-
terest allowed on the purchase-money until a vacancy, as being, in his
opinion, undoubtedly good investments. The purchaser will get at once
from three and a half to five per cent.— the average being four to four and
a half-— interest upon his purchase-money, this alone being a very good
investment in these days of high-priced stocks ; but, besides this, at the
price he can now purchase, Mr. Stark considers that when the living even-
tually offers the prospect of immediate possession, the purchaser will find
the selling value of his property (or, in other words, his capital) increased
by one-third to one-half of the sum given."

It was stated in evidence before the Royal Commissioners
that this system of paying interest until a vacancy, makes it the
direct monetary advantage of a seller to bring about a vacancy
as speedily as possible— to, in other words, at least evade the
law which forbids the selling of any benefice vacant or about to
become vacant. The enormous extent of the business carried on
by Messrs. Stark may be inferred from the following table given
in their Gazette, and which contains only some of those advow-
sons on the purchase-money of which interest is offered until the
occurrence of a vacancy :

County,

Net Income.

Age of
Incumbent.

Price, about.

Interest
allowed.

Suffolk

•£130 and House

/"2.IOO

4t> C

Essex

200

I,OOO

Nottinghamshire

7 co

7,OOO

Sussex ,

380

2,5OO

Yorkshire

200

I,2OO

Norfolk

650

6,OOO

Lincolnshire

670

4,<?OO

Norfolk

155 and House

I,OOO

Lincolnshire

800

7.OOO

Cumberland

500

^,OOO

Yorkshire

1,400

Berks

400

2, K.OO

Devonshire

<no

a. COO

Kent

1,000

8. C.OO

Essex

c.71

•3 2O

2 4.OO

•i

2 -JO

1, 8OO

Norfolk

C.7O

4 800

•3

Lincolnshire

7OO

4 ooo

•J

Nottinghamshire

<u8

2 5OO

690

Yorkshire

650

6 ooo

740 How THE CHURCH OP ENGLAND [Sept.,

Some of the advertisements in the Gazette are laughable,
though truly sad enough in a way, as specimens of what Angli-
can ecclesiasticism has come to be in the nineteenth century.
Take the following as an example :

« shire. Advowson of a very desirable rectory, in a beautiful and

very healthy situation on the , on gravel soil. Population small,

chiefly agricultural. Railway station four miles, and two capital towns
within eight miles. There is very good society within easy reach. Re-
stored church. Excellent schools. The net income is close upon ^700 a
year, from valuable tithe-rent charge and some glebe, besides a superior
house, well suited for a gentleman's family, containing three sitting, two
dressing, and seven bed rooms, four attics, kitchens, scullery, larder, pan-
try, store-closet, etc., with well-appointed grounds. Prospect of immediate
possession. The situation and surroundings of the benefice are unusually
good. Messrs. Stark will be happy to supply full details. An exchange in
connection with the sale of this advowson might be entertained. Price
only ^7,500, of which ,£4,000 could remain on mortgage, if desired."

The paragraph promising the " good society " could not be
spared from this advertisement, but what are we to say to the
prospect which the following opens to any clerical sybarite ? —

" folk. Advowson of the very desirable rectory of , in a very

healthy and convenient situation, three miles from , two from

Station, and eight from . The parish includes the hamlets of ,

, and , and has a population of about three hundred and seventy.

The soil is very dry and healthy, and the neighborhood good. The income,
derived chiefly from tithe-rent charge and about twenty-five acres of glebe,
is of the net annual value of about ^720, besides the rectory-house, an un-
usually good residence, approached by a carriage-drive, with a beautiful
lawn. It contains, on the ground-floor, entrance hall, vestibule, inner hall,
lobby, principal and secondary staircases, dining-room, drawing-room,
library, parish-room, housemaid's closet, kitchen, scullery, housekeeper's
room, linen-closet, larder, three pantries, bed-room, etc. ; on the first floor,
boudoir, school-room, ten bed and dressing rooms, etc. ; on the second
floor five attics. The out-offices comprise coach-house, two-stalled stable,
harness-room, loft, small farmery, etc. The pleasure-grounds are most
tastefully laid out and contain very fine ornamental timber and shrubs, ex-
cellent fruit and kitchen garden, fernery, etc. There is a good church, and

a chapel of ease has been built at . National school. Possession is

subject to the present incumbency, rector aged fifty-seven in 1882. For a
sufficient price the vender will allow interest on the purchase-money until
a vacancy."

Or to this, surely designed to catch the eye of the cleric with
equine tastes and a weakness for " plenty of society " ?—

— shire. Advowson of a vicarage, two and a half miles from a first-
class town and station, and within easy distance of and . The sit-

1 882.] FINDS ITS PASTORS. 741

uation is particularly healthy and pleasant, and the country very pretty.
Plenty of society in the neighborhood. Population two hundred. The net in-
come is about .£200 a year, besides a very good vicarage-house built a few
years ago. It contains drawing and dining rooms, library, seven bed-rooms,
dressing-room, etc. Good offices, stabling for five horses, coach-house, etc.
Large gardens. Church handsome and in good repair. London can be
reached in about three hours. Diocese, Lincoln. Possession subject to
the life of the present incumbent, aged sixty-three. Price ,£2,000. Open to
an offer."

We cannot multiply quotations, and can only spare space for
one more of these peculiar advertisements, but that one full of
pathos to the mind of every Catholic, telling a saddening story,
recalling the black record of national apostasy which lies, so dark
a stain, on the fair escutcheon of England :

" shire. Advowson of a rectory in a very pretty country, mild and

healthy climate, two and three-quarter miles from the post-town and three
miles from a railway station. Population under one hundred. Net income
about ,£230, besides the rectory-house, stone built and slated, with stone
porch, gabled roof, etc. It contains drawing-room, 17 ft. 6 in. by 13 ft. 6 in.;
dining-room, 19 ft. 3 in. by 14 ft. 9 in. ; library, 12 ft. by 8 ft. 2 in. ; laundry,
16 ft. 6 in. by 10 ft. 9 in. ; good entrance hall, six good bed-rooms, and a
dressing-room, with servants' room overhead. There is a courtyard con-
nected with the house, with boot-house and wood-house. There are also,
well separated from the house, a good three-stalled stable, harness-room,
and coach-house, and loft over, and two rooms for potatoes and coals ; also
two pigsties. There are pleasure-garden, lawns, and kitchen-garden com-
prising two rods, fifteen perches. There is a good supply of excellent
water. The church is of the thirteenth century. School supported by sub-
scriptions. Possession subject to the life of the present rector, aged
sixty-two (1882). Price ,£1,000."

" The church is of the thirteenth century " — of that century
which witnessed the institution of the glorious orders of St.
Dominic and St. Francis, which saw four Crusades, one led by
the sainted Louis of France, which saw John of England vow
fealty to Rome, which beheld the first House of Commons of
England meet, but which certainly never saw what men deemed
spiritual things made market wares of — the cure of souls, sacred
responsibilities, made the subject of bartering and peddling, be-
cause such deeds as these latter could only be perpetrated when
" reformation " and " civilization " had pursued their levelling
course some six centuries. Why, in those dark and ignorant
years, as too many now deem them, one sale such as those
which are of daily occurrence amongst the cultured and pol-
ished gentlemen who call themselves " priests" and " clerks " of
the Anglican Church had rung from one end of Europe to the

742 HOW THE CffUXCH OF ENGLAND [Sept.,

other, and had its perpetrator been the highest prelate not cro-
sier nor mitre had saved him from obloquy, scorn, and degrada-
tion.

How the clergymen who do these things and carry on this
bartering reconcile their conduct with their solemn oaths per-
haps none but themselves could surely say ; but as few men in
England have had as intimate an acquaintance with them as the
compiler of the Gazette from which we have been quoting, his
evidence, given before the Royal Commissioners, seems to be
about the safest obtainable on this point. It is to be remember-
ed that this gentleman was naturally most desirous to screen his
clerical patrons ; he certainly did not want to condemn them ;
yet it would be impossible to find anything — to persons of pro-
per feeling — more condemnatory of them than his friendship-in-
spired words :

'" Chairman. Have you any information to give as to the extent to
which the existing law of simony is contravened ? — The commissioners are
well aware that the sale of advowsons with the understanding that posses-
sion is to be given is, according to the law, illegal. Three-fourths of the
patrons with whom I have come in contact, and among them clergymen
of the highest standing, do not recognize any moral crime in an infraction
of the present law of simony, and the consequence is that they freely and
unhesitatingly sell and purchase advowsons with the understanding that
immediate possession is* to be given, not looking upon it as any sin.
When I say clergymen of high standing, I have had business with ex-co-
lonial bishops, canons, and other dignitaries of the church who, of course,
would be. above suspicion in every way.

" Bishop of Peterborough. Of course there are instances in which lay-
men have been equally lax ? — Quite so ; but the laymen would not be so
numerous. The proportion of the one to the other would be three-fourths
clergymen and one-fourth laymen. . . . Three-fourths of my transactions
are with immediate possession, and, strictly speaking, they are nearly all il-
legal.

" Bishop of Peterborough. You say that the clergymen to whom you
refer who offer their benefices for sale, with immediate possession, regard
the transaction as in no way sinful ; they know it nevertheless to be illegal ?
—Most decidedly.

" Knowing it to be illegal, these clerical patrons ask you to help them
to break the law ?— Decidedly, and the matter is completed by solicitors of
the highest standing in the country. The clerical agent simply introduces
the parties ; the lawyers draw up the necessary deeds.

" You are, of course, aware that a simoniacal transaction in obtaining
possession of a benefice voids the benefice ?— Decidedly.

" These clerical patrons are aware that if these transactions became
public, and any one took proceedings upon them, their benefices would be
void ? — No doubt.

" Is that one of the reasons why strict secrecy and confidence is so

1 882.] FINDS ITS PASTORS. 743

largely insisted on ? — Secrecy must necessarily be insisted on, the trans-
action being an illegal transaction and the punishment being very se-
vere."

Mr. Stark, however, had even more to add :

" Rev. G. Venables. How do you enforce completion of the agreement ?
—You could not enforce it legally.

" Have you ever known cases in which the agreement has not been
carried out ? — Very few. The difficulty under the present law is that if you
get into the hands of unscrupulous men you are at their mercy ; that is one
reason why I would repeal the law of simony.

" Bishop of Peterborough. Would you repeal the law of simony and
put nothing in its place? — That is rather a difficult question to answer.
My view would be that there should be a relaxation of the present law of
simony. We have a law as strict as it is possible to make it, short of cri-
minality, and yet it is evaded ; and, moreover, the clergyman is required to
take an oath to the effect that he has not paid or caused to be paid any
sum of money in any transaction which to the best of his belief is simony.
The clergyman says to himself, ' In my view this is not simony.'

"The clergyman knows what the meaning of ' simony ' in that decla-
ration is ; he knows that it is a legal term which means contrary to the law
of simony ? — Yes.

" Knowing that, these moral clergymen, who first of all ask you to break
the law, then take an oath that they have not broken the law ? — Yes.

" So that every one of these clergymen of high standing and of high
moral character has been guilty of wilful and corrupt perjury? — It is a
question as to whether it is or is not."

We have said that the gentleman from whose evidence and
publications we have been quoting is at once the most respecta-
ble and responsible representative of his peculiar profession ; but
it would seem, from some other evidence given before the
commissioners, that very strange folk indeed can and do trade as
" Ecclesiastical Agents," can and do traffic in these quasi-spiritual
things — nay, may even become patrons of livings themselves.
The following description of one of these individuals cannot be
spared. The witness to his character is a Mr. John Charles
Cox, a Derbyshire gentleman of respectability :

" Clerical agents are not always persons of perfectly respectable charac-
ter, I believe ? — No.

" Have you any evidence to give to the commission upon that point ?
— In connection with two names I have. I know something of the char-
acter of the principals of two firms, both of whom are doing, or have done,
a large business in this matter. Mr. Workman, alias Rawlins, has carried
on, and still carries on, an extensive business as a clerical agent. He is in
Holy Orders. His real name is Rawlins, but he passes under a dozen dif-
ferent aliases. One of his first notorious transactions as a clerical agent

744 How THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND [Sept.,

was with the Rev. N. K in connection with a living in the diocese of

. He cheated Mr. N. K out of ,£3,000, involved him in simony

and caused him to lose both living and money. Mr. N. K now works

as a day-laborer, and is usually in the workhouse in the winter. In 1852
Rawlins, or Workman, was convicted of altering figures on a check from
^8 to £80, and was sentenced to several years' penal servitude. On com-
ing out of prison he at once set up as a clerical agent (he was a man of
some family and private means), and he bought advowsons and next pre-
sentations of several livings, two or three of them, I am told, being openly
purchased at auction in Tokenhouse Yard. . . . In 1871 the Rev. T. S —

(then vacating the rectory of E ) paid over to Workman, through his

solicitors, ^1,200. He had already placed his rectory of E in Work-
man's hands for ' exchange,' and the ^1,200 was given in trust to Work-
man in order therewith to complete the purchase of a more valuable living

for Mr. T. S . Such a living Mr. T. S never obtained. He could

get no redress ; he was, like N. K , involved in a simoniacal transaction,

and his claim to be scheduled as a creditor on Workman's insolvent estate
was disallowed by the judge on the ground that the transaction was
illegal, and hence [he lost his rectory and his ^1,200, and was compara-
tively beggared."

But more [remained to be told, as if enough of scandalous
abuse and outrage had not been already exhibited. Mr. Cox
continued :

" Thus Workman ^became possessed of the rectory of E , and pre-
sented thereto the Rev. R. Y . Mr. R. Y has actually allowed Work-
man to preach in E — — church.

" I rather think that the parishioners of the last-named parish had the
benefit of a sermon from Mr. Workman at the request of the incumbent
that he had 'presented ; is that so ? — Yes, it was ; I believe he preached
there more than once.

" It is the fact, however, that this incumbent whom he presented to this
living invited him to preach, and he did so ?— Yes, more than once in that
church."

Truly a case of the wolf in sheep's clothing — the convicted swin-
dler preaching morality, the trickster in simony and breaker of the
law of the realm expounding religion. Was there ever such a
burlesque, was there ever given plainer proof of the fearful evils
which follow in the train of heresy ?

It is impossible for us to go as thoroughly into this sub-
ject as we would wish ; it may, however, be possible to return
to its consideration, but now we can only note one more
branch of the " Ecclesiastical Agent's" business, another of the
methods by which the Church of England finds its pastors.
The law forbidding the sale of benefices while actually vacant
is found occasionally extremely awkward by patrons of livings

1 882.] FINDS ITS PASTORS. 745

the occupants of which have died unexpectedly or otherwise
had their tenure terminated suddenly. The patron cannot
sell the presentation to the benefice while it is vacant ; he is,
therefore, in danger of losing perhaps many thousand pounds,
and so no doubt he would but that the obliging ." Ecclesiasti-
cal Agent " comes to his rescue. These agents have always
a number of aged clergymen, some ranging up to eighty years
of age, on their books or lists, and these, who are glad of any
temporary addition to their generally small incomes, are in-
troduced to the patron of the vacant benefice. He, as a rule,
selects the one most suited to his purpose — namely, him whose
age and state make nearest approach to what insurance agents
significantly class as " a bad life." Once the patron has installed
some old, toothless, feeble man, and can therefore call the bene-
fice an occupied one, he is at liberty to sell. Sometimes the aged
clergyman retires at once on completion of sale, but very often,
too — he is so old and feeble — patrons or buyers come to the con-
clusion that there is no use in wasting money in inducing re-
tirement, and then, as death has a knack of defying general rules,
the old incumbent will fill his office in his own senile way for
years. It makes no matter, of course, that the parish schools are
neglected, the services of every kind spasmodic and ridiculous,
that the congregation dwindles, and that religion is insulted, for
the patron saves his money and the " Ecclesiastical Agent "
pockets his fee.

746 FERN AN CABALLERO. [Sept.,

FERNAN CABALLERO,

CECILIA BOHL DE FABER, MARCHIONESS DE ARCO-HERMOSO.

FERNAN CABALLERO has preserved to posterity in all their
freshness the poetic legends and picturesque life of the Andalu-
sian peasantry. A celebrated Spanish reviewer * styles her the
Walter Scott of Spain, and a French writer f shares his opinion.
Prosper Merimee, who lived for many years in Spain and has en-
deavored in Carmen to depict the life of the Contrabandists, pro-
nounces her the Sterne of Andalusia. She herself, in answer to
Prosper Merimee's homage, modestly says : " There is not the
least analogy between what I write and the writings of those
who have painted the life and morals of a people. They have
much more talent, ability, and art than I, but none of them the
same good-nature. It seems to me that my humble works have
rather a sort of spiritual relationship with the excellent produc-
tions of Emile Souvestre."

In a certain sense she holds the place in Spanish literature
which Lady Georgiana Fullerton does in English letters and
Mme. Craven in French. Her writings show the same fervent
spirit, the same elevation of soul and noble sentiments, which
made the literary career of the three writers a true apostleship.
In answer to the objection that she spoke too much of religion
in her books Fernan Caballero says in the preface of one of her
posthumous works :

" It would be very difficult to depict Spanish life, either in the higher
or lower classes, without this first condition, and we shall answer the objec-
tion with the simple dialogue which we placed rn the mouth of a brave
peasant and his unworthy master :

"'You missed your vocation, Pascual ; you should have been a priest,
lor you are more mystical than the Fathers of the church, and you quote
more texts than a preacher.'

" ' How can I help it, sir ? The Holy Scripture is all I know.'
' Yes, but you scatter it everywhere like tomatoes.'

" ' Well, sir, isn't it for that we are taught it ? ' gravely replied the
peasant."

Andalusia, though the home of her heart and her affections,
was not her birthplace. She was born at Merges, a little village

* Eugenio de Ochoa. f Le Cte. de Bonneau-Avennant, Laureat de 1' Academic.

1 882.] FERN AN CABALLERO. 747

in the canton of Berne, in Switzerland, on the 25th of December,
1796. Her mother, Frances de Larrea, was of Spanish and Irish
parentage, and her father, John Nicholas Bohl de Faber, was
German. In her mother, who was familiarly known as the
Scnorita Frasquita, was united the beauty of both races — the
clear skin and ruddy cheeks of her Irish ancestry with the lithe
and graceful figure of the Andalusian women — while her blue
eyes looked out from under their long, dark lashes with that in-
tensity, intelligence, and fire which distinguish the daughters
of the south. Theophile Gautier, in his Voyage en Espagne, makes
particular mention of this peculiarity in the beauty of the women
of Andalusia, and thus minutely describes it:

" When a woman or a young girl passes you she slowly drops her eyes,
then suddenly opens them again, shoots at you a look so searching that
you are almost unable to bear it, then rolls the pupils of her eyes and
again drops the lashes over them.

" We have no terms," he adds, " to express this play of the eyes ; the
word ojear is wanting in our vocabulary. Yet these glances so full of
vivid, sudden brilliancy have no particular meaning and are cast upon the
first object which presents itself. A young Andalusian girl will look with
the same intensity at a cart passing along, a dog running after its tail, or a
group of children playing at bull-fights. The eyes of the people of the
north are dull and meaningless in comparison, the sun has never left its
reflection in them."

From her father she inherited her literary taste : his erudite
works, The Spanish Stage before the Time of Lopez de Vega and A
Collection of the Ancient Poetry of Castile, opened to him the doors
of the Spanish Academy. The governor of Malaga, Fernando
de Gabriel, still shows with pride a copy of the latter work left
him by Fernan Caballero, and bearing on the fly-leaf the in-
scription :

"AMI HIJA CECILIA.

" Quando esta de te ausenta, acca abajo o alia arriba,
Siempre te hablara mi alma por medio de estas rimas.

J. N. BOHL DE FABER.
" PUERTO DE SANTA MARIA, u d'Agosto, 1826."

From her mother as well as her father she inherited the en-
lightened piety and poetic Christian fervor which breathe
through all her works.

For some time previous to the year 1805 her father had been
industriously reading in Cadiz the struggle which Spain sustain-
ed for seven centuries in defence of her religion. This, together

FERN AN CABALLERO. [Sept.,

with the preaching- of the celebrated Father Diego, had com-
pletely shaken his Lutheran convictions. He was on the point
of entering the church, but human respect and the preparations
for departure with his family for Hamburg retarded the deci-
sive step. And it was not until eight years later that the prayers
and example of his devout wife and daughters, joined to the con-
version of the celebrated Baron Stolberg, determined him to act
upon his convictions. He made a public abjuration in his native
city towards the end of the year 1813, and from that time lived a
most fervent Catholic.

It was about this period that his daughter Cecilia returned to
Cadiz with the family. She had all her mother's beauty. The
upper part of her face, with her blonde hair, straight, high fore-
head, aquiline nose, and mild blue eyes expressive of extreme
sweetness, showed her Teutonic blood, while dark and finely
arched eyebrows, and a small and well-cut mouth guarded by
laughing dimples, added a Spanish grace and piquancy. Her
crowning attraction was her perfect naturalness. " Naturalness,"
she herself tells us in one of her books, " is the secret and charm
of that grace which distinguishes the Andalusian women. In
nature is truth, and without truth there is no perfection."

Her sojourn of eight years in Hamburg had been most use-
fully employed for her instruction ; her education was begun in
her infancy and continued with the best of masters until her
seventeenth year. It was probably in Hamburg also that she
acquired the methodical habits and love of order and labor
which inspired her with such a horror of idleness and frivolity.
Even when resting from her literary labors she always had
knitting in her hand, and constantly read and knitted at the same
time. And it was not mere fancy-work which filled her leisure
moments, but stockings which eventually found their way to
some poor home in the winter.

Three years after the family returned to Cadiz the beauty of
the young Cecilia, unfortunately for her, excited the admiration
of a young captain of infantry, Antonio Planells de Bardaxi, who
fell violently in love with her, and asked and obtained her of her
parents in marriage. He was a man about twenty -eight years of
age, with a good deal of physical beauty yet repellant expression
of face which suggested lack of refinement. He belonged, how-
ever, to an excellent family of Ibiza— a family of much wealth, of
which he was the sole inheritor. These were advantages not to
be disdained in a suitor, and when he had the address to have
himself presented to the parents of Cecilia by his cousin, who

i882.j F&RNAM CABALLERO, 749

was a most intimate friend of the family, they listened to him
favorably ; but much time for deliberation was denied them by
circumstances. The regiment to which Captain Planells was at-
tached was under marching- orders and was to leave Cadiz in
eight days. And thus, at the beginning of April, 1816, Cecilia
Bohl de Faber, in childlike obedience to her parents, became the
wife of Captain Planells, a comparative stranger both to her and
to them. This most unfortunate event of her life she has woven
into her novel Clemencia* The author, through respect for the
memory of her parents, substitutes an aunt as the guardian of
the heroine, who bears the name of Clemencia, and Captain
Planells is represented by Captain Fernan Guevara. She
places the scene of their meeting in the promenade called the
Salon de Christine instead of the Almeda, where she was accus-
tomed to walk with a companion of her own age, chaperoned by
her mother. It was here, in fact, that the unworthy Captain
Planells saw her for the first time, and, taken with her beauty,
made a wager, after his coarse fashion, that he would marry her.
One of his companions accepted the wager, insisting, however,
upon a limit as to time, which, it was finally agreed, should not
exceed eight days. His cousin, who figures in the novel as Don
Sylvestre, and who was, as we have said, an intimate friend of
Cecilia's family, could not refuse to present him, which he did,
affirming that he was an accomplished gentleman, belonging to
one of the best families, and heir to great wealth. Cecilia tells
us in Clemencia that, though his birth and rank gave him the
entree to the first salons of Cadiz, he rarely appeared in them,
preferring associates and places more in accordance with his low
tastes. Cecilia yielded in passive obedience to her parents, feel-
ing neither attraction nor repulsion for the man, who was an
utter stranger to her. But not many months elapsed before she
discovered the coarse, brutal, ungoverned nature to which she
was united. Yet she appears to have endured her lot with a
resignation and patience which at times was only an additional
incentive to his wanton cruelty. Upon one occasion, in an access
of jealous rage, he crushed in his hands before her eyes a little
pet bird which was her only amusement in the solitude in which
he left her. " This excessive brutality," she says, " may appeal-
exaggerated, yet it is not. Those only who have suffered from
the jealousy of a hard, coarse soul can know what horrible pro-
pensity leads human nature to redouble its cruelty in proportion
to the weakness of the victim."

* Clemencia : Novela de Costumbres.

FERNAN CABALLERO. [Sept.

Notwithstanding her Christian fortitude and strength of soul
the terrible life she endured began to tell upon her constitution ;
her freshness and beauty disappeared, her strength failed day by
day, until finally her sufferings culminated in an illness so grave
that when her husband's regiment was ordered to another station
she was unable to accompany him. She was barely convalescent
when she learned of his death ; he fell in a gallant attack which
reflected much glory upon its leader, Captain Planells, who was
carried off the field dead.

On learning her husband's heroic end she forgot her wrongs
and really mourned the brave soldier, the only redeeming light
in which he could be viewed, and so sincere was her regret that
her family never suspected how cruel had been his conduct
towards her. The silence she had observed as a duty becoming
a Christian wife she continued after his death out of respect for
his memory. She returned to her father's roof and in a short
time regained her strength and beauty. Her apprenticeship to
suffering moderated the girlish vivacity and left in its place a
gentleness and subdued melancholy which added an additional
charm to her countenance. So that, in spite of the retirement in
which she lived, she excited much admiration, and suitors flocked
to the quiet country-house at Chiclana. Her bitter experience
made her hesitate to assume new chains ; but finally, after five
years of widowhood, she distinguished among the aspirants for
her hand the Marquis de Arco-Hermoso, an officer of the royal
guard, whose admiration dated from her girlhood.

After their marriage he took her to his grand ancestral
home in Seville, where her modesty, grace, and talents soon
made her salon one of the most popular and brilliant in Seville.
Strangers of distinction eagerly sought admission to it. The
hostess spoke Italian, French, English, and German with equal
facility. In fact, her first work, Sola, a picture of Andalusian life
and popular customs, she composed in German and rewrote in
Spanish. It was published in Hamburg, without the name of
the author, in 1831. Her later books she wrote under the nom de
plume of Fernan Caballero, the name of an obscure little village
of La Mancha situated between Toledo and Ciudad Real. She
chose it for its masculine sound. By a singular coincidence
two of the celebrated novelists of Spain, Cervantes and Fernan
Caballero, selected a village of La Mancha as the cradle of their
fictitious hero, thus associating their glory with the same pro-
vince of their common country. Sola was written to fill up the
leisure hours at her beautiful country-seat in the village of Dos

1 882.] FERNAN CABALLERO. 751

Hermanas, whither she retired- when Seville became deserted.
In one of her books she gives, us a picture of the smiling country
in the midst of which her summers were spent:

" The road from Seville to Dos Hermanas descends part of the way into
a little valley, as if to refresh itself beside a stream which flows very noisily
in winter but sleeps lazily on its stony bed in summer. The water is so
tranquil that you would overlook its existence did not the sun's rays re-
flected in it give it the appearance of a brazier of burning coals.

" To the right is a hill crowned by the Moorish castle built by Don
Pedro for Maria Padilla ; and facing it, a little lower in the valley, appears
an inn painted red and yellow like the dress of a harlequin. The traveller
is sure to find here all that the frugality of the Spaniard requires — that is, a
little bread and wine, with the addition of oranges in winter and grapes in
summer. Beyond the inn the road ascends a sandy hill to Buena Vista — a
height well named, for from it you see Seville idly extended in the plain
below, her feet bathed by the waters of the Guadalquivir and her head rest-
ing on a bed of flowers. Beautiful Seville ; whose very name quickens the
pulse of the poet, historian, or artist— Seville, whose Moorish garb and
sublime cathedral give her the appearance of a converted sultana."

In the midst of these poetic surroundings her summers were
passed, among the Andalusian peasantry whose poetic simplicity,
graceful humor, and fervent faith she so well portrays. At this
period her leisure was not entirely given to literature ; she was
as skilful with her needle as her pen, and gave much time to em-
broidery. She always reserved several hours a day for the
study of foreign literature and kept herself au courant with the
best publications of England, France, and Germany.

" She was too modest," says a French writer,* " to be compared with
Mme. de Girardin, who then reigned as a bel esprit in Paris, and too Chris-
tian to remind one in any way of George Sand, who in her male attire was
exciting much attention in the Latin Quarter."

For never at any period of her life, either at the time of her
most brilliant social position or in the midst of her great lite-
rary success, did she cease to be a woman in the noblest, and ten-
derest acceptation of the word. Her literary pursuits never in-
terfered with the personal superintendence which she was ac-
customed to bestow upon her household, nor with the attentions
which the delicate health of her husband required during the lat-
ter years of their sojourn in Seville.

In 1833 his health began to fill her with anxiety, and it was
not many months* before her fears were realized ; for it was evi-
dent that consumption, which had already decimated the family

* Cte. de Bonneau-Avennant.

752 FERN AN CABALLERO. [Sept.,

of the marquis, was deeply seated in the weak constitution which
only her watchful care had so far preserved. When this became
apparent to the marchioness she never knew repose ; her only
thought was for him. She closed her salon and abandoned every-
thing to take her place by his bedside, where for two years she
disputed day by day with death the life which was dearer to her
than her own. Her ardent faith made her hope for a miraculous
recovery. God, however, asked this sacrifice of her, and on the
1 7th of May, 1835, the Marquis de Arco-Hermoso quietly expired
in her arms in the most edifying sentiments of Christian resigna-
tion and blessing her who had been the sun of his earthly happi-
ness.

The death of her husband deprived her of her social position
and her fortune ; for, having no children, her husband's brother
succeeded to the estate and the title. She remained Dowager
Marchioness de Arco-Hermoso, but with nothing save her own
modest fortune to support it ; her husband, with all the illusions
of a consumptive, having constantly postponed providing for her.
The new marquis and his wife affectionately urged her to con-
tinue in the ancestral home with them or to remain near them in
Seville ; but she returned to her parents, who were living at
Puerto de Santa Maria near their daughter, Mme. Osborne.

The following year her grief was redoubled by the death of
her father, to whom she was devotedly attached. It was at this
period that she seriously thought in her affliction of entering the
Carmelite convent — the natural aspiration of a Christian heart
when earthly ties are broken. It naturally turns to the only un-
failing Refuge, realizing the words of St. Augustine : " We can
never lose one whom we love in Him zuho is eternal." But the prayers
and weak health of her only remaining parent made her abandon
the idea. She remained in the world and devoted herself to the
care of her mother and to works of charity.

Some years after her return home her mother had reason to
fear, because of her own failing health, that she was about to leave
her daughter alone in the world without a protector or means
of support. With this fear upon her she urged her daughter to
receive the visits of a young merchant, Don Arrom de Ayala, who
had met her in Seville since her widowhood and fallen deeply in
love with her.

Dona Cecilia saw few visitors, but to please her mother she
allowed Don Arrom to be admitted. When she learned the ob-
ject of his visits she gently but firmly resisted his entreaties, and
it was only when Dona de Faber added hers, with a vivid pic-

1 882.] FERN AN CABALLERO. 753

ture of the effect of a final refusal upon the ardent nature of Don
Arrom, and her own grief at leaving" her alone in the world, that
Dona Cecilia yielded. The ardent devotion and respectful grati-
tude of Don Arrom would have made the marriage a happy one,
but that in less than a year his health began to give her grave un-
easiness. His illness soon assumed all the symptoms of a pul-
monary complaint — a disease which Dona Cecilia had reason to
dread. However, Don Arrom had youth and a strong constitu-
tion on his side, which, with the skilful and vigilant care of his
wife, seemed to completely arrest the malady. The physicians,
to ensure his recovery, ordered a long sea-voyage. This pre-
scription Don Arrom was unwilling to follow, as it necessitated
an expenditure which their modest fortune could hardly afford
and separation from his devoted wife. Dona Cecilia, however,
overcame every obstacle and persuaded him to embark for
Manila. In less than a year he returned in apparently perfect
health, but in a few months the most alarming symptoms re-
turned. Perfect rest and good care, however, again brought back
his strength.

During his forced inactivity his business suffered, his enter-
prises failed for want of his personal superintendence, and finally
an honorable failure left him almost penniless. The fortune of
his wife went with his, and it was only by the strictest economy
that she was able to live upon the little that remained to her.
He never ceased to reproach himself for the suffering which he
involuntarily caused, and for a time after the disaster yielded to
the most violent despair. The example of Dona Cecilia's forti-
tude and womanly unselfishness renewed his courage, and he
determined to restore her to the ease and comfort she had
always enjoyed. Without her knowledge he sought and obtain-
ed a consulship in Australia, where he hoped to make good use
of his commercial knowledge and at the same time benefit his
health by the voyage and climate. After a few months' absence
he wrote his wife that he believed his constitution was being re-
newed, and gave her a detailed account of very flattering busi-
ness prospects. His hopes began, in fact, to be realized at the
end of two years.

Dofia Cecilia, to fill the lonely hours of absence,, turned tO'her
pen. Her first work at this period was La Gaviota, upon which
her fame principally rests. She submitted the manuscript to an
old friend of her father's, the learned Don Jose Joaquin de Mora,
editor of the Heraldo. He had formerly strongly combated her
inclination for authorship, but he now strongly urged her to

VOL. xxxv. — 48

754 FERNAN CABALLERO, [Sept.,

publish the work, which he said would rank her among the first
writers of Spain. Its very national character and vivid, pleasing
reproductions of Spanish life caused it to be hailed with enthu-
siasm, and made it popular even with that class who are not sup-
posed to form the reading public. So great was the enthusiasm
it excited that Don Eugenio de Ochoa, one of the first critics of
the day, interpreted the general sentiment when he said : " La
Gaviota will be for our literature what Waverley was in English
letters — the dawn of a beautiful day, the first gem in the glo-
rious poetic crown of a Spanish Walter Scott."

Dona Cecilia's fame reached even Australia, and Don Arrom,
proud of the literary success of the woman whom he had so
much reason to love, could not resist the desire to see her again.
His commercial enterprises had been so successful that he was
able to resign the consulship, and in 1853 he returned to Cadiz,
after founding in Australia a business house which yielded him
an ample revenue. Unwilling to be separated from his wife
again, he decided to accept an exceptionally good offer for his
interest in the firm which came to him from England. The fol-
lowing year he went to London to conclude the negotiation, and
learned that his confidential agent in Australia had disappeared
with the largest portion of his capital, thus robbing him of the
fruit of ten years of labor and privations. This sudden blow,
when he had hoped to rest from his labors and restore his de-
voted wife to her former comfort unsettled his reason, and he
shot himself in open day in one of the public parks of London.

Dona Cecilia's grief cannot be described ; the manner of her
husband's death was the climax of her misfortunes. She remain-
ed motionless in a 'sort of stupor for days after receiving the
news. Her affections and her faith were outraged. She mourn-
ed the loss of her husband, but more bitter still was the loss of
a soul; her grief was almost despair at a crime for which she
trembled before God and for which she must ever blush before
men. " Ah ! that he had died in my arms," she sobbed ; " in spite
of my efforts to save him in his illness I would not now be trem-
bling for his salvation." She afterwards learned with certainty
that he had lost his reason, and from that time never referred to
the event in any way.

Shortly after this she retired to San Lucar, where her inti-
macy with the Duke and Duchess de Montpensier began. They
usually spent their summers at the Castle of San Lucar, which
the duke had built on the highest point overlooking the sea.
The post of lady-in-waiting to the Infanta, offered her ?by the

1 882.] FERN AN CABALLERO. 755

duke, she gratefully declined. Later the king, Don Francisco de
Assis, seconded by his royal spouse, Isabella II., urged her to ac-
cept an apartment in the Alcazar of Seville, which she refused be-
cause of her deep mourning. However, in 1856 the flattering
insistence of the royal family caused her to yield. The king,
Don Francisco de Assis, who enthusiastically admired her books,
renewed the offer, assuring Dona Cecilia that, her majesty de-
sired to have as occupant of the palace Fernan Caballero, whose
talent was one of the glories of Spain.

Not long after this the queen, at the instance of the Duchess
of Montpensier, Dona Cecilia's intimate friend, offered her the
Dona Maria Louisa decoration, to which a pension was attached.
She declined it, saying she was already overwhelmed with the
bounty of the royal family. Some years later a similar honor
was paid her, but to her talents alone this time. For the public
of Belgium only knew Dona Cecilia as the author of the charm-
ing pictures of Spanish life which excited so much enthusiasm
and admiration. Judging by the masculine pseudonym of Fernan
Caballero that the writer was a man, the government wished to
send her the cross of the order of Leopold. Dona Cecilia smiled
at the mistake and asked a friend at Brussels, Gen. J. Van Halen,
to express her thanks to the Minister of Foreign Affairs and
gratefully decline the honor.

The former friends of the Marchioness de Arco-Hermoso had
not forgotten the charming and gifted woman who formed one of
the greatest attractions of the society of Seville, and they learn-
ed with pleasure of her return, but she refused to re-enter society
and divided her time between works of charity, prayer, and in-
, tellectual labor. Each morning she was seen quietly gliding
through the small side-door of the cathedral, which almost faced
the Alcazar. This nearness to the house of God was her great-
est joy and consolation.

She received the visits of a few intimate friends, during the
summer months, in the grand old garden of the Alcazar planned
by Charles V. -and filled with memories of the beautiful Maria
Padilla. In winter she was usually found in her study, seated
before a table, writing or reading, and in the latter case her fin-
gers were always busily employed in knitting. The calm, order,
and extreme neatness which pervaded the apartment would natu-
rally strike the visitor. Neatness, it is true, is a distinguishing
characteristic in the more elegant houses of Andalusia ; but with
her it was to be seen in the minutest details of the objects which
surrounded her. In fact, this extreme neatness and a profusion

756 FERNAN CABALLERO. [Sept.,

of flowers were the only luxuries which the elegant Marchioness
de Arco-Hermoso retained about her. Her apartment was in
the Giralda, which serves as a belfry to the cathedral. It is
an old Moorish tower erected by an Arabian architect named
Geber, or Guever, who invented algebra, which was called after
him. The rose-colored bricks and white stones of which it is
composed rather take from its rightful appearance of antiquity
and give it an air of brightness somewhat incongruous with the
date of its erection.

A Malaga paper of January, 1880, gives the following de-
scription of her study in the Alcazar, where she spent so many
hours of fruitful labor :

" All who were honored with the friendship of Doiia Cecilia will not
recall without emotion her pleasant study, sweet with the perfume of
flowers and displaying her perfect taste and simplicity. It was situated in
the square tower at the entrance to the Alcazar, and opened upon a bal-
cony to which climbing plants ascended ; the more prominent ones, which
reached her window, she was wont to call les petites curieuse. Near the
balcony was a bureau, upon which stood a vase of flowers, which were a
daily offering from several families who had been the recipients of her
bounty. To the right of her arm-chair was a mahogany desk, upon which
lay an open book, and to the left a work-basket containing the stockings
which occupied her leisure moments."

Though at this time she had really entered the absorbing
pursuit of literature, she nevertheless continued to reserve the
morning for works of devotion and charity. Her exquisite deli-
cacy and tact made her most ingenious in divining and aiding
the proud poor who sufferingly shrink from alms. When we
read of the portion of time allotted to her pen, and remember
that her career as a writer began only after her fiftieth year, we
are astonished at the list of works she has left. But her mind
continued in all its vigor up to her eightieth year. Her natu-
rally strong constitution was strengthened and preserved by
regular habits and an industrious life ; for, as one of her biogra-
phers remarks, quoting the wisdom of Cicero, " Provided we do
not discontinue application, the mind does not degenerate with
age." Notwithstanding a life clouded by grave trials and much
suffering, her countenance retained an expression of calm which
testified the indwelling of that Spirit who promises a •" peace
which surpasseth understanding." Though delicate in physique,
she enjoyed perfect health. In a portrait of her, painted in her
sixtieth year by the celebrated Madrazo for the Duke de Mont-

1 882.] FERNAN CABALLERO. 757

pensier, .the countenance retains the softness and delicate oval
contour of her youth, the hair is still blonde and very abundant.

Spain is not only indebted to her for the preservation of the
graceful poetic folk-lore of Andalusia, but also for the restora-
tion of one of its most poetic customs. Any one who has travel-
led in Spain or Spanish countries must be familiar with the
manner in which the sdr^nos, or night-watchmen, from hour to
hour assure the sleeping", or rather the waking, inhabitants of
their continued vigil : " Ave Maria Purissima ! Las once y sereno "
(Hail, Mary most pure! Eleven o'clock and clear weather, or
llnvioso — rainy — as the case may be).

Who can express the sursum corda which this Ave Maria Puris-
sima is to the despondent watcher by the couch of pain, to the
weary sick turning on their sleepless pillows, or to the affrighted
little ones, reminding all of the tender guardian and watchful
Protectress above who adds her voice of intercession to the sup-
plications of those who love her Son ?

After the revolution of 1868 the s/r/nos* were prohibited
using the invocation. It was with great grief that Dona Cecilia
saw this custom of Catholic Spain disappear, and she was instru-
mental in having it restored, though in a letter to a friend she
modestly insists that her voice had very little weight in the
matter :

"You would hardly credit/' she says in this same letter, "the univer-
sal emotion and joy manifested when the first Ave Maria Purissima again
rang out on the evening air. A great number of people came out to
congratulate the ser&ios and offered them wine, cigars, and silver. If it
had been known sufficiently in advance the bell of the Giralda tower and
all the church and monastery bells would have been set in motion and
all the houses would have been illuminated."

The revolution obliging her to leave the Alcazar, she retired to
a modest house in the street Juan de Burgos, to which the
municipality has since given the name of Fernan Caballero. The
cities of Cadiz, Puerto de Santa Maria, and Dos Hermanas paid
her a like honor : they each contain a street which bears her
name.

She continued to occupy this modest residence until her
death, which took place, after a short illness, in the eighty-fourth
year of her age. She was buried in the cemetery of San Fer-
nando, in the midst of a concourse of poor and people of every
rank.

* As fine, serene nights predominate in this meteorological report, the cry streno has given
to the watchmen the name by which they are universally known.

758 FERNAN CABALLERO. [Sept.,

The modest stone which marks her resting-place bears the
following inscription :

R. I. P. A.

ROGAD A DIOS EN CARIDAD FOR EL ALMA
DE LA

SRA. DA. CECILIA BUHL DE FABER Y LARREA

(FERNAN CABALLERO).
QUE FALECIO EL 7 DE ABRIL DE 1877,

A LA EDAD DE 80 ANOS.
SUS DESCONSOLADOS SOBRINOS LE DEDICAN
ESTE RECUERDO EN MEMORIA DE SUS VIRTUDES.

Queen Isabella ordered a portrait of her for the Alcazar, and
the Duke and Duchess of Montpensier had her portrait sent to
the University of Seville, and a bust of her cut in a white marble
medallion and placed on the fagade of the house in which she
died, with this inscription :

" En esta casa falecio Fernan Caballero — Abril, 1877 — Infantes de Mont-
pensier dedican este recuerdo."

We have not space here to give a list of her numerous works.
La Gaviota, Elia o la Espaiia treinta aiios ha, and Clemencia were
best known in her own country and made her reputation in Eu-
rope. She has collected in a volume called Cuentos y Poesias popu-
lares Andaluces a great deal of popular ballad literature, which
is preserved almost orally in Spain and illustrates the many
phases of character in the Andalusian peasantry : their graceful
humor, their sparkling finesse, their keen irony, and the poetic
simplicity of their faith, which mingles in everything — their loves,
their hates, their pastimes ; for, as a writer in the Revue des Deux
Mondcs observes, " In Spain Catholicism is in everything ; it is in
the very blood and bone of the people." There is scarcely a
flower or a thing of beauty which is not in some way connected
with their faith. The rosemary owes its name and its perfume
to the fact that the Blessed Virgin hung the clothes of the In-
fant Jesus to dry upon it. It is naively told in verse :

" Lavando estaba la Virgen
Y teniendo en el romero
Los pajaritos cantaban
Adoremus el misterio."

Since the death of our Saviour the rosemary puts forth fresh
flowers every Friday, as if to embalm his holy body. The swal-

iSS2.] FERN AN CABALLERO. 759

lows are universally loved and welcomed, Fernan Caballero
tells us, because they compassionately sought to pluck the thorns
from our Saviour's crown on the cross ; and the large spider
called tarantula was formerly a frivolous girl so mad about
dancing that upon one occasion when she was dancing his Di-
vine Majesty passed, and, with appalling irreverence, she con-
tinued to dance, whereupon our Saviour punished her by chang-
ing her into a spider with a guitar marked upon her back ; and
that is why those who are bitten by a tarantula dance until they
fall exhausted.

The following verses from " La Noche Buena," one of the
most naive and picturesque ballads in the collection, Augustus
Hare tells us he overheard a washerwoman sinking at her work :

" La Virgen se fue a lavar " To the stream the Virgin Mother

Sus manos blancos al rio, Hied, her fair white hands to lave ;

El sol se quedo parado, The wondering sun stood still in hea-

La mar perdio su ruido. ven

And ocean hushed his rolling wave.

" Los pastores de Belen "One and all came Bethlehem's shep-

Todos juntos van por leila herds,

Para calentar al nifio Fuel-laden from the height,

Que nacio la noche buena. Warmth to bring the blessed Nursling

Who was born that happy night.

" San Jose era carpintero "A carpenter was good St. Joseph,

Y la Virgen costurera A seamstress poor the Mother maid ;

Y el nifio labra la cruz The Child it toiled the cross to fashion

Porque ha de morir en ella." On which our ransom should be

paid."

This suggests the land of flowers and gallantry :

" El naranjo de tu patio " In thy fair court the orange-tree,

Cuando te acercas a el Whene'er it feels thy presence nigh

Se desprende de sus flores Casts down its blossoms tenderly

Y te las echa a los pies." Beneath thy fair feet to lie."

And this is a veritable bouquet " cela sent son Andalousie a
dix lieux " :

" El dia que tu naciste " Thy natal day to flowrets choice
Nacieron todas las flores ; Gave birth as well as unto thee ;

Y en la pila del bautismo And nightingales with tuneful voice
Cantaron los ruisefiores. Around thy font made melody.

760 FERNAN CABALLERO. [Sept.,

" Si supiera que con fiores "They knew that flowers and blos-

Te habia de divertir soms sweet

Ye te trajera mas flores Thy fittest toys would prove.

Que crian Mayo y Abril." I'll lay spring's treasures at thy feet

To show my constant love."

The following has a sprightliness of conceit which has a Hi-
bernian rather than an Iberian flavor :

"Las estrellas del cielo " The glittering gems of night
No estan cabales Complete no longer shine ;

Porque estan en tu cara The brightest of the bright
Las principales." Illume that face of thine."

And this also :

" Los enemigos del alma " The enemies of the soul
Todos dicen que son tres Men say are only three —

Y yo digo que son cuatro I say that they are four
Desde que conozco a usted." Since I have known thee."

What fair one could resist the resigned woe of the following ?—

" Para rey nacio David, " David was born to be king,

Para sabia Solomon, Solomon to be wise,

Para llorar Jermias, Jeremias to weep,

Y para quererte yo." And I to love thee."

Or of this :

"Si esta noche no sales " If this evening thou

A la ventana Appearest not at the window

Cuentame entre los muertos Count me among the dead

Desde mafiana." From to-morrow."

From the following it would appear that mothers-in-law and
lawyers enjoy the same reputation that they do with us :

" Glorioso San Sebastian
Todo lleno de saetas
Mi alma como la tuya
Como tu cuerpo mi suegra."

' Glorious St. Sebastian, all cruelly wounded with arrows,
Grant that my soul be like thine, my mother-in-law more like thy body."

" Primero que suba al cielo
El alma de un escribano
Tintero papel y pluma
Han de bailar el fandango."

1 882.] FERN AN CABALLERO. 761

" — Before the soul of a notary shall, mount to heaven you will see his ink-
stand, his paper, and his pen dancing the fandango."

The following picturesque lullabies show us at what an early
age the little ones imbibe the first lessons of their faith :

" Duermete, nifio chiquito, " Sleep, my" little one, sleep ;

Duermete y no llores mas, Dry thy tears and sleep,

Que se iran los angelitos Lest the angels fly away

Para no verte llorar." That they may not see thee weep."

"A los ninos que duermen
Dios los bendice
Y a las madres que velan
Dios las assiste."

" — Sleeping children God blesses, and watching mothers God aids."

No writer better portrays her countrymen, a people filled
with poetical imagery heightened by Moorish traditions and
tales, whose thoughts flow in songs and proverbs. No one who
desires to know the Spanish people should visit Spain without
reading her books for "the inexhaustible wealth of word-pic-
tures," says Augustus Hare,* " which may be enjoyed in the
stories of Fernan Caballero, which collect so much, reveal so
much, and teach so much that it is scarcely possible to express
one's obligations sufficiently."

* Wanderings in Spain, by Augustus Hare.

762 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Sept.,

THE LADY OF THE LAKE,
v.

" TAKE care of D'Arcy," said Daly to Butt, " or you will
lose him. He is worth winning, and that hazel-eyed witch — I
saw her at the Castle once before — will capture him. Once en-
snared by English beauty, good-by D'Arcy and good-by Ire-
land."

" Faith, I must see to this," said Butt. " Who is the girl ? "

" A Miss Mowbray, I understand, daughter of Mowbray the
banker."

" This is serious, my boy. I must save the lad. Where's
Mrs. Beauchamp ? " And he sought a presentation to " that
beautiful creature that's stealing the heart of my most promis-
ing lieutenant."

" I have come to protect my interests, Miss Mowbray. I
feared you might convert my young friend here. We can't
spare him even to you."

" On the contrary, he has almost converted me."

" Miss Mowbray tells me she is half Irish," said D'Arcy.

" Wouldn't one know it to look at her ?" responded Butt.
" There is only one island and one race that owns those hazel
eyes. So you are one of us ? Upon my word I think I'll go in
with Mill for female suffrage and send our women into Parlia-
ment. They would be irresistible."

" Well, you may count on my vote beforehand," said Ger-
trude merrily.

" May I ask your mother's name, Miss Mowbray ? — for I
know your father is English."

" She was a Redmond, of Tullagh — Tullagh something— I
forget, and papa never speaks to me about her."

" Tullagh-Connell— is that it ? "

" Yes, that sounds like it."

" And what was her maiden name ? "

" Eva. Here is her picture, that never leaves me. I feel safe
while she clings to my neck."

A film dimmed the deep eyes a moment as they drooped over
a locket, and the hands trembled as she opened it and showed a
miniature portrait within. It might have been taken for a pic-

I882.J THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 763

ture of Gertrude herself, save that the eyes had a sadder,
far-away look and the mouth a more wistful expression. Mr.
Butt smote his forehead with his hand as he gazed at the
locket.

" Why, of course, of course," he said musingly, and looked \vithg
a new interest and kindness at the beautiful girl before him.
" How stupid I am ! But I am getting old and forget things. I
knew your mother well, child, years ago, years ago. She was
the beauty of Tullagh-Connell. For that matter she was the
beaut}'- of every place she went to. The men were all mad about
her, and some Englishman came in and stole her— Mowbray, to be
sure. That is the name. Why," said he, turning suddenly on
D'Arcy, " your father was one of her chief suitors. To be sure
he was, and nearly went wild when he found she had fled. Upon
my word," he added, laughing, " you two young people came
within an ace of being brother and sister."

" I most devoutly thank Heaven for the escape," said D'Arcy,
bowing smilingly to Gertrude.

" O you rascal — oh ! But there, I leave you to your newly
found relative."

They parted friends that evening with mutual desires and
promises to meet again. Gertrude thought much of her com-
panion as she retired for the night — she stayed at Mrs. Beau-
champ's. She went over the various points of their conversation,
recalling his look and tone and attitude as he spoke. She again
opened the locket, gazed long and earnestly at the face of her
dead mother, and, kissing it, pondered curiously how things might
have been. On the whole she was rather satisfied than not that
Mr. D'Arcy was not her brother.

The great debate came off and the government was wholly
triumphant. Towards the close Mr. Butt surprised every one
by delivering an impassioned speech in favor of the government
policy. It recalled the palmiest days of parliamentary oratory
and undoubtedly influenced the Irish vote. It was the last ef-
fort of the opposition for the time being. Then the season broke
up and everybody went away.

D'Arcy had gone once to see the Mowbrays and spent a
quiet evening with Gertrude, Mr. Mowbray devoting most of
his attention to a city man who had dined with them and seemed
made of figures and stocks.

" Are you going abroad, Mr. D'Arcy?" she asked before his
departure.

"Hardly," he said. "My purse is not a heavy one, and I

764 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Sept.,

think I'll stick to my Irish bog. I shall dream away by Eva's
Tear."

"Ah! yes. There is no spot lovelier in this world. Eva's
Tear! I shall always remember it." And her eyes seemed to
. go back over the past.

" I am glad you think so well of it ; for my father owns a
few acres around there, and I spent my childhood there. It was
there, too, I first fell in love."

She started and questioned him with searching eyes. There
was the slightest tremor in the voice as she repeated his
words :

" First fell in love?"

It was a question, and there was a gentle emphasis on " first."

" First, and perhaps last. Who can tell ? You know you
imagine that we Irishmen are all fickle."

" So you are," she said, with a tinge of the old scorn he had
more than once noted on her face. " There can be no first,
second, and third in love. There is only one. At least, it is so
with women. They have only one heart to give, and, that given,
all is given."

" I wish I could think so," said he.

" Believe me, it is so."

" I have known or heard of women who had many loves.
Had they many hearts ? "

" So have I. But they are not women." Then she changed
abruptly, and, resuming her usual calm tones, said playfully :
" So the rebel's heart is actually captured. I did not think it
possible."

" Why did you not ? "

"I deemed the fortress so impregnable."

It was her turn to be playful, and under her gentle raillery he
grew more earnest.

" Fortresses deemed impregnable are sometimes stolen un-
awares," he said, with meaning in his tones.

" That is because the guards are sleeping and taken by sur-
prise ; but the old hostility remains after the capture, and the
hatred of the yoke."

" But what if the struggle is hopeless ? "

" Then the garrison are cowards."

" I am a born coward in love affairs."

Her laughter rang out with startling suddenness. D'Arcy
was astonished, and perhaps a little mortified.

" O Irishman, Irishman ! " said she. " What an Irishman you

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 765

are ! And pray may I ask how-many love affairs has the gallant
Mr. D'Arcy had ?"

Here was this brilliant, self-confident, ready, and bold young
man, who had dared, and not unsuccessfully, to beard the fore-
most men in England in debate, suddenly outwitted and hope-
lessly beaten by a girl. The color deepened in his cheeks and
for a moment he said nothing. Then, recovering his habitual
good-nature, he bowed with his usual genial smile, and said :

" Well, I confess my defeat. If the fortress is worth taking it
surrenders."

"What! to me? Oh! no. A fortress that capitulates so
easily is hardly worth a siege ; besides, it has been taken so
often already."

" So you will laugh at me and won't believe me earnest ? "

" I believe you earnest in many things, but not in love. Well,
may I ask who is the fortunate lady who first captured the
heart of the redoubtable D'Arcy ? "

" So you wish me to give a lady's name away ? "

" Not unless you care ; not if it is a secret. But women will
be curious about these things."

" Well, then, since you must know, I call her ' The Lady of
the Lake.' '

A grave smile played about his lips as he said this and
looked with calm serenity into her. eyes. There was an air of
truth and reality about his manner that impressed her.

" So you will not tell me ? "

" The Lady of the Lake," he repeated.

She gave a little sigh and said : " I think, after all, you are
deceiving me, that you really are in love." Then, changing
again, she added : " I hope so. Be so. Be always so. Love is
the best thing in this world. It ennobles the possessor and en-
nobles the possessed. Yes, love your Lady of the Lake and
cherish her; and perhaps some day you will let me see her."

There was a pleading look in her eyes and a pleading tone in
her voice as she laid her hand on his and looked up at him. He
turned pale under her gaze. His eyes drooped. He was silent
a moment, then, lifting them gravely to hers, said :

" Yes ; perhaps I may some day."

" Why perhaps only ? "

" Why ? Because in this hurly-burly of a world we are
never certain of what a day may bring. Good-night, Miss
Mowbray. Bid your father good-night for me."

" We shall see you again when the world comes back ? "

766 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Sept.,

" If you wish it."

" Of course we wish it. You have added a new pleasure to
the season."

" And you," he said, looking at her with a glance half tender,
half resentful, " a new pain.'

Before she could ask a word of explanation of the strange
speech he was gone, leaving her in a wonder of perplexity where
pain and pleasure strove for the mastery.

VI.

MR. MOWBRAY was getting a little worn in spite of his won-
derful constitution, and his physician advised as long a rest and
as much change as he could possibly take. So he and his sister
and Gertrude set out to ramble about just where their fancy
took them. The banker was inclined to be a bit fretful and
fussy at the beginning, but he gradually quieted down and soon
grew to like the change from the smoky activity of the great
city that was his Mecca. As for Gertrude, she revelled in the
change. They rambled about wherever the spirit of the hour
led them : through France, Spain, Italy, Germany. In all the
chief cities the banker's name was a password. Occasionally
they crossed an English friend, but only occasionally ; for they
avoided as much as possible the beaten track, and whiled away
the time in delicious byways where the inhabitants were still
delightfully primitive, simple, and quaint, looking like living bits
cut out of mediaeval history to refresh the eyes and charm the
wearied senses of the people of the busy, roaring, hurrying to-
day.

" I think I'll give up banking and take to Robinson-Cruso-
ing," said Mr. Mowbray one day as he puffed his cigar in luxuri-
ous laziness. He never smoked in the city and only occasion-
ally at home. But he was becoming quite a rake and was rus-
tically loose in his attire, wearing anything and wearing it any-
how. " I'll give up banking. I'll buy an island in the Mediter-
ranean, or South Sea, or somewhere, and stock it with a set of
slaves, and we'll live there for ever. Eh, Gertie ? "

" Delightful, papa! And I'll be queen and dairymaid at once.
I'll churn and command in a breath."

' And 1— what shall I do? " asked Aunt Madge.

•' You shall be chaplain and read the prayers to the darkeys,
who won't understand a word of them."

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 767

" Brother ! " said the shocked old lady. " Don't be profane
nor jest with sacred subjects.".

"Jest! Why, I feel so jolly that I could shake hands with
the Pope of Rome, if he'd let me. And what a beautiful old man
he was, after all ! "

" Pio Nono is a saint, if ever there was one," broke in Ger-
trude decisively. " It seemed to me quite natural to go down
on my knees before him. I knelt before holiness, purity, and
benevolence. I could have kissed the lovely old man's feet and
felt better for it ; but he would not let me. He only gave me
his hand to kiss."

" Gertrude, this is idolatry," said her aunt tartly.

" Ah ! aunt, if we only had many such idols I fancy the world
would be better for them."

" My dear, you shouldn't talk so. Brother, you see ! That
is sending people to Catholic convents."

But Mr. Mowbray was sound asleep.

They rambled back again to Paris and made a short stay
there. Gertrude paid a visit to her old friends at the Sacre
Cceur, and they were delighted to see her. She could not help
crying when she met the mother-superior. She did not know
why, but the tears came in a rain, and she sobbed and sobbed as
the sweet lady pressed her to her heart. It was all so different
from the world she lived in. There seemed the calm and the
peace of heaven in this abode; and though the purity of her heart
was only blurred a little by the frivolities of the world, not deep-
ly stained or wounded, she felt abashed, and awe-struck, and
sorrowful, and sick at heart, as though she had suddenly come
into the presence of her God.

" Be good, my child, be good. Only be yourself and you
will be good."

"Be myself!" said Gertrude, startled. "Do you know,
reverend mother, that was almost the first advice I got on enter-
ing the world."

" And who gave it you ? "

" The present prime minister of England."

" Did he? I do not know who he is, my dear, but he must
be a good man. England ought to be happy .to have such minis-
ters."

" But he is a Protestant and a heretic."

" Ah ! well, he did not make himself one, I suppose. All the
good in the world is not confined to Catholics."

768 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Sept.,

" O mother ! if I only could see, if I only could believe, if I
only could be like you." And a fresh fit of weeping choked the
girl's voice.

" Pray, my child, pray. God is not deaf to any of his crea-
tures. He is always listening to us, always waiting to help us.
Pray to him always for light and strength and guidance, and be
assured that there are others praying for you. Good-by, my
child, good-by, and may God and the Virgin Mother have you
in their holy keeping !"

For days after this meeting there was an unusual gravity
about Gertrude. She visited the churches when she could with-
out giving offence to her aunt or troubling her father, who
cared little for churches. One day they ran against Lafontaine,
and the meeting was a very pleasant one for all. He joined
their party and escorted Gertrude to the various sights, often
when the others did not care to accompany them. His manner
towards Gertrude was tender and gentle as that of a brother.
She felt his kindness and reciprocated it. Moreover, he was a
very amusing and intelligent companion, who knew Paris
almost as well as he knew London.

They strolled into the Cathedral of Notre Dame one after-
noon just as the sunset was flooding through the wondrous
stained-glass windows and filling the vast building with a glory
of mystic and awful lights. It seemed to Gertrude's spiritual
nature like the glory around the throne, for the tabernacle shone
out clear and radiant over all. As they moved, with hushed and
reverent steps, up towards the high altar, they saw a figure
kneeling before it, a woman. The face was upturned, and on it
fell the mingled lights from a window near. The hat had fallen
back on her shoulders and lay neglected there. The slender
hands were clasped in supplication to some invisible Presence.
The face was rapt in devotion, and the strong colors lit it up as
they lingered lovingly about it and seemed to form a halo round
the perfect head. So rapt was she that she did not notice their
approach. Lafontaine was startled and awe-struck for a mo-
ment as his dark eyes devoured the beautiful picture before him.

" Is it living and real, or is it a saint come down to teach us
how to pray ?" he asked under his breath.

" Come away and do not disturb her," whispered Gertrude.
But Lafontaine lingered.

" Why," said he, turning suddenly towards her, " don't you
remember that face? It must be. The world never saw two
such faces."

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 769

She drew him gently away and they moved down the aisle,
both of them as in a dream. 'She knew the face well. It was
that of the girl who had wished D'Arcy success on the night of
the ball at Dublin Castle. " That is the Lady of the Lake," she
mused as she left the church ; and Lafontaine found her strange-
ly silent and distraught as they rode back to their hotel. But
he was grateful for the silence.

Riding in the Bois de Boulogne next day towards evening,
the whole party passed a carriage that was driving in an oppo-
site direction. This part of the park was remote from the more
frequented spots, and at the time was almost deserted. The car-
riage contained only two occupants, who were so lost in them-
selves that they did not even heed the approach of the others.
They were a lady and gentleman. He was holding her hand and
speaking with intense earnestness. Her head and eyes were
cast down. At the moment of passing they were lifted to his
and the beautiful eyes lit up with loving admiration.

" There* go two happy lovers," said Lafontaine gaity ; then,
seeing the lady's face, he started and looked eagerly after them.

" Great heavens ! " he exclaimed. " Why, Gertrude ! there
goes our saint of yesterday. But her devotion to-day is in a dif-
ferent direction. I wish I could have seen him."

He turned to his companion and saw that she was marble
pale. Sitting next to her, he felt her shiver.

"Are you ill? What is wrong?" he cried in anxious tones.

" Nothing," said she faintly. " I shall be better in a moment.
.Tell him to drive faster. The air will refresh me. The ride has
been long and a little fatiguing. Don't speak to me awhile."

She lay back in the carriage and closed her eyes. But all
through the journey home the closed eyes gazed on one vision :
Martin D'Arcy with the hand of the Lady of the Lake clasped
in his and pouring his soul into her ear. Through all her
senses went one dull monotone : " The Lady of the Lake — the
Lady of the Lake." The wheels of the carriage took it up, the
trees murmured it, and the air seemed to blow it all about the
world.

VII.

The London world drifted homewards and fell into its old
ways. Politics were more exciting than ever> and Mrs. Beau-
champ was in her glory. The chief, always admired but long
distrusted by the English people, had committed himself and his
VOL. xxxv —49

770 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Sept.

party to one or two bold strokes in foreign affairs that at first
startled, then frightened, and then won the admiration of the
public by flattering its vanity with a new sense of the might
and power of England, which, it seemed,, had long lain dormant
until the touch of the magician awakened it and the world to its
reality. It may have been false and dangerous, but to a strong
race there is sometimes a charm in danger. And so it turned
out. The man who had never been strictly popular soon be-
became a public idol, and the old idols were scornfully cast
aside.

Amid the gossip afloat in society was the approaching mar-
riage of Miss Mowbray, the banker's daughter, to Mr. Lafon-
taine, who, young as he was, already occupied a rising position
in the ranks of the opposition. There was no special authority
for the rumor, as is generally the case; but the rumor was ac-
cepted nevertheless as pointing to a very probable and pleasing
event. They had been old friends and old lovers, and the match
was in every sense a good one. Lafontaine had not been seen
about town much of late, and Miss Mowbray went little into
society. This, of course, confirmed the rumor. Lafontaine was
making speeches up in the north against the government and
daily adding to his reputation by his caustic assaults. " Lafon-
taine will have a place in the next government," said a knowing
one. " He is a little talky and still immature, but he talks well.
Then, again, he is going to marry wealth and beauty. Lucky fel-
low ! "

There was to be another great 'debate, and Mrs. Beauchamp
gave another little party, of the same kind as before, only on
this occasion the chief did not appear. That disease of success-
ful Tory statesmen, the gout, had again laid hold of him and
kept at home the man whose designs and policy troubled all
Europe. But there were great lights there nevertheless, and
Mrs. Beauchamp prevailed on Gertrude to abandon her self-in-
flicted seclusion and shine once more in the brilliant world of
power and fashion.

She attracted the old admiration. She was lovely as ever-
lovelier, perhaps, for a certain air of sadness and reserve that had
not marked her formerly. In one of the turns of the evening
she met D'Arcy, looking much the same as he used to look.
She greeted him gently, yet with a faintly-concealed reserve.

" I was in hopes of meeting you here to-night," he said. " It
seems long since we met last."

" Yes," said she.

I882.J THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 771

" I have been out of the world almost ever since."

" Indeed ! "

" I have been buried in my bog."

"All the time?"

" Most of the time, save a brief run over to Paris."

" Ah ! We were in Paris."

" I suppose so ; but I saw no one." She looked at him in
surprise, and he noticed the look. " No one, I assure you. Be-
sides, I know comparatively few people."

" Then your visit to Paris must have been dull ? "

" On the contrary, it was too delightful, and I was only griev-
ed that it should have been so brief."

Gertrude looked listless and toyed with her fan in a nervous
way. He noticed the change in her manner and detected a
studied coldness. The situation grew embarrassing for both.
He broke the silence with his old laugh and said :

" Well, you don't seem pleased to see me again. I know I
never please women for any time. It is my misfortune."

She made an effort to shake off the growing constraint and
said:

" Indeed I am pleased to see you, Mr. D'Arcy, and congra-
tulate you on your success."

" What success? " he asked in wonder.

" With the Lady of the Lake," she said in low and significant
tones.

He started and flushed all over, then turned deadly white.

" You speak in riddles, Miss Mowbray," he whispered
hoarsely.

" It is an easy riddle for you to read," she retorted in a calm
voice, but her face was white as his own.

" What is the matter with you two people?" broke in Mrs.
Beauchamp. "You both look frightened. Have you seen a
ghost? Here is Lafontaine, Gertrude. I took pity on him and
invited him to-night, disgracefully as he has behaved towards
us. He wants you to dance with him ; will you ? Are you en-
gaged?"

" No, Mrs. Beauchamp. Certainly I will dance with him.
Will you excuse me, Mr. D'Arcy?"

He ^bowed gravely, and, with a cold curtsey, she swept
away.

" There goes Lafontaine's future wife," said a voice behind
him. " Isn't she superb? " •

D'Arc}r heard the remark and stood rooted to the spot. He

772 THE LADY OF 'THE LAKE. [Sept.,

saw Lafontaine bend over her with glowing tenderness and
marked the smile of pleasure that lit up her face on meeting him.
" Lafontaine has his revenge," he muttered, and, turning aside,
mingled with the throng.

They saw no more of each other until Gertrude was about to
leave. She had sent Lafontaine to search for something she had
forgotten, and while awaiting his return saw D'Arcy passing out
with the saint of Notre Dame and the beauty of the Bois de
Boulogne on his arm. The stranger looked radiant as ever, and
the face was now all aglow with pleasure and excitement ; but
D'Arcy's face was gloomy and severe. As they passed close to
Gertrude the stranger caught sight of her. The girls' eyes met
with a mutual question in them. The stranger whispered to
D'Arcy. He turned, saw Gertrude, and, approaching, led his
partner towards her. Gertrude felt herself flush and pale in
flashes as they came.

" My cousin wishes to make your acquaintance, Miss Mow-
bray," said D'Arcy ; "in fact, she insists on it," he added with a
sad sort of smile.

" Your cousin ! " ejaculated Gertrude with distended eyes.

" Yes, my little cousin Kate, who has been admiring you
from afar all the evening, and thinks you the most beautiful
creature she ever beheld."

" No, no," almost moaned Gertrude, " not half so beautiful
as herself." And she clasped her in her arms and kissed her con-
vulsively. " Forgive me, won't you ? " she asked in hurried
tones. " I have seen you before, several times — once in Notre
Dame, when you did not see me. You were praying like an an-
gel, and I never saw anything before or since half so beautiful.

0 Martin— I mean Mr. D'Arcy, why didn't you tell me this
before ? I mean why didn't you let me know your cousin be-
fore ? "

There were tears in her eyes as Lafontaine came up and
looked with surprise on quite an agitated group, the others not
understanding Gertrude's sudden burst of vehemence. " Geof-
frey," she went on, " here is our saint— our Notre Dame saint

—and she is the cousin of Mr. D'Arcy. Don't you remember

1 -i >» * J
her ?

" It would be hard indeed to forget your cousin, Mr.
D'Arcy," said Lafontaine as he gazed at the lady, who blushed
with girlish pleasure at the compliment.

" And we saw you again, riding in the Bois de Boulogne to-
gether."

1 882.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 773

" What ! was it you, D'Arcy ?'" And Lafontaine threw a swift
glance at Gertrude. " We thought you lovers ; and, faith, you
looked remarkably like it."

" So we are lovers and always have been ; haven't we, Kate ? "

" Yes, yes. He is my only lover," said Kate fervently.

" Indeed !" said Lafontaine. " That is fortunate news for
some fellow."

" And now that we know each other we must see more of
each other. Won't you come to see me ? T have no girl friend,
and I know I shall love you. I love you already." And Ger-
trude kissed her again. "Bring her, Mr. D'Arcy, won't you?
You know the way, though you seem to have forgotten it.
Here, let us change. Mr. Lafontaine, you lead Miss — you haven't
told me her name : Neville, Kate Neville ; what a lovely name !
—lead Kate to her carriage, and this Irishman," looking up with
tearful archness at D'Arcy, " shall be my escort. It is so long
since we met ! "

As they moved down the staircase she lingered a little and
said softly : " Will you forgive me? Can you forgive me for to-
night? "

" Certainly, if you will tell me what I have to forgive, Miss
Mowbray."

" My rudeness, my coldness."

" 1 saw none, felt none."

" Ah ! you are not forgiving but cruel to say so. You are
hurt, and justly."

"My dear Miss Mowbray, you mistake me." His voice was
icily polite. She looked at him a moment. Their eyes met.
Hers filled with tears.

" What do you wish me to say or do ? " he asked suddenly
and almost angrily.

" I thought your cousin was the Lady of the Lake," she said
humbly.

" Do you wish to know who the Lady of the Lake is?" he
went on with increasing vehemence.

" If you care to tell me. You said that some day you might."

" I will tell you, then, since you desire it and as I have no fear
now ; and I give you all the triumph it may afford you. The
Lady of the Lake was Gertrude Mowbray."

She looked at him wonderingly, her face whiter than the
blossoms in her hair. She would have fallen had not he sup-
ported her. She faltered out:

774 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [Sept.,

" And Gertrude Mowbray is the Lady of the Lake no
longer ? "

" No," said he fiercely. " She belongs to another. You told
me there was only one love. You have chosen yours. Mr. La-
fontaine, I resign my charge to your safe-keeping."

He did not look at her again or say good-night. Lafontaine
bade an almost affectionate farewell to Kate Neville and watch-
ed her as they rolled away.

The world goes wrong sometimes. In fact, it is oftener
wrong than right. Lafontaine's wedding was deferred a year.
It did not occur quite so speedily as rumor desired, but it came
at last. He married the banker's daughter and all the world was
at the wedding. He was a lucky fellow. He married beauty
and wealth, as all the world predicted, and continues to rise in
his party. His beautiful wife is already a leader in society. The
world was startled one day by the news that he had turned
papist. He fell under a cloud for a time in consequence, but;
being too valuable a man to lose, soon emerged and regained the
position that this step had cost him. As for D'Arcy, he mar-
ried earlier, and, oddly enough, also a banker's daughter ; but it
was not the match some people had laid out for him. He and
Lafontaine became fast friends. He took up his abode in Hol-
land Park, and by and by Mr. Mowbray came to forgive him
for stealing away his daughter. The banking-houses of Mow-
bray and Neville amalgamated, though that is not the word they
used. Lafontaine captured Kate, and D'Arcy married Ger-
trude. The happy couples may be seen any Sunday at the Car-
melite Church in Kensington. They often talk over their early
mishaps, and Miss Mowbray, whose hair is now very white and
silvery, still sighs over the convent. Gradually the story leaked
out of " the Lady of the Lake."

1 882.] "INTO THE SILENT LAND" 775

" INTO THE^SILENT LAND."

NATURALLY, on plunging- into the Indian Territory, we ex-
pected to find " Indians to right of us, Indians to left of us, In-
dians in front of us, wampum and tomahawk ! " But not one
did we see. On every side stretched the broad prairie under the
September sun, with never a living thing, save the prairie-dogs
and their attendant owls, which barked and jabbered at us, to
break the monotony. Once in the afternoon we saw, far off, the
antlers of a deer outlined against the horizon, and its body
we could just define. So all the long September afternoon we
rode on, the stage not a particularly easy-going one, the four
mules either very weak or very lazy. Mind and eyesight were
soon fatigued to excess by the sameness, and we were glad when
night fell. Then the glory of the heavens was about us truly,
and the effect of the clear atmosphere was that the sky seemed
to lower itself almost to our touch and the stars seemed twice
their usual size. We realized the truth of the descriptive lines in
" Thalaba " :

" How beautiful is night !
A dewy freshness fills the silent air ;
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain
Breaks the serene of heaven :
In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark-blue depths.
Beneath her steady ray
The desert-circle spreads,
Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky.
How beautiful is night ! "

We rode all night, sleeping as best we could, and glad, when
the stage stopped at the several ranches for the purpose of
changing horses, to make our escape from its cramping box and
stretch our limbs for a few moments. Towards morning our
drowsy senses were disturbed by a guttural " How ! " spoken in
our very ear, it seemed. On opening our eyes we found that
the sound proceeded from an Indian mounted on his pony, and
so brought to the elevation of the stage window, into which he
was looking, the vehicle having stopped for a few moments. Our
sensations may be imagined, to have, in the first confusion of
awaking, such a figure meet our eyes. It — for whether man or.

776 "INTO THE SILENT LAND" [Sept.,

woman is yet unknown to us — was wrapped in a red blanket, with
head uncovered, the long black hair streaming over the shoul-
ders ; one cock's feather, tied in the hair near the crown, swayed
in the wind, now up, now down. The face was painted in
streaks of color, but so momentary was the glimpse and so
bewildered were we by the circumstances that there was no
opportunity for detailed observation. As the day grew older
and we proceeded on our way further south the red men passed
us more frequently, and we soon grew accustomed to the sight.

We began to come upon their " camps " also ; said camps con-
sisting of tents, in number according to the family, and an arbor
,of boughs with the leaves on, laid across some upright and cross-
wise poles.

Well, daylight in all its fulness (and the sunrise was superb)
found us still thirty miles from Reno ; and oh ! what a journey
those thirty miles were, particularly as we had horrible anticipa-
tions of what the vehicle (a buckboard) was in which, or upon
which, we were to complete our journey of forty-five miles be-,
yond the post.

It was the 2oth of September upon which we reached Reno.
The flag at the post was flying from the peak of the pole — the
official announcement of the President's death not having been
made, national mourning was not yet begun so far away. After
about an hour's detention at the store at Reno, where the
novel scene was full of interest, Indians and soldiers in about
equal proportions lounging around, our new conveyance was
announced and we issued from our cool retreat into the blazing
mid-day sun, and found we were to ride under its glare and fac-
ing the prairie wind with only a frail sun-umbrella to protect
us. I do not know what the " buckboard " used in Adirondack
travel may be, and we neither of us had ever seen such a vehicle
before. Supposing that some of my readers are equally ignorant,
I will describe it for their enlightenment. The front and back
wheels are connected by long, narrow, lath-like boards, nearly
an inch apart, and fastened to the axle-trees , without springs ; a
seat, or two seats, as the case may be, are placed, nautically speak-
ing, amidships; a railing of iron runs around the sides and back
about six inches high to prevent the " freight " from falling out ;
a low dashboard in front affords a foot-rest. The seats are not
high, but they have no backs and consequently the occupant soon
wearies. Such was the " trap " which carries the mail from Reno
to Sill, and which awaited our coming.

After leaving Reno some distance behind us the prairie be-

1 882.] "INTO THE SILENT LAND." 777

gan to break ; trees became more frequent and the land more
rolling. At length we reached the Canadian, the bete noir of
Territorial travel. All the rivers are fordable, and all are some
twenty or thirty feet below the level, with banks thickly wooded,
the most of the trees being cottonwood, with some oaks inter-
mixed. But the Canadian is floored with quicksand and is very
dangerous. At times the mules are carried right off their feet
and down the stream, many and many a freight-load having been
lost there. Sometimes the team manages to swim over, either
with or without the buckboard. As the mail-carrier is under
contract to deliver the mail here by a certain hour, and at Sill,
the end of his trip, also at a stated time, cross he must, even if he
swims with the mail- bag on his head. Several instances are on
record of human lives lost in the treacherous waves, which roll
wonderfully high sometimes.

Reaching the Canadian's shore, we were told to gather our
gripsacks and our feet up on the seat, while a Mexican cowboy,
who had boarded us some distance back, balanced the mail-bag on
his head. Then we plunged in, but in answer to our self-gratu-
latory exclamation at the lowness of the river the driver remark-
ed : " Jest you wait till you come to that there ba-ar ; it's five
feet deep sure ! " But it was not. The river demon behaved
very well and let us over without a wetting ; the water rose over
the fetlocks of the mules and the waves rolled about their feet,
while we held our breath and our gripsacks with convulsive force,
nor felt relieved until safe on the further shore.

The wind declined with the sun, consequently the last part
of the drive was much more pleasant. Indeed, so delightful was
it that we almost forgot our fatigue. The road ran smoothly
down a broad valley, and, though our driver's six-shooters .were
convenient to his hand, we met nothing more formidable than
some Texas cattle, lank of limb and long of horn, which stopped
grazing and looked at us a moment, and then, with a shake of the
head which we could not interpret, resumed their supper. At
the last ranch we changed driver as well as mules. It was al-
most dark, and not without misgivings we committed ourselves
to the guidance of the new outfit for the remaining fifteen miles
of the journey. But our new driver made himself very agree-
able in his way, and we soon reasoned ourselves out of our ner-
vous dread.

Just before we reached our destination we were obliged to
cross the river in order to deliver the mail at the post-office.
After passing the ford we were driven some distance through

7;8 "INTO THE SILENT LAND' [Sept.,

the broad river-bottom among- the trees, and here we came upon
an Indian " teepee," or camp, and heard, some time before we
reached them, the monotonous noise which they call singing.
Then we met them, ghostly figures draped in their sheets, at
sight of which our mules danced and our hearts stood still.
Never will the agony of terror of those few moments be forgot-
ten ; and if we could have then and there turned the buckboard
around and retraced our way to Reno at full speed, in spite of
the Canadian and its terrors we would have done so. At length
the agency was reached, where we were greeted warmly, and
found a comfortable supper awaiting us.

The next morning we opened our eyes upon surroundings so
strange that we hardly realized that we were awake. The still-
ness also made everything more strange. Nor have I yet, after
several months, accustomed myself to that phase of the life. The
soft sod of the prairie returns no echo to the unshod hoofs of the
ponies or the moccasined feet of their masters, and so they pass
us all unheard, save for the jingling of the bells with which they
are fond of adorning alike themselves and their beasts. There
is no traffic or travel other than the pony-trains, and so the si-
lence is unbroken except by the voices of the children at their
play. The adult Indian seldom speaks, his language is limited
in words, but makes up the deficiency by signs, and a long con-
versation can be carried on by these with never a sound uttered.

Life at an Indian agency is sui generis and made up of many
different and differing elements. There is a great deal of fron-
tier roughness, considerable mid-country bucolicism, and a little
urban refinement. But as all are entirely dependent upon one
another for companionship, the dividing lines are all effaced and
all meet on a common plane. Be the occasion a dance or a rid-
ing-party, the washerwoman shakes the suds from her fingers,
the " cook-man " takes off his official apron, and the one trips it
on the light fantastic toe, with the agent or the doctor as a part-
ner, while the other shoulders a violin and proves his patience
if not his proficiency. Or, mounted on fleet-footed ponies, the
" tiabos " (whites) skim over the broad country, enjoying to the
full the second of the only two dissipations afforded us.

After personal feuds (for the lines, " ccelum non animam," etc.,
prove true here as elsewhere, and human nature is human na-
ture) and fancies the vagaries and shortcomings of the Indian form
the topics of deepest interest, while the one idea of the red man
seems to be, " What can I get out of the tiabo ? "—either by fair
means or foul. The Indians are professional beggars, and a

1 882.] "Lvro THE SILENT LAND"

great number of them might almost be said to be natural thieves,
and to illustrate to perfectio-n the idea of a people utterly with-
out decency or conscience. To reproof they are entirely cal-
lous, and threatened punishment is evaded by hiding, and en-
forced punishment by a sullen retaliation of supposed injury.
That they are beggars is not surprising, since, being " wards of
the nation," they are taken advantage of by most of those repre-
senting their guardian, and, -if not robbed, are cheated. Their
rations are issued to them every week, in some cases every two
weeks, and the supplies are not only poor in quality, but are
thrown to them in such form as to be of little use in their igno-
rant and helpless hands ; while, as to quantity, about half of what
is sufficient is given, and the consequence is that, that small por-
tion being soon used up, until next ration day they must beg or
steal.

Their thieveries are nevertheless very provoking, for they
seem to indulge the propensity simply for the pleasure of it
in many cases, and it requires a lynx-eyed vigilance to cope
with it. Prevention in this case is the only cure. That con-
science is latent, as heat in ice, we must take for granted, since
they are soul-endowed beings like their more fortunate white
.brethren; but this must be taken upon faith or deduced from
facts understood, not manifest. And here it is that any mission-
ary work outside the church proves a failure. The religious
frenzy of the Methodist and Baptist may seem to suit the emo-
tional nature of some of the uneducated Southern negroes, but
to move these savage Indian natures and elicit the spark divine
requires a divine touch, and none can give that save God him-
self; and we naturally look to the church which he founded upon
the Rock as the proper instrument in the hands of men with
which to do the work.

It is no news to Catholics to be told that the government, as
far as it can, ignores their church in this missionary work, pre-
vents it as much as it can, and refuses to allow it the same stipend
which the others receive. That is an old story and upon a par
with official action towards the church in other matters, such
as houses of refuge and reformatories, the inmates of a very
great many of which are debarred from the visits of their
priests and the consolations of their religion. So much for the
bigotry and the spirit of religious persecution which is still rife
in our land. In the Indian Territory there is no Catholic
agency, and no missionaries outside of the " Mission of the
Sacred Heart " among the Pottawattomies under the control of

780 "INTO THE SILENT LAND" [Sept.

Abbot Robot. But there is here an Episcopal minister, who ap-
portions his time at Reno, Sill, and this place. The Board of
Missions had increased the sum devoted to this work, and it now
amounts to about four thousand dollars.

One of the Episcopalian converts, a young man named Zotom,
called in baptism Paul, was married the other evening- ; his bride
was a former school-girl, and she has been married twice already,
Indian fashion. The nuptial tie, according to Indian ritual, is
binding only as long as the husband and master is pleased with
his wife or slave. Let him get tired of her, or let her displease
him in any way, it costs him nothing to drive her, Hagar-like,
into the wilderness, and by a present of ponies to purchase an-
other from a complaisant father. On the occasion of Paul's
marriage another Indian, who also had been a former scholar,
and who had been married, Indian fashion, for some time, wished
to go through the Christian ceremony, having been previously
baptized. The double ceremony took place in the large school-
room, and was largely attended by friends of the high contract-
ing parties. All the day long they had been coming in and
camping on the prairie around the school-house. Preparations
were made to seat forty at the table, which was very prettily
adorned with flowers and laden with cakes, candies, nuts,
raisins, and dates, aside from a good thick sandwich of beef laid
on each plate. Before the feast was over we had set the table
three times, feeding in all about one hundred Indians. It was a
strange sight, these men and women so wild and weird. The
men were decked in all their savage finery of paint and feathers,
the women carrying their pappooses on their backs. They be-
haved very well until the time came to leave the table, when
they grabbed everything they could reach. The bride of Paul
has had quite a romantic history. She is a Kiowa girl and has a
sweet face, though not by any means pretty. A couple of years
ago she captivated a young Comanche brave and he offered her
father sufficient ponies to buy her; but the admixture of the
tribes is not looked upon with favor by these Indians generally,
and great dissatisfaction was expressed by the Kiowas at the
marriage. This led the girl's father to endeavor to release her,
and, one of the ponies having died, he put in a plea that the groom
had not kept his word, that his tale of ponies was wrong. By
this time, too, the girl, Eagataw, was willing to be released, for
her husband had proved himself a thorough tyrant ; besides,
there was a young Kiowa who had attracted her attention and for
whom she entertained a fancy, or whatever the sentiment may be

1 882.] "INTO THE SILENT LAND" 781

termed. The upshot of the matter was that Eagataw sought her
father's protection, and, the Kiowa brave having the right num-
ber of ponies, she was assigned to him and he bore her in triumph
to his " camp." But the Comanche was not so easily got rid of,
and he pursued his quondam wife and her new husband, annoy-
ing them in every way and threatening his life. To avoid him
they hid themselves among the hills in the southern part of the
reservation and lived a life of great seclusion until the new
husband died, when, the widow having mourned the proper
number of moons, she was at liberty to wed another. This time,
she having been baptized, let us hope the knot is firmly tied, to
their mutual happiness, until death shall them part. " Mary
Eagataw " assists in the sewing-room and Paul still preaches and
teaches. At present they have a room in the school-house, but
they are preparing their tent for the summer.

These tents, or " teepees," are conical in form, with a fire in
the centre, and whole families are sheltered under one canvas ;
the consequence is, there is no idea of privacy among them,
and the only way to keep them out of our own apartments is by
lock and key. If the door is left open they enter without knock-
ing, or if the window is convenient it serves their purpose as
well. When the floors of their tents become too filthy for even
them to endure it they fold up the tents and steal away to
fresh fields and pastures new.

• The blanket of the male Indian covers a multitude of sins of
omission as to toilet. Their dress mainly consists of three arti-
cles— moccasins, a G-string, and the before-mentioned blanket.
The G-string is a strip of flannel fastened before and behind to a
string or belt around their waists, the ends of the strip hanging
almost to their feet before and often trailing on the ground
behind. To these are added, perhaps, leggings and a shirt, and
above all a vest ! The Indian who owns a vest needs no more
to complete his happiness. In some cases a sheet is the substi-
tute for the blanket, and in either case it envelops the figure,
being drawn across the face so that no feature shows save one or
both eyes, as the wearer pleases. Most ghostly are they, stalking
along in these white cerements, and still more weird when a man
in a white sheet elects to ride a white pony ! The women wear
a dolman-shaped garment of calico over their shoulders, and a
shawl or blanket belted at their waist and looped up at one side ;
over this the blanket or a shawl. They carry their babies in a
wooden cradle — into which the little thing is strapped like a
mummy — on their backs, or, when the child has outgrown the

782 "INTO THE SILENT LAND." [Sept.,

cradle, in a fold of the shawl or blanket ; and the mystery is yet
unsolved how they keep the pappoose there with no hand to sup-
port it ; neither does the. child clasp its arms around the mother's
neck, but sits straight up in the loop or fold of blanket. Polyga-
my is rife among them, for an Indian can have as many wives as
he can pay for ; the women do all the work, going ahead when a
move is to be made, and cutting down tent-poles and setting up
the tent, making the fire, and having all things in readiness for
the master's meal when he shall arrive. Owing to this slavery
of their women the boys at the school are a little rebellious to
female rule, and it takes them some weeks of residence to under-
stand the new order ; and even from those who have attended
school several years we never look for any little act of courtesy,
though often surprised by it. The Indian is by no means a stoic
where his pappoose is concerned, being a most doting father and
resenting any punishment inflicted on the child. Nor can the
children be managed well by coercion. They resent and resist
it, and if it is persevered in they return in disgust to camp. But
there are very few whom we cannot manage by kindness and
coaxing and petting. There are among these children, just as
among whites, divers and differing natures — some sullen and
savage, others bright and cheerful. They learn by rote very
quickly, too, but the understanding of what they learn is a slower
process. Particularly are they quick at figures, learning the
combinations of addition, subtraction, and division with astonish-
ing rapidity. Drawing, too, is their delight, and the accuracy
with which they copy is wonderful. But their habits are dis-
gusting, and they are filthy and covered with vermin. There is
no childish ignorance, innocence, or purity among them, as how
could there be, living as they do when in " camp " ?

This is a consolidated agency, the present agent having for
a time only the Kiowas, Comanches, and Apaches under his con-
trol ; the headquarters were at Sill. Then, in the interests of
economy or what not, the Wichitas, formerly under the direc-
tion of the Quakers, were added to his family and he was oblig-
ed to move here. This move, in the eyes of everybody but the
department, was a great mistake. The treaties with these In-
dians call for the agency to be established as near the centre of
the reservation as possible. The position at Sill met this re-
quirement perfectly ; besides, the government had been at the ex-
pense of one million of dollars to establish the military post at
Sill for the protection of the agent. Then, again, the tribes on
this agency are all restless and uncivilized, and caring nothing

1 8 82.] "fjvro THE SILENT LAND." 783

for agricultural pursuits ; they "have their cattle and their herds
of ponies, and prefer the southern part of the reservation, where
the mountains afford more game. The Kiowas dominate the
rest, and are perhaps the most savage of any in all the Territory.
With them, on quasi-friendly terms, are the Comanches ; these
are a nobler race in every way, though still uncivilized. The
Apaches here are a part of the Apaches of New Mexico, but not
so fierce. They are considered the least interesting and furthest
removed from human intelligence by those who know them, in-
cluding the army officers. But I do not know why. We have
eight of them in the school, all but one tall, tine-looking fellows,
and all good students and well advanced. They are very clannish
and never separate in their hours of recreation, and the punish-
ment of one is resented by all deeply. The chief's son is the small-
est of the set, a beautiful boy of about twelve or thirteen, and
the others all gather around him jealously. This little fellow,
" Boyyon," is in my class, and I have given him the pet name of
" Daisy." His mother hung herself in a fit of despair a year or
so ago. She was very beautiful, and, so they say, a very fine char-
acter ; but her lord and master brought home No. 2, and some-
how they could not agree. He sent one to the woods for fuel
one day, and the other, Boyyon's mother, to the spring for water,
but she never returned ; when, getting impatient, he went after
her, he found only her lifeless body dangling from a tree. Life
has its tragedies of broken hearts even here among the most
untutored of God's creatures.

These Indians murmur greatly at the long ride of sixty miles,
and in some cases more, which they have to take in order to
draw their weekly rations.

The Wichitas are a weak tribe numerically, and are made up
of the odds and ends of such as have died or are dying out.
Among them they have one man who, like the last of the Mo-
hicans, stands alone in the world with neither kith nor kin be-
longing to him. He is an " Uechi," the last of his tribe. He is
one of the Rev. Mr. Wicks' catechumens and speaks English
quite well. The Caddoes share the Wichita agency, and both
these tribes are civilized to the small extent of living in log-
houses and wearing the tiabo dress.

The country to the west and north of us is hilly, to the east
a broad prairie, and a prairie- like valley runs between two
ridges of hills down to Sill. The Wichita River winds a devious
course from northwest to southeast, and some of its curves and
turnings are very beautiful. We of the Kiowa and Comanche

784 "INTO THE SILENT LAND" [Sept.,

school are located in a horseshoe bend of said river about two
hundred feet from the banks, upon a broad expanse of prairie
which extends east about six miles to a line of low-lying hills.
On our side of the river are the beef-pen and the commissary,
the traders' stores, and one or two " mess-houses," or boarding-
places for the employees: To the north of us, across the river
and- about a mile and a half away, are the agency buildings
proper and the Wichita school.

Every Saturday the Wichitas and Caddoes come over for their
rations, and Thursday and Friday are Kiowa and Comanche days.
The beef is issued to them on the hoof, and they shoot it as it
runs. They used to use arrows for this amusement ; but the
agent forbade such useless cruelty, and they use guns and
revolvers now. Besides beef they are given flour and bak-
ing-powder. Twice a year the "annuities" — i.e., clothing and
blankets — are given out. Each week and on these semi-annual
occasions an officer comes up from Sill to superintend the issue.

The winter just passed has been very mild and the vegeta-
tion has had an early start. The prairie is a deep green, and
over that is a shimmer of red and blue and yellow as the wind
moves the heads of the prairie flowers, which are very beautiful,
making the air heavy with their perfume. Then the atmos-
phere is so clear and pure, and the sky such an intense blue, that
the days are superb — except when a " norther " swoops down
upon us, as it is apt to do with very little warning. These
storms ride on a gray cloud of unmistakable tint to the initiated,
and come with a soughing of the wind that is harrowing to weak
nerves, and they bring with them a rain and a cold which pene-
trate to the very marrow.

The " Indian question " is a vexed one and has puzzled wise
heads, but after nearly a year's residence and close observation
among them it is my humble opinion that until the citizenship
of the Indian is recognized, and he is allowed to fight the battle
of life on equal terms with the white, he will give nothing but
trouble. The present system is demoralizing to a degree, ren-
dering them simply paupers. And when the supplies fail them
what is to prevent their resenting such failure, knowing as they
do that" Washington," as they call the ruling powers, has money
unlimited at command ? The schools in the midst of the tribes
will never succeed (setting aside the religious question), because
the children are not compelled to attend and can leave when they
please. On ration days we have about one-half attendance, and
that means two days out of each week. With the restlessness

1 882.] THE TORNADO AND ITS ORIGIN. 785

natural to children, and more particularly to these, they soon
tire of study, and what more natural than that in such cases they
should seek their homes ? The only hope of civilization for the
red man is in the rising generation. The adult Indian will be
Indian to the end of the chapter, and as long as their tribal rela-
tions are kept up the " medicine-man " will retain his influence
and hold upon them ; and these individuals are the greatest draw-
backs to all efforts for bettering their condition. Still, even
among them there are some fine characters, and we have one
here who last autumn laughed to scorn all the white man's teach-
ings. Towards Christmas, however, he voluntarily expressed a
wish to "go white man's ways," and threw off with his blanket
and moccasins as many of his old habits as he could. He came
to school with the simplicity of a little child and learned his
ABC very readily. Although he has not yet been baptized, he
has taken the name of " Luke " and is a paragon of honesty and
industry and kindliness. This change, he told Mr. Wicks, was
the result of much thought and comparison of the different ways
of living.

So it is seen that life at an Indian agency is by no means
devoid of interest, in spite of its monotony and narrowness.

THE TORNADO AND ITS ORIGIN.

THE laws governing the rise and progress of the terrible tor-
nado, whose natural home is the .Missouri valley, remain up to
this present, time undiscovered ; and though the theories volun-
teered on the subject are unnumbered, not one of them accords
fully with the witnessed facts. That their conduct is regulated
by exact mechanical principles there cannot be a doubt. Their
recent frequency and fury have challenged attention, and the
Signal Service is making strenuous efforts to solve the intricate
problem.

By the perseverance of William Redfield, of New York, and
Colonel Reid, of England, the seasons and courses of the great
West Indian and Mauritian hurricanes have been determined
with great precision. Rules have been published by which a
sailor may now know the exact course of the hurricane he may
happen to encounter, thus enabling him to steer his ship so as to.
ride safely until the hurricane is gone.

VOL. xxxv. — 50

786 THE TORNADO AND ITS ORIGIN. [Sept.,

This knowledge has proved a very great blessing to naviga-
tors, and it is of priceless value in preserving life and treasure
from the merciless deep. The Mauritian hurricane occurs from
February to April, and near to the Mauritius in the southern
hemisphere ; the West Indian from 'August to October, and
always describe.8 in its main course the curve of an ellipse, which
generally crosses the West India Islands, and, still pursuing the
ellipse, marches to the northeast from the coast of Florida, tread-
ing the waves of the Atlantic. " Take an egg, and place it on an
atlas map so that its small end shall be near the coast of Florida
and its lower edge rest on the Leeward Islands ; take a pencil,
and, beginning eastward of these islands, trace the outline of
your egg towards the west, turning its corner, and still tracing
on towards northeast, as if travelling to Europe ; leave off now,
and you have sketched the ordinary path of a West Indian hur-
ricane."

The hurricane and tornado are alike in having a rotary and
progressive motion ; they travel round and round as well as for-
ward, somewhat after the manner of the motion of a corkscrew
through a cork. They differ as to duration and extent. The
great hurricane of August, 1830, which began at St. Thomas,
travelled to the Banks of Newfoundland, a distance of three thou-
sand miles, in seven days ; and the great Cuba hurricane of 1844
was eight hundred miles wide and travelled over an area of two
million four hundred thousand square miles. The tornado
seems to be a condensed hurricane ; it expends its force rapidly
but with appalling fury, and it rarely exceeds one-half a mile in
width.

The Missouri and Iowa tornado invariably appears as a fun-
nel-shaped cloud black as the seven shades of Egypt. Hang-
ing poised for a few moments in the western sky, and then rush-
ing on with stupendous violence, it levels everything before it
and leaves chaotic ruin and dire calamity in its wake. Its time of
existence is usually from fifteen to seventy seconds. It has been
known to leave the ground and rise into the upper regions of
the air, again to return, striking the surface further on and re-
newing its havoc as before. The history of these tornadoes
seems to establish the fact that their general course, though as
zigzag as the ways of a politician, is always northeastward.
This knowledge is of some practical utility, as a person seeing
the approach of a tornado from the west may possibly avoid its
path by a rapid flight to the south. The force of a tornado is
prodigious. The East St. Louis tornado of 1871 lifted a mogul

1 882.] THE TORNADO AND ITS ORIGIN. . 787

engine from the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad track and threw
it to a distance of fifty feet. It lifted a large steamboat also en-
tirely out of the Mississippi River and strewed its wreck along
the Illinois shore.

The great Marshfield tornado of 1880 levelled everything in
its path ; whole rows of houses went down before it as grass be-
fore the scythe, and the court-house, one of the finest and most
substantial brick buildings in the State, and in which the writer
often preached, was crushed as if it were merely an eggshell.
Trees were torn out of the ground and completely shorn of their
bark and limbs. In the progress of the Grinnell, Iowa, tornado
many curious incidents occurred. The Iowa College was blown
to pieces. In its third story was a piano, and its cover was
found thirty-five miles away, while letters from the same college
were found forty miles off in another direction. Many things
were carried away and not found again ; the piano itself was
never found. In many cases people were unable to find a single
relic of their houses. From a pond in the neighborhood water,
fish, frogs, mud, and all were taken out and the pond left dry.

The latest and most admirable researches in eudiometry have
been made by Dumas and Boussingault. According to their
analysis a volume of dry air contains 20.8 of oxygen and 79.2 of
nitrogen, besides traces of some few other gases. Though the
air is a mechanical mixture and not a chemical compound such
as laughing-gas, or nitrous oxide, where the nitrogen and oxygen
lose their characteristic properties, yet this proportion never
changes. The air at the bottom of the deepest shaft and the air
on the top of Mont Blanc was found by Gay-Lussac to be ex-
actly the same as that taken in a balloon from 21,735 feet above
the earth. Nitrogen, which forms four-fifths of the air, is a col-
orless, tasteless, odorless, permanent gas. Its properties are
mostly negative. In the air its presence serves merely to dilute
the oxygen. In an atmosphere of pure oxygen combustion
would be too rapid and intense, and animals would live too fast.
Oxygen forms one-fifth of the air by weight, eight-ninths of the
waters of our planet, and about one-third part of its solidity. It
is a colorless, tasteless, odorless gas, which has never been re-
duced to the liquid state. It is well to notice these properties
of the constituents of the air when we are examining into the
origin of winds. Heat is the sole agent in producing the differ-
ent winds. What, then, is the effect of heat on the gases 'that
constitute the air?

Heat causes gases to expand one part in four hundred

788 THE TORNADO AND ITS ORIGIN. [Sept.,

and sixty for every degree of Fahrenheit's thermometer, be-
ginning- at zero. This is quite considerable, as it amounts to
one-third of the initial volume in a rise of temperature from
thirty- two to two hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit.
This expansion of the air reduces its weight. The air is perfect-
ly elastic and presses equally, and is pressed upon equally, in all
directions. Anything that heats one portion of the atmosphere
beyond the portions adjacent to it destroys its equilibrium. The
heated and light air ascends, and the cold air from the sides
rushes in to restore the equilibrium. This is the very origin of
wind. Air is a very bad conductor of heat. On this account
the atmosphere is not heated by the direct rays of the sun. The
air is heated by convection. The surface of the earth is first
heated by the direct rays of the sun, and this heat is conveyed
to layer after layer of the air, the warm air ascending and the
cold air descending. It is in a similar way that water boils, for
water is likewise a poor conductor of heat. If air were a good
conductor of heat we should have no tornadoes, for there could
be no very warm strata and very cold strata in immediate con-
tact. This is illustrated by the behavior of heated glass and
iron. The iron is a good conductor, so that there cannot be
vast differences of temperature side by side ; but glass is a mise-
rable conductor, so that one part can be enormously hot and the
neighboring atom rigidly cold, and the breaking of the glass by
heat follows as a consequence of the unequal expansion.

The tornado is classed as a local variable wind. From a local
-cause a particular region of the atmosphere becomes suddenly
and very materially heated and ascends. The heavy cold air of
the adjacent regions rushes in from all directions. From the
laws governing the composition of forces we know that these
different motions generate a rotary motion, and at the same time
a progressive motion in the direction of the resultant of these
.forces, or, more technically, in the course of the atmospheric
-current in which the condensation of the vapor into rain takes
place.

The equator being more heated than the poles, the air at the
-equator is constantly ascending and flowing towards the poles in
an upper current The cold air of the poles is constantly flow-
ing towards the equator in an under current. These currents
would flow due north and south, if the earth were stationary.
But a point on the equator travels eastward at the rate of seven-
teen miles a minute, a point at sixty degrees north latitude at
eight and a half miles a minute, and a point at the pole is at rest.

1 882.] THE TORNADO AND ITS ORIGIN. 7fg

A current flowing from the north pole to the equator is there-
fore constantly meeting with portions of the earth having a more
rapid motion than its own, and is thus deflected towards the
west and appears to move from northeast to southwest. Owing
to the fact that the earth is moving towards the east faster than
the wind, the wind is in the condition of a body acted upon by
two forces, and it describes the diagonal of a parallelogram, or
moves in a southwest direction. The upper current from the
equator to the pole will, of course, flow in an opposite direction.
These directions are considerably modified by the configuration
of the earth's surface over which these currents flow. Moun-
tains, valleys, forests, plains, and large bodies of water play parts
in shaping the career of the currents. In the temperate lati-
tudes these equatorial and polar currents begin to interfere.
The cold wind going south grows warmer, and the warm wind
going north grows colder. About the temperate zone they
strike a balance ; one current descending and the other ascend-
ing, they come into, frequent collisions. The Missouri valley,
besides being the scene of these warring elements, is also a kind
of battle-ground between opposing currents of wind originating
in the varying altitudes, pressures, and temperatures of the vast
plateaus and mountain tracts of the surrounding continent.
Such are some of the causes that make this valley the regular
parade-ground of the tornado and the favored scene of its fran-
tic gambols.

The people are now beginning to study the tornado question
in the location and structure of their houses. When the paths
of the tornadoes are known and mapped out they will either be
avoided or due preparation will be made to successfully with-
stand their shocks. Certain paths favored by them on account
of the topography of the district have been marked out, and
others will be, while stretches of country avoided by these
visitants will be indicated with more or less certainty in the
course of time when all the data are collated and compared.
Thus Leavenworth, in Kansas, is on the very path of the torna-
does and suffers terribly every season, while Kansas City, not
far distant, is seldom disturbed. The most important desidera-
tum is the multiplication of observations and the intelligent gath-
ering of all possible data, and then right theory and true expla-
nation will inevitably follow.

The tornado seems to spring up and acquire its full force al-
most instantly, apparently in disregard of the laws of inertia.
This phenomenon admits of a simple explanation. Bodies in the'

790 THE TORNADO AND ITS ORIGIN. [Sept.,

gaseous and liquid states possess a certain amount of latent heat.
Water has one hundred and forty degrees of latent heat. This
heat is not sensible to the touch, and yet water must part with
this amount before it can be reduced to the solid state. Steam
must part with one thousand degrees of heat when it passes from
vapor into water. One thousand degrees is the latent heat of
steam. Hence when cold and warm currents of air impinge on
one another and occasion a sudden condensation of the vapors
of the atmosphere, an enormous amount of heat is instantly gene-
rated and causes such a rapid overthrow of equilibrium as to
make the rush of air-currents paroxysmal.

The anemometers now used by the Signal Service, both for
computing the rate of motion of the wind and the pressure on
the square foot of opposing surface, are delicate and very supe-
rior instruments. Experiment has established a fixed relation
between the velocity and the pressure of the wind. The pres-
sure is proportional to the square of the velocity. A velocity of
twenty miles an hour exerts a pressure of two pounds on the
square foot, and consequently eighty miles an hour presses thir-
ty-two pounds, and a pressure of ninety-three pounds requires
a velocity of about one hundred and forty miles an hour. The
greatest recorded pressure of gyrating wind was exerted by the
East St. Louis tornado of 1871. This pressure was ninety-three
pounds on the square foot, demanding a velocity of one hundred
and forty miles an hour. Nor need we be astonished at this
high degree of speed, seeing that air flows into a vacuum at the
rate of twelve hundred and eighty feet a second, or eight hun-
dred and seventy-two miles an hour.

T 882.] PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 791

PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.

IT chanced, not long ago, that I was sitting alone in ray
room after dinner, reclining lazily in an easy-chair, and having
in my hand a book that I had often read in my young days with
the same delight with which I had followed the wondrous ad-
ventures of Robinson Crusoe and Sindbad the Sailor, and with
equal indifference as to whether the events narrated were true
or fictitious. The book, of which I had been turning the leaves,
reading at random a page here and another there, and endeavor-
ing to recall the emotions which they had excited more than half
a century before, was the wonderful Pilgrim 's Progress of John
Bunyan. As I read and mused the readings became gradually
shorter and the musings longer, until at length drowsiness took
possession of my faculties, the book dropped to the floor, and I
slept.

And as I slept I dreamed, and the thoughts of my waking
hours gave direction to the dreams.

Methought I was seated in the early morning upon a grassy
bank overlooking a road, the appearance of which, and of the
country around, had something familiar, as if I had seen them
long, long ago, though I could not remember precisely when.
At a little distance toward the west, at my right hand as I sat, I
could see, over the crest of an intervening rising ground, the
tops of steeples and turrets, and a few tall chimneys as of glass-
houses or iron-foundries, some of which were belching 'forth
clouds of smoke, and occasionally I could hear what seemed the
confused murmur of a great city, to which the road in that direc-
tion evidently led. On looking to the left I saw. that the ground
descended somewhat abruptly to a low valley a mile or more in
width, beyond which the land was higher and diversified with
woods and pastures, lighted by the rays of the sun just rising
above the horizon, while what appeared like the ruins of a bat-
tlemented wall could be traced here and there along the edjje
of the upland.

But what chiefly attracted my attention was the fact that the
road which passed in front of me no sooner reached the low
ground than it began to divide, and the first divisions to sub-
divide into others, and these again to branch out into others,

792 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. [Sept.,

until the whole valley was covered with roads, all having their
origin in this one and stretching in every possible direction,
north, east, and south, until they were lost in the woods or be-
hind the hills of the surrounding country.

While I was wondering where all these roads could lead I
began to observe that I was not alone. People, evidently just
from the city on my right, were passing, and as they passed
others kept coming in view over the brow of the hill, until it
seemed as if there were about to be a general exodus of the citi-
zens. Some were on foot, some on horseback or in wagons, and
a few in well-appointed carriages. Some were walking alone,
some in groups, and occasionally an entire family appeared to
pass. Some had only a staff in their hands; others were loaded
with their household goods, as if they were moving into new
homes. Some seemed sad, others joyful ; some were weeping,
others laughing, while the majority appeared ready to do either
as circumstances might require.

As I sat endeavoring to conjecture the motive of this singular
hegira I caught a glimpse amid the throng of an approaching
figure which seemed to explain the mystery. It was that of a
man evidently from the humbler ranks of life, indifferently clad,
and apparently having no friends among the crowd. He was
hurrying forward, regardless of the scowls of those who were
jostled by him, and frequently looking back with an expression
of fear, as if he were fleeing from some impending danger. In
his hand was a stout staff, upon which he leaned heavily, and
upon his back, securely strapped between the shoulders, was a
heavy pack.

I sat upright and rubbed my eyes in amazement. " Ah ! " said
I to myself, " I understand it all now. That is the City of De-
struction that I visited so often as a boy, and this is the road to
the Celestial City, and, if it were possible, I should take that un-
happy man who is approaching for my old friend Christian be-
ginning his pilgrimage over again ; but that cannot be, as I saw
him safely across the river. It must be his son, or his nephew,
or some one near of kin to him."

Meanwhile the poor Pilgrim, as I judged him to be, had
come up opposite to where I was seated, when he seemed to be
struck with sudden bewilderment. Hitherto, when not looking
fearfully backward, his eyes had been fixed upon the ground ;
now for the first time he was gazing at the road as it lay
stretched out before him, and the sight seemed to paralyze all
his faculties. He stopped, opened his eyes to their full extent,

1 882.] PILGRIM" s PROGRESS. 793

rubbed them with his hands, as' if he thought they were deceiv-
ing' him, and appeared ready to sink under the weight of his
burden.

As he stood thus other pilgrims whom he had previously
passed came up and went by him, some taking no notice of him,
some seeming to pity him, and some laughing at his manifest dis-
tress. At length one having the appearance of a well-to-do
tradesman stopped and accosted him.

"Well, my friend, what's the matter now? You were hur-
rying on a minute ago as if you were afraid the gates of the
Celestial City might be shut before you got there, and now you
have come to a full stop. I hope you are not becoming discour-
aged at the very beginning of the journey ? "

" No, sir, that's not it ; but I was afraid I had come out by
the wrong road. I thought the Evangelists told us last night
that the road to the Celestial City was so plain and straight that
a poor, ignorant man like me had only to follow it and it would
carry him safely through. Now, this road just ahead forks out
into twenty or thirty branches. Why didn't they tell us which
to take ? "

" They probably took it for granted that you knew the way.
Some things must be taken for granted, you know."

" But I don't know the way."

" Well, my friend, it's fortunate for you that I stopped to
speak to you. I am going to the Celestial City myself, so come
along with me."

" Thank you kindly, sir ; but are you sure you know the
way ? "

" Am I sure I know the way ! Of course I am ; I have known
it all my life. I was taught it before I began to spell in two syl-
lables. My father and grandfather were guides over the road,
so I certainly ought to know it."

" Then, sir, I'll go with you gladly ; but if you've no objec-
tion I should like to sit here and rest awhile, for I am very
tired."

" Oh ! certainly ; I'm in no hurry."

So the two sat down just below me on the grass by the road-
side, and Pilgrim soon renewed the conversation.

" Pray, sir, where are all these people going ? "

"Going? Why, where you and I are going — to the Celestial
City ; at least that is where they mean to go."

" Will they all take the same road that we shall?"

" No ; if you look yonder beyond the forks you will see them

794 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. [Sept.,

scattering in all directions. Some roads have more and some
fewer travellers, but all have some."

" Do all those roads lead wrong- except yours ? "

" Certainly ; there's only one right way. I don't say that
none of the people who are on the wrong roads will reach the
Celestial City. Some of the roads run off much further than
others from the true one, and there are a good many cross-cuts
and by-paths, so that travellers, when they find they are going
wrong, can get over into the right track."

" I should think they would be as thankful to you as I am if
you would set them right at the start. Why can't you tell them
they are going wrong ? "

" Simply because it would be of no use. They all think they
know the way a great deal better than I do."

" But if you told them, as you told me, that you have always
known it ever since you were a little boy ? "

" Why, they would say they have always known it ever since
they were little boys."

. " Do they really believe they know the way and always have
known it? "

" I suppose so ; they are probably honest enough. But of
course they are all wrong ; they were taught wrong in the be-
ginning. It is astonishing how obstinately people persist in go-
ing wrong when they have been once started wrong. As for
turning them by talking to them, you might as well try to change
the course of a river with a hay-rake."

Here Pilgrim ceased asking questions and appeared to be re-
flecting upon the foregoing conversation. I fancied I could
hear him saying to himself: "If this man were mixed up with
twenty others, every one of whom declared that he knew, and
had known ever since he was a boy, the way to the Celestial
City, though no two of them agreed as to the way, why should
I choose him for a guide more than any one of the others ? "

He evidently had lost his confidence in his new acquaintance ;
for when the latter proposed, as he did a few minutes later, that
they should resume their journey, he excused himself on the
plea of not being sufficiently rested. He only begged his pro-
posed guide to point out. to him the road which he should take.
This the other did, taking from his pocket at the same time a
printed guide-book, which he handed to Pilgrim, saying: "Take
this, my friend. Follow its instructions and you will need no
other guide ; for they are so plain that wayfaring men, though
fools, need not err therein." He then shook Pilgrim warmly by

1 882.] PILGRIM' s PROGRESS. 795

the hand, wished him a successful journey, and went on his way,
and I saw him no more.

Pilgrim, after watching him for some time as he went down
the hill and turned into the road which he had pointed out, was
about to open the book when he was accosted by a pleasant-
looking, middle-aged gentleman who had strolled thus far leis-
urely from the city, apparently merely for exercise or amuse-
ment :

" Well, my good man, you seem to be in no great hurry ; are
you on your way to the Celestial City this morning, like all the
rest of the world? "

" Yes, sir ; I have come so far on the way, and have stopped
here because I don't know which of all those roads I ought to
take."

" Really, my dear sir, you're a curiosity ; I am delighted to
have discovered you. You are the first person I have seen for a
long time willing to admit that he does not know every inch of
the way to the Celestial City as well as if he had been over it
twenty times. Every man, woman, and child that has passed
while you have been sitting here, and every one that would pass
if you should sit here a week, would tell you, if you should ask
them, that he, she, or it knows the way perfectly. Watch them
now as they come to the point where the roads separate. Not
one, as you see, stops or hesitates for a moment. Some turn to
one side, some to the other, and some keep straight forward ;
they appear not even to see any other road than the one they
take themselves. They would either laugh at you or get angry
if you should venture to suggest that they might possibly be go-
ing wrong."

Pilgrim, recalling the conversation of his would-be guide, re-
plied :

"It seems to be as you say, sir ; but what makes them all
think they know the way so well ? "

" That question is easily answered. The only thing that puz-
zles me is how it happens that you don't know it. Did you
never have a father or grandfather, or uncle or aunt, or anybody
else who made the journey to the Celestial City ? "

" My grandfather went long before I was born, and my
grandmother soon afterwards with all her children except my
father, who was too young to walk and too big to be carried.
They meant to send for him, but never did. At any rate he
didn't go, and he and my mother both died before I was two
years old."

796 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. [Sept.,

"And did nobody ever tell you by what road your grand-
father went?"

" No, sir; but it made considerable talk at the time, and there
was a book written about it. I've read the book a good many
times ; but none of those roads seems like the one that he took.
I remember there was a swamp — or slough, as the book calls it —
that he had to cross as soon as he had got a little way from the
town."

" That must have been a long time ago, sure enough. There
did use to be a bog down there in the valley — the Slough of De-
spond it was called ; but all those wide roads have so filled it up
that there is scarcely a trace of it left. But I understand now,
my friend, why you don't know the way to the Celestial City :
it is because you don't know the way your grandfather went."

Saying this, he burst into a fit of laughter, at which Pilgrim
seemed much astonished.

By this time the road had become nearly deserted, only a
few laggards passing at long intervals. Pilgrim's new acquain-
tance, having thrown himself beside him on the grass, continued
the conversation thus :

" I suppose you, like so many. others, have been started on
this journey by the two wandering prophets who were in the
city last night. Of course they said nothing about the roads."

" No, sir. A gentleman that I was talking with before you
came up said they probably took it for granted that everybody
knew the road."

" That's his way of putting it ; I shouldn't state it exactly so.
They knew that every person in the house was perfectly sure
that he knew the way, and that by pointing out any particular
road as the right one they would be charging four-fifths of their
audience with ignorance. So they Contented themselves with
telling the people to go, and leaving them to go by any road
that suited them."

" Do you think they could tell me the road if I should ask
them ? "

" They might possibly after you had told them all you knew
about your grandfather, though in general they would probably
consider that no part of their vocation."

A few minutes' silence followed, which was broken by Pil-
grim :

'•' Will you please tell me, sir, what you meant by saying that
the reason I didn't know the way to the Celestial City was that
I didn't know the way my grandfather went ? "

1 882.] PILGRIM 's PROGRESS. 797

" Certainly ; it's easily explained. Every pilgrim who has
passed here this morning was, as I have said, perfectly satisfied
that he was going the right road, and not one in a hundred of
them had any reason for it except that he knew which road his
grandfather took. They all had grandfathers, and as their grand-
fathers travelled by twenty different roads the majority of them
must have gone wrong ; and yet you might as well try to change
the wind as to convince any one of these people that his particu-
lar grandfather was one of those who made a mistake. This
assurance, that his grandfather was right though every other
man's grandfather might be wrong, was nursed into him when a
baby, mixed with his porridge when a boy, and has been poured
as a sauce over all his meats since he became a man, and now
runs in his veins and forms a part of all his bones and muscles.
It you were to pound him in a mortar and strain him through
flannel you couldn't get it out of him. Now you see why you
don't know the way to the Celestial City. If you knew which
way your grandfather went you would be all right ; but when it
comes to following another man's grandfather there are so many
of them that you don't know which to choose."

Here the speaker again broke out into a hearty laugh, in
which poor Pilgrim, in spite of his troubles, could not help
joining.

" The most amusing thing about this matter is that if one of
these men were interested in any business affair, or political
scheme, or scientific pursuit, he wouldn't trouble himself to in-
quire what his grandfather would have said or done under the
circumstances, and if the old gentleman were to come back he
would be regarded as decidedly old-fogyish, not at all up to the
spirit of the times ; it is only when there is a question as to the
choice of roads that he becomes an infallible authority. If a
young man is found investigating this question for himself, or if
he seems inclined to forsake the path trodden by his venerated
ancestor, he will be asked, after entreaties and ridicule and abuse
have failed, ' What do you think your grandfather would say if
he knew ? ' This is considered an unanswerable argument — a
final shot that must decide the battle."

Here Pilgrim, who had been intently gazing at the roads that
lay spread out over the plain, abruptly asked :

"Pray, sir, will you tell me something about these roads?
Where do they all go?

" That I can't tell you. If anybody had ever come back
after going to the end of one we should know more about it.

PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. [Sept.,

All the travellers, however, say that their particular road, after
having gone over the country, nobody knows how far, comes out
at last in the old Gospel Road."

" Where do they think all the others end?"

" They don't trouble themselves much about that ; it's a ques-
tion in which they have no special interest. There is a very
general idea among the pilgrims, however, that, though their
road is the shortest and the safest, several of the others may at
last run into the Gospel Road as well as theirs."

" What need is there of so many roads, if they come together
at the end ? "

" Probably the people know they can't travel together with-
out quarrelling, though they expect to be all agreed at last.
Every one thinks that every one else will come over to his opin-
ions, and in that way they will become a united band of brothers
before reaching the gates of the Celestial City ; for, of course,
they don't expect to carry their disputes inside."

" Will you tell me, sir, what is the old Gospel Road that
you spoke of? "

" Really, my good friend, I never met a man whose need of a
grandfather was more evident than yours. You have begun
your pilgrimage without knowing anything about it. You must
be informed, then, that all agree that there is, or was, a road laid
out by the Lord of the Celestial City from there to this part of
the country. This road, it is said, can easily be traced from the
city in this direction for a considerable distance, but how far is a
question in regard to which there is great dispute ; the road then
is said to plunge into an immense wilderness where it is difficult
or impossible to follow its course. Now, all the roads that begin
here, whatever direction they may take at the outset, run sooner
or later into that same wilderness, and, as I have said, all the
travellers think that, whatever may become of the others, theirs,
at all events, makes a junction somewhere in the woods with the
old, original Gospel Road, as they call it. How many of them
or which of them do is a question which men like you, who
have no grandfather to follow, must decide for themselves. In
regard to one matter, however, the pilgrims on these roads all
agree : that is, that the Roman Road, which you probably never
heard of, does not unite with the Gospel Road, but turns off
somewhere, nobody knows where, and runs away into a region
of perpetual darkness, full of bottomless pits and swarming with
savage beasts and venomous reptiles."

" If all are agreed about that I suppose it must be true."

i882.] PILGRIM 's PROGRESS. 799

" That seems a natural inference, but it is not quite conclu-
sive. As the Roman guides claim that their road is the only one
that connects with the Gospel Road, that it is, in fact, the Gospel
Road itself, and that all others go astray, it is not surprising that
all combine to oppose them. Besides, the road is not a pleasant
one to look at from the outside. It is narrow, and stony, and
hilly, and pilgrims upon it meet with many difficulties and are
subjected to many disagreeable regulations that may be avoided
by taking another road."

" Do many people go by that road ? "

" Yes, more than by all the others together. You see nothing
of them here, because they don't come this way in leaving the
city. There are footpaths by which travellers who come out
this way may get across into the Roman Road ; but the paths
are not inviting, and people who work their way through gene-
rally come out with their clothes badly torn and with not a few
scratches on their hands and faces from the thorns. Still, some
are doing it every day, and a good many more would do it if
they were not frightened by the obstacles thrown in their way
by their old companions, and by the fearful tales of snares, and
pitfalls, and hobgoblins constantly dinned into their ears."

" Have any of these roads been made in your time?"

" Oh ! yes, plenty of them ; they are making them all the
time. Whenever a number of travellers on any road become dis-
satisfied with the management they form a stock company and
start a new branch of their own. One of the latest is the Dol-
linger. This branched off from the Roman Road and made a
great noise at the time, though we don't hear much of it now.
There was great rejoicing over it on all the other roads, because
it was thought it would draw off all the travel from the old
Roman Road. But the managers of the new concern soon ran
their road into a swamp, where they were obliged to stop work.
Meanwhile the Roman directors, who don't allow branches,
walled up the opening at the entrance, and now the poor people,
who were enticed into it by the promise of an easy route to the
Celestial City, are wandering up and down on their fragment of
a road, a wall at one end and a swamp at the other, and not
knowing how to get out."

" You have spoken of the Roman guides ; are there guides on
any of the other roads ? "

" Yes, on all of them."

" Don't the guides know the right way to the Celestial
City ? "

goo PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. [Sept.,

" It is generally expected that a guide should know the way
to the place to which he proposes to lead his followers ; but as
every guide on these roads thinks his road is the right one, you
can judge for yourself — on the supposition that there is only one
right one— how many of the guides know the way."

" Who appointed them as guides ? "

" They appointed themselves, or they were appointed by
others who appointed themselves, which comes to the same
thing. Each succession of guides is like a chain hung up by one
end, every link of which hangs on the link next above it ; the
peculiarity of it is that when you come to the top link you find
that, having nothing else to hang upon, it hangs on itself. Few
people, however, take the trouble to look to the top ; they are
satisfied if two or three of the bottom links seem to be sup-
ported."

" When a man wishes to be appointed as a guide isn't he
obliged to show that he knows the way ? "

" Don't you see, my friend, that there is no bench of judges to
decide' whether he does or not ? He is required to believe that
the right way is that which is considered right by those who
give him his appointment ; and he is required to promise that he
will lead pilgrims by that road and no other. That is all that is
expected of him."

" Are the pilgrims satisfied with such guides ? "

" Certainly ; they must be or go without any. But, in gene-
ral, they don't expect their guide to show them the way ; they
think they know it as well as he. It is the same old story
over again. They have determined beforehand to go the way
their grandfathers went ; so long as the guide keeps to that they
are willing to seem to follow him ; if they find him inclined to
turn off into another path they discharge him and engage a new
one who will lead them where they want to go."

" Seems to me that's the people guiding the guide instead of
the guide guiding the people."

" It has somewhat that appearance, certainly."

" I don't see the use of guides who don't know the way."

" Oh ! they can hurry up laggards and stragglers, and en-
courage those who are getting downhearted."

" But what's the use of that, if they are on the wrong road ? "

" You ask hard questions," replied the other, laughing ; "the
only reply that I know of to that is that the possibility of such
an ' if ' is not to be admitted under any circumstances."

Pilgrim looked at his companion a moment, apparently not

1 882.] PILGRIM 's PROGRESS. 801

seeing very clearly how that reply answered his question ; then
he continued :

" Is the guide willing to admit that his company of pilgrims
know the way as well as he does?"

" Not in quite so plain terms as you have used. On the one
hand, he tells them that the guide-book which they all have in
their pockets is written in such clear, simple language that the
most ignorant man, if he sincerely wishes to understand it, can-
not possibly fail of doing so. On the other hand, he expects
them to admit that as he is a scholar and has spent many years
in the study of this simple book, and of a cart-load of other books
written in explanation of it, he ought to understand it better
than they. As the two statements, however, seem a little, incon-
sistent, he is not apt to make both at the same time."

Here Pilgrim, drawing from his pocket the book which he
had received from his first acquaintance, and which he had for-
gotten in the subsequent conversation, asked :

" Is that the guide-book you mean, sir?"

" Yes ; where did you get it ? "

" The gentleman I was talking with before you came up gave
it to me and said it was all the guide I should want in going to
the Celestial City."

" Well, why don't you follow it, then ? "

" You say the guides on all these roads think they have
learned the way from it? "

" Certainly ; they say so themselves ; and every pilgrim finds
his grandfather's road laid down in it just as plainly as if the old
gentleman's name were written out in full."

" And I have no way of finding out the right road and the
right guides except by reading this book? "

" Apparently not; only, in case you should be in any doubt
as to its meaning, there are several thousand volumes, written
in all the languages of the world, attacking or defending dif-
ferent interpretations, all of which, as a sincere and unpre-
judiced inquirer, it would be well for you to read ; and, as the
book was not written in our language and the translation is
disputed, you should learn the language in which it was written,
so as to be able to read it in the original. After having- done all
this you may be able to decide which road to take and which
guides to follow, with a tolerable degree of confidence that
there is at least one chance in twenty that you have decided
right."

These words were uttered with a laugh,, which, however, the
VOL. xxxv. — 51

802 . PILGRIM'S PXOGKESS. [Sept.,

speaker endeavored to suppress on observing the evident distress
of his poor companion.

"This may be amusing to you, sir, but it is not to me. I
came out this morning resolved to begin the pilgrimage to the
Celestial City, and now there seems to be nothing for me to do
but to take up my pack and go home again."

" I beg your pardon, my friend ; I did not intend to offend you,
and now perhaps it will comfort you to know. that there are two
ways o/ getting out of your difficulty. One is by adopting an
opinion that is held by many pilgrims, and that is becoming
more common every day — that it is of no consequence what road
you take ; that you can make the journey equally well by any of
them."

" Do they think the Lord of the Celestial City made them
all ? "

" No ; but they say : ' We didn't make these roads ; we don't
know how they came to be here ; but here they are, and we are
only expected to do the best we can under the circumstances.
We are not scholars, and it is impossible for us to decide which
is the right road when so many learned doctors are disputing
about it. The Lord of the Celestial City does not ask us to do
what is impossible ; therefore he will be satisfied if we take any
road that seems to us likely to be right and follow it boldly, cer-
tain that he will admit us into the city at the end without ask-
ing which way we came.' "

" Do you think they are right?"

" The reasoning seems to me to be sound ; I see no flaw in it."

" Then you think I may take any road? "

" I might think so, if it were not for some things in that guide-
book of yours which seem to contradict it. Let me take the
book a minute, and I will show you one or two of them."

After turning the leaves of the book for a few moments he
handed it back, saying :

" There is one ; read that."

Pilgrim read : " ' Wide is the gate and broad is the way that
leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat ;
but strait is the gate and narrow is the way which leadeth unto
life, and few there be which find it.' "

" Which of those descriptions do you think applies best to
the wide space covered by those roads ? But here is another
passage for you ,to read."

' There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the
end. thereof are the ways of death.' "

i882.j PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 803

" Well, what do you think now about taking any road that
seems to be right? "

" I couldn't do it, sir ; I should always be afraid that I was in
one of those ways that lead to death. But I thought you said
just now that the pilgrims are right who argue that this is the
only thing they can do/'

" I did not say exactly that ; I said that their reasoning ap-
peared sound, but in order that it may lead to a reliable conclu-
sion it must be based on sound premises. Do you understand
what I mean by that?"

" I'm not sure that I do, sir, exactly."

" Well, I will explain it. These people say : ' It is impossible
for us to find the true way ; the Lord of the Celestial City does
not expect us to do what is impossible ; therefore he will admit us
into the city without asking by what road we came.' But sup-
pose that it is not impossible, nor even difficult, to find the true
way ; what then becomes of the conclusion ? "

" I thought you said a little while ago that I should never
find the true way by reading this book."

" By reading that book — yes, I did say so ; but there may be
some other means of finding it."

"Will you please tell me what you mean, sir? — for I don't
understand it."

" Yes, my friend, I will tell you what I mean, and this is the
other of the two ways in which I said you might get out of your
troubles. Please pay attention to what I am going to say, and
do not interrupt me until I have finished. Then, if I have said
anything that you don't understand, I will try to explain it.

" Your difficulties would be removed if you could find a
guide in whose knowledge and truth you could place confidence.
Now, all admit that when the Lord of the Celestial City laid out
the road he appointed guides to conduct pilgrims over it. Those
guides could, of course, be depended upon, because he appointed
them. He might have kept them on the road, if he had chosen to
do so, until to-day. This he did not choose to do. He might,
on taking them away, have appointed others, as he did the first,
with his own mouth. This he did not choose to do. He might
have conferred upon the first, besides the power of guiding pil-
grims securely, the. additional power of appointing their suc-
cessors and of transmitting both these powers undiminished to
them. Here we should have the beginning of a succession of
guides that might have been continued to our own time,
every one of whom would possess unimpaired the same powers

PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. [Sept.,

which the first was authorized to transmit to the second, and
every one of whom, being appointed through an authority con-
ferred by the Lord of the Celestial City, would be as truly ap-
pointed by him as if he had named them. The possibility of his
creating such a succession of guides no one can dispute. The
need of such guides is evident from your case and that of thou-
sands of others who, like you, are unable to find in that book in.
structions which it may never have been intended to give, and
which, with such guides, there would be no necessity that it
should give. There is no good reason why such a succession of
guides should not be established. There is, then, abundant rea-
son for presuming that it would be and was ; provided, which no
one doubts, the Lord of the Celestial City designed to give, not
to the first pilgrims only, but to all who should come after them,
the means of making their pilgrimage surely and safely.

" Such a series of guides, therefore, being possible and proba-
ble, what we have to do is to find whether they exist, and, if so,
where. Now, the Roman guides alone claim the possession of
such qualifications as I have described. If, therefore, there are
any such guides they are to be found on the Roman Road alone ;
if they are not there they are nowhere. If, as those now acting
assert, the power and authority of the first guide have been
transmitted from hand to hand undiminished to them, we have,
at all events, a chain the top link of which has something to hang
upon. The only question is, Is the chain whole? If, as I have
said, there were good reasons for presuming, even before it was
found, that there would be such a chain, there are precisely the
same reasons for presuming, after it is found, that it is unbroken ;
for a broken chain would be no better than none. The burden
of proof, therefore, rests upon those who assert that it is broken.
This the enemies of the road have been for a long time trying to
prove, but thus far without success. Therefore, in believing it
to be whole, and in acting accordingly, we have reason and logic
on our side.

"And now, my friend, before giving up in despair your pur-
pose of making this pilgrimage, don't you think it would be wrell
to look a little further into these claims of the Roman guides? "
What reply Pilgrim was about to make to this question I can-
. not say, for at that moment I awoke, and, behold, it was a dream.

1 88 2.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 805

DONNA QUIXOTE.

AT the academy Donna drank up knowledge like a sponge,
all the force and expansion of her nature bursting forth at once,
as if long repressed ; nor was it until the close of the late spring
that she seemed to have found the level that required exertion.
In France or at a convent school she would have received
medals and prizes, but the economy of thrifty New England per-
mitted no such rewards. Teacher and companions called her
u bright," and she was a favorite so far as her timidity allowed
her to make friends. A quiet vacation at the farm was followed
by a return to Dalesborough and school in the autumn ; and this
brings us to a crisis in Donna's life.

An undeveloped undergraduate supplying the Congregational
pulpit for a few weeks produced a deep impression upon the
academy girls by sermons glowing in flowers of rhetoric and by
a rumor of being " disappointed in love " — an easy truth, in con-
sequence of which an air of melancholy and general delicacy
of constitution lent to his sentiment a power that often seems
wanting to sound truths of doctrine administered by healthy and
not unhappy clergy. At one moment it was believed that this
youth was about to precipitate" a revival" in Dalesborough,
but the elders and " selectmen " had reasons of their own for
wishing this to be held over until nearer "'lection time," and our
youth was cautioned to be less emotional.

Donna, screened by her Catholic restrictions, was spared a
great deal of feeling by receiving the instructions of this pulpit
gymnast at second-hand, and, filtered through school-girl reports
and farther diluted by her difficulty in understanding theologi-
cal formulae, their effect was slight. But one day he came to visit
the school. A kind of magnetism running through the hall, and
an especial wave of the same on the girls' side, involved Donna
physically and morally for the moment, and she found herself
gazing at some very plaintive eyes and listening to the very
pathetic tones of the sad young speaker's voice with sensations
new and strange. His theme was not unfortunate : it began with
influence and ended with doing good. He had intended to
limit his remarks to the first sentiment and apply it to high
moral exercise among school-companions, but insensibly wander-
ed away into a sermon that he had been preparing with uncon-

806 DONNA QUIXOTE." [Sept.,

scious visions of a large city parish before "his mind, before which
in some successful future it should be delivered. If not quite to
the point and occasion, it was effective, and when many of the
large girls cried, and one very near Donna sobbed at the pic-
tures of " the poor and needy to whom all of us may become
efficient ministers," Donna found herself crying, too, but with a
very perplexed feeling.

There were no visible tears on the boys' side the hall, but an
overgrown youth who had become jealous of the theologian
looked alternately at him and a red-haired young lady, now red-
eyed as well, and frowned. What reforms the young person
might or might not have effected in Dalesborough can never be
estimated. He soon returned to college and remained a beauti-
ful but fading memory to the school-girls— to all but our Donna.

Fortunately there was no appeal to this undeveloped girl ex-
cept of the truths that he spoke and the response that these
evoked from her soul, and to one of her temperament so rare an
excitement and so strong as she had experienced could not fade
away and leave no trace. She revolved the matter mentally ; she
summed up the approval and admiration of her companions for
the exhortation ; she prayed very faithfully, with a strong picture
of the young man's address, in school before her, as she told her
beads that night, and, with impressions largely drawn from
"lives" of certain "saints," believed that in this way God had
chosen to urge her to " do good." Henceforth the doing of good
was Donna's ideal for life on earth, and mingled with the thought
of joy in heaven which was her darling hope for eternity.

But how to begin ? — for the child supposed that to date she
had never "done good." The address in school had been made
during the last week in the old year, and the pupils exhorted to
begin both resolution and labor on New Year's day. This was
the most tangible thread that Donna had been able to seize upon,
and inquiries among the school-girls as to what had to be done
did little but produce vague statements from those who recalled
the address. Donna's questions generally aroused descriptions
of the young man's personnel rather than the explanations she
desired as to the manner of his work. To his beautiful voice,
and sad, sweet eyes, and heavenly manner testimony was not
wanting, but what he said was nearly forgotten.

Little Mamie Grey had said one day to Donna : " We ought
to look up the old and poor, and do things for them, and give
them money and — things." How school-girl speech would be
shorn if thinned of that terminal, " and things " ! Donna had

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 807

asked the jealous, overgrown boy one day who were " poor " in
Dalesborough, and, being- a Httle mischievous withal, he had sol-
emnly answered that " he didn't know of any one as poor as old
Riveston yonder." Now, " old Riveston " was the largest tax-
payer in Dalesborough, but not even the most daring assessor
had reached the real figures of Mr. Riveston's wealth.

An orphan from boyhood, and roughened by the world's hard
knocks, he had lost or outgrown his few companionships, and
late in life settled in Dalesborough just before the failure and
closing up of an extensive manufactory -of his own in the town.
For a year or two he had kept a servant ; but the loneliness of
his house, the silent or crusty manner of the bachelor, and his
slightly penurious habits gave him a choice of poor service only,
and he had wholly dispensed with it since the last hireling made
havoc with his papers on a memorable house-cleaning. He
never went to church, or " meeting," as the Dale folk expressed it,
but quite regularly walked to the public-house for his meals,
and once a day went a little out of town and walked through
the deserted " mill." The town's gossip about him had worn
itself threadbare before Donna's coming, or she would have
heard exaggerated reports of the condition of his unkept house,
of his ungodliness, of his " meanness " .to the " help," with hints of
his veneration of a beautiful woman's portrait that hung in his
room, this affording a feeble thread of romance to the town
spinsters.

When Tom Lane pointed him out as " the poorest in Dales-
borough " Donna looked at the feeble old man in his rusty
clothes with a sentiment of deep compassion. It was the day
after New Year's and nearly dark, and Donna had been reflect-
ing, before Tom Lane's appearance, that she had " done no good "
all day — that, in fact, " she hadn't had time."

When she rose that morning Aunt Hannah, being a little
touched by " influenza," had overslept, and the usual brisk
housework, in which Donna again assisted, had to be hurried
through, that she might be ready to drive to town when the jin-
gle of Farmer Brown's sleigh-bells were heard at the gate. The
morning was bitterly cold, and Donna, who could never get used
to such weather, said some very earnest prayers as she drove
along in the dull dawn, with the intention of somehow doing
good ; but as she was trying to comfort herself with the thought
that prayers didn't freeze, though the breath that bore them
would, Farmer Brown rolled out a large, naughty word, a sort
of deacon's oath, Darn ! and sounded like — the other thing. He

8o8 DONNA QUIXOTE. [Sept.,

had lost his right mitten and " the horse wouldn't stand a min-
ute." Donna's quick sight spied it so little distance away that
he let her run back to get it, not willing to trust her with the
reins and the cold, impatient horse, and the snow that she swept
up with her clothing chilled her through and through.

At school she had " missed " in one of her own lessons through
taking too much time to help a very good but very dull little
fellow who had learned to lean on her daily aid in fractions, and
at noon, in the house of a friend where she had gone to dine, she
had held a fretful baby -while its mother prepared the meal. In
the afternoon she had taken one of the lower classes to relieve
the headachy teacher, and sharpened pencils untiringly at recess
from long custom — " Donna makes such nice points" being am-
ple reward.

For several days she had made inquiries at both recesses, of
one and another, as to the poor in town, but elicited nothing
until she questioned Tom Lane as they were coming out of
school. She had been staying half an hour after to help him
in a composition — the horror of his soul. Tom bounded away
across the street like a rubber ball, and, with the gathered im-
petus of his long restraint in the school- room and the run from
the school- house, made a long and splendid slide which termi-
nated at the end of an ice-strip just before Mr. Riveston's face.
The old man, who had of late suffered much from dizziness and a
trembling of the lower limbs, and had at the same time the great-
est reluctance to being suspected of either weakness, had con-
templated this slide with disgust all day, and would have crossed
the street to avoid it had it not been so near the hotel that he was
ashamed to avoid it. He was looking at it with a certain hesi-
tation when Tom's shoot and dash past brought a great sense
of confusion to him, and, standing still, he caught at the nearest
support, clearly dreading to venture along the slippery path.

At this moment a clear, sweet voice, but speaking in unusual
accent, came from the mouth of a young girl beside him : " Lean
well on me, dear sir; we shall go across nicely together." And
Donna, gently passing his cane from one hand to the other, plac-
ed the first upon her shoulder. The action was so quickly,
gracefully done that it could not be resisted, and, casting a swift
glance around, the old gentleman, seeing no one in sight, yielded
to the relief that was real and crossed the long slide safely. At
its end, bracing himself up without a thankful word, something
like misgiving seemed to smite him, and, seeing that his young
companion was still beside him, he asked her name.

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 809

Voice, accent, or kindness had won upon him, and he contin-
ued to question her until the' mail-carrier drove up to the steps of
the public-house, which contained the post-office in its precincts.
The old man stood gazing after the girl as she drove away in the
distance, and any one near enough could have heard him say-
ing:

" The kindest action, the sweetest voice in twenty years —
yes, twenty years." But a "smart" young man passing by
noted the movement of his speech and named it " muttering."
We have known this reproach to fall upon aged lips that faltered
over the Paters and Aves of the " beads " from those either ig-
norant of or scarcely reflecting that the words that produced
the palsied effect were those of the Lord's Prayer and the
Angelical Salutation.

Poor Donna's reflection as she drove on was, "No good done
to-day ; I must really try harder to-morrow " ; and, as if in an-
swer to her thoughts and prayers, the mail-carrier told her of a
very poor and hungry family that had lately moved into town and
had been unable to obtain work. One child was sick — " guessed
'twas measles : all broke out with sum'th'n 'nother." " At last,"
thought Donna with bounding heart, " really "; and she tired
the carrier with inquiries meant finally to touch Aunt Hannah's
heart and bring a generous gift for the morrow. But the mor-
row brought disappointment in part, for the increased cold wea-
ther and Donna's exploit in the snow hunting the mitten in-
creased a slight cold on the lungs to a severe one, and for two
long weeks Donna was housed with the imperfect consolation
that Aunt Hannah had sent some food and worn clothing to the
distressed family by the carrier, and that the sick child had pro-
fited thereby.

One mild morning later in the month Donna, closely wrap-
ped and allowed to go to school again, felt rich with a parcel
besides her books, containing more old clothing for the poor fa-
mily and some food, including some sausages and butter, which
she purposed dividing between the strangers and old Mr. Rives-
ton, whom she had described to her aunt without naming.
There was ample time before school to hunt up the family, and
at noon she was on the alert for her " poor old gentleman " with
a color in her face unknown for a long time. She had walked a
little way along the street when she saw him slowly descending
the steps of so large a house that she thought : " Oh ! some one
has been giving him work there. I do hope that he has not been
hungry while I've been sick."

8 io DONNA QUIXOTE. [Sept.,

In her delight she would have opened the savory parcel on
the very steps, had not a sense of delicacy forbidden; people
were in the street, so she only handed it to him, saying :

" I have been sick ever since I saw you at New Year's ; this is
the first time I have been in town, and I have a little regale for
you here." When eager she had often to fall back upon her first
language for a descriptive word. To her surprise the old gentle-
man turned back, unlocked the door, and invited her to enter.

" Do you live here ? " she exclaimed as he followed her in.

There was but a single fire in the house, and that in his own
room, and, leading Donna to it through closed and cheerless pas-
sages, she emerged to its warmth after contrasting cold and dark-
ness. But once there she observed nothing, saw nothing but a
picture so unlike anything else that Donna had ever seen in Ame-
rica, so much like the picture in the old French church, this beau-
tiful woman in blue and white drapery, that Donna believed it to
be a Madonna. Jumping at all conclusions, she child-like thought
her new friend a believer in her own faith, and, kneeling, repeat-
ed the noon Angelus again in all simplicity.

" You poor dear man ! " she said, rising and smiling on him
through. happy tears, " I hope that you are not very often hun-
gry-"

The portrait was that of the only woman that Mr. Riveston
had ever loved, and she had died before he was rich enough to
marry her, in her father's opinion. When that father died, bank-
rupt, the turned tables of fortune enabled Mr. Riveston to buy
at auction the furniture of this room, with the portrait and bit-
ter memories not catalogued.

Donna's action, imperfectly understood as it was by the old
gentleman, was accepted as a tribute, and as she rose the rare
tears of old age sprang to his eyes. Her words revealed and ex-
plained her interest in him. " Did you think that I was in dan-
ger of hunger ? " he asked as a perception of the case arose in his
mind. " Why not ? " said Donna. " They told me that you were
the poorest man in town. Do you work here now ? " An amused
expression followed the soberness that had but lately clouded
the wrinkled face ; then, with a return of the shadow, he said bit-
terly : "Ay, poor enough and old 'enough; but I don't want
money, child."

From this hour they were friends, and Donna's noonings
were oftener spent at Mr. Riveston's fireside than any other. He
heard her story, he listened with delight to her descriptions of
her French home. Day after day she unrolled her panoramas of

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE.' 8n

Provence — the climate, the vegetation of her valley, the flora of
glade and mountain, the habits of ner kind as she felt them still
to be, the warm- and generous natures of the people, and the blue
of sea and sky bathed in ever-living summer and sunlight. Her
heart would swell in fervent description, and his own kindled
with a warmth unknown for years. He listened to her plans for
doing good with the first expansion of sympathy that the experi-
ence allowed. Her pictures warmed and cheered him. But here
was work. Now he was not only a listener but an actor ; what
her heart sought his head and hands could effect, and his ability
could realize her brightest dreams.

The first-fruits of this friendship was the employment of the
parents of the poor family at the other end of the town in odd
jobs about the premises, including the destruction of the danger-
ous slide, to the regret of many school-boys. The mother was
allowed to make Mr. Riveston's house tidy by degrees at
Donna's instigation. Her suggestions were always so fearless
yet so innocent that the old man could neither take offence nor
refuse them.

As springtime and longer days came on Donna and Mr.
Riveston became more closely associated than ever. He had
ventured to suggest to her one day that there were other ways
of doing good than visits to squalid houses and giving people
in want money, and that the farm-house and school-room were
legitimate fields of missionary labor, to say nothing of kind
words bestowed on a heart-hungry old man. But of this she un-
derstood nothing ; to speak of the habits of her daily living was
to analyze the air that she breathed, and she was not sufficiently
advanced in any philosophy to comprehend. So he wisely for-
bore, saying that " it would be a pity to spoil her."

But he had found the high-road to Donna's favor, and kept
his place therein with much painstaking. He would hunt the
town during school-hours to present her with a charitable op-
portunity, as a devoted lover waits with a bouquet the coming
of one whom he would compliment. One day it was a tired
"tramp," as the town voted him, but who proved to be a poor
but worthy fellow working his way on foot to where respect-
able employment awaited him. Mr. Riveston found him half-
sick under a tree outside the town, and saved his own gifts of
food and money to send by Donna at noon.

On another occasion it would be a woman and children, some
one with a sick baby, perhaps, to be helped on ; and more than
once Mr. Riveston's own roof was made to shelter those who

3 12 DONNA QUIXOTE. [Sept.,

needed it, and eventually an outer room was furnished for such
purposes. With the love that he was developing- toward this un-
usual child, and the strange way in which she compelled him to
express it, came feelings to his fellow-men that belonged to his
real nature, but which his unhappy experience had suppressed
for many years.

Nothing grows more swiftly or generously by feeding than
Christian charity, and the old man's life, brightened and fed by
this rare nutriment, renewed itself a decade.

" How old Riveston's changed ! " said one of the bank direc-
tors of Dalesborough bank.

" It's his decent clothes," replied another. " It's more than
that," came back.

" At any rate," observed a fourth, " there's a change since
that little French Yankee took him in train." " They're ah odd
pair those," rejoined the first speaker, " that nobody can under-
stand, though they seem to understand each other."

The storekeeper betrayed the purchase of a carpet by Mr.
Riveston, and the woman who had tidied up had not been
wholly silent as to the improved condition of things indoors, and
some of the charitable work leaked out, but the most of it was
hidden and remained their sweet secret — and God's.

Without her colleague Donna's innocent enthusiasm would
have continually led her astray, and she sometimes fell into diffi-
culties as it was. One day she went alone to a case of sickness
and poverty in which the suffering of a destitute woman was
doubled by the brutality of a drunken husband. Staggering into
the room and finding no food, he began to swear at his sick wife.
Frightened as she would have been for herself, indignant pity for
the invalid lent Donna courage, and, drawing herself up at full
height beside the pillow, she said with much dignity :

" You are not a gentleman. Be quiet ! "

Disarmed for the moment by the tiny creature as she looked
at him, his drunken fancy reeled with his brain and from anger
ran to drollery.

"A gen'leman? Sh'ld think not. Who asks me to be
gen'leman ? Who 'spects it ? "

" I expect it," was Donna's grave response, and for a moment
the poor inebriate struggled with the idea that came too late.
Once such expectation would have saved him ; but it was too
late, and, with recurring caprice and a sensation of hunger, he
approached the child as well as his wife in wrath, and rudely
pushed Donna from the room, accusing her of " adding a mouth

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 813

to their starvation." The thrust was rough, and the tender arm
was lamed for several days, .but the patient was not deserted,
though never again visited alone, nor was the injury revealed.

Once a baby was abandoned in her arms and restored to its
miserable mother only after a day's search. On another occa-
sion she was nearly made an associate of thieves in the front hall
of a deacon, the marauders having planned well and counted on
her innocence to bring them certain articles placed there by con-
nivance with a dishonest inmate. She took measles in one visit,
and mild diphtheria at another time, until Aunt Hannah was*
obliged to draw sharp lines and limit the partnership.

Old Riveston never dreamed, until vacation came and depriv-
ed him of Donna's society, how terribly he could miss her, and
an occasional visit between them did not fill the daily void.
They needed, too, something more than each other's society :
they missed their mutual work for others.

One of Carter's boys (out of Donna's first poor family), now
employed by Aunt Hannah on the farm, brought home a report
one night from Mr. Riveston of somebody's broken leg, and
next day Donna walked into town and went to visit the case
with the old gentleman. It was clearly an excuse on his part,
for through his care the invalid had been made perfectly com-
fortable.

He saw that this walk was an over-exertion for Donna, who
was not even able to drive in with Farmer Brown next day.
After this Mr. Riveston hired some one to go out for her as
often as he could find legitimate excuses for so doing.

In August he was ill himself, and during his convalescence
Donna spent many hours in each day with him ; but he had in-
stalled a nurse, and indeed little nursing could Donna have done
with the fatigue left over with a cough as legacy of the last win-
ter's experience.

But their old talks were renewed, and Mr. Riveston was
pleased with everything presented by Donna's active thoughts,
whether the stones transferred from the Provencal hearthstones
with their smouldering olive logs or blazing aromatic pine cones
as she depicted them, or the plans she was ever making to make
her forest shrine a reality. Riveston had seen Donna's chapel of
the evergreens, and knew the longings of her young heart, and
was better acquainted with the Canadian missionary than he had
chosen to admit. Twice during the year already Mr. Riveston
had persuaded Aunt Hannah to allow Donna to accompany him
to distant points where this priest celebrated Mass, and the kind-

8 14 DONNA QUIXOTE. [Sept.,

ness to Donna was not the sole motive. There had been occa-
sions in the past when this good father had been among the few
who had treated Mr. Riveston with respect and as a fellow-being,
and during this sickness he had asked Donna to bring him to his
house whenever his rounds were made in this neighborhood.
But the priest was very late this year — latter than ever before,
having been detained by much sickness in nearly every parish.
People called it " a sickly year."

But he came at last, when Donna, in half fear that he might
have died, began to pray daily " for his soul, if this alone needs it."

And when he came he looked earnestly at Donna, and asked
her many questions about her health, and, not without meaning,
told her of a parish newly formed, only a few miles distant,
from which a priest could be summoned at need to Dales-
borough.

Not one but four visits did he pay to Mr. Riveston, and just
before he left town was seen looking thoughtfully toward the
abandoned mill, then down the river, and again at the mill and
its- silent belfry.

Captain Gregory returned in September, and Mr. Riveston
had to be introduced ; but after the second day with Donna he
sent for a physician, who asked her more questions about her
health, and made her think more about herself than she had ever
done in her life. It was clear that she had never done much
selfish thinking, and her answers were childish and not to the
point. There seemed to be no definite disease to treat, but the
doctor found a great want of constitutional vigor and ordered
her return to the south of France before winter. What Mr.
Riveston felt at this mandate cannot be told. A single day
passed without Donna and Donna's simple task was a blank to
him, and latterly he had gone about doing many errands that her
strength would not permit her to share. To Donna's grief she
could make little exertion for any one — nothing at all, she be-
lieved.

" I have had to stop doing good," she said sorrowfully one
evening to Mr. Riveston as he concluded a report to her, but it
was the sole complaint she had made. That evening he laid be-
fore her a plan of purchasing some books, that, being loaned
Saturday evenings and returnable in a certain time, should be
experimental, and, if a successful operation, form the nucleus of a
future library for public use. It had been one of the subjects of
conversation between Mr. Riveston and the priest.

" Fall fever," as the periodic typhoid was named in Dales-

1 882.] DONNA QUIXOTE. 815

borough, came earlier and with greater violence than usual.
Aunt Hannah consoled herself for being out of the town, and
said, " Luckily Donna can't get into that."

Donna had scared her more than once the year previous by
"poking into fever-holes " as well as "measly places," and had
been strictly forbidden thereafter to go where " there was any-
thing catchin'.'.'

Jack Carter, however, being less restrained, visited and
brought home a light attack of the disease. Aunt Hannah shut
him away in the back kitchen chamber and nursed him herself.
The only harsh word that had jarred on Donna's ear for months
was when she was found coining down from Jack's room with a
spoon and tumbler.

" Don't you know better 'n to go in there ? "

And now it was Donna's turn to be nursed. She didn't seem
to be very ill at first ; the fever was less violent than in many
cases, and the crisis passed in the second week, favorably as to
the disappearance of the disease. But there was no recuperative
power ; no strength came.

" The fever's gone, but she don't rally," said the tried physi-
cian.

One Sunday afternoon Mr. Riveston drove over to the new
parish and brought home the new priest, Donna having said that
morning that she was dreaming all night of the old cure. He
spent an hour with her, but it was enough : the outlines of her
little life were familiar to' him already from her acquaintance
with the missionary, and duty was brief and clear.

" What do you think of her ? " questioned Aunt Hannah
anxiously as he was about to depart, the " anointing " being no
revelation to her.

" I think that she was waiting for me," was his quiet response,
" and that it is the end of pain."

Aunt Hannah returned to the room, Mr. Riveston having
preceded her. It was the close of sunset, and the last rays made
a ripple on the wall opposite the bed. They thought that Donna
was looking at it, but it was beyond. Their coming in called her
thoughts back to earth. " Bon soir, auntie," she said simply,
and to Mr. Riveston, with a smile like a baby's half-regret :

" If I could — could have done a — little good ! "

It tired her to say even this, and she went to sleep, as they
thought, with two whispered "holy names on her lips, as she al-
ways had done ; but she did not wake again, and they did not
know the moment that she was not theirs.

PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. [Sept.,

Captain Gregory came home and was shocked. Aunt Han-
nah said mournfully now and then, " She was the joy of my poor
old life."

Mr. Riveston said — nothing. But when he took down the
old mill, and a new Catholic church grew up in its place by the
river and out of its massive stones, he watched each one that
was laid, as if it was so much lifted off his heart, but he was
never seen to smile again until his own turn came.

Then the parish priest was with him, and Donna's name, in-
voked with blessings between them, was wreathed with a smile
on his lips and was the last spoken, save the two blessed names
that she, dying, had whispered.

Near the sanctuary on the walls of St. Mary's Church, Dales-
borough, is placed a cruciform tablet with Donna's name and
age, and a line below that says :

" She hath done what she could."

CONCLUDED.

PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP.

HERO-WORSHIP is supposed to be a weakness. Few men
would confess to being enslaved by it. Yet few men are so
thickly armed with self-reliance and self-esteem as to be wholly
above the worship of human idols. This is true in every de-
partment of man's careering. In religion as in politics, in good
habits as in good manners, most men take some hero for their
model. The Latin ' heros ' — which might possibly mean demi-
god— has not been imported into the English language, though
the Latin ' hero ' has come to mean in our vernacular much the
same as the Latin ' fortis ' or ' divinus.' When we speak of hero-
worship we mean the falling down in homage before some con-
spicuously developed type of a lofty school. And this perfectly
natural weakness — if it be kept within reasonable bounds — need
not be at all derogatory to human dignity. What is it that we
worship in our great man? Obviously not the man but the
ideal. We worship — familiarly speaking — just those excellences
and those high merits which we should wish to be able to cher-
ish in ourselves.

Hero-worship is so inseparable from aspiration — and this, too,
both in public and in private life— that it must be reckoned with

1 882.] PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. 817

as one of the strongest motive powers in politics, in literature,
even in religion. If we take to pieces the big movements
which, in the varied spheres of human action, have developed
what are known as " new epochs," we shall find that some great
man has been at the bottom of every movement, or has been
what is sometimes called the movement's "soul." Let us se-
lect one modern example, known to everybody. What made
the Oxford movement a success ? Answer : Newman. It is
true Keble and Pusey both helped to develop the movement ;
but the one master-mind, the true hero, was he who was logi-
cal to the end. And does it follow from this that, without a
master-mind, a great and a good movement must succumb? We
should not venture to say such a foolish thing. We have only
to note that, in the apparent ways of Providence, great instru-
ments are raised up for great ends. And the very obvious re-
joinder that, " in like manner, wicked movements are almost
invariably fathered by great men," is only the assertion of the
truism that the Evil One is an ape, who copies but who per-
verts divine methods. The whole Christian dispensation was
handed down to our time by apostles, and missionaries, and mar-
tyrs ; and the forces of evil perpetually arrayed against it have
been apostolic, missionary, and murderous. It is so permitted
that all movements, good and evil, shall be fathered by some
kind of human agents ; and hero-worship, in an innocent sense, is
respect paid to good agents, and, in a bad sense, respect paid to
bad agents. Without hero-worship, in an innocent sense, there
could scarcely be conversion ; nor without hero-worship, in a bad
sense, could there be perversion. We accept, then, this princi-
ple of hero-worship. It is an integral component of human na-
ture. To laugh at it is only to show that we have not learned to
discriminate between heaven-sent and earth-sent apostles.

Yet tt^is not only in religion but in every phase of human life
that this habit-qf hero-worship is normal. In politics it is al-
most ludicrously cherished. Political great men are demigods.
There are those in England who fall down before Mr. Gladstone,
with such a simple belief in his inerranc}7 that if he were to
bring in a bill to do away with private judgment they would be
convinced that it proceeded from his Liberalism. The unfortu-
nate corollary of this worship of a party-man is that the abuse of
his opponents is co-equal with it. When Disraeli was alive he
was an object of invective to all the Liberals who fell down be-
fore Gladstone ; and, conversely, we may hear Conservatives
discoursing angrily on " the ruin which Gladstone will certainly
VOL. xxxv —52 i

Si 8 PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. [Sept.,

bring on the Constitution." Indeed, it is marvellous how a great
man can retain his peace or equanimity under the incubus of
both idolatry and wrath. Perhaps the great man appreciates
them both ! Some years ago, in the House of Commons, a mem-
ber had been indulging in the most hideous, personal abuse of
another member. The abused member simply replied with ur-
banity : " When the honorable member calls me a thief and a
liar all that the honorable member would convey is that he does
not agree with me in opinion." This is, no doubt, the interpre-
tation of one-half of the abuse which politicians warmly heap on
their opponents. And, conversely, the fulsome flattery of hero-
worship means simply " loving those who agree with us." Still,
there is no doubt that many persons really attribute to their hero
the impeccability which they desire that he should possess.
They fall down and worship the golden image which Public
Opinion, the king, has set up, not heeding either the painful hu-
manness of its author or the imperfections of the image itself.
And, conversely, they are full of wrath against a gifted antago-
nist whom they suspect of having certain good points — or what
Disraeli called certain " redeeming vices " — not heeding the ser-
vice which he does to their own hero in making him appear at
his best.

In the department of ^literature we can trace the same spirit
of kneeling to, or turning the back upon, heroes. History, po-
etry, romance, polemics are all largely prejudged by their au-
thorship. A book or a pamphlet, like a man entering a draw-
ing-room, requires an introduction to strangers. Even news-
papers are either read or not read, according to their imputed
" inspiration." The name of a bookseller on the title-page of
a book will sometimes be an advertisement or a condemnation.
In religious literature the author is simply everything ; for just
as no member of the congregation of a Baptist minister would
"order" every new work by Cardinal Manning, so no member
of a Ritualistic congregation would feed his soul on the works
of Bishop Ryle. "Who's the author?" is the first question
which is asked, or, if the author is unknown, " Who's the pub-
lisher?" The pearls and gems of literary ventures are less pur-
chased for intrinsic value than for the imputed tone and status
of the jeweller.

In art — and that, too, in all its branches — hero-worship is car-
ried to fanaticism. A hurried sketch made by Turner is worth
a hundred times the price of a finished picture done by Smith or
by Brown ; a rude daub by Claude would fetch the ransom of a

1 882.] PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. 819

score of artists whose patient and beautiful work is unquestion-
able. Again, a crowd will" listen for an hour to the weak and
drivelling platitudes of a great noble who has two counties for
an estate, but it would not pay any association to advertise the
attractions of a really eloquent grocer or tea-dealer. " Flunky-
ism " is half the soul of hero-worship. When a man has made a
name he may come to shine among the constellations who, for
the time being, command the social "cultus," but the motive
of the " cultus " will be less a thoughtful appreciation than the
ambition to be thought capable of appreciating. This is precise-
ly the same with little heroes as with big heroes. In society
some little man may be seen to take a front rank from some ac-
cident, whether of patronage or of caprice ; and even really supe-
rior people will be disposed to bend the knee to the fictitious
supremacy of Mr. Nobody. The truth is that vanity has as
much to do with hero-worship as has the impression of the merit
of superiority. A man likes to be " well in " with other persons
who are " well in," from a natural wish to be in the swim of
popularity.

It may be replied that the hero-weakness is at least an ob-
vious homage to any merit, whether real or imputed. This is
granted. But in most cases it is not the merit which really re-
ceives the homage, but fashion, or interest, or egotism. Fewer
must of necessity receive homage, because power is the fountain
of gifts. Riches for the same reason receive homage. Rank,
because it symbolizes superiority — though it does not in any
way assure it — will also attract votaries or " flunkies." Mere
merit by itself, like mere virtue, has no fascination for majorities,
because it is rather an impeachment of others' littleness than an
exaltation of those who may contemplate it. Take the case of
two men, one admirable in character but habitually unsuccessful
in career, the other painfully average in character but superb-
ly dominant in the impudence of " getting on " ; we all know
which will be the pet of society, which will be found in high life.
What the world worships is success, not the merit which should
lead to success. The French have an expression, " the success of
esteem " — that is, a success from the being liked ; but this is a
domestic or narrowly grooved triumph, which has nothing to do
with " the world." The success of the world's favorites is not
dependent on esteem ; indeed, it generally prospers quite as well
without it. While not depreciating the current value of a good
character, or implying that a bad character is not an injury, we
may safely lay it down that_suecess, as a social idol, is for the

820 PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. [Sept.,

most part independent of character. " Ask no questions " is the
graceful charity of society in regard to the great Sir Million de
Consols ; " Is he a man of good repute ? " is the cautious question
of society in regard to the struggling or unfortunate. So that
hero-worship, in regard to social idols, must in the main be
wholly separated from merit, save only such merit as is implied
by success, which may very often be the depth of demerit.
Selfishness, even cruelty, have been at the bottom of more suc-
cesses than magnificent philanthropy or even intelligence. Suc-
cess is an inborn art of apprehension. It means the perception
of how to work on others' weaknesses. This is not true, of
course, of intellectual gifts — of splendid writing, splendid paint-
ing, splendid speaking — but it is true of commercial and also so-
cial successes, and of most of the fictitious triumphs of popularity.
The worship which the world pays to the rising sun — an idol-
atry not confined to the Persians, but far more rampant in civil-
ized Europe — is a homage paid to results without reference to
causes, to the mise en scene without looking behind the scenes.

Let us pass from such social instances of hero-worship to a
very grave illustration of its fatuity. We are not going too far
when we say of English Protestantism that nine-tenths of it has
been begotten of hero-worship. It is quite certain that the class
of men who have chattered for three centuries about the " human
corruptions of the Church of Rome," about the " placing man
and saints in God's stead," about the " substituting a despotic
priesthood for a Christian ministry," or about the " preference of
Catholic authorities over the Scriptures," have themselves been
the very men who have most conspicuously fallen down and
adored the human idols of hero-worship. Men's opinions, men's
talents, men's sermons, men's views, not to mention the varied
accidents of social status, have been really the " authorities "
which the immense majority of all Protestants have substituted
.for the " Ecclesia Docens." Now, this is a hero-worship of which
.it is as easy to trace the evils as it is easy to trace the cause,
even the necessity. If you take away the " Ecclesia Docens "-
.and ,all heresy has done this — you leave nothing save human
judgment to take its place, and you simply transfer your per-
sonal homage from Authority to such persons as you may happen
to admire. This truism is so obvious that to take the trouble of
demonstrating it would be like mocking the common sense of
the human mind. Accordingly we find in England that the great
sticklers for " Bible truths " have been sticklers for the private
views of their favorite commentators ; that the most fanatical

I882.J PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. 821

advocates of the claims of private judgment have built the whole
of their theology on others' teaching ; that the most savage of the
assailants of the authority of the pope have accepted blindly the
teaching of some vain preacher ; and that the scoffers at tradition
have lived and died serenely, faithful votaries of the traditions
of their own sect. It needed only, for any Protestant, that
Bishop This or Archdeacon That, Professor This or Parochial
Vicar That, should be the immediate, " charming " exemplar of
certain views, and hero-worship took the place of obedience to
church teaching, because " the church " meant simply personal
surroundings.

The same sort of halo of hero-worship has hung about every
one of the Reformers. The names of Latimer and Ridley have
been sanctified in English thought ; the names of Bucer and
Melancthon — not to speak of the magic name of Martin Luther
— have been supremely honored, venerated, " worshipped," be-
cause of the Protestantism which they championed. In the same
spirit the names of Laud, of Jeremy Taylor, of Jewell, of the
"judicious Hooker," have been as household gods to all good
Anglicans, just as the name of Keble— ever memorable for his
Christian Year — has been a pledge of the orthodoxy of his church.
Pusey at one time was among the heroes, but he was eclipsed by
the " enfants terribles " of ritualism. Just at this time there is no
living Anglican hero, because the whole community is too shiv-
ered to worship anybody.

It would be easy to show, in regard to certain literary
schools more or less associated with religion, that such names
as Huxley, Tyndall, or Darwin exercise in England " heroic " in-
fluence. " Ah ! but he's a clever fellow " is the normal answer
which is given to any suggestion against the soundness of a great
scientist. Talent is worshipped because to worship talent is to
indicate that we are able to appreciate it at its worth, and also
because it supplies us, in the case of infidel writers, with an
apology for being sceptical ourselves. In the same spirit an
anti-Christian firebrand will be pardoned by a good many Chris-
tians, provided that he do the one thing that is wanted. A Gari-
baldi is idolized for his patriotism, to the total oblivion of his
aberrations ; a Bismarck is pinnacled for his strategy, to the at
least partial ignoring of his injustice ; and a Gambetta receives
homage as a dictator, though he ostentatiously prefers Commu-
nists to religious. Such examples are sufficient to illustrate the
aphorism, " Men forgive anything in an ally."

But, after all, is not hero-worship only another name, for the

822 PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. [Sept.,

worship which human nature must necessarily render to "supe-
riors"? Julius Csesar, Alexander the Great, Mohammed, Napo-
leon I. had their hosts of idolaters in their own time, and they
will always live in history as heroes. It is true that they cut
throats by the thousand to gratify their own appetite for glory ;
but because they succeeded and did things on a grand scale they
were not charged with manslaughter nor were they hanged.
Had they failed they would not have been heroes, but at the
best unsuccessful adventurers. Or had they each cut but one
throat or robbed but one farmhouse, instead of depopulating a
hundred towns or laying waste the homes of a thousand fami-
lies, it is probable that their careers would have been as bluntly
cut short as their reputations would have been snuffed out in-
gloriously. Conversely, if a man is unfortunate on a grand
scale — say, if he fail in bankruptcy for millions — he will after-
ward bow to his creditors from his private carriage ; but if a man
fail in bankruptcy for a few thousands it will take him a long
time to " hold his head up again." So that there is a certain kind
of hero-worship which is the " cultus " of grand scale, plus the
" cultus " which is paid to grand " pluck," and we must dissoci-
ate it from recognition of any virtue or grace of character such
as even the most ardent of hero-worshippers must really love.
Such hero-worship is an instinct which is outside the admiration
of what is lovable, virtuous, or exemplary ; it is simply a natural
tendency to look up to superlatives in all branches of human ca-
reer, good and bad.

In a good sense there is a hero-worship which is not only
thoroughly manly but also thoroughly Christian, even saintly.
It is needless to insist on the Catholic principle of veneration for
all those who have excelled in the highest virtues. This is in-
deed the true hero-worship. But, apart from this, can we think
of an Aquinas, or even a Schlegel, of a Raphael, a Dante, or a
Michael Angelo, without being conscious, not of the weakness
but of the dignity of keeping niches in our hearts for such fig-
ures ? We should like to have the chisel of a Pheidias or an
Alcamenes to immortalize the ideal of such heroes. It is enno-
bling to even contemplate the winged reach of the greatest men,
and it is still more ennobling to try to copy it. So that hero-
worship, in the best sense, is a superb education, such as is re-
commended to every youth and such as has created many a
hero.

Now, what may be called the "philosophy of hero-worship "
is the endeavoring to utilize the best side of its practice and to

1 882.] PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. 823

subdue the silly weakness of 'its worst side. An easy thing- to
say but not to do ! Yet in- classifying the different species of
heroes, and noting the different worship they have received, we
cannot but get at the bottom of the right principles and the
wrong principles which have led whether to good or to bad hero-
worship. Paganism made gods of its heroes ; yet this was but
to immortalize the emblems or symbols of whatever seemed ex-
cellent to the pagan mind. Christianity, on the contrary, is the
worship of the Divine Perfections, and must therefore stand
apart as the only true hero-worship which has ever been prac-
tised by the human heart. Of the earliest kinds of hero-worship,
it was natural that its religion should be clouded in mystery and
legend. We find among the Northmen a wild theory of hero-
worship, which was more properly the worship of nature — Odin,
for example, being the symbol of natural perfections, or perhaps
even their embodiment and dispenser. Valor especially was
consecrated by most of the ancients as the highest known cre-
dential of " divinity." But if we come to later times we find a
very different spirit, both in the appreciation of the virtues and
in their worship. Heresy, sectarianism, apostasy have decked
their own idols in their own way. Thus, whereas paganism
. made its heroes a sort of demigods, or sometimes consecrated
the mere symbols of power, such as thunder, or fire, or tempest,
Mohammedanism made its hero a prophet ; and in some senses he
was worthy to be esteemed so. Remembering the surroundings
of Mohammed, his education, and his quasi-ascetic life, he was
worthy to be called a hero for his protest against idol-worship and
for his insistence on the belief in the true God. So far, in most
of the big hero-worships, we admit something that is excusable
if not admirable. When we come to the lesser worships, such as
those of the conquerors or self-made first consuls or dictators, we
naturally find it difficult to distinguish the meritorious from the
purely selfish, the fortunate, the fate-made. Of conquerors in
modern times we must, of course, select Napoleon as the dia-
demed " Petit Corporal " of conquest. This man received more
hero-worship than human nature could stand, and he tumbled
over into foolishness and exile. He was worshipped for his suc-
cess, and nothing but his success, and when he got to St. Hel-
ena he was not worshipped. Oliver Cromwell was an offspring
of circumstance, and then became a hero of fanaticism ; and he
was perhaps the oddest example of a man being thought a
Christian hero, notwithstanding that he could murder a Chris-
tian king. Now, just as Cromwell was a hero to the Puritans,

824 PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. [Sept.,

Charles II. was a hero to the Cavaliers ; and just as Cromwell
was hung in chains after his death, so Charles II. was heartily
despised after his death. But in politics all hero-worship is
less a homage paid to a man than to the principles which we
happen to approve in him.

Far more interesting and instructive is the hero-worship of
the poets ; indeed, this is the " natural religion " of hero-worship.
We may come to forget Charlemagne, save when we read of him
in history ; we may only remember William the Conqueror as a
plucky soldier who fought at Hastings, and who brought with
him to England Norman adventurers ; we may never give a
thought to the lesser political heroes- — a Pombal, a Choiseul, a
Pitt — who in their own little day were accounted heroes ; but the
great poets ever live in our hearts as a part of our very ex-
istence, our joy. King David was supreme as our royal poet ;
nor, as a typical penitent, an exquisite song-writer, a melodist of
the purest and inmost thoughts, can he ever be rivalled in
this world. He was deserving of hero-worship as the prince of
holy poetry, and he has been always so esteemed by all Chris-
tians. But let us come down to the uninspired — at least to
the lesser inspired ; for we never can talk securely of inspiration.
Dante, who was begotten of trouble, of humiliation, of poverty,
of exile, has embodied in his Divina Commedia — in the " Purga-
torio," the " Inferno," the " Paradise " — the intensity of his own
terribly profound soul, so that we seem to read him in all he
writes. And what shall we say of Shakspere, of Avhom Goethe
well said that his writings might be compared to a watch with a
dial-plate of transparent crystal, because at the same time that
we can read the exact truth, we can read all the mechanism
which thinks it out ? If Shakspere is happy and Dante is sad,
both equally dig down into the depths of our nature and both
lift us for the time to their level. Are they not heroes ? Put
together all the Alexanders, all the Conquerors, kings, adven-
turers of the world : Dante and Shakspere have done more
to make natures than the whole herd of cutthroats to destroy
them. Even the glorious old Homer, whose passion was war,
cannot be coupled with Dante or Shakspere, because valor
is only one feature in heroism. Hero-worship, for the poets
of all the virtues, is the ingrafting into ourselves some of their
excellences.

And, to descend half a dozen steps lower, who shall say
that the honest worship of such a man as Mr. Boswell for his
ideal, his actual Dr. Johnson was not ennobling to him, though

1 882.] PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. 825

it is laughable to us and has had no other fruit than a good
biography ? So long as hero-worship is the worship of the
admirable — no matter in what sphere of human thought — we
can scarcely be philosophic if we sneer at a genuflection made,
not to the man, but to his gifts.

Is, then, the " philosophy of hero-worship " the appreciation
of what is worthy to be honored and the ridicule of all coun-
terfeits or shams ? In the main this is undoubtedly true. In
the department of human sentiment called hero-worship, as in
most other departments of sentiment, there is tragedy, comedy,
farce. In the way of farce we have had the crowding of a
London court of law (in the month of March, 1882) to hear the
pleadings for and against parting with "Jumbo," the African
elephant, to whose immensity and wise dumbness many a Lon-
doner has shown hero-worship. Yet this is at least an innocent
enthusiasm, and it has been caught by men and women from
children. Enthusiasm is the pulsation of interest. And a people
would be cold, almost lifeless, in whom was no capacity of en-
thusiasm. Yet in this mild farce of Jumboism we detect some
of the characteristics which mark off false hero-worship from
true. The very people who are so sensitively touched by the
prospective sufferings of the four-footed beast are sublimely in-
different to the real sufferings of the thousands who starve or
are intensely wretched all around them. My Lady Tearful,
who writes pathetically to the newspapers that her children will
subscribe liberally for Jumbo's freedom, never thinks of asking
her children to lay by their pocket-money for the purchase of
bread for the poor. This " humbug " of sentimentality is simply
sickening. And " humbug " is the soul of false hero-worship.
It is because people are always " humbugging " themselves that
they are so easily blinded by false heroism. It is because fashion
has set up false deities, to be adored with morbid sentiment,
vicious egotism, that therefore what is magnificently unselfish
has ceased to be a deity of fashion. The household gods of
fashion are display and ostentation, respectability, comfort, and
luxury ; so that their contraries are too purely hypothetical to
be 'entertained in the mind as realizable. Hero-worship is the
worship of those fictions which are crowned with a glittering
success ; it is not the worship of the heroism of unselfishness —
the only moral heroism worth the name. Let it be granted that
there are three kinds of hero-worship — the worship of the super-
natural virtues, the worship of magnificent brains, and the wor-
ship of the excellences of character ; and that this last, apart

826 PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. [Sept.,

from Christian motive, is in itself very dignifying and beautiful.
Now, unselfishness is the very root of the natural virtues, as it is
also their suprelnest flower and fruit ; and we must admit that
it is so rare — in the being carried to the point of heroism — that
it has almost ceased to be recognized as a possibility. For this
reason it is that modern hero-worship, for the most part, is the
worship of crowned selfishness or egotism. It is therefore the
worship of the contemptible. And, however painful it is to own
it, we had better be sincere as to insincerity and confess that
The Contemptible is a prince-hero.

The waste of worship is one reason why so few of us are
capable of attaining to any sort of perfection. The student, the
politician, the soldier, the dandy, the lover, the man of fashion,
the monomaniac, all waste, to some degree, so much worship on
second things that they cannot be captivated by first things.
Imagine the amount of force, intellectual and moral (we will not
say anything about the spiritual), which is wasted in the course
of one year, by the vast majority of human beings, on false wor-
ship. Force is but a limited quantity, and, like money, demands
its arithmetic ; and if any sort of force, or any degree of any sort,
be expended on one kind of object it cannot be expended on an-
other. Now, let us say that every morning brings to every man
living his given quantity of the various necessary forces. When
we have subtracted what is wasted on the indulgence of egotism
— on the numerous sweet idlenesses of vanity — the intensity of
the various forces has received a diminution equally hurtful to
perception and attainment. And so because a man is not really
his whole self, intellectually, morally, or physically, he suffers
from moral obliquity, from intellectual short-sightedness, and
from an enervated capacity of struggle. Add up the whole sum
of such habits of wasted force, and we see why it is that inferior
objects of hero-worship are preferred before such as are supe-
rior. And add up the false habits of social life, the false max-
ims, ideas, aspirations with which our whole being becomes
saturated, and we see that we are scarcely ever ourselves, but
only fragmentary bits of ourselves. And so it comes to pass that
hero-worship, with most of us, is not a sincere homage paid by
self, but a homage paid only by a small part of self, because
the greater part of self is fast asleep.

We come, then, to the conclusion that we ourselves, like our
heroes, are for the most part fictitious or apologetic. In short-
to repeat the word which, if conventional, is expressive and just
exactly conveys the whole truth — we most of us more or less

1 882,] PHILOSOPHY OF HERO-WORSHIP. 827

worship "humbug," and we most of us are "humbugs" our-
selves. If for one moment we should be real, in the confession
of our weak judgments, we should have to admit that between
" heroism " and " humbug " it would take the spear of Ithuriel to
tell the difference. And if for one moment we should be real, in
the confession of our weak ambitions, we should have to admit
that the highest of all heroisms is that one which receives the
least honors. The highest of all heroisms is that of the Christian
saint, who weighs everything in the balance of immortality and
acts only for God in all he does. " Ah ! but here you are really
going too far," will reply our intelligent objector, "because in
this world we have our duties to perform, and we should take
the best exemplars of their performance." And who are their
best exemplars, in your opinion ? Do you look for them on the
Stock Exchange, or in diplomacy, or in the cosey libraries of the
erudite student, or on the benches of the party members of the
House of Commons, or among the barristers, the merchants, the
tradesmen ? There are, doubtless, respectable exemplars in all
such spheres ; only, as a rule, the object which is proposed is not
perfect heroism but success. And the point for which we con-
tend is that heroism, to be perfect, must aim not at gain but at
virtue. It is on this account we give the palm to the saint. Let
us reduce the whole matter to a syllogism : Hero-worship is the
worship of the admirable ; the most admirable thing in the world
is perfect virtue ; therefore the Christian saint is the only type
in the world who either appreciates or who practises perfect
hero-worship.

828 LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF [Sept.,

LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF EVE DE LA
TOUR D'ARRAINE.

TO-DAY, the 1 3th of September, 1793, Mme. Lanjuinais, Mau-
rice, and I were arrested in the name of the Republic and instal-
led in the Abbaye, having thus taken the first step of that journey
whose last is the guillotine. Well, it is over, and I draw a long
breath that seems strangely like relief. The worst has come,
and at least our apprehensions are at rest. I would not live over
the past months of alternate hope and fear, shame and sorrow, if
I had fifty lives to save instead of one. They lie behind me like
a black nightmare that I cannot bear even to recall — the hasty
plans of escape, abandoned as hopeless before they were half
ripe ; the misery of seeing friend after friend engulfed in the
whirlpool that has swallowed us at last ; the days and nights of
ceaseless terror, suspecting every one and being suspected by all ;
and, above other misery, the sense of unutterable shame that we
should lie hidden like foxes in their holes, cowering before those
whose necks should be beneath our feet.

Only last week we had planned our long-hoped-for flight,
madame and I to be disguised as market-women, Maurice as
our clownish assistant. The coarse clothes were ready ; the
small stock of cheap vegetables — scarcer and scarcer, alas ! with
each day of liberty — were finally procured. I dressed myself
with hasty, trembling fingers and went with a heavy heart into
madam e's room. Well, smiles an$ tears lie very close together,
and a real laugh is worth, in these dismal days, almost as much as
safety. There she stood before her glass, completely attired and
with a basket on her arm, looking so thoroughly the marquise
that she was, and so not at all the rustic she wished to be, that
the delightful incongruity between her stately bearing and her
humble occupation upset my overwrought nerves and I laughed
until the tears stood in my eyes.

Maurice came in and joined me, and his mother, half-flattered,
half-despairing, threw down the hamper and tore off the stiff
white cap. " It is useless, Eve," she sighed. " I had better die
a lady than try to live as anything else. We cannot change our
natures even at the bidding of the Convention."

It mattered but little after all, for the plan failed, as others
had done before; the meshes of the net that circled us drew

1 882.] EVE DE LA TOUR D'ARRAINE. 829

closer still, and behold us here, the invited guests of the Republic,
enjoying its short-lived hospitality. Strange that I should feel
flippant, knocking thus at the door of death ; but then, dear
father, I have one secret joy that cannot be torn from me. When
the summons came this morning, and I knew that all was over, my
first thought was of you. " He is safe ! " I said to myself exult-
ingly, " and they cannot touch a hair of his head." Here the
same consolation dwells with me always, until I grow selfish
with its consideration. Madame suffers for her son, Maurice for
me ; while I — is it that I am heartless and cannot feel as I ought
for those who love me? Instead of thinking of these two whose
fates are linked with mine, I am counting over and over with a
happy heart the many long miles that lie between Paris and
Vienna — Vienna, that city of safety, the beacon-light of many a
shipwrecked emigr6, within whose blessed walls you are secure-
ly sheltered.

This is my secret joy, and selfishly I brood over it. To
Maurice I am his promised bride, to madame her hoped-for
daughter ; but when I have finished loving you, dearest father,
there does not seem to be any room left in my heart for others.

SEPTEMBER 16.

We are better off than I had hoped or expected. Even sus-
pected royalists may have friends in power, and we possess one
whose good-will is boundless, though he can do but little. The
Revolution having fairly reversed the natural order of things,
capricious fortune rules the hour ; and Fabre d'Eglantine, patriot
and deputy though he be, has procured for his former friends
such poor comforts as their state may still admit of. Thanks
to his influence, madame and I enjoy two luxuries that can soften
many hardships. The privacy of a separate cell is ours when-
ever we wish to be alone, and the society of the Abbaye is open
to us when we would be merry. Nor are these favors slight
ones, as republican favors go. The brutal espionage suffered by
the royal family and by many prisoners of higher rank than ours
is the most galling of their misfortunes, and to be free from it is
indeed a coveted indulgence.

As for our society, it is all that could be desired : well-born,
witty, refined, and most enjoyable, were it not for the melancholy
uncertainty as to whether your friend of to-day will not be head-
less to-morrow — a suggestion which, however politely ignored,
intrudes itself unbidden into our gayest moments.

We are looked upon as highly privileged, having a few books

830 LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF [Sept.,

and writing materials allotted to us, and receiving more civility
from the concierges than that worthy couple are given to show-
ing their guests. Their daughter, Cecile, a girl of eighteen, waits
upon us occasionally and has attached herself especially to me.
She showed me to-day a pair of earrings which Citizen d'Eglan-
tine had given her on condition she would be as kind to us as
the prison rules allow ; and in an excess of gratitude even offer-
ed to dress my hair, which she is pleased to greatly admire.

Ten months ago perhaps D'Eglantine might have effected our
release, but now any such attempt would be but courting dan-
ger. Yet never before have he and his party seemed more
triumphant. It is not two weeks since he boasted to Maurice
that the time was coming, and quickly, when the word Girondist
would ring its own death-knell as surely as the word Royalist
does now.

" With this difference always, my friend," replied Maurice
urbanely : " the Royalist dies for his cause ; the Gironde will
perish with the trust they have betrayed."

SEPTEMBER 20.

Can all things become endurable, or do our hearts gradually
steel themselves against the sufferings of others and our own
manifest perils ? I have been a prisoner now for but six days, and
already, in imitation of those around me, have taken up the r61e
of gay defiance to an evil destiny. Every evening the list is read,
and those who are called to trial go forth, never to be heard
from again. If any escape we do not know of it, and our parting
is a final one. Yet half an hour later their places are filled, their
names forgotten, and all are thinking how best to enjoy the next
twenty-four hours, which may also be their last. A few, indeed,
weep, some pray, and many live on careless of the approaching
summons.

Yesterday Lucille Lavoisier's name was read out second on
the fatal roll. I saw her glance with mute, unconscious appeal
at her husband, who took her hand and listened with strained
attention as the list proceeded. His was the last name — Henri
Lavoisier, formerly de Clermont-Tonneres. As he heard it he
drew a long breath and looked at her with happy eyes. They
nad gained all they asked — the privilege of dying together.

Lucille and I wept bitterly when we parted, for we had known
each other from early childhood, and the thought of her pretty,
girlish head rolling from the block brought a great throb of pain
to my heart. That was last night ; and to-day, while perhaps the

1 882.] EVE DE LA TOUR D'ARRAINE. 831

cart that drew her to the guillotine was slowly setting forth, we
prisoners of the Abbaye entertained ourselves with a charm-
ing concert, varied and brightened by a short comedy, the im-
promptu effort of Maurice and Hilary Lasource. I sang, but in
the rnidst of my song the thought of Lucille came upon me sud-
denly and choked me with sobs, which were soon destined to
give place to laughter as Maurice enacted the despairing lover
languishing at his companion's feet.

Dear father, if ever you see these wretched lines what will
you think of me when I can write thus of myself? But it is the
crowning misery of this unhappy time that cruelty and terror
have demoralized all, even the sufferers. Has it not been but
thirteen months since I myself beheld M. de St. Marc, your old
and dear friend, hacked with sabres, covered with blood, a pike
thrust through his body, and forced to hobble on his knees for
the amusement of the savages who surrounded him, imitating
with rapturous delight the convulsions of' his prolonged death-
agony ? When the sun set on that sorrowful loth of August it
seemed as if all my powers of suffering were exhausted, and the
long, intervening year of horrors has scarcely added a pang. The
king has been butchered ; the queen, they say, must die ; the
streets of Paris have run blood ; young and old perish in a vast
hecatomb ! How, then, can I stop to weep for one friend less,
when to-morrow I may follow by the same path ? Rather let
us be as merry as we can before the guillotine beckons us and
the curtain falls.

SEPTEMBER 22.

Imprisonment is beginning to tell severely on our wardrobes,
which, scanty at the start, grow more shabby and unpresentable
with every day. Maurice has but one lace cravat, which is get-
ting ragged, and madame's only cap shows visible signs of decay.
This morning I was vainly endeavoring to darn its delicate
meshes when Cecile Berault, the concierge's daughter, came fly-
ing into our cell — called by courtesy our apartment — flushed
with excitement and panting with haste.

" Come quick, citoyenne ! " she cried. " Come ! I have some-
thing fine to show you."

Startled by her sudden entrance, I jumped up with thought-
less haste, letting m}^ needle fall from my hands. This misfor-
tune sobered me at once, for we have but a few of these useful
little articles in the prison, and they are in great demand.

" Never mind it, pray ! " entreated the girl. " We will find it

832 LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF [Sept.,

later or I will get you another one. But come now to my room
or you will miss it all."

" To your room ! " I repeated, aghast at such a breach of
prison discipline.

" Yes, yes ! " she cried ; "father says you may." And with-
out another word she swept me through the corridor, where the
sentinels allowed us to pass unquestioned, up a flight of stone
stairs, and into her room, while Berault stood at the door, jing-
ling his huge bunch of keys in a suggestive manner, lest some
wild thought of escape might enter my bewildered brain.

" I trust the citoyenne will enjoy the sight," he said grimly.
" It is fine indeed to a patriot's eyes."

The girt drew me to her only window, from which we could
command a full view of the narrow street beneath. It was
thronged with men, women, and children, who pressed along in
something that seemed like an uncouth procession, singing,
dancing, shrieking, flinging themselves recklessly into each
other's arms, as if driven mad by the excitement of the moment.
Drawn in an open cart was a young woman, her arms bare, her
long brown hair streaming in the wind. With fierce gesticula-
tions she addressed the reeking crowd, Avho cheered her every
word.

" A bas 1'Autrichienne ! " she shrieked. " To the guillotine
with the she-wolf and her whelps ! The)'- have sucked the peo-
ple's blood long enough. It is time now she paid the score."

A wild yell of delight followed these words, and the people
crowded around the cart until it could go no further. As it
stopped a man forced his way through the throng and clamber-
ed into it. Filthy, ragged, brutalized with rage, he thrust the
girl aside and waved his dirty red cap in the air. " Not 1'Au-
trichienne alone ! " he cried with fierce profanity, " but all her
friends — wolves in sheep's covering, who affect to love the peo-
ple they betray. The Girondists are caged at last, my citizens,
and Madame la Guillotine is opening her patriotic arms to en-
fold them. We will see them safe in her embraces."

" Down with Brissot and Lacaze ! Death for Vergniaud and
Condorcet ! " shouted the crowd. " To the guillotine with all
these men who prate of mercy while the people starve ! "

" The baker's shop is empty," piped a shrill female voice,
" and we have had no bread to-day."

" Peace, girl ! " sternly cried the man in the cart. " Have not
the Convention decreed that jfood shall be sold cheaply to all
who wish to buy ? "

1 882.] EVE DE LA TOUR D'ARRAINE. 833

" But the butcher has not -killed this week," persisted the wo-
man, who I now saw was young and haggard with want ; " and
the baker swears he has not another pound of flour. The Repub-
lic should feed her children ! "

" We are in the hands of our enemies ! " shrieked the first girl
who had spoken. " The Widow Capet intrigues against us from
her prison, the Girondists from theirs. When all these are sent
to the guillotine we shall have bread in plenty."

" Fool ! " said a round-shouldered artisan amidst the crowd.
" They are all now in the Conciergerie, and it would be a brave
man who would dare to plot there."

" To the Convention ! " cried another speaker. "We will go
to the Convention and demand food for ourselves and death for
our enemies."

" Alas ! " cried a young girl — " alas ! Marat is dead."

These simple words suddenly inflamed the crowd to a strange
fury. With shrieks and groans of mingled rage and sorrow
they rushed on, trampling over each other in their barbarous
haste. Perhaps they recalled the 4th of last April, when they
had carried their idol in triumph through the Rue Saint-Honore
and crowned his hideous squalor with garlands of spring flowers
that seemed to blush for their own purity.

" The friend of the people is dead ! " they wailed ; " but
we shall still have vengeance. On, citizens, to the Conven-
tion ! "

They pressed by, and, sick with disgust and horror, I turned
to look at the girl beside me. She seemed transformed into an-
other being ; her eyes glittered with light, her cheeks flushed
crimson, her breast heaved with the strain of her emotions.
With her head thrust from the window she drank in every de-
tail of the vile scene with an appalling delight. She was ready
and willing to join that throng of brutal men and women in their
fierce delirium. I caught her arm, and she started as if awaken-
ing from a dream.

" Was it not grand, citoyenne? " she murmured. " Did you
see Jean Sautelle, who leaped into the cart ? They say he is the
strongest man in all Paris, and can crush an enemy's skull with
one blow of his great fist."

" C6cile," I said gravely, "you are a humane and virtuous
girl. How dare you, then, applaud these spectacles of depravity
and vice ? "

She sobered for an instant and lowered her downcast eyes.
Then the watchwords of the new religion came to her rescue.

VOL. xxxv. — 53

834 LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF [Sept.,

" Citoyenne," she said boldly, " there is but one virtue left in
these days, and that is to love our country."

I shook my head. " You had better love your soul," I said ;
and, sick at heart with all that I had seen and heard, I turned
away, glad to seek a blessed shelter in my cell. Perhaps D'Eglan-
tine is right when he says that a prison is now the best asylum
that Paris can afford.

SEPTEMBER 27. "

I have written nothing for five days, because there has been
so little worth recording in the routine of our prison life. We
sew, chat, play cards and dominoes, get up little plays not very
well acted and concerts not very well sung, welcome new guests
at the Abbaye, part sadly from the old ones en route for the
guillotine, and try in all ways to extract what flavor we can from
our rather monotonous days.

Maurice has become the life of the place. He it is who with
untiring energy plans out each evening's entertainment and
spares no pains to make it a success. We have had several
mock trials, at which he has appeared as Hebert, Chabot, and
Fouquier-Tinville, with an accuracy of delineation too startling
to be altogether pleasant. Yet these little farces are conducted
with so much care that they contain absolutely no word to which
the prison spies may not listen with impunity. The young girls
secretly envy me rny betrothal to one so gallant and gay, forget-
ting that the scaffold stands betwreen us and our nuptials ; and
even Berault, the surly, was recently heard to confess that when
Citizen Lanjuinais was called to the guillotine the Abbaye would
lose its most attractive guest.

As for madame, in her calm serenity, which nothing can dis-
place, she wonders at the restless spirits of her son, who is fight-
ing an hourly battle with his own thoughts. I sometimes fancy
that she disapproves of our more lively pastimes ; but if so she
says nothing, looks nothing that could indicate her displeasure.
She is unfailingly courteous to all and friendly to none, and has
never since the first moment of our arrest betrayed weariness
for the present or apprehension for the future. Whether she
hopes for the best or has resigned herself to the worst, her mind
is a sealed .book and none may look in it.

Two nights ago among the prisoners summoned to trial was
Mme. de St. Cymon, the young widow of a brave officer who
fell under Dumounez at Verdun. This afternoon she was re-
turned to the Abbaye, having been tried, condemned, dragged to

1 882.] EVE DE LA TOUR &ARRAINE. 835

the guillotine, and there reprieved because, either through some
mistake or intentional omission, her name was found to have
been left out of the fatal list. The last of eleven condemned,
she witnessed the execution of her ten companions, and, having
endured all the agonies that belong to death, felt herself not free
but respited, perhaps to suffer them once more.

Surely such an ordeal would be enough to subdue the brav-
est soul, but the utterly frivolous have an armor of their own
more impregnable sometimes than the stoutest courage; and
Amelie, in answer to a host of commiserating questions, had
but one complaint to make — that the executioner was so dirty.
She seemed to have taken in nothing beyond this dismal fact,
but, with her soft eyes dilated in horror, described her sensations
on beholding him, brutal, hideous, and above all so miserably
far from clean ; his arms, hands, and blood-stained shirt foully
repulsive to her fastidious eyes. In vain Maurice lightly sug-
gested that when one had to die the cleanliness of one's execu-
tioner was, after all, a matter of small consideration.

" Your pardon, monsieur," she said with gentle dignity. " I
have always known that some time I must die ; but I never
thought I should live to be handled by such dirty fingers."

Finally the happy thought occurred to him that perhaps the
other two Sampson brothers might be more cleanly than the
one Amelie had seen. This idea was consoling, and now we live
in hopes that when our turns arrive the least dirty of the trio
may preside.

SEPTEMBER 28.

Clean or otherwise, we shall doubtless soon need his minis-
trations. Ten prisoners have been called for trial to-morrow :
M. and Mme. Grangeneuve, guilty of being aristocrats ; M. and
Mme. Mercier, guilty of being rich ; the Marquis de Laroche-
Ayman and his little son, a boy of eleven ; Raymonde de Faire ;
Blanche, Marquise de Lanjuinais; Maurice Lanjuinais, her son;
and Eve de la Tour d'Arraine. So you see, dear father, our
turn has come at last, and all that is left for me is to uphold the
honor of your name, which I have no brother to bear.

C6cile Berault has been shedding torrents of tears in my cell,
greatly to my surprise and to madame's manifest displeasure.
The poor girl, on whom I had at no time bestowed a second
thought, has attached herself to me through some whimsical
fancy of her own, and appears inconsolable at the prospect of
my trial. It is certainly not very cheerful to see her so sure of

836 LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF [Sept.,

its result ; but, after all, opinions on that subject seldom vary, and
she only speaks with the frankness of her class. For some days
past she has been hovering around like my shadow, bringing me
small offerings of flowers and fruit, and assisting with more
good-will than dexterity at my scanty toilets.

" If the citoyenne will permit me," she said, sobbing, " I will
come to the Conciergerie the day after to-morrow and dress her
hair for the last time."

This was really a trifle too much for my composure.
" Cecile," I remonstrated, " you forget that perhaps I may be
acquitted."

" Ah! if it were possible. I could then wait on you always,"
she said, quietly linking our lives together. " But I do not hope
it, citoyenne ; so few aristocrats escape."

" And how can a girl like you gain admittance to the Con-
ciergerie ? "

" Oh ! there will be no trouble about that. Mme. Bault is
my mother's cousin, and her daughter and I are old friends. It
is she who waits upon the queen."

" But I thought M. and Mme. Richard had charge of the
Conciergerie ? " I said, wondering.

" And so they had," replied Cecile. " But they have been ar-
rested together with Michonis, who permitted a note to reach
the prisoner; and Mme. Bault and her husband, the former con-
cierges of La Force, obtained the post."

" Poor queen ! " I sighed, thinking, indeed, not of her guar-
dians but of her long captivity and many sorrows.

The girl flushed scarlet. " Believe me, citoyenne," she said
earnestly, " my cousin is not harsh. She and her daughter do
all they can to soften the rigor of the queen's imprisonment, even
at the risk of disobeying their strict orders. They prepare her
food themselves and gladly give her the few comforts that they
dare."

" Indeed I do not doubt it," I said, anxious to make atone-
ment for my unhappy exclamation. " I am sure that your cou-
sin is kind, because I know how good you have been to me.
Even in Paris there are still some compassionate hearts to be
found."

She smiled a little sadly. " I love you dearly, citoyenne,"
she said as she went away, " but at least I know that I am a fool
for my pains."

Well, there is one use I will make of this girl's strange fond-
ness for me. I have resolved, because I can do no better, to give

i882.] EVE DE LA TOUR D'ARRAINE. 837

to her keeping these pages, which have been my last farewell to
you. There is nothing in them which can criminate her, and she
has promised to guard them faithfully, and, if ever peace returns
to this darkened land, to spare no pains to place them in your
hand. It is, after all, a foolish hope, but the thought that you
will one day read my words is so sweet to me that I cannot bear
to relinquish it. If we are condemned and sent to the Con-
ciergerie, as C6cile is sure we will be, then when she comes to
see me I will give the book to her. Until that time I shall keep
it with me : it is my only link to you.

SEPTEMBER 29.

How shall I ever be able to write, dear father, of all that has
taken place within the last ten hours? This morning we were
subjected to that cheerful mockery which the Republic grandilo-
quently calls a trial. Fabre d'Eglantine had provided us with a
pleader, though not appearing himself in any way in our be-
half. Indeed, such an act would perhaps have cost him more
than he is prepared to pay. We were the last of the prisoners
to be summoned. M. and Mme. Grangeneuve were called first,
rapidly convicted of being aristocrats, and sentenced to the guil-
lotine. M. and Mme. Mercier came next, and with admirable
promptness were disposed of in the same manner, her father, a
wealthy farmer-general, striving in vain to save her. Raymonde
de Faire and the marquis carried their condemnation in their
titles and made no attempt at defence. The child alone excited
compassion.

Slight and fair, with blue eyes prematurely saddened, the boy
is said to be the image of his mother, who is dead, and bears but
little resemblance to his dark and handsome father ; yet it is easy
to read the great love which unites them. While in the Abba}^e
the marquis never permitted him out of his sight, and the two
seemed to have no desire for other companionship. Several
times I had spoken to the child and shared with him C6cile's
plums and grapes — gifts which he accepted with a shy reluct-
ance, and which failed to win him from his unboyish solitude.
During all the preceding trials he nestled closely to his father,
who, occasionally bending over him, spoke some word of encour-
agement, to which the boy would respond with a faint smile,
while his intelligent eyes studied the faces of the judges as if he
would read their very thoughts.

" Henri de Laroche-Ayman, accused of being an enemy of
the Republic, under the first article of the new decree, which pro-

838 LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF [Sept.,

vides for all ci-devant nobles who have not constantly manifested
their attachment for the revolution — "

" Provides for them liberally and for ever," interrupted a wo-
man's voice in the gallery, in acknowledgment of which witti-
cism the crowd cheered long and loudly.

" The prisoner is found guilty," continued the president, after
waiting for silence ; " but the boy is too young to be a sharer in
his father's treason. The Republic will adopt him and be his
protector."

Another round of applause from the now sympathetic audi-
ence, one voice alone protesting. A tall, gaunt man rose in the
gallery, wearing the bonnet rouge and opening and shutting his
nst with a nervous, hungry motion. " The wise farmer," he said
with cruel emphasis, " is he who destroys the fox-cubs in the
litter and who drowns the field-mice in the nest."

" Silence ! " thundered Foucault, who was one of the judges.
" The Republic does not make war on children. Let the boy be
removed and the next prisoners called."

- There was an instant's silence. The child, pale as death, clung
desperately to his father, who, with unalterable calmness, begged
permission to speak a word. " The gentleman in the gallery is
right," he said with cynical courtesy. " You will never be able
to make a good republican of my son. The last of an ancient
race, believe me the traditions of his blood cannot be uprooted ;
and if he lives it will be to avenge his father's death and to de-
vote every energy to replacing the rightful heir upon the throne
of France."

Then, smiling, he stooped and whispered to the child, who in-
stantly removed the cap from his fair curls and cried out in his
clear, boyish treble : " A bas la Republique ! Vive la Reine et
le Dauphin ! " after which, smiling back at his father as one who
claims reward for his obedience, he nestled still closer to his
side.

A change of sentiment swept over the crowd. " The young
whelp ! " cried one. " To the guillotine with father and son ! "
shrieked another ; and a dozen voices took up the cry and joined
furiously in. The president rang his bell ; there was a brief de-
liberation. " Let the boy go with his father," he said, " and up-
on his head be the guilt."

The marquis bowed. " I thank you, gentlemen," he said
gravely, and, taking his son's hand in his, the two left the stand
together.

Wrapped in this pathetic little tragedy, which I hardly knew

1 88 2.] EVE DE LA TOUR D'ARRAINE. 839

whether to praise or to condemn, I did not hear our names
called out by Fouquier-Tinville, who read the accusations against
us. It was a surprise to my own self to hear of how much I
was guilty. Since that gigantic decree which emanated from
the subtle brain of Merlin de Douai has enveloped all France in
its meshes, there is no one free from suspicion, no word or act
that can be pronounced guiltless. Amid its seventy-four incri-
minations there lurks some clause that can be fitted to every
case, so that escape becomes impossible.

Maurice was an aristocrat to whom the certificate of citizen-
ship had been denied, an enemy of the constitution, who had no
means of existence beyond the rent from property "now confis-
cated. His mother shared his guilt. She was a direct partisan
of royalty, and had been one of those who sought to show their
sympathy with the queen by flocking to look upon her with re-
spectful pity as she and her children walked in the gardens of
the Temple. I was the daughter of an emigr6 whose head would
pay the forfeit of his return. I had communicated by letter with
him ; we had all three endeavored to escape in disguise from the
country, and there were present witnesses who could prove this
fact against us.

" Ma foi ! " whispered Maurice to me as the list went on.
" What a waste of breath ! Here is enough to guillotine u"s a
dozen times over."

At last, however, the accusations were finished and our
pleader arose. He said what he could in our behalf honestly but
not enthusiastically, anys undue warmth at such a time being apt
to involve the advocate in the client's danger. There are still,
indeed, men who, like Chauveau-Lagarde,.devote themselves with
generous enthusiasm to the cause of the accused, heedless of their
own peril ; but suspicion falls on all, and all are alike blighted by.
their common fears. Our defence was brief and seemed out of
proportion with the length of the accusations. The president
then, turning to madame, asked if she had anything to say in her
own behalf. Madame, who appeared insufferably bored by the
whole affair, to which she had listened with the half-distraite
manner of one who endures but does not heed a prosy book,
languidly turned her head, included the whole court in one
glance of supreme disdain, and answered she had not. The same
question was put to me, and I, too, had no reply : what could I
plead to such charges? I looked hopelessly at Maurice, who
arose and asked permission to speak. Dazed as I was, I saw the
change that came over his handsome face. There was no trace

840 LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF [Sept.

of indifference left as, with all the earnest strength and pathos
of his nature, he made a last appeal for the helpless women by
his side.

What he said I can hardly remember, so much did the man-
ner of his saying it confuse and bewilder me. Was this vehe-
ment, pathetic, passionate man Maurice, the careless scoffer at
death and destiny ? I heard him plead in our behalf that at no
time had we by word or deed injured the Republic; that his
mother's sympathy for the queen had been a woman's pity for
another woman; my only crime a daughter's love for her fa-
ther. He reminded the court that you had been sent to Vienna
long before the decree against emigres had been passed, and
that your return to France would have been fraught with useless
danger. He urged passionately that the plan of flight had been
his, and his alone, and that we had yielded as women to his will.
" Citizens," he concluded, " one of you has said that the Repub-
lic does not make war on children. Why, then, on defenceless
women who have been guilty of no crime, and whose blood only
disgraces the fair fame of the nation? I hold myself responsible
as a man for the actions of my mother and of my betrothed bride,
now under her protection ; grant that as a man I alone may pay
the forfeit."

He ceased, and involuntarily I turned to look at madame.
Her eyes were fixed upon her son, and I saw the torrent of
pride and tenderness that swept over her face for one brief in-
stant, changing and softening every feature. Then it faded, and
her impassive coldness gave no token of what she must have
felt. I was still lost in wonder at the change in both mother and
son when the jury, who had been deliberating for two full min-
utes, came to their decision, and the sentence was read out :
Guilty all three of treason to the Republic, and sentenced to the
guillotine to-morrow.

Maurice shrugged his shoulders : he was once more his old
self. " And now," he said, " for the delights of the Concier-
gerie."

But the Conciergerie was full already, most prisoners being
taken there immediately before their trial ; and so we were sent
back to spend our last evening in the familiar company of the
Abbaye. Not anticipating our return, the concierge had assign-
ed our cell to some new arrivals and regarded us with no great
satisfaction. " It does not matter, however," he said after a min-
ute's reflection ; " I can give the citoyennes another room, since
it will be but for one night." And, quite cheerful over this

1 882.] EVE DE LA TOUR D'ARRAINE. 841

abridgment of his hospitality,' he led the way, humming a bar
of the " Marseillaise " and rattling his great keys as a fitting ac-
companiment to the song.

In the first corridor we met his daughter, and by her a young
girl simply dressed and not pretty, but with a modest manner
and a refined, thoughtful face. C6cile, on seeing me, gave an
involuntary cry of surprise, and her companion lifted her quiet
eyes with a troubled, half-pitying glance and hurried by.

" Voila ! " said M. Berault, unlocking a ponderous door and
pushing it open. " Here is the cell where Charlotte Corday
passed her last night. The citoyennes will doubtless be pleased
to occupy it."

I was not pleased, and madame was, as usual, indifferent.
This young girl, pure and passionate, who had risked body and
soul in the vain hope to save her wretched country by a wretch-
ed crime, was of no possible interest in madame's mind. To me,
however, the very walls seemed haunted by her presence, and it
was a relief to my own sad thoughts when C6cile entered bear-
ing a little flask of wine.

"I know all, citoyenne," she said gravely, putting down the
wine and looking at me with tearful eyes.

" You knew all before, I think," I answered rather pettishly.
" Who was the girl with you just now ?"

"That," said C6cile, as if surprised by the question — "that
was Eleanore Duplay. I have known her ever since I was a lit-
tle girl, but I seldom see her now. She does not like to come
inside of a prison."

I was silent with astonishment. So this quiet, modest girl was
she who had inspired with a gentle and virtuous affection the
man steeped in his country's blood — a tyrant worse than those of
ancient Rome, for he cannot plead in extenuation of his cruelty
the mastery of a single passion. Yet even Robespierre has his
human side. He loves this artisan's daughter and he respects
her simple dignity and virtue. To her, at least, he is a patriot
severe but incorruptible. In his quiet evenings with his hum-
ble friends, in his long walks with no other companionship than
the great dog who paces lovingly by his side, in his few affec-
tions, lukewarm though they be, even this man shows some
glimpses of a better nature. Yet can Eleanore Duplay forget
that another woman pure as she once warmed this viper at her
hearth and sought to shelter him in his extremest need, which
friendship and hospitality he returned, after his kind, with
treachery and a prison ? It is no wonder she does not like

842 LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF [Sept.,

to enter the Abbaye while Mme. Roland languishes within its
walls.

Ah ! well, the Republic can boast of at least one virtue that
the monarchy never attained, and she proves it by Mme. Ro-
land's captivity and by General Custine's unmerited and shame-
ful death. She is at all times strictly impartial in her favors.
The Girondists who founded her, the soldiers who fought for
her, and the Royalists, who hate her cordially, all meet with the
same return and gain the guillotine for their reward.

We have resolved to accept with cheerfulness our share in
this universal prize, and have planned a most charming evening
in consideration of its being our last. A piece of information
which Cecile gave me has decided for us a part of the entertain-
ment.

" To think," she said with a great sigh as she helped me to
dress — " to think that the citoyenne's beautiful hair will perhaps
be soon lying in a shop-window !"

" What ! " I cried, startled out of all composure, while madame
opened her eyes, aghast at such an idea. " Do you mean to tell
me they will cut off my hair before I die ? "

" Oh ! no," replied the girl ; " it is afterwards. All the fine
hair is sold to barbers, who make it into wigs, and the citoyenne's
is so especially beautiful it will be in great demand."

I was horror-stricken at the thought. My hair, which has
always been my pride and your delight, made into a wig for
some rich shop-keeper's wife ! And Madame Grangeneuve, who,
although no longer young, has preserved uninjured her blonde
tresses — what will she think of such a desecration of her greatest
charm ? " Cecile," I said, " if what you are telling me is really
true there is but one resource left. I will cut off my own hair to-
night and cheat the barber of his spoils this time at least." And
not only I but a number of the other prisoners, animated by my ex-
ample, have now resolved to do the same. Aglae de Sombreuils,
Mme. Grangeneuve, Mile, de Faye, her sister, a girl of fifteen, and
several others have determined to sacrifice their curls to-night
and to celebrate the occasion with all the mock solemnity at our
command. It is disagreeable enough to go to the guillotine
shorn of our grace, but it is preferable to the thought that we
are enriching the Commune with our severed locks.

Madame tacitly approves of our resolution, and, in. her gra-
cious indifference, appears to contemplate the near approach of
death with unbroken serenity. Maurice is in his gayest humor
and bids fair to make our evening a merry one for those who

1 882.] EVE DE LA TOUR &ARRAINE. 843

can enjoy it ; while I — shall I confess it, dear father, even to
you ? — am miserably, wretchedly afraid, and carry beneath my
outward calm, assumed for very shame's sake, a quaking coward's
heart. I am afraid of that dreadful ride to-morrow with the
people shouting and rejoicing around the cart ; afraid of the
keen edge of the knife upon my neck ; afraid to meet my Judge
in another world. How can I dare to look into the future?
What preparation is all this mockery of merry-making for the
death that is to follow ? Where shall I turn for help or strength ?
The despairing loveliness of Charlotte Corday dwells before my
eyes whichever way I turn them. I shrink from the very thought
of the guillotine, and even my contempt for my own fears does
not suffice to allay them. All that I can hope for now is that I
may be able to conceal what I cannot subdue, and to appear
brave while inwardly I tremble.

It is two hours past midnight, and I am writing you my last
lines, lingering in your dear company while I may. Strange
changes have taken place in my soul since I put away this little
book, and now I can look forward quietly to the morning light,
which I shall never see again. Our evening promised to be a
frivolously pleasant one. I had dressed myself with especial
care in what scraps of lace and finery my prison life had left me,
with a bunch of late roses, Cecile's last gift, glowing in my cor-
sage. Mme. Grangeneuve looked charming ; Mme. Mercier did
not appear. When Aglae produced the fatal scissors we scarce-
ly knew whether to laugh or weep over the approaching sacri-
fice ; but she consented to be the first victim and readily submit-
ted her long, fair curls to my destructive hands.

I heard her give a little sob as the soft heaps fell about her
feet ; but she bravely turned it into a laugh, and, gathering up
her scattered locks, tried to scrutinize her changed appearance in
the little cracked mirror which Cecile had lent us for this pur-
pose. One by one we took our turns amid the remarks, consol-
ing and encouraging, of the spectators ; one by one we arose
altered creatures to the outward view. The Demoiselles de
Faye had beautiful locks of a soft, dusky brown ; Mme. Grange-
neuve is blonde ; Jaqueline de St. Estaire fairer still ; I alone
had hair like burnished metal — a great rope of twisted golden
strands that shone red and ruddy in the flickering light.

Maurice took it tenderly in his hands. " It was a sin to rob
you of it before your time," he said in a low voice. " Yet better
that than it should adorn another head."

844 LAST PAGES IN THE JOURNAL OF [Sept.,

" And Mile. Eve has this great comfort that we do not share,"
added Mme. Grangeneuve, laughing : " she is as pretty without
it as she was before."

" Ah ! yes," said Aglae regretfully. " I should not mind at
all if my hair would curl around my forehead like hers does
and make me look like a handsome boy."

Consoled by these gentle flatteries, I glanced at Maurice for
his confirmation of them. He shook his head and smiled. " You
are not as pretty as you were," he said ; " but you are still and
always will be the fairest woman in the world."

"That I know I am not and never have been," I answered;
but all the same I felt relieved to think that I had not entirely
disfigured myself. I am sure, dearest, you would be mortified if
I looked ugly in my last moments, and when there will be so
many to gaze at me and criticise.

We twisted the mingled heaps of yellow, brown, and red into
one thick rope, tied it with ribbons, and, laying it on a stool, took
hands and danced around it — slowly at first, as if at some an-
cient rite, but quicker and quicker as the excitement of the mo-
ment flushed our cheeks and stirred our overwrought feelings.
Laughing, singing, panting, we whirled round and round like a
group of bacchantes ; when, blinded as I was by our rapid mo-
tion, I saw that a strange figure stood in our midst, grave, severe,
• silent. Mechanically we stopped, our heads swimming, our
breasts heaving with the strain, and I then perceived it was the
Abbe Siccard, who was contemplating us with contemptuous dis-
pleasure mixed with a no less contemptuous pity. He is not
one of those priests authorized by the government to visit the
prisons and prepare the condemned for death, but a suspected
royalist like ourselves, who during his captivity has mingled but
little with the other prisoners. Now he stood motionless, with
his keen, dark eyes resting full on my burning face. Abashed, I
turned away my head, not only ashamed of my late folly but
feeling that his scrutiny penetrated to my very soul and detect-
ed there the fear and misery I strove to hide. At length he laid
his hand upon my arm and spoke.

" I was with your mother when she died," he said, " and it
was not thus that she prepared for death."

A rush of strangely mingled sensations swept over me at his
words. Involuntarily the death-bed of my young mother rose
before my mind. Ah ! what a contrast between her last hours,
soothed by love and comforted by religion, and the shameful
death to which I was to be dragged to-morrow. The abbe

1 882.] EVE DE LA TOUR D'ARRAINE. 845

seemed to read my thoughts, for he added, a little more
gently :

" It was not easy for her to die and leave husband and child,
but she resigned herself wholly to God's will. My daughter,
have you ever thought of meeting your mother in another
world?"

Still I was silent, but tears filled my eyes.

" Come," he said, " there is still time to repent. Leave this
childish folly, which at such a moment becomes wicked. It is
not in this way that a sinful soul should prepare to meet its
Lord."

His hand was still upon my arm. His will controlled mine
strangely. Slowly I released my companions and turned to fol-
low him, when Maurice sprang forward and seized my other hand.

" This is our last evening on earth," he cried fiercely to the
priest, " and you shall not take her from me."

The abbe looked at him with a strange softening in his quiet
face. Not so had he regarded me, and I felt that he recognized
and pitied the real passion of the man before him, while he read
as plainly my weaker soul, that could neither love nor suffer, but
veiled itself under a hollow lie.

" Let go her hand, my son," he said, " and think whether it
would be better to see her a few hours here or for ever in eter-
nity."

Maurice smiled bitterly. " In eternity," he said, " I shall not
be deemed fit to kiss the hem of her white robe. But here she
is my promised bride, and to-morrow we die. Leave her with
me for a little while ! "

The abbe shook his head. " If you love her," he said gravely,
" rather help to win heaven, for the lost souls hate each other
with undying bitterness. And what thought have any of you
given to the strict account you must render so soon ? "

Maurice stood silent for a minute ; then a new light came into
his saddened eyes. " Listen, father," he said earnestly. " It is
true that the catalogue of my misdeeds will most likely be a
lengthy one, but she at least is pure and good. Will you marry
us to-morrow, so that as my wife she may plead for me before
the judgment throne ? "

The abbe frowned slightly. " Do you wish it, too, my child ? "
he asked, turning to me.

" As you think best, father," I answered apathetically ; for
other thoughts engrossed my mind and weighed heavily on my
heart.

846 EVE DE LA TOUR D'ARRAINE. [Sept.,

Maurice flushed deeply and his dark eyes rested reproachful-
ly on my face. " It is enough, Eve," he said. " I know you do
not love me, but there are some truths hard for us to accept.
Go your way. I will trouble you no more."

Obediently I went a few steps, and then the pain expressed in
his face and voice drove me to return. " It is true, Maurice," I
said in a low tone, " I cannot love you as you deserve, and I
never could ; but perhaps in heaven God will give me a larger
heart, and you can enter into it."

He smiled sadly and took my cold hand in his. "•! will hope
it, Eve," he said. " Good-by, good-by ! "

We were alone during these last words, for all the others had
withdrawn. He kissed my fingers, which trembled in his grasp,
and thus we parted, not to see each other again until we ride in
company to our death.

But I have spent the last hours in trying to prepare my soul
for its ordeal to-morrow, and the abbe has gently and pitifully
endeavored to strengthen my weakness and to humiliate my
pride. If I still tremble my fears are brightened by hope and
softened by resignation. I forgive all, and trust in my turn to
be forgiven. We are reaping the whirlwind, and the sins of
many generations are being visited upon our heads. Even
madame seems strangely humbled. She, too, has made her peace
with God and is sleeping quietly. I am alone with you, dear fa-
ther, and all my thoughts and all my love go out to you to-night.
I kiss the paper which I trust your eyes will read, once, twice,
thrice, and bid you a last farewell.

1 882.] THE OPENING OF THE SCHOOLS. 847

THE OPENING OF THE SCHOOLS.

IN a few weeks the apples will be ripe and the schools will be
open. " Our glorious system of public schools will again begin
its beneficent work of forming true American citizens " (quota-
tion from the last Fourth of July speech) and the parochial
schools, with their army of Sisters of Charity and Christian Bro-
thers, will renew their efforts to form a Christian people true to
liberty, to law, and to religion. The reader will certainly pardon
us for sparing him the repetition of all the weighty arguments
that have been brought forward to support a national system of
education, as well as for not dragging in the heavy artillery of
Catholic writers all parked in Father Pachtler's work* in favor of
the superior claims of the denominational system. Let our con-
trast between the two systems be local, and let it be an appeal
to the average common sense. We deal with every-day reason-
ing and every-day difficulties.

" The public-school system is not essentially bad ; the con-
demnations of the church, authorities on the other side of the At-
lantic are not applicable to our state systems." To this we say,
Let it pass — transeat. In Europe the church was in possession of
education, and infidelity is the aggressor in trying to deprive her
of her rights over the school. Infidelity did not secularize the
public schools here ; and although many of their partisans now
sustain them out of hatred to the Catholic Church, yet the mo-
tive of their foundation was not hostility to the Catholic Church
or to religion. The modern state schools of Europe are infidel ;
ours, by the daily reading of the Protestant Bible, the singing of
Protestant hymns, and the use of Protestant text-books, although
non-sectarian in law, are practically Protestant. Nor will it do
to say that a percentage of the school-boards, of the commission-
ers (a fearfully small percentage, considering the Catholic popu-
lation of our city), of the trustees (also a small 'percentage), and
of the teachers is Catholic, and profoundly Catholic, and that
by this element the schools are disinfected of sectarianism in the
meaning which the word conveys to the Catholic mind. Facts
always are the best arguments against theories. We grant that

* Das gottliche Recht der Familie unter der Kirche anf die Schnle. G. M. Pachtler, S.J.
Mainz, 1879.

848 THE OPENING OF THE SCHOOLS. [Sept.,

the very small bureaucratic Catholic element in the public-school
system is for the most part exemplary and excellent ; but what
influence has it? Is not even the Catholic principal of the public
school obliged to read the Protestant Bible to his mixed congre-
gation every morning, and are not hymns and prayers, of an essen-
tially sectarian character taught to the children and sung or said
by them daily, while the Catholic teachers must submit in mute
obedience or lose their position ? We say nothing of the occa-
sional outbreak of a rabid trustee or an ill-mannered commissioner
who will publicly insult the Catholic children by telling them at
a school reception that " ignorance alone makes people believe
in papal infallibility," nor of the slurs in public-school text-books
about " lazy monks " and " persecuting Rome." These difficulties
are patent to every one. Yet a certain Catholic element is will-
ing to grin and bear this state of affairs and pooh-pooh its bad in-
fluence on Catholic faith.

In fact, an objection made against the public schools is some-
times retorted against the parochial schools. " There are scamps
in them, ill-mannered boys, and many of those boys become can-
didates for State prison " — thus often speaks an opponent of the
Catholic schools, falling into the fatal sophism of blaming a sys-
tem for the sins of some of its followers. No champion of the
parochial system ever held that it would make all children saints;
that it would curb free-will so as to keep it always on the right
path ; or that human passion and frailty would never break out
under religious control. When will such sophists learn that
from the days of Judas down religion never undertook to force
the natural will of man ? When will they learn that there is
among children as well as men inequality of nature, of tempe-
rament, of temptation, for which God makes allowance in his
judgments, although men do not? Would these scamps become
saints if they were trained in public schools ? This is not claimed.
Would they not, on the contrary, be worse than they are ; for,
since all the restraints of religion have not prevented them from
being bad, would not freedom from those restraints make them
worse ? To the frailty of corrupt hearts, often found even where
there is strong Christian faith, will there not be added, under a
godless system of education, the infidelity of corrupt heads?
Cleanliness and nice manners are not morality, and the biggest
rogues are not the rough sons of the laboring poor, sometimes
found drunk, disorderly, but — sorry ; nor are they the worst ene-
mies of the state. What unprejudiced, reflecting man will deny
this ? In the parochial school there is the confessional, the great

i882.j THE OPENING' OF THE SCHOOLS. 849

preserver of the physical health and manhood of the rising gene-
ration as well as of public and private morality. The public
schools have no such physician, although they have professors
of physiology.

The parish school is governed by the clergyman, always a
man of intelligence, who sustains the secular authority of the
teacher by the stronger sanction of his sacred character. In the
public school the teacher often dares not punish or reprove the
refractory pupil, because he is the son or cousin of the trustee,
or his father has influence with him or with the inspector. And
when the inspector comes around how the poor teacher trembles
if there is no entente cordiale between them ! How the principal
shivers for his fate if he has been prominent in the last political
canvas and has done something to displease the alderman who
owns the commissioner, who owns the trustee, who owns the
janitor ! We do not say that the principal is often bribed by the
inferior teachers to give a good report of a class ; but we do say
that the public-school system is full of jobs.

It is a scala non santa of jobs from the top to the bottom.
There is a job in the repairs, a job in the supply of coal, a job in
the supply of books, a job in the appointment of teachers. Many
a trustee has had his hands well greased for favors done in this
line. This state of affairs does not and cannot exist in the paro-
chial-school system. It is cheaper and honester, and recom-
mends itself on these if not on higher grounds to the economic
American citizen.

" But the child is better educated in the public school." We
deny this absolutely, even if we take the word education in a
purely secular sense. The Sisters of Charity and the Christian
Brothers teach the four " R's," as they are pleasantly called, bet-
ter than is done in the public-school system. We grant that a
percentage of the pupils of the public schools, the children of
wealthy parents who ought to send their sons and daughters to
colleges and pay for them instead of having them, educated at
the expense of the community, are better clothed and cleaner
than the poor children of our parish schools ; we grant that the
public-school boys and girls know more of physiology — too
much of that — of botany and conchology ; that they are crammed
and their brains turned into pdttfs de foie gras by smatterings of
these higher branches ; but that their penmanship is better,, that
they know arithmetic, spelling, or English grammar as well as
the pupils of the parish schools, we do deny. The parish schools
insist on the essentials and concentrate their forces on them,
VOL. xxxv. — 54

850 THE OPENING OF THE SCHOOLS. [Sept.,

hence their excellence, besides their superiority in the matter of
religion. We challenge and defy comparison on these points.
Of what earthly or heavenly advantage is conchology or botany
to a poor boy who does not know how to write well, to spell
well, or to do a sum, and who must work at a trade or a clerk-
ship all his life ?

But, to come home to every parish, what a difference be-
tween the children of the public school and those of the parish
school when it becomes necessary to prepare them for First Com-
munion or Confirmation! The average child is stupid. Fond
parents may admire the eyes of "violet " blue or "black as any
sloe" of their darlings, and imagine them geniuses and saints;
but they are neither the one nor the other. They are generally
dull and full of faults. Careful, patient, and continuous instruc-
tion is necessary to make them learn and understand even so
simple a book as the catechism ; and a good switch, applied by
the parents where it will do the most good, is the best spur to
their sloth and evil inclinations.

Does not every priest who has the misfortune to be without a
parish school know how hard it is to train children, and to make
up by a few hours of catechism weekly for the lack of the daily
religious instruction given by the sisters or the brothers ? Surely
every Catholic, at least, who could would have a parish school, if
he knew its advantages and the dangers to the rising generation
without it.

" Then why are there not parish schools in every parish ?"
A very proper question, but easily answered. In some parishes
the same reasons hold that excuse a thief from making restitu-
tion— physical or moral impossibility. But the obligation to re-
store always holds good till the debt has been paid. The debt
on some churches is too great ; some congregations are too poor
and too scattered to permit them to realize what must be the
desire of every Catholic heart, the foundation of a parish school.

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 851

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE LIFE OF ST. PHILIP NERI, APCSTLE OF ROME. By Alfonso Cape-
celatro, some time Superior of the Oratory of Naples, Archbishop of
Capua, and domestic prelate to His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. Trans-
lated by Thomas Alder Pope, M.A., of the Oratory. Two vols. Lon-
don : Burns & Gates. 1882. (For sale by the Catholic Publication So-
ciety Co.)

This new life of St. Philip Neri shows evident signs that it has been for
its gifted author a work of love. There is one feature in the life of the
saint which no biographer fails to notice and enlarge upon, and that is his
cheerfulness. This is why no life of a saint places before the mind of its
readers more clearly this fruit of Christianity than that of St. Philip Neri.
And this expression is a characteristic of Christianity which is not suffi-
ciently appreciated by the general Christian believer, and almost not at all
understood by nearly all non-Catholics. As to these latter, we feel inclined
to protest strongly against what they too commonly strive to accomplish —
namely, to identify the asceticism of the saints with the practices of the
fanatical fakirs of India, and their exercise of virtue with the stern and for-
bidding doctrines and conduct of the acidulous John Calvin. Christianity
is neither ascetical nor ethical in its aim or essence, and were such a mis-
taken view once to be admitted, though nothing can be fatal to its triumph,
still such an erroneous admission would be no small hindrance to its pro-
gress. The example of St. Philip's life is a perfect antidote to this poison-
ous error. His piety was always cheerful, occasionally even sportive, and
his life was uniformly marked by joy.

Joy is an essential fruit of Christianity. But Christian joy is gained, in
man's present state, only by means of the constant practice of asceticism
and the faithful exercise of virtue. It is the peace and joy which springs
from the indwelling Holy Spirit which constitutes the kingdom of hea-
ven. This state is attained only when the animal appetites and passions
are in subjection to the dictates of reason, and the dictates of reason are
subordinated to and guided by the inspirations and suggestions of the Holy
Spirit. Hence sanctity may be defined as that state in which the soul is
habitually guided by the instinct of the Holy Spirit. No one can read the
life of St. Philip without being impressed that he was a consummate mas-
ter in this school of Christian perfection. His life was a perfect example of
its truth. Considering the peculiar religious and intellectual condition of
our age, we cannot help expressing the regret that this excellent biography
does not place this important point, so strikingly exemplified in the life of
St. Philip, with its immediate bearing on Christian perfection, in as clear,
strong, and practical a light as it might have been, particularly as the mo-
tives in writing this new biography of St. Philip would have led one to ex-
pect such a development. What these motives were we leave the author
himself to describe. He says :

" The other point of difference is, that the writers of the sixteenth century either neglected
altogether or touched only incidentally on the relations in which the life of the saint stood to-

852 NEW PUBLICA TIONS. [Sept. ,

wards the ecclesiastical and civil history of his time. Modern writers study these relations and
strive to exhibit them fully, as the changed conditions of society demand. The charity of Jesus
Christ urges us and enkindles us. Our hearts ache to see that modern society has parted com-
pany with the saints we love, and so we lift up our voice to proclaim that these saints were not
only good beyond the furthest reach of nature, but that they were in their day the great bene-
factors of both church and state.

" We hear it said that our saints saved some few souls indeed, and did some miracles, and
shone with a light supernatural and unapproachable, but that they were not really great men ;
and so we make it a point to show that they were truly great, eveji on the passing scene of this
world's history, and that they alone were great with a true and real greatness. It is said that
the Catholic saint is not great ; for how can he be indeed great who prays, and humbles and
mortifies himself ? And hence we do not deem it enough to set forth the infinite beauty of
prayer, and mortification, and humility ; we show the influence of our saints on the society of
their time, how they guided its movements, decided its destiny, moulded and changed it, and
sowed in it those seeds of virtue and science and civilization which now gladden us with their
fruit. We aim at exhibiting the twofold sanctity, grandeur, and beneficence of our saints —
first in the salvation of souls, and then in the salvation of society ; and how that heroism of
virtue, which is salvation and blessing to so many souls, is moreover an overflowing fount of
prosperity and peace to nations. Thus is the history of the church now treated. The encyclicals
of the popes of past generations speak much of the marvellous influence of the church and the
Papacy on civil society, precisely as do those of our blessed Pope Leo XIII., so admirable for their
wisdom and their eloquence. If, then, we have come to look habitually at the church in its ac-
tion on human society it is surely a great advantage that writers of lives of saints should fol-
low this method too." *

• The translator has done his part well — so well that it is rarely one finds
an original writer in English who writes English so purely, and that with-
out any apparent strain. If our voice has any force the translator will find
such encouragement as will induce him to give to the English-reading pub-
lic the other volumes from the pen of the illustrious author. For we know
of no writer who shows a more intelligent appreciation of the present needs
of religion, a better understanding of the spirit of the age, and who is more
alive to the actual dangers of society. We know of no man with whom he
can be compared, unless it be another son of St. Philip now living in Eng-
land; and it is highly consoling to see that both are duly appreciated by
one who ranks their equal in every gift and is gloriously reigning as the
chief pastor of the holy church.

We rise from reading the luminous and eloquent pages of this fresh life
of St. Philip Neri with increased knowledge and a greater appreciation and
sincere admiration of his greatness and sanctity. Let us have more from
so gifted a pen and so competent a translator.

ROSMINI'S PHILOSOPHICAL SYSTEM. By Thomas Davidson, London :
Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.

Since the days of Kant there has been in many serious and religious
minds a standing prejudice against purely speculative or abstract reason-
ing, and the more such reasoning attempts to gain an insight into the first
beginnings of thought the more dangerous is it deemed. Even so pro-
found and earnest a thinker as Cardinal Newman undoubtedly is warns us
off from scrutinizing too closely the nature of our intellect ; and in his
grand philosophical work, the Grammar of Assent, he maintains that "to
meddle with the springs of thought is really to weaken them." Nor need
we be astonished that great and good men have such fear of mere abstract

* Author's Dedication, p. xiv.

1 8 8 2 .] NE w PUB LIC A TIONS. 853

speculation when we consider that the result of Kant's Critique of Pure
Reason was to spread universal scepticism in the minds of all who, accept-
ing his premises, had no religious'sentiment strong enough to counteract
the influence of his most dismal conclusions. For Kant was such a per-
fect master of dialectics that if you assume his first principles as true you
will be thereby bound to receive without demur the conclusions which,
with unanswerable logic, he draws from them.

We are not going to criticise Kant's Critique ; we are only going to
offer a few general observations which will pave the way to what we have
to say about Mr. Davidson's book.

Kant undertook to expose the errors both of pure dogmatism and of
unmitigated scepticism, and to point out, once for all, the true limitations
of the human understanding. He thus took on himself in philosophy the
office which the first Napoleon afterwards assumed in politics — that of arbi-
trator; and in thinking of Kant and his self-chosen pre-eminence we are
forcibly reminded of the beautiful lines on Napoleon in Manzoni's Cinque
Maggio :

" Ei si nomo' ; due secoli
L'un contro 1'altro armato,
Sommessi a lui si volsero
Come aspettando il fato :
Ei fe silenzio, ed arbitrio
S'assise in mezzo a lor."

It has seemed to us that in thus acting Kant overstepped the bounds
of philosophical modesty. The very title of his essay, Critique of Pure
Reason, veils an absurd pretension. For it certainly is most absurd for any
fallible human intellect to undertake to call before its tribunal not merely
the faculty of reason of any particular individual, but universal reason it-
self, as Kant seems to do. How can reason criticise itself? To do this
with any chance of success it must be above itself. Reason, then, can
but recognize itself and can pass judgment only on what is beneath it —
the world of sense and matter. No wonder that Kant satisfied neither the
dogmatists nor the sceptics, and that he only made confusion worse con-
founded.

But he was not content with generalities. He traced out the exact
limits which reason cannot pass without, as he thinks, falling into the gulf
of error. He said : " No man can go beyond phenomena, and no one can
know more than the appearances, which are made such by the combined
action and reaction of matter on the one hand, and of sense and under-
standing on the other. What matter is in itself, what reality is, we can
never learn. Further, reason cannot demonstrate the existence of God,
the immortality of the soul, or the creation of the world." Had Kant con-
tented himself with declaring that all this was beyond his own capacity ;
had he merely said, I cannot know or prove these things, no one could
have found fault with him. But when he goes on to make his own parti-
cular reason the rule and standard of all reason, past, present, and to come ;
when he affirms absolutely and dogmatically that no human understanding
can by any possibility pass the limits assigned by himself, we think he again
sins against that true philosophical modesty which has ever been a chief

854 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Sept.,

attribute of really great thinkers, and which shines so conspicuously in
Plato.

We have often wished that a great genius might arise who should be
able to show the unsoundness of Kant's premises and the erroneousness
of his conclusions — a genius who, equal to Kant himself in dialectic skill
and penetrating insight into the nature of thought, would prove incontes-
tably the fundamental errors of his theory of cognition. Mr. Davidson
thinks that Rosmini was such a genius. And certainly he makes out a
very good case for him in the volume before us. We will give a short de-
scription of this book and of what seems to be the special merit of Ros-
mini.

Mr. Davidson seems most anxious to present Rosmini in such a way to
English-speaking thinkers that they may be able to form a fair estimate of
his genius and of the nature of his philosophy. For this purpose, after a very
short preface in which he explains the reasons that induced him to publish
his book, he first gives a complete list of Rosmini's own works on various
subjects, philosophical, political, and religious, and a catalogue by others of
books relating to his system. He next introduces us to Rosmini's life, es-
pecially to that portion of it which throws most light on his career as a
philosophical writer. After this he gives us, in a learned and well-reasoned
introduction of some twenty-six pages, a critical history of the different
theories of ancient and modern thinkers on the nature and origin of human
cognition, and points out the peculiar merit of Rosmini on this subject.
Then comes the translation of Rosmini's philosophical system. This is a
compendium of the whole of his vast encyclopaedia of the various sciences
embraced by general and particular philosophy, and was written by Ros-
mini himself at the urgent request of the celebrated Italian writer, Cesare
Cantu, to be inserted in his Universal History. Though this compendium
seems to be a masterpiece in its way, it is for the most part but a bold out-
line of what the author had developed in his larger works. Some points,
indeed, are treated rather diffusely for an abstract. The theory of cognition,
of which we shall speak further on, is explained and defended to a greater
length than any other point or question. Mr. Davidson fills up this out-
line, more particularly in the first or speculative part, by long extracts from
the author's numerous works, and adds, besides, many notes and some criti-
cism of his own. He says that Rosmini's chief merit lay in his ideology, or
the science which treats of the nature and origin of the Light of Reason, or
Ideal Being, and of ideas generally. We will try, under the guidance of the
book we are reviewing, to show this merit, as Mr. Davidson seems to un-
derstand it, by comparing Kant with Rosmini. Kant, as is well known,
was the first to bring into prominence the distinction between the formal
and material parts of cognition. Only in the formal part could he find
necessity and universality ; the material part furnished nothing but par-
ticular and contingent elements of knowledge. He enumerates what he
deems to be the primitive forms of the human spirit; but they are only
emanations of the spirit itself, and therefore subjective, and therefore,
again, unable to produce a true universality or necessity ; for the spirit is
only a particular and contingent being. Hence the mere subjective truth
of Kantisra, and hence its universal scepticism. Rosmini accepts Kant's
important distinction between the matter and form of thought, but reduces

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 855

all his forms to one, and shows that it is not an emanation of the subjec-
tive spirit, but a true object present to the spirit and intimately united
with it, in fact informing and constituting it, though completely indepen-
dent of it, and eternal, necessary, and universal, in the true sense of these
terms. His way of showing all this is peculiar, says Mr. Davidson. He
first observes the fact. He points out that all think of an object — viz., ex-
istence— and, by means of it, of what is eternal, infinite, and necessary, and
that therefore itself must be eternal, infinite, and necessary, and conse-
quently cannot possibly be acquired through any of the channels of know-
ledge open to man by means of his senses. These he enumerates, and ex-
cludes them, first one by one and then all together, and thus draws his
conclusion that the first and most universal object of thought — viz., the
idea of existence, or Ideal Being — is innate. We think this point demands
more attention than any portion of Mr. Davidson's book, for upon it the
whole system of Rosmini seems to rest.

We will offer no opinion as to the truth of Rosmini's fundamental prin-
ciple of the idea of existence being that which constitutes the light of rea-
son, and this idea always objectively presented to the soul by God, in
this sense innate in the human soul. The controversy of the last forty
years on this point is still active, especially in Italy. There are able writers
on both sides. So far as authority has spoken it has declared, in the dismis-
sal of the charges against Rosmini's works in 1852, that nothing has been
found in them requiring condemnation, censure, or amendment ; and so
far nothing has been done by authority to undo what was done in 1852,
although great efforts have been made to obtain the reversal of that sen-
tence. We will only remark that should Rosmini's fundamental principle
come to be accepted by metaphysicians it will cause a far greater revolu-
tion in philosophy than was effected either by Kant or by Locke.

Rosmini's theory of cognition is not, of course, fully developed in Mr.
Davidson's book, even with the aid of the long extracts from the Nuovo
Saggio ; but we are referred by Rosmini himself to this work, and to the
Restoration of Philosophy in Italy, in which works, but particularly in the
first, he tells us, we shall find it fully explained and developed.

We have noticed some defects which we think will lessen the interest
of Mr. Davidson's very able book. We have detected some errors of the
press not mentioned in the "errata," and one or two misleading ones. The
translation, though in general very readable, is here and there faulty in
more respects than one. Sometimes there are too many short sentences
following each other; sometimes these sentences are not well knit together
by properly connecting particles ; sometimes the style is far too diffuse.
This last, however, may be the fault of the original. Indeed, Mr. Davidson
complains that he found it extremely difficult to render into good, readable
English Rosmini's great diffuseness of expression. Another defect, we
think, is that some of the extracts in the speculative portion are far too
long, whilst those in the practical and moral parts are few and much too
short. Mr. Davidson asserts that Rosmini's moral doctrine, and more es-
pecially his defence of free-will, is the most original and important of all
his productions. We therefore felt disappointed to find little or nothing
but a bare skeleton in the portion of the work devoted to these subjects.
Perhaps, however, Mr. Davidson wished to exhibit Rosmini more as a critic,

856 NE w PUBLICA TIONS. [Sept.,

an abstract thinker, and the founder of a new theory of cognition than as
a writer on ethics, anthropology, or politics. He seems to agree with Ros-
mini that practice and morality must be built on reason and speculative
thought rather than on sentiment and feeling, as seems to be the general
opinion at present amongst English thinkers of the sentimentalist, phe-
nomenalist, and positivist schools.

We know not how this book will be received or what judgment will be
passed on it by the American public. Those who are accustomed to con-
crete and synthetic thought, and to the easy and often brilliant style of
many writers on philosophical subjects, will, we are afraid, be somewhat dis-
appointed, if not repelled. Rosmini is neither a popular philosopher nor
always a brilliant writer. To those who look to form more than to matter
his style will seem dry and wearisome. He has, however, excellences of
no common kind. He is most accurate and consistent in thought, and ex-
ceedingly clear, if at times too diffuse, in expression. In fact, he appears
to be swayed by only one desire — to convey as much truth as possible in
the clearest and most simple words he can command. Then it must be
recollected that a great thinker never reads so well in a translation as in
his own language. Those who know German will certainly prefer to read
the very words which Kant wrote to reading him in the best translation
that can be made of him.

. We take our leave of Mr. Davidson's book with the hope that this
will not be the only work of Rosmini's which he will present to English-
speaking thinkers. We trust he will see his way to giving us at no dis-
tant day a good English rendering of the Anthropology, which, he tells us,
is one of the best of Rosmini's works.

HISTORY OF THE WORLD, from the Earliest Period to the Present Time, for
Schools and Colleges. By John MacCarthy. New York : The Catholic
Publication Society Co. 1882.

There is no work more important or more fruitful for our Catholic
publishing-houses than the preparation of text-books for the young. The
value of such an enterprise, we are happy to believe, is appreciated by our
public; it has been recognized in the most emphatic manner by our bish-
ops, our priests, and the directors of our schools and colleges ; and all in-
telligent attempts to improve the quality of our educational literature are
sure of an intelligent and cordial support. The only serious difficulty en-
countered by the Catholic Publication Society in connection with its series
of school-books has been to prepare works of substantial merit fast enough
to keep pace with the extending demand. This is a most gratifying proof
that the clergy and others who have entered upon the great task of edu-
cation are fully alive to the new needs of our time. Our schools have suf-
fered under great disadvantages ; they have done much good in spite of
poverty and insufficient equipment, but they could have done much more
had they enjoyed a tithe of the means lavished upon Protestant schools to
keep them in line with the latest results of research and discovery. Mod-
ern scholarship makes great improvements in school-books, as it does in
other departments of literature. The histories and geographies which rep-
resented the fullest developments of knowledge twenty years ago are far be-
hind the requirements of the present day. It is not only that great changes

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 857

have taken place in the world since they were written, but important rec-
ords of the past have been brought to light, and we have been obliged to
revise our estimates of events which we once thought were well under-
stood, and to adopt new or greatly modified views of the progress of states
and the course of popular movements. The errors which have been re-
vealed in old text-books are innumerable. And even in cases where abso-
lute error has not been brought home to them they are sometimes render-
ed obsolete by a change in the direction of contemporary controversies.
New points of divergence are presented between the church and the world;
anti-religious criticism applies itself to new questions ; new sophisms be-
come popular, and a new course of historical exposition becomes necessary
to correct them. We must change our line of defence because the adver-
sary has changed his method of attack. And so it happens that good
school-books lose their value entirely through a change of circumstances
which their authors could not foresee. Often our Catholic institutions
have felt obliged to use text-books, in default of better, which were never
satisfactory — Protestant books toned down more or less, so that Catholics
might be induced to buy them, but of course lacking Catholic principles
and the Catholic spirit ; and books of this sort, being merely manipulated
so as to disguise current controversies, are liable to become unexpectedly
mischievous.

The latest addition to the Catholic Publication Society's series covers a
branch of study whose transcendent importance no teacher is likely to
overlook. The history of the world is the history of religion ; and never,
perhaps, has this truth been more fully realized than in our own time, when
the passion for historical study is so widely extended. The newly deci-
phered records of ancient empires are compared with the narratives of the
Holy Scriptures ; the old artificial distinction between sacred and profane
history is gradually removed ; the story of modern civilization is inextri-
cably intertwined with the policy and fortunes of the Catholic Church ; the
Papacy is the centre of Christendom ; the mutations of war and peace, of
growth and decay, of culture and barbarism, represent the Papacy foster-
ing modern progress or struggling with the evil forces destined to wreck
society. All scholars admit that it is impossible to write the history of any
modern country without taking account first of all of the Catholic Church,
the one power which is permanent, unchanging, and universal. This is the
key to a correct understanding of events. It is not enough, therefore, that
text-books should be expurgated for our schools by the removal of offen-
sive expressions : unless they contain sound, positive teaching upon the
great central fact of history they can give no adequate survey of the
world.

It is one of the great merits of Mr. MacCarthy's history that it meets
this essential requirement of a solid religious foundation. Very properly
it omits doctrinal controversy in all its shapes; but it shows a philosophic
comprehension of the mutual influence of faith and politics, and of that
higher significance of events which must always be missed when one tries
to make history a purely secular study, free from " religious bias." The .
author's manner is quiet and decorous ; in that respect it is a model which
many Protestant historians might profitably imitate ; but his principles are
stated clearly, boldly, and forcibly. From this union of positiveness in the

858 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Sept.,

matter and moderation in the style his narrative gains both effectiveness
and interest.

There are great difficulties to be overcome in presenting in a single
volume an intelligible survey of so vast a subject as the history of the
whole world ; but the author seems to have realized the conditions of his
task and to have formed a correct theory for its execution. He has tried
to give a just prominence to the chief events and personages in the history
of each people, and at the same time to fuse the separate portions of the
work into a continuous story. The second problem is the more serious of
the two, and we have been repeatedly struck by the skill displayed in its
solution, especially in the very trying chapters devoted to certain turbu-
lent periods of the middle ages. It is desirable in such a work that the
pupil should be instructed in certain broad general outlines of history ra-
ther than in minute and confusing details of chronology, dynastic changes,
battles and sieges, which are appropriate in particular treatises, but much
too cumbersome and vexatious for a skeleton history of the world. How
well our author has understood this rule may be seen in his very first
chapter, which gives a clear, rapid, and comprehensive account of ancient
Egypt. The unsolved and perhaps insoluble question of the antiquity of
Egyptian civilization is of course not touched upon ; it is not for school-
children ; but the ascertained facts are presented in an interesting manner;
the. connection with the Biblical records is properly shown ; and dates are
introduced only in comparatively recent eras, when the Egyptian chrono-
logy becomes certain. The other ancient Oriental monarchies, the He-
brews, and Greece are included with Egypt in the first division of .the
work under the general title, " Ancient History." " Roman History " fol-
lows, with its appropriate subdivisions ; and then we come to the "Middle
Ages," in five epochs, reaching from the beginning of the barbaric inva-
sions to the fall of the Eastern Empire. " Modern History," in seven
epochs, takes up nearly half the book, and is brought down to the pre-
sent year. All these divisions and subdivisions are conveniently broken
up into chapters, sections, and paragraphs, with an excellent system of
titles ; and every chapter is preceded by a brief explanatory synopsis,
which seems to us a very useful feature. The clear typographical ar-
rangement for which other school-books published by the Society have
been so much praised is adhered to, and questions are added at the foot of
every page.

POEMS. By Mary E. Blake (M. E. B.) Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
1882.

Mrs. Blake writes some mere verses but many poems. This volume,
containing much that is poetic and more that is womanly, bears the im-
press of a strong yet delicate hand. Its individuality is marked. The
author follows no poetic master, echoes no other poet's voice or words ;
she follows the dictates of a warm heart and high poetic thought, chasten-
ed by exquisite taste and controlled by religion. Though there is no
parade of piety in the book, it is evident in a dozen ways that Mrs. Blake
is a Catholic. It is rare to find in the thousand verses written by women
to-day any motive but the melancholy of disappointment or the echo of a
passion which modern literature has taught them that they ought to feel.

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 859

The farmer's wife looks through her vine-curtained window, and, rolling her
dough, sighs for the visions of culture which the stories in the monthly
fashion magazine have suggested. The maiden pauses in her " weary
work " of buttering bread for her little brother to look across the fields
and long for the peerless youth who is expected to take her captive.
" What might have been " is the tenor of the versettsts who fill the maga-
zines and newspapers. Now, Mrs. Blake's poems, unequal, commonplace,
and forced as some of the lines in those written for special occasions are,
have no unhealthy, morbid tone. She does not " long " ; nor does she reiter-
ate the song of Mariana in the Moated Grange. Her lover is her husband,
and, strange as it may seem in a woman who writes poetry, she seems to
be very well satisfied with him. The war poems are in a higher and more
strained tone than the rest of the charming and natural lyrics which sur-
round them. A very full vocabulary, a delicate, womanly taste in adapt-
ing words to thought, a clear, fresh, and sensitive imagination, are quali-
ties with which Mrs. Blake may be credited by the most rigid critic who
takes her poems on her own valuation as

" Short swallow-flights of song that dip
Their wings — and fly away."

Her patriotic poems, when they treat of Ireland, are forcible and ar-
dent ; but she is at her best when singing — that is the word for the rosy,
cantabtle movement in which Lover excelled — which would stamp her
poems as those of an Irishwoman, even were she not so ready to show her
pride in the place of her birth.

IN THE HARBOR — ULTIMA THULE. Part II. By Henry Wadsworth Long-
fellow. Boston : Houghton, MifHin & Co. 1882.

According to the publishers' note this tasteful little book contains "all
of Mr. Longfellow's unprinted poems which will be given to the public,
with the exception of two sonnets reserved for his biography, and ' Mich-
ael Angelo,' a dramatic poem, which will be published later." One of the
poems included here is Mr. Longfellow's last, "The Bells of San Bias."

POEMS. By J. B. Tabb.

We are indebted to a friend for this volume of poems, dedicated with
permission to his Eminence Cardinal Newman. A number of Mr. Tabb's
poems have appeared from time to time in several magazines. Of his son-
nets, which are invariably well handled, one to Cardinal Newman, which was
published in these pages a few years ago, called forth a favorable letter from
his eminence. It is refreshing now and then to come across a volume like
the present, so elevating and so far beyond the average stock in market.
Poetry is not mere sentiment decked out with the vivid colorings of an
excited imagination. The perception of the beautiful means something
more. It supposes knowledge, deep, extensive knowledge, together with a
sympathy with the whole of nature. To be sure you cannot dispense with
sentiment and imagination and still have poetry, any more than you can
dispense with your lungs and still have life. But sentiment and imagina-
tion are not sufficient unless we are satisfied with painted nothings. There
are so many qualities which go to make up the real poet that when we
meet with a man who gives evidence of possessing a number of them we
are inclined to give more than ordinary encouragement. The author of

86o NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Sept., 1882.

the present small volume displays not a few of the gifts so much desired in
those who attempt to write poetry. We select the following, not as the
best, but because it happens to be the first we meet with :

DEDICATION.

As waters from the lowliest valleys breathe

Their tribute vapors to the mountain height,

Where each, anon, transfigured of the light,

Enkindles all the parent wave beneath ;

So these my misty reveries I wreathe,

And waft them to the summit of thy sight,

Till in that sunshine, shriven from the night,

A mirrored benediction they bequeath.

For long thy lordly eminence hath stood

Among the favored of the Olympian Nine,

Upon whose ear thy psaltering voice renewed

The ancient echoes of the classic shrine,

Whereon the while my tottering steps intrude,

Fain would I place a timorous hand in thine.

SOCIETY OF ST. VINCENT DE PAUL. Report of the Superior Council of
New York to the Council-General in Paris for the year 1881.
We have read the above report carefully, and are gratified to learn from
its pages that the noble work of charity in which the society is engaged is
vigorously carried on, and the spirit of its originators survives among its
members. The strength of the church militant lies, in a great measure, in
the perseverance of her members in the active works of mercy.

BERNADETTE. From the French of M. Henri Lasserre. By P. P. S., gra-
duate of St. Joseph's, Emmittsburg. Baltimore : John Murphy & Co.
1882.

Every one who has read M. Lasserre's celebrated work, Our Lady of
Lourdes — and who that reads what is worth reading has not ? — will be
much interested in the account of Bernadette's beautiful life and holy
death in the convent at Nevers which is contained in the third part of the
present little volume. The second part is also interesting, as it gives a
full statement of the circumstances under which Our Lady of Lourdes was
written, and of the means employed to make it a correct and reliable de-
scription of the facts precisely as they occurred. The first part of the
book contains a condensed account of the apparitions, but will probably
only repeat to most readers a story with which they are already familiar.
The story, however, is one which will very well bear repeating.

THE STARS AND THE EARTH ; or, Thoughts upon Space, Time, and Eter-
nity. With an Introduction by Rev. Thomas Hill, D.D., LL.D. Bos-
ton : Lee & Shepard ; New York : Charles T. Dillingham. 1882.
The writer's aim in this little work is principally to prove the relativity
of time and space ; he endeavors also to show how a contemplation of the
universe without them is conceivable. There are some slips in the scientific
part, noticed by Dr. Hill. The idea — by no means a new one, of course —
of expanding or contracting time by sliding up or down on a ray of light,
which holds a prominent part in the argument, is not, perhaps, on the whole
a very happy one ; for obviously by such a process the pitch of the ray
would soon be raised or lowered so much that the impressions produced
would be not only hastened or retarded, but also very much changed, as
when the crank of a phonograph is turned very fast or very slow.

AP The Catholic world

C3
v.35

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