{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_40068/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_40068","id":"gutenberg_40068","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40068","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - European","Category: Journals","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Catholic Church -- Periodicals","The Catholic World"],"text":"[Transcriber's notes]\n  This text is derived from\n  http://www.archive.org/details/catholicworld02pauluoft\n\n  Page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in curly\n  braces, e.g. {99}. They have been located where page breaks occurred\n  in the original book.\n\n  Footnotes generally appear following the paragraph in which they are\n  positioned. If the paragraph is exceptionally long they will be\n  placed within the paragraph immediately following their position.\n\n  Between typesetting, inking and scanning there are many illegible\n  words. I have reviewed the images carefully but some words are\n  guesses. Question marks replace totally unknown letters.\n\n  Although square brackets [] usually designate footnotes or\n  transcriber's notes, they do appear in the original text.\n\n  This text includes Volume II;\n    Number 7--October 1865\n    Number 8--November 1865\n    Number 9--December 1865\n    Number 10--January 1866\n    Number 11--February 1866\n    Number 12--March 1866\n[End Transcriber's notes]\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n\nA\n\n_A Monthly Eclectic Magazine_\n\nOF\n\nGENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.\n\n\n\nVOL. II.\n\nOCTOBER, 1865, TO MARCH, 1866.\n\n\n\nNEW YORK:\n\nLAWRENCE KEHOE, PUBLISHER,\n7 Beekman Street.\n\n1866.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nAdventure, The, 843.\nAnglican and Greek Church, Attempt at Union between the, 65.\nAll-Hallow Eve; or, The Test of Futurity, 71, 199, 377, 507, 697, 813.\nAncient Laws of Ireland, The, 129.\nAnglicanism and the Greek Schism, 429.\nAncient Faculty of Paris, The, 496, 681.\n\nBell Gossip, 32.\nBirds, Migration of, 57.\nBruges, The Capuchin of, 237.\nBossuet and Leibnitz, 433.\n\nCatholic Congresses at Malines and W\u00fcrzburg, 1, 221, 331, 519\nConstance Sherwood, 37, 160, 304, 444, 614, 759.\nChinese Characteristics, 102.\nCatholic Settlements In Pennsylvania, 145.\nCapuchin of Bruges. The, 237.\nChristmas Carols, A Bundle of, 349.\nChristendom, Formation of, 856.\nCalcutta and its Vicinity, A Ride through, 386.\nChristmas Eve: or, The Bible, 397.\nCharles II. and his Son, Father James Stuart, 577.\nCanton, Up and Down, 656.\nCalifornia and the Church, 790.\nCharles II.'s Last Attempt to Emancipate The Catholics, 827.\n\nDuc d'Ayen, The Daughters of the, 252.\n\nEpidemics, Past and Present, 420.\n\nFormation of Christendom, The, 356.\n\nGallitzin, Rev. Demetrius Augustin, 145.\nGertrude, Saint, Thoughts on, 406.\nGenzano, The Inflorata of, 608.\nGlastonbury Abbey, Past and Present, 662.\n\nHandwriting, 695.\n\nInside the Eye, 119.\nIreland before Christianity, 541.\n\nKingdom without a King, 705.\n\nLeibnitz and Bossuet, 433.\nLaw and Literature, 560.\n\nMalines and W\u00fcrzburg, Catholic Congresses in, 1, 221, 332, 519.\nMarie Louise, Napoleon's Marriage with, 12.\nMigrations of European Birds, 57.\nMiscellany, 136, 276, 563, 714, 853.\nMorici\u00e8re, General De La, 289.\nMalta, Siege of, 483.\nMistaken Identity, 707.\nMary, Queen of Scots, The Two Friends of, 813.\n\nNatural History of the Tropics, Gleanings from, 178\nNovel Ticket-of-leave, A, 707.\n\nPierre Pr\u00e9vost's Story, 110.\nPen, Slips of the, 272.\nParis, The Ancient Faculty of, 496, 681.\nPusey, Dr., on the Church of England, 530.\nPositivism, 791.\nPlain-Work, 740.\nProcter, Adelaide Anne, Poems of, 837.\n\nR\u00e9camier, Madame, and her Friends, 79.\nRome, Facts and Fictions about, 325.\nReligious Statistics of the World, 491.\nRhodes, The Colossus of, 544.\n\nSteam Engine, The Inventor of, 211.\nSaturnine Observations, A Few, 266.\nSlips of the Pen, 272.\nSaints of the Desert, 275, 476, 453, 655, 835.\nSaint Catharine of Siena, Public Life of, 547.\nSaint Patrick, The Birth place of, 744.\n\nTrue to the Last, 110.\nThe Eye, Inside of, 119.\nTropics, Gleanings from the Natural History of, 178\nThe Clouds and the Poor, 213\nThe Bible; or, Christmas Eve, 397.\nThe Adventure, 848.\n\nWorld, Religious Statistics of the, 491.\n\n------\n\nPOETRY.\n\n\nAn English Maiden's Love, 27.\n\nBetter Late than Never, 454.\nBooks, 495.\n\nChildren, The, 70.\nChristmas Carol, A, 419, 559.\nCity Aspirations, 680.\n\n\"Dum  Spiro Spero,\" 159.\n\nFalling Stars, 348.\n\nInquietus, 704\n\nKirkstall Abbey, 36.\nKeviaar, Pilgrimage to, 127.\n\nLittle Things, 836.\n\nProperzia Rossi, 235.\nPatience, 812.\n\nResigned, 654.\n\nSong of the Year, 490.\nSaint Elizabeth, 529.\n\nTender and True and Tried, 385.\nThe Round of the Waters, 396.\nThe Better Part, 757.\n\nUnshed Tears, 789.\n\nWinter Signs, 198.\n\n------\n\n{iv}\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nArchbishop Hughes's Complete Works, 282.\nAmerican Republic, The, 714.\nAndrew Johnson, Life of, 856.\n\nBanim's Works, 286.\nBaker, Rev. F. A., Memoir and Sermons of, 566.\nBrownson's American Republic, 714.\nBrincker, Hans, 719.\n\nCatholic Anecdotes, 287.\nCobden, Richard, Career of, 860.\nComplete Works of Archbishop Hughes, 282.\nCroppy, The, 859.\n\nDarras' History of the Church, 143.\nDe Gu\u00e9rin, Eug\u00e9nie, Journal of, 716.\nDraper's Civil Policy of America, 858.\n\nEngland, Froude's History of, 676.\n\nFaith, the Victory, Bishop McGill's, 575.\n\nHedge's Reason in Religion, 430.\nHolmes, Oliver W., Humorous Poems, 576.\n\nLives of the Popes, 288.\n\nMother Juliana's Sixteen Revelations, 281.\nMetropolites, The, 287.\nMemoir and Sermons of Rev. F. A. Baker, 566.\nManning's Temporal Mission of the Holy Ghost, 568.\nMerry Christmas, A Cantata, 719.\nMonthly, The, 719.\nMozart, Letters of, 856.\n\nNewman's, Rev. Dr., History of Religious Opinions, 139.\nNicholas of the Flue, 718.\n\nRemy St. Remy, 287.\nReason in Religion, 430.\n\nSixteen Revelations of Mother Juliana, 281.\nSherman's Great March, Story of, 283.\nSaint John of the Cross, Works of, 432.\nSpelling Book, The Practical Dictation, 576.\nSpare Hours, 718.\nSt. Teresa, Life of, 855.\n\nThoreau's Cape Cod, 283.\nThe Old House by the Boyne, 26.\nThe Christian Examiner, 573, 717.\n\nUnited States Cavalry, History of, 858.\n\nVade Mecum, The Catholic's, 859.\n\n------\n\n{1}\n\nTHE\n\nCATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. II., NO. 7.--OCTOBER, 1865.\n\n------\n\nTranslated from the German.\n\nMALINES AND W\u00dcRZBURG.\n\nA SKETCH OF THE CATHOLIC CONGRESSES\nHELD AT MALINES AND W\u00dcRZBURG\n\nBY ANDREW NIEDERMASSER.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\n\nThe Catholic Congresses in Belgium are of more recent date than the\ngeneral conventions of all Catholic societies in Germany. The\npolitical commotions of 1848 burst the chains which had fettered the\nGerman Church, and ushered in a period of renewed religious life and\nactivity. This new and glorious era was inaugurated by the council of\ntwenty-six German bishops at W\u00fcrzburg, which lasted from Oct 22 to\nNov. 16, 1848. There it was that our prelates boldly seized the\nserpent of German revolution, and in their hands the serpent was\nturned into a budding rod, the stay alike of Church and state.\n\nSince then sixteen years have rolled by; sixteen general conventions\nhave been held, each of which gained for its participants the respect\nof the public. Powerful was the influence exerted by these meetings on\nthe religious life of the laity, as is shown both by the numerous and\nactive associations that arose everywhere, and by the general spirit\nof enterprise which they fostered. By their means, the spirit and\nprinciples of the Church were made known to the Catholic laity, whose\nactions they were not slow to influence.\n\nTo these meetings may be traced, directly or indirectly, whatever good\nwas accomplished within the past sixteen years in Catholic Germany;\nevery part of Germany has felt their beneficial effects; they were\nwell suited to perform the task allotted them; and have thus far at\nleast attained the end for which they were called into existence.\n\nThese meetings were associations of laymen; of laymen penetrated with\nthe spirit of faith, devoted to the Church, and fully convinced that\nin matters relating to the government of the Church, to the\nrealization of the liberty and independence due to the Church, their\nonly duty was to listen to the voice of their pastors, and to follow\ndevotedly the lead of a {2} hierarchy they respected and revered.\nThough for the most part but one third of the members of the annual\nconventions were laymen, the lay character of the conventions is still\ntheoretically asserted, and appears to some extent at least in\npractice, inasmuch as the president of the convention is always a\nlayman, and the principal committee is mainly composed of laymen. The\npreference is also given to lay orators. The society of laymen\nsubmitted the constitution drafted and adopted at its first meeting,\nheld at Mayence in 1848, not only to the Holy Father, but to all the\nbishops of Germany, who joyfully approved its sentiment, and expressed\ntheir interest in the welfare of the society. The same course is\npursued to the present day; each of the sixteen general conventions\nmaintained the most intimate relations with the German bishops and the\nHoly See.\n\nIn honor of the present pontiff, Pius IX., these associations at first\nadopted the name of _Piusvereine,_ thus paying a just tribute of\nrespect to the Holy Father. For Pius IX., during his long pontificate\nof almost twenty years, has become the leading spirit of the age; _we\nlive in the age of Pius IX._ It was he who brought into vogue modern\nideas, and he was the first to do justice to the wants of the age. As\nthe historian now speaks of the age of Gregory VII. and Innocent III.,\nso will the future historian write of the age of Pius IX. The true\nsons of the nineteenth century are gathered to fight under the banners\nof the many Catholic associations which, founded for the purpose of\nputting to flight the threatening assaults of infidelity, have spread\nduring the pontificate of Pius IX. over every portion of the globe. In\nSwitzerland the original name of these societies is retained; in\nGermany, owing to their branching out into numerous similar\nassociations, it has disappeared, and we now speak of a \"general\nconvention of the Catholic associations in Germany.\"\n\nThe first general convention took place toward the beginning of\nOctober, 1848, in the ancient electoral palace at Mayence. Hundreds of\nnoble spirits from every quarter of Germany met here, as if by magic;\nthe Spirit of God had convened them. Meeting for the first time, they\nfelt at once that they were friends and brothers. There was no\ndiscord, no embarrassment, for on all hearts rested a deep\nconsciousness of the unity, the power, and the charity of their common\nfaith. Whoever was present at this first gathering of the Catholics of\nGermany, owned to himself that by no scene which he had previously\nwitnessed had he been so profoundly impressed. Opposite the stand from\nwhich the speakers were to address the meeting sat Bishop Kaiser, of\nMayence, whilst most prominent among the orators of the occasion\nappeared his destined successor, Baron Emmanuel von Ketteler, who was\nat that time pastor of the poor and insignificant parish of Hopsten.\nWriting of him, Beda Weber said: \"His determined character is a fresh\nand living type of the German nation, of its universality, its\nhistory, and its Catholic spirit. In his heart he bears the great and\nbrave German race with all its countless virtues, and hence springs\nthe peculiar boldness of his words, asserting that the revolution is\nbut a means to rear the edifice of the German Church, an edifice\ndestined to be far statelier than the cathedral of Cologne. His form\nwas tall and powerful, his features marked, expressing at once his\nfearlessness, his energy, and his Westphalian devotion to God and the\nChurch, to the emperor and the nation. The words of Baron von Ketteler\nacted irresistibly on all present, for they were but the echo of their\nown sentiments.\" Such was the impression then produced by the man who\nis now looked upon by the Catholics of Germany as their\nstandard-bearer.\n\nThe voice of Beda Weber too was heard on that occasion. Frankfort had\nnot as yet become the scene of his {3} labors as pastor, for he was\nstill professor at Meran. He was a member of the German parliament,\nthen holding its sessions at Frankfort, and like many other Catholic\nfellow members had come to Mayence for the purpose of assisting at the\nfirst general reunion of the Catholic societies. His eloquence\nlikewise called forth immense enthusiasm. Strong and energetic,\nsometimes pointed and unsparing, a vigorous son of the mountains,\nmanly, noble, and respected, he came forth at a most opportune moment\nfrom the solitude of his mountains and his cell, in order to take part\nin the struggles of his age and become their historian. A master at\npainting characters, he has written unrivalled sketches of the German\nparliament and clergy. Equally successful as an orator, a poet, a\nhistorian, and a contributor to periodical literature, Beda Weber was\ndistinguished no less by a childlike heart and a nice appreciation of\nthe beautiful in nature and art, than by manly force and an untiring\nzeal for what is true and good. His deep and extensive learning has\nproved a useful weapon at all times. His writings were read throughout\nGermany, and to the rising generation Beda Weber has been an efficient\ninstructor and director.\n\n_D\u00f6llinger_ of Munich was also present; he spoke for the twenty-three\nmembers of the German parliament, maintaining that the concessions\ngranted to Catholics by that body would necessarily lead to the entire\nindependence of the Church and the liberty of education. At a meeting\nof the Rhenish-Westphalian societies, held at Cologne in May, 1849,\nthe learned provost delivered another speech, which was at that time\nconsidered one of the best, most timely, and most telling efforts of\nGerman eloquence. D\u00f6llinger's speech at the third general convention,\nwhich took place at Regensburg in October, 1849, was hailed as one of\nthe few consoling signs of that gloomy period. It was a masterpiece of\noratory, that brought conviction to all minds, and which will prove a\nlasting monument of German eloquence. The interest D\u00f6llinger displayed\nin these conventions should not be forgotten. He is entitled to our\nrespect and gratitude for his aid in laying the foundations of the\nedifice; its completion he might well leave to others.\n\nThe other members of the parliament that spoke at Mayence were\n_Osterrath_, of Dantzic; _von Bally_, a Silesian; A. Reichensperger,\nof Cologne; Prof. Sepp, of Munich; and Prof. Knoodt, of Bonn. One of\nthe most impressive speakers was Forster of Breslau, at that time\ncanon of the Metropolitan church of Silesia, now prince-bishop of one\nof the seven principal sees in the world. Germany looks upon him as\nher best pulpit orator. Listen to the words of one who heard Forster\nat Mayence: \"The chords of his soul are so delicate that every breath\ncalls forth a sound, and as he must frequently encounter the storms of\nthe world, we may readily pardon the deep melancholy which tinges his\nwords. As he spoke, his heart was weighed down by the troubles of the\ntimes, and grief was pictured in his countenance, for he saw no\nprospect of reconciliation between the conflicting elements. He has no\nfaith in a speedy settlement of the relations between Church and\nstate, such a settlement as will allow freedom of action to the\nformer. To him the revolution appears to be a divine judgment,\npunishing the clergy for their negligence, and chastising the laity\nfor their crimes. His voice possesses a rich melody, which speaks in\npowerful accents to the heart. It sounds like the solemn chimes of a\nbell, waking every mind to the convictions which burst forth from the\ndepth of his soul. He is an orator whose words seem like drops of\nhoney, and whose faith and devotion call forth our love and our\ngratitude.\"\n\nThe best known of the Frankfort representatives were, Arndts, of\nMunich; Aulicke, of Berlin; Flir, of {4} Landeck; Kutzen, of Breslau;\nvon Linde, of Darmstadt; Herman M\u00fcller, of W\u00fcrtzburg; St\u00fclz of St.\nFlorian; Thinnes, of Eichst\u00e4dt; and Vogel, of Dillingen.\n\nThe noble Baron Henry von Andlaw also assisted at the convention in\nMayence. For sixteen years this chivalric and devoted defender of the\nChurch has furthered by every means in his power the success of the\nCatholic conventions, and his name will often appear in these pages.\nChevalier Francis Joseph von Buss, of Freiburg, was president of the\nmeeting at Mayence. Buss is the founder of the Catholic associations\nin Germany; to him above all others was due the success of the\nconvention at Mayence, and he it was who laid down the principles on\nwhich are based the Catholic societies throughout Germany, and which\nare the chief source of their efficacy. In 1848 Buss was in the flower\nof his age, fresh and vigorous in body and mind. All Germany was\nacquainted with his writings, his exertions, his sufferings, and his\nstruggles. He was no novice on the battle-field, for he had passed\nthrough a fiery ordeal, and bore the marks of wounds inflicted both by\nhis own passions and by the broken lances of his enemies. Naturally an\nagitator, and an enthusiast for ideas, bold, quick, and intrepid, he\nunited restless activity and unquenchable ardor with the most\nself-sacrificing devotion. He is distinguished for extensive learning,\na powerful imagination, and for the force and flow of his language. So\nconstant and untiring have been his exertions for the liberty and\nindependence of the Church, that one who is no mean painter of men and\ncharacter has lately styled him the Bayard of the Church in the\nnineteenth century. The last time I saw and heard the Chevalier von\nBuss was in the convention held at Frankfort in 1862. His imposing\nfigure, his bold commanding eye, his fiery patriotic heart, his\nglowing fancy, his powerful ringing voice, all were unchanged. His\nspeeches exert the magic influence which belongs to an enthusiastic,\npowerful, and penetrating mind. Age has whitened his hair, wrinkles\nfurrow his noble features, his life is on the wane. A glance at\nCatholic Germany and the growth of the Church during the past sixteen\nyears, will reflect a bright consoling radiance on the evening of his\nlife.\n\nWe must still mention one of the founders and chief stays of the\nCatholic general conventions, and one who, alas, is no more. I refer\nto Dr. Maurice Lieber, attorney and counsellor at Camberg in Nassau,\none of the most active members at Mayence in 1848; he was elected\npresident of the second general convention at Breslau in 1849. He was\npresent at the first seven general meetings, and at Salzburg in 1857\nfilled the chair a second time. At Cologne, in 1858, this honor would\nagain have been conferred on him had he not declined. Maurice Lieber\nseems by nature to have been designed to preside at these assemblies.\nOf a noble appearance, he combined dignity with gentleness, force and\ndecision with moderation; his remarks were always to the point. An\nable and spirited writer and journalist, he contributed in a great\nmeasure to make the public acquainted with the aim and object of the\nnewly founded association. He never grew weary of scattering good and\nfruitful seed, and his writings as well as his speeches were\nlife-inspiring, strengthening, purifying productions. The name of\nMaurice Lieber will ever be honored.\n\nBeside the eminent men above mentioned, those whose exertions aided in\ncalling into existence the Catholic general conventions in Germany are\nLennig, vicar-general at Mayence, Prof. Riffel, Himioben, now dead,\nand lastly, Heinrich and Moufang, who have been present at almost\nevery meeting.\n\n\nSo many illustrious names are connected with the foundation of the {5}\nCatholic congress in Belgium that to do all justice will be extremely\ndifficult.\n\nThe political and religions status of Belgium is sufficiently well\nknown. In Belgium there are but two parties; the one espouses the\ncause of God, the other supports that of Antichrist. These parties are\non the point of laying aside entirely their political character and of\nopposing each other on religious grounds. War is inevitable, war to\nthe knife; either party must perish. \"To be or not to be, that is the\nquestion.\"\n\nOutnumbering the Catholics in parliament, the followers of Antichrist\neagerly use their superiority to trample their opponents in the dust\nand, if possible, annihilate them. The people is the stronghold of the\nlatter; for the great majority of the Belgians are Catholics, sincere,\nfervent, self-sacrificing Catholics. They yield support neither to the\nrationalists nor to the solidaires and affranchis. Day by day the\ninfluence of the Catholic leaders increases; they are whetting their\nswords, and gathering recruits to fight for Christ and his Church. The\ncongress at Malines is their rendezvous, as it were. Even the first\ncongress, that of 1863, exerted a magic influence; the drowsy were\naroused from their lethargy, and the faint-hearted were inspired with\nconfidence; they saw their strength and felt it. In that congress we\nsee the beginning of a new epoch in the religious history of Belgium.\n\nThe Belgium congresses are imitations of the Catholic conventions in\nGermany. A number of men used their best endeavors to bring about the\ncongress of 1863, and for this they deserve our respect and gratitude.\nWe shall mention but a few of the many.\n\n_Dumortier_ will head our list. He is one of the most powerful\nspeakers in Belgium, a ready debater, a valiant champion of the\nCatholic cause, whose delight it is to fight for his principles.\nDumortier has the power of kindling in his hearers his own enthusiasm,\nas he proved in 1863 at Aix-la-chapelle. He has all the qualities of\nan agitator, and these qualities were the cause of his success in\nbringing about the congress of 1863. When indignant, Dumortier\ninspires awe; his brow is clouded, and like a hurricane he sweeps\neverything before him. It is the anger of none but noble spirits that\nincreases our affection for them. Once only I saw Dumortier swell with\njust indignation, and I seldom witnessed a spectacle more sublime.\n\n_Ducpetiaux_ was the soul of the congresses at Malines. To singular\ntalent for organization he joins a burning zeal for the interests of\nCatholicity, and to them he devotes every day and hour of his life. No\nsacrifice is too great, no labor too exhausting, if it is needed to\nfurther the Catholic cause. As general secretary, he is in\ncommunication with the leading men of Catholic Europe. At his call\nCatholics from every country flocked to Malines. Ducpetiaux was the\nruling mind of the congress, for the president had intrusted him, to a\ngreat extent, with its management. Cautious, subtle, and quick, he is\nprompt in action, though no great speaker. The most numerous assembly\nwould be obedient to his nod. Ducpetiaux is no stranger to Germany,\nfor he was among us at Aix-la-chapelle in 1862, and at W\u00fcrzburg in\n1864, and the whole-souled remarks made by him on the latter occasion\nwill long ring in our memory. He is an international character, a type\nof the nineteenth century. By the interest a man takes in the\nmovements and ideas of his age, and by his intercourse with prominent\ncharacters, we may easily estimate his influence. To Germany a general\nsecretary like Ducpetiaux would be of inestimable advantage.\n\nViscount _de Kuckhove_ must not be passed over in silence. A thorough\nwell bred gentleman, he is familiar with the nations and languages of\n{6} Europe. He is a man of mind, energy, and prudence, and of a\ndazzling appearance. He seems the embodiment of elegance. His speeches\nsparkle with delicate touches and are distinguished for refinement.\nHis voice is somewhat shrill and sharp, but melodious withal. In\nBelgium the viscount ranks as an orator equal to Dechamps and\nDumortier. His favorite scheme, to the promotion of which he gives his\nentire energies, is the closest union among Catholics of all\ncountries. At times he expresses this idea so forcibly that he is\nmisunderstood, but in itself the scheme is praiseworthy, and has been\nmore or less realized in the age of Pius IX.\n\nBaron _von Gerlache_ now demands our attention. He was president of\nthe congress both in 1863 and in 1864. If I were writing his\nbiography, how eventful a life would it be my lot to portray! Baron\nGerlache is identified with Belgian history since 1830; for more than\nforty years he has been acknowledged by the Catholics in Belgium as\ntheir head. In 1831 he had no mean share in forming the Belgian\nconstitution, a constitution based on political eclecticism, which at\nthat time satisfied all parties, and which promised even-handed\njustice to all. Gerlache has ever been the loyal defender of this\nconstitution; Belgium has not a more devoted son. He is a historian\nand a statesman. But the Church too claims his affection, the great\nand holy Catholic Church. All Belgium listens to his voice, and his\nwords sometimes become decrees. He speaks with dignity and moderation,\nwith caution and prudence; he is always guided by reason, and never\nloses sight of facts. His energies spent in the course of a life of\nseventy-two years, he is no longer understood as well as formerly; his\nvoice has become too weak to address an assemblage of six thousand\npersons; but there is in it something so solemn, so moving, that his\nhearers seem spell-bound. His language is appropriate, and at times\napproaches sublimity. Baron Gerlache is as much the idol of the\nCatholics of Belgium as O'Connell was of the Irish; he is as respected\nas Joseph von Gr\u00f6rres was in Germany; he is the Godfrey de Bouillon of\nthe great Belgian crusade of the nineteenth century. Great men seldom\nappear alone; around them are grouped many minor characters, well\nworthy of a niche in the temple of fame. The most prominent of those\nwho have fought side by side with Baron von Gerlache are the Count de\nTheux, a veteran in political warfare, generous, able, and experienced\nin the art of governing; the Baron della Faille, a man distinguished\nfor the dignity of his demeanor and the nobility of his character; his\nmanners are captivating, and his features bear the impress of\ncalmness, moderation, and judgment; the Viscount Bethune of Ghent, a\nvenerable old man, whose countenance beams with piety, and who in the\ncourse of a long career has gathered a store of wisdom and experience;\nGeneral Capiaumont, a man immovable as a rock, and full of chivalrous\nsentiments. These venerable men were seated on each side of the\nPresident von Gerlache. But the other members are no less worthy of\nnotice. To hear and see such men produces a profound impression.\n\n_Dechamps_, the mighty Dechamps, the lion of Flanders and Brabant,\nmust not be forgotten. He stands at the head of the Belgian statesmen,\nbrave as Achilles, the terror of the so-called liberals. Dechamps was\none of the pearls of the last congress; his mere appearance had a\nmagic effect; the few words he addressed to the assembly before its\norganization called forth a storm of applause; he electrifies his\nhearers by his bold and sparkling ideas.\n\nWe must next call attention to Joseph _de Hemptinne_. The owner of\nimmense factories, he employs thousands of laborers, and freely\ndevotes his fortune to the cause of the Church. _He_ also contributed\nto the success of {7} the congress of Malines. His employ\u00e9s owe him a\ndebt of gratitude. Like a father, he cares for their corporal and\nspiritual welfare, accompanies them when going to assist at mass, and\nwith them he says the beads and receives the sacrament. De Hemptinne\nis entirely devoted to his country and his faith; his countenance is a\nmirror that reflects a pure and guileless soul, deeply imbued with\nreligious feeling. It has seldom been my good fortune to meet as\namiable a man as Joseph de Hemptinne.\n\n_Perin_ next demands our notice. He fills a professorship at Louvain,\nand is well known to the public by his writings. In the congress be\nwas noted as an adroit business man. Possessing a refined mind, stored\nwith manifold attainments, he exerts a peculiar, I might almost say\nmagic, influence on those with whom he deals. His fine piercing eye\nbeams with knowledge, not mere book learning, but the knowledge of\nmen, whilst his noble forehead is stamped with the seal of uncommon\nintellectual power. In his language as well as in his actions Perin is\nextremely graceful; he might not inaptly be styled the _doctor\nelegantissimus_. Count _Villermont_ of Brussels is well known in\nGermany, and respected for his historical researches. At Malines he\ndisplayed extraordinarily activity. True, he seems to be no favorite\nof the graces--the warrior appears in all his actions. On seeing him,\nI imagined I beheld the colonel of one of Tilly's Walloon regiments.\nThis circumstance must surprise us all the more, as the count is not\nonly a diligent student of history and a generous supporter of the\nCatholic press in Belgium, but also a man who takes a lively interest\nin every charitable undertaking and in the social amelioration of his\ncountry. Would to God that Germany had many Counts Villermont!\nMonsignor de _Ram_ the rector magnificus of the university of Louvain,\nwas the representative of Belgian science at Malines. Ever since its\nestablishment, he has been at the head of that institution, which he\nhas governed with a firm and steady hand. He is the pride of Belgium,\neminent, perhaps the most eminent, among all her sons. His authority\nis most ample, and to it we must probably trace the majestic calmness\nthat distinguishes his whole being, for to me de Ram appears to be the\npersonification of dignity. At the proper moment, however, he knows\nhow to display the volubility and affable manners of the Roman\nprelate.\n\nMany illustrious Belgian names might still be mentioned, but we will\nspeak of them in a more appropriate place.\n\nThe Belgian congresses differ in some respects from the Catholic\nconventions in Germany, for the latter are by no means so well\nattended as the former. At the German meetings, the number of members\nnever exceeded fifteen hundred; only six hundred representatives were\npresent at the convention of Frankfort in 1863, whilst that of Breslau\nin 1849 mustered scarcely two hundred members. In 1863 four thousand,\nand in 1864 no less than five thousand, were present at the Malines\ncongress. The sight of this army, full of fervor and of zeal to do\nbattle for the faith, involuntarily reminds us of the warriors who\nwere marshalled under the banners of Godfrey for the purpose of\nachieving the conquest of Jerusalem and the Holy Land. Or it recalls\nto our mind the great council of Clermont (Nov., 1095), at which the\nentire assembly, hurried away by the eloquent appeals of Urban II.,\nshouted with one accord \"_Deus lo volt_,\" \"God wills it,\" and swore to\ndeliver Jerusalem from the tyranny of the Moslems. The members of the\nCatholic congresses are the crusaders of the nineteenth century, for\nin their own way they too battle for Christendom against its enemies,\nfalsehood and malice.\n\nBelgium is a small kingdom, Malines the central point where all its\nrailroads converge; it is a Catholic {8} country, boasting of a\nnumerous clergy both secular and regular; it is an international\ncountry, the Lombardy of the north. Its position has made it the\nconnecting link between the Romanic and Teutonic races, between the\ncontinent and England. Thus situated, Belgium is a rendezvous equally\nconvenient for the German, the Frenchman, and the Briton. Moreover,\nBelgium has ever been the battle ground of Germany and France: where\ncan be found a more suitable spot on which to decide the great\nstruggle for the freedom of the Church? This explains sufficiently the\nnumerous attendance of the Belgium congress. In addition to the\nforeign element, the congress at Malines calls forth the entire\nintellectual strength of Belgium, both lay and clerical No one remains\nat home; all are brethren fighting for the same cause; all wish to\nimbibe new vigor, to gather new courage for the struggle, for the\ncongress acts like the spiritual exercises of a mission.\n\nVery different is the situation of Germany. Much larger than Belgium,\nits most central point is at a considerable distance from its\nextremities. Beside, the conventions do not even meet at the most\nconvenient point, but change their place of meeting every year.\nSuppose, therefore, the convention is held in some city on the French\nborder, say Freiburg, or Treves, or Aix-la-chapelle, this arrangement\nwill render it very difficult for the delegates from the opposite\nextremity of the empire to attend, the more so since it is not likely\nthat the German railroad companies will reduce their fares to half\nprice, as was done by the Belgium government roads. Lastly, our\nlanguage, difficult in itself, and especially so to the Romanic races,\nwho are not distinguished for extensive philological learning, will\nprevent many from attending our meetings.\n\nFor these reasons, the German reunions are hardly an adequate\nrepresentation of the Church militant; comparatively few can attend,\nthe majority must remain at home. For the most part, our conventions\nare chiefly composed of delegates from the district or diocese in\nwhich they are held. Nevertheless, every German tribe has its\nrepresentative, and Germany, with its many tribes and states, is by no\nmeans an inappropriate emblem of the European family of nations.\n\nThe hall of the _Petit Seminaire_ at Malines, where the Belgian\ncongress meets, is spacious and well fitted for its purpose; it will\nseat six thousand persons. Nevertheless, only such as have admission\ntickets, which cannot be obtained except at extravagant prices, can\nassist at the sessions. The public in general are excluded, and but\nfew seats are reserved for ladies. On the other hand, the German\nconvention, which meets now in one city, then in another, desires and\nencourages, above all things, the attendance of the inhabitants of the\ncity where it meets. In every city it has scattered fruit-producing\nseed. At one place, the convention called into existence a society for\nthe promotion of Christian art; at another, an altar society, a\nconference of St. Vincent de Paul, or a social club; and in many\ncities it inspired new religious life and activity. In fact, if the\ncity for some reason cannot assist at the meetings, as was the case in\nW\u00fcrzburg, one of the most important ends of the convention is\ndefeated. The congress at Malines is too numerous to travel from place\nto place; moreover, its meetings are not annual, as are those of the\nGerman conventions.\n\nThe congress of Malines, like the German convention, claims to be a\ncongress of laymen. But though here, too, the principal committee is\nmainly composed of laymen, the assembly has almost lost its lay\ncharacter. Among the laymen, however, who attend the Belgian congress,\nthere are many excellent speakers, in fact these are more numerous\nthan in Germany.\n\n{9}\n\nAll the Belgian bishops were present at Malines. Whilst in Germany but\none or two bishops assist at the convention, the daily meetings of the\nMalines congress were attended by the primate of Belgium, Cardinal\nSterex, and the bishops of Bruges, Namur, Ghent, Liege, and Doornik.\nThe bishops took part in the debates, and in 1864 the speech of\nMonseigneur Dupanloup was the event of the day, whilst the congress of\n1863 had been distinguished by the presence of the illustrious\narchbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Wiseman. Whenever the bishops\nappeared, they were welcomed with bursts of enthusiasm. For a full\nweek might be witnessed the most friendly intercourse between the\nbishops and the other members of the congress, and thus the bonds of\naffectionate love already existing between the hierarchy, the clergy,\nand the laity were drawn still closer.\n\nThe nobility too of Flanders and Brabant, nay of all Belgium, was well\nand worthily represented. On the rolls of the Malines congress we meet\nthe most illustrious Belgian names, names pregnant with historic\ninterest. The German nobles, on the contrary, have thus far paid\nlittle attention to what is nearest and dearest to mankind, the\ninterests of humanity and religion. True, the Rhenish-Westphalian\nnobility appeared in considerable numbers and displayed praiseworthy\nzeal at the conventions of Aix-la-chapelle, Frankfort, and W\u00fcrzburg,\nnevertheless there is still room for improvement. Thus far the\nBavarian and Franconian nobles have taken no part in furthering the\nrestoration of the Church in Germany, and of the same indifference the\nAustrian nobility were accused by Count Frederick von Thun, of Vienna.\nStill, what a blessing for the nobility if they devoted their\ninfluence to the service of the Church! The consequence would be the\nregeneration of the German nobility. May God grant that the German\nnobles, like those of Belgium, will join in cordially promoting our\ngreat and sacred cause. Leaders are not wanting, men of talent,\nenergy, and devotion, such as the Prince Charles of L\u00f6wenstein,\nWerthheim, and Prince Charles of Isenburg-Birstein.\n\nThe professors of the university at Louvain were not only present at\nMalines, but worked with their usual energy and ability in the\ndifferent sections of the congress. They presented to the world the\nnoble spectacle of laymen uniting learning with zeal for religion and\ndevotion to the Church, a spectacle seldom witnessed in Germany. Of\nthe two thousand professors and fellows of the twenty-two German\nuniversities, how many are there who, untainted by pride and\nself-sufficiency, call the Church their mother? It is the union of\nknowledge and piety that produces genuine men, worthy of admiration,\nand at Malines such men were not scarce.\n\nAt Malines the foreigners were well represented; in the German\nconventions but few make their appearance. Twice did France send her\nchosen warriors to the congress--the first time in 1863, led by\nMontalembert, at present the most brilliant defender of the Church,\nand again in 1864, under the Bishop of Orleans, called by some the\nBossuet of our day. In August, 1863, the Tuileries were anxiously\noccupied with the speeches held in the Petit Seminaire at Malines, for\nin France despotism has gagged free speech, and there a congress of\nCatholic Europe is an impossibility; the Caesar's minions would\ntolerate no such assembly.\n\nNext to the French delegation, the German, led by A. Reichensperger,\nof Cologne, was the most numerous. There might also be seen a noble\nband of Englishmen, and their speaker, Father Herman the convert,\nseemed another St Bernard preaching the crusade. Spain, Italy,\nIreland, Hungary, Poland, Brazil, the United States, Palestine, the\nCape of Good Hope, almost every country on the globe, were represented\nat Malines. True, the assembly was by no means {10} as large as the\nmultitude that met in Rome on June 8, 1862, when Pius IX. saw gathered\naround him in St. Peter's church three hundred prelates, thousands of\npriests, and forty to fifty thousand laymen, representing every nation\nof the earth. Still, the congress at Malines brings to recollection\nthose immense gatherings of bygone times, where princes and bishops,\nnobles and priests, met to provide for the welfare of the nations\ncommitted to their charge.\n\nThe Malines congress is in its infancy, still the general committee\nhas displayed rare ability. All business matters are intrusted to a\nfew, whilst in Germany there is a great want of order, owing partly to\nthe inexperience of the local committees, and partly to the scarcity\nof men versed in parliamentary proceedings. At the Mayence convention\nin 1848, want of preparation might be excused; the subsequent meeting\nhad not the same claims on our indulgence. The Frankfort reunion in\n1863 attempted to remedy the evil and partly succeeded, but until an\nefficient general committee be established, many irregularities must\nbe expected. At Malines the delegates are furnished with a programme\nof the questions to be discussed in the different sections; at\nW\u00fcrzburg, on the contrary, the convention seemed at first scarcely to\nknow the purpose for which it had been convened. In Germany, the\nbureau of direction is composed of three presidents and sundry\nhonorary members and secretaries; at Malines it consists of fifty to\nsixty officers of the congress, and the list of honorary\nvice-presidents is at times very formidable. In Belgium secret\nsessions are unknown, whilst in Germany it often happens that the most\nimportant proceedings are decided upon in secret session, whereas the\npublic meetings are mainly devoted to the delivery of brilliant\nspeeches. At Malines the resolutions adopted by the different sections\nare passed upon in a short session, seldom attended by more than\none-fifth of all the delegates. One evil at the Belgium congress is\nthe imperfect knowledge of the German character and of the religious\nstatus of Germany. As the Romanic nations will never learn our\nlanguage, it remains for us to supply the deficiency. We must go to\nMalines, and expound our views in French both in the sections and\nbefore the full congress. A. Reichensperger pursued the proper course\nin the section of Christian art. With surpassing ability he defended\nthe principles of the Church, triumphantly he came forth from the\ncontest, and many were prevailed upon to adopt his views. No doubt men\nlike Reichensperger are not found every day, nevertheless we might\neasily send one or two able representatives to every section of the\ncongress. If some one were to do for Germany what Cardinal Wiseman did\nfor England in 1863, when he set forth in clear and forcible language\nthe state of Catholicity in that country, he would deserve the\neverlasting gratitude of the Romanic races.\n\nLeaving these considerations aside for the present, one thing is\ncertain, we must profit by each other's wisdom and experience.\nWhatever may be the defects of the Belgian congresses or of the German\nconventions, they mark the beginning of a new era for Belgium and\nGermany. For when in the spring of 1848 the storm of revolution swept\naway dynasties built on diplomacy and police regulations, the\nCatholics, quick to take advantage of the liberty granted them, made\nuse of the freedom of assembly, of speech, and of the press to defend\nthe interests of religion and of the Church. To Germany the liberty\nthus acquired for the Church has proved a blessing. This liberty,\nattained after so many years of Babylonian captivity, acted so\nforcibly, that many called the day on which the first general\nconvention met a \"second Pentecost, revealing the spirit, the force,\nand the charity of Catholicism.\" We Catholics have learned the\nlanguage of freedom, we {11} know the power of free speech. Next to\nthe liberty of speech, it is their publicity that gives a charm to\nthese conventions. Whoever addresses these assemblies speaks before\nthe whole Church, and his words are re-echoed in every country. There\nthe prince and the mechanic, the master and the journeyman, the\nrefined gentleman and the child of nature, all alike have the right to\nexpress their opinions. They afford a general insight into the social\nand religions condition of our times, disclosing at once their defects\nand their fair side. How inspiring it is to see men, thorough men,\nwith sound principles, full of vital energy, and of experience\nacquired in public life, men of intellectual vigor and mental\nrefinement! Hence arise great and manifold activity, unity of\nsentiment, and zeal for the weal of all, in short, feelings of true\nbrotherly love. Great events arouse deep feelings, and the glory of\none casts its radiance over many. There is something beautiful and\ngrand in these Catholic reunions. They tend to awaken society to a\nconsciousness of its nobler feelings and to spread Catholic ideas;\nthey give strength and unity to the exertions of all who endeavor\nseriously to promote the interests of Catholicity; they are, as it\nwere, a mirror that reflects an exact image of the life of the Church.\nBefore their influence narrow-mindedness withers; we take an interest\nin men and things that had never before come within the scope of our\nmental vision, and on our return from the congress to the ordinary\npursuits of life, we forget fossil notions and take up new ideas. As\nwe feel the heat of the sun after it has set, so long after the\nadjournment of each convention do we feel its influence. The eloquent\nwords of the champion of their faith kindle in the hearts of Catholic\nyouth a glowing ardor which promises a bright and glorious future. All\nare impressed with the conviction that it is only by unflinching\nbravery that victories are won.\n\n  \"As in nature,\" says Hergenr\u00f6ther, \"individuals are subordinate to\n  species, species to genera, and these again to a general unity of\n  design, thus in the Catholic Church all submit freely to the triple\n  unity of faith, of the sacraments, and of government. Whether they\n  come from the north or the south, from beyond the Channel or from\n  the banks of the Rhine, from the Scheldt or the Danube, from the\n  March or the Leitha, all Catholics of every country and every clime\n  are brethren, members of the same family, all speak but one\n  language, the lips of all pronounce the same Catholic prayer, and\n  all offer to their Heavenly Father the same august sacrifice. Every\n  Catholic convention is a symbol of this great, this universal\n  society. And as in nature we admire the most astonishing variety,\n  and the wonderful display of thousands of hues and tints, so in the\n  Church we behold a gathering of countless tribes and nations,\n  differing in their institutions, their customs, and in their\n  application of the arts and sciences.\"\n\n\nSome of my readers, perhaps, are impatient of the praise here lavished\non contemporaries. Fame, it is true, has ever dazzled mortal eyes, but\nI am not now dealing with the miserable characters who consider fame\nas merchandise that can be bought and sold, who are always panting for\nhonied words, and who never lose sight of themselves. No; I am in the\npresence of Catholic men, purified by Catholic doctrine and\ndiscipline, who hold fame to be vain trumpery. Claiming to be no\ninfallible judge of men, my aim has been to note down what I have seen\nand heard, for I have been at no special pains to study the characters\nof those here mentioned.\n\n--------\n\n{12}\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nNAPOLEON'S MARRIAGE WITH MARIE-LOUISE.\n\n\nThere are many circumstances where even an excess of caution may not\nbe injudicious, and few things can be more important than to ascertain\nthe veracity of historical facts. Therefore we would fain preface this\nsecond episode drawn from the memoirs of Cardinal Consalvi, by\npointing out the grounds on which their authenticity rests. We pass\nover the editor himself, Monsieur Cr\u00e9tineau-Joly, to arrive at the\naccount he gives of the manner in which these papers fell into his\npossession. Written for the most part by the cardinal during his exile\nat Rheims, they were hastily penned, and carefully concealed from the\nFrench officials that surrounded him. When dying, Cardinal Consalvi\nintrusted these important documents to friends on whom he could rely.\nThey have since been transmitted as a sacred deposit from one\nfiduciary executor to another. The last clause of his will relates to\nthis matter, and runs thus:\n\n  \"My fiduciary heir (and those who shall succeed him in the\n  administration of my property) will take particular care of my\n  writings: on the conclave held at Venice in 1799 and 1800; on the\n  concordat of 1801; on the marriage of the Emperor Napoleon with the\n  Archduchess Marie-Louise of Austria; on the different epochs of my\n  life and ministry. These five papers (of which some are far\n  advanced, and I shall set about the others) are not to be published\n  till after the death of the principal personages named therein. As\n  the memoirs upon the conclave, the concordat, the marriage, and my\n  ministry relate more especially to the Holy See and the pontifical\n  government, my fiduciary heir will be solicitous to present them to\n  the reigning pontiff; and he will beg the Holy Father to have these\n  writings carefully preserved in the archives of the Vatican. They\n  may serve the Holy See more than once; especially if the history of\n  events therein related comes to be written, or if there were some\n  false account to refute. As to the memoirs concerning the different\n  epochs of my life, the extinction of my family leaving no one whom\n  they may interest, these writings can remain in the hands of my\n  fiduciary heir and his successors in the administration of my\n  property (or they might go with the others to the archives of the\n  Vatican if they are thought worth preserving). My only desire is,\n  that if hereafter, as will probably be the case, the lives of the\n  cardinals are continued, these pages written by me may then be made\n  known. For I wish that nothing contrary to truth should be published\n  concerning me; being desirous to preserve a good reputation, as is\n  recommended by holy Scripture. With regard to the truth of the facts\n  contained in my writings, it suffices me to say: _'Deus scit quia\n  non mentior.'_\n\n    \"(Signed) E. Card. Consalvi.\"\n    \"_Rome, 1st August_, 1822.\"\n\n\nIn 1858 it was deemed that the time for publication had come. Monsieur\nCr\u00e9tineau-Joly was then staying at Rome; and the papers were confided\nto him for that purpose by \"those eminent personages who, through\ngratitude or respect, had accepted the deposit of Consalvi's\nmanuscripts.\" Accordingly, a part did come out the following year, and\nthe remainder is now before the public. The part which appeared first,\nembodied in \"_L'Eglise Romaine en face de la R\u00e9volution,_\" won for M.\nCr\u00e9tineau-Joly in 1861 a flattering brief from Pope Pius IX., which\nheads the third edition of the work.\n\n{13}\n\nNine years had rolled on since the concordat. Ten months after the\nPope's presence had given solemnity to his coronation, Napoleon caused\nthe French troops to occupy Ancona; Pius VII., having refused to\nbecome virtually a French prefect, was deprived of his temporal\nsovereignty, and then at last dragged from his capital to be\ntransferred a prisoner to Florence, Grenoble, and finally Savona.\nExcommunication had been pronounced against those who perpetrated\nthese deeds of violence. Meanwhile, Napoleon, at the summit of earthly\ngrandeur, longed for an heir to whom he might transmit his vast\ndominions. The repudiation of Josephine offered some difficulty to his\nheart, we believe; but his strong will soon triumphed over that and\nevery other obstacle. Proud Austria stooped to court his preference.\nNapoleon, disappointed in his wish for a Russian alliance, but in too\nmuch haste to wait negotiations, let his choice fall with equal\npleasure on a daughter of the house of Hapsburg; Marie-Louise, just\nthen eighteen, came a willing bride to share the splendors of the\nimperial throne. To prepare for her reception, a state comedy had been\nenacted at the Tuileries, when Napoleon, holding his good and\nwell-beloved Josephine by the hand, read from a written paper his\nheroic determination to renounce her for the public weal. Poor\nJosephine could not get on so well; sobs choked her utterance when she\nessayed to read her paper in turn. Convulsive fainting-fits had\nfollowed when Napoleon first broached in private the resolve he had\ntaken, and called upon her to aid it by consenting to become, instead\nof his wife, his best and dearest friend. But all that was over now.\n\nOne only difficulty had arisen, which even the imperious will of\nNapoleon failed wholly to break. It was the same that had ever\nthwarted him. He could destroy all temporal barriers to his ambition;\nbut the spiritual element would rise up and protest. How cut asunder\nthe religious tie that linked him to Josephine? For the Church's\nblessing had been given to their union ere the Pope would consent to\nperform the ceremony of the coronation. Full well Napoleon knew that\nhe could with an iron hand put down clamor for the present; but would\nthat dispel the feeling in men's consciences? would that suffice to\nestablish the legitimacy of a future heir to the throne?\n\nM. Thiers gives a curious account of the whole transaction. Cardinal\nFesch, usually so pliant to all his nephew's wishes, appears to have\nbeen the first to start the difficulty; M. Camba\u00e9r\u00e8s, the chancellor,\ntransmitted his observations to Napoleon. The latter was highly\nindignant, declaring that a ceremony which had taken place privately,\nin the chapel of the Tuileries, without any witnesses, and with the\nsole view of quieting Josephine's scruples and those of the Pope,\ncould not be binding. Finally, however, it was agreed to look at the\nmarriage religiously as well as civilly, and to dissolve both ties.\nFor both, annulment was preferred to the ordinary form of divorce, as\nmore honorable for Josephine; and a defect in procedure or a great\nstate reason were to constitute the grounds of dissolution. It was\nresolved that no reference should be made to the Pope in any way, as\nhis feelings toward Napoleon under present circumstances could not be\nfriendly. The civil marriage had been easily dissolved by mutual\nconsent of the parties and for public reasons, as seen above, when\nNapoleon and Josephine read their respective papers before the\nassembled council. With the views just stated, a committee of seven\nbishops was formed to pronounce on the religious tie. They declared\nthe marriage irregular; as having taken place without witnesses, and\nwithout sufficient consent of the parties concerned. With regard to\nthe absence of witnesses, M. Thiers puts in a note: \"It was through a\nfalse indication given {14} by a contemporary manuscript that I before\nmentioned MM. de Talleyrand and Berthier as having been present at the\nreligious marriage privately celebrated at the Tuileries on the eve of\nNapoleon's coronation. The author of this manuscript held the facts\nfrom the lips of the Empress Josephine, and had been led into error.\nOfficial documents which I have since procured enable me to rectify\nthis assertion.\"\n\nWhat more likely than that Josephine told the simple truth, and that\nofficial papers were made to meet future contingencies? If it had not\nbeen intended to annul the marriage by any means, why was the\ncertificate of it wrested from Josephine?\n\nAgreeably to the decision of the bishops, it was resolved to pursue\nthe annulment of the marriage as defective in form before the diocesan\nofficialty in the first instance, and afterward before the\nmetropolitan authority. Canonical proceedings were quietly instituted,\nand witnesses summoned. These witnesses were Cardinal Fesch, MM. de\nTalleyrand, Berthier, and Duroc. The first was to testify as to the\nforms observed; and the three others as to the nature of the consent\ngiven by both parties concerned. Cardinal Fesch declared he had\nreceived dispensations from the Pope authorizing the omission of\ncertain forms, and thus justified the absence of witnesses and of the\nparish cur\u00e9. MM. de Talleyrand, Berthier, and Duroc affirmed having\nheard from Napoleon several times that he only intended to allow a\nmere ceremony for the purpose of reassuring the Pope's conscience and\nthat of Josephine; but that his formal determination had ever been not\nto complete his union with the empress, being unhappily convinced that\nhe must one day renounce her for the good of his empire.\n\nA strange conscience is here manifested by Napoleon. Josephine does\nnot appear to have been summoned to tell her tale.\n\nAfter this inquiry, the ecclesiastical authority recognized that there\nhad not been sufficient consent; but out of respect to the parties\nthis ground of nullity was not specially insisted on. The causes\nassigned for dissolving the marriage rested on the absence of all\nwitnesses, and of the parish cur\u00e9. The general dispensations granted\nto Cardinal Fesch were not considered to have superseded these\nnecessities. M. Thiers says on this point, \"En cons\u00e9quence, le mariage\nfut cass\u00e9 devant les deux jurisdictions dioc\u00e9saine et m\u00e9tropolitaine,\nc'est \u00e0 dire, en premi\u00e8re et en seconde instances, avec le d\u00e9cence\nconvenable, et la _pleine observance du droit canonique!_ Napoleon\n\u00e9tait donc` libre.\"\n\nM. Thiers makes no reference to the Pope, who surely must be supposed\nto have known whether the ceremony performed for the sole purpose of\nallaying his and Josephine's scruples were perfectly valid by canon\nlaw. It is not possible to admit that he could have insisted on the\nsame, and being present on the spot could yet have failed to ascertain\nbeyond doubt the religious legality of the marriage; more especially\nas he could have at once removed the obstacle by a dispensation.\n\nThis topic must have been mentioned between the Pope and Cardinal\nConsalvi; it is evident from the conduct of the latter that he and\nmany other cardinals considered the marriage with Josephine as binding\nin a religious point of view. The character of Consalvi precludes the\npossibility of supposing any petty motives for his opposition;\nconscience alone could have dictated it. Evidently he yielded as far\nas he could; and what he withheld from duty was with manifest peril to\nhimself, and, humanly speaking, even to the Church, whose interests\nwere so dear to him. As to the number of cardinals holding opposite\nviews, or at least acting as if they did, the weakness of human\nnature, alas, and the selfishness of human interests, too well explain\nthat {15} circumstance. Grave historians and writers of genius do not\nalways take sufficient account of _conscience_ in their estimate of\nmen and things, and thence flow many errors. Those who are politicians\nalso, from their wide knowledge of human vices, fall still more\nreadily into this mistake. Thus Napoleon probably never believed the\nPope to be in earnest, of at least his mind could not hold such an\nidea long together. To himself state policy was all, or nearly all.\nHis negotiations with the Holy See, his appreciations of Consalvi, all\nbear the stamp of that starting-point; to him it was a trial of\nstrength in will, or of skill in diplomacy: he ignored conscience. In\nthe same way, a mind eminently lucid as that of M. Thiers judges facts\nin a very different manner than he would do if he could see that with\nsome minds conscience is the spring of action. If this were not the\ncase, he could not, while speaking of the Pope with due respect, pass\nover his motives so slightly; nor would he construe as he does\nConsalvi's conduct with regard to the marriage and that of the other\n_black cardinals_. The opinions of such men deserved to raise a doubt\nin the mind of the historian, and to lead to investigation that might\nhave had other results. We purposely lay stress on this matter because\nM. Thiers is popular with a large class of readers, who justly admire\nhis talent, but who erroneously consider him a fair exponent on\necclesiastical affairs. He does respect religion; but evidently fails\nto apprehend the idea of men constantly swayed by duty and conscience;\nwhose judgments may err, as all things human do, but whose\nsupernatural principle of action ever lives.\n\nToward the close of January, 1810, the conclusion of a matrimonial\nalliance to take place between Napoleon and the Archduchess\nMarie-Louise was made public in Paris. The ceremony was to be\nperformed by proxy at Vienna in the early part of March; the Archduke\nCharles being chosen to represent Napoleon on this occasion, and\nBerthier was the ambassador extraordinary named to ask formally the\nhand of the princess. The subsequent f\u00eates at Paris were to vie in\nsplendor with those given at Vienna. Napoleon wished to surround\nhimself with all the members of the Sacred College; a large number had\nalready been summoned to Paris soon after the Pope's captivity; they\nhad been ordered to partake in the festivities of the capital, and we\nregret to say that they complied. Rome, it must not be forgotten, was\nnow called a French provincial town; Napoleon was progressing on to\nbecome the emperor of the West, with the Pope, the spiritual father of\nChristendom, as his satellite. The other cardinals in Rome were called\nto Paris. Some found pretexts for delaying obedience; Cardinals\nConsalvi and di Pietro replied that they could not think of leaving\nwithout the Pope's permission, but would immediately refer to him, at\nthe same time declining the pension offered in Paris. After the lapse\nof a few days an express order enjoined them to quit Rome within\ntwenty-four hours. They alleged that no answer had yet arrived from\nthe Pope. But at the expiration of the period fixed, French soldiers\nvisited their houses to carry them off by force. Yielding to violence\nthey departed, and reached Paris together on the 20th January, 1810.\n\nTwenty-nine cardinals, including Fesch, were then assembled in the\nFrench capital. How they should act with regard to the new marriage\nbecame soon a subject of grave consultation for them. Consalvi and di\nPietro had not long arrived when it was publicly announced. Napoleon\nseemed disposed to treat them with courtesy. Consalvi had his audience\nsix days after his arrival. Five other cardinals, new comers also,\nwere presented at the same time. They were ranged together on one\nside, while the other cardinals remained opposite. Further on were the\nnobles, ministers, kings. {16} queens, princes, and princesses. When\nthe emperor appeared, Cardinal Fesch stepped forward and began\npresenting the five. \"Cardinal Pignatelli,\" said he. \"Neapolitan,\"\nreplied the emperor, and passed on. \"Cardinal di Pietro,\" continued\nFesch. The emperor stopped a moment, and said, \"You have grown fat; I\nremember having seen you here with the Pope at my coronation.\"\n\"Cardinal Saluzzo,\" said Fesch, presenting the third. \"Neapolitan,\"\nreplied the emperor, and walked on. \"Cardinal Desping,\" said Fesch, as\nthe fourth saluted. \"Spanish,\" replied the emperor. \"From Majorca,\"\ncried Desping, in alarm. But Napoleon had already reached Consalvi,\nand ere Cardinal Fesch could say the name, he exclaimed, in the\nkindest tone, and standing still, \"Oh, Cardinal Consalvi; how thin you\nhave become! I should hardly have recognized you.\" \"Sire,\" replied\nConsalvi, \"years accumulate. Ten have passed since I had the honor of\nsaluting your majesty.\" \"That is true,\" resumed Napoleon; \"it is now\nalmost ten years since you came for the concordat. We made that treaty\nin this very hall; but what purpose has it served? All has vanished in\nsmoke. Rome would lose all. It must be owned, I was wrong to displace\nyou from the ministry. If you had continued in that post, things would\nnot have been carried so far.\"\n\nListening only to the fear of having his actions misconstrued by the\npublic, Consalvi instantly replied with energy, \"Sire, if I had\nremained in that post, I should have done my duty.\" Napoleon looked at\nhim fixedly, made no answer, and then going backward and forward\nthrough the half-circle formed by the cardinals, began a long\nmonologue, enumerating a number of grievances against the Pope and\nagainst Rome for not having adhered to his will by refusing to adopt\nthe system offered. At length, being near Consalvi, he stopped, and\nsaid a second time, \"No, if you had remained at your post, things\nwould not have gone so far.\" Again Consalvi replied, \"Your majesty may\nbelieve that I should have done my duty.\" Napoleon gave the cardinal\nanother fixed glance, and then without reply recommenced his walks,\ncontinuing his former discourse. At last he stopped near Cardinal di\nPietro, and said for the third time, \"If Cardinal Consalvi had\nremained secretary of state, things would not have gone so far.\"\nConsalvi was at the other end of the little group of five, and need\nnot have answered; but earnest to exonerate himself from all\nsuspicion, he advanced toward Napoleon, and seizing his arm,\nexclaimed, \"Sire, I have already assured your majesty that had I\nremained in that post, I should certainly have done my duty.\" The\nemperor no longer containing himself, and with eyes steadily bent on\nConsalvi, burst forth into these words, \"Oh! I repeat it, your duty\nwould not have allowed you to sacrifice spiritual to temporal things.\"\nAfter this he turned his back on Consalvi, and going over to the\ncardinals opposite, asked if they had heard his words. Then returning\nto the five, he observed that the College of Cardinals was now nearly\ncomplete in Paris, and that they would do well to see among themselves\nif there was anything to propose or regulate concerning Church\naffairs. \"Let Cardinal Consalvi be of the committee,\" added Napoleon;\n\"for if, as I suppose, he is ignorant of theology, he knows well the\nscience of politics.\"\n\nAt a second and third audience, Napoleon showed similar kindness to\nConsalvi, always asking after his health, and remarking that he was\ngetting fatter now. The cardinal only answered by deep salutations.\n\nPrincipally through Consalvi's influence, the cardinals, in a\ncollective letter addressed to the emperor, declined acting in any way\nwhile separated from their head, the Pope. Napoleon had angrily torn\ntheir letter to pieces; but even this opposition to his will had not\nchanged his courtesy {17} toward Consalvi, as seen above. He was bent\non creating a schism between them and the Pope. Fesch, his ready\ninstrument, proposed several steps as beneficial to religion, but the\nmajority of cardinals refused to do anything. Unlike many of his\ncolleagues, Consalvi held aloof from all society. Beside the\nprohibition of the Pope, who at Rome had forbidden the members of the\nSacred College to assist at festivities while the Church was in\nmourning, he considered it unworthy conduct for them to take part in\namusements while their head remained in captivity, or to seem to court\none who had brought such calamities on the Holy See.\n\nWhile invited to discuss ecclesiastical matters in committee for\npresentation to the emperor, the cardinals were not by any means\nrequested to give an opinion on the new marriage. But it became very\nnecessary that they should have one as the time approached for the\narrival of Marie-Louise, and for the celebration of the marriage\nceremonies in Paris.\n\nShe reached Compi\u00e8gne on the 27th of March. Napoleon, to spare her the\nembarrassment of a public meeting, had surprised her on the road, and\nthey entered the little town together. A few days after they proceeded\nto St. Cloud. Four ceremonies were to take place. First there was to\nbe a grand presentation on the 31st of March, at St. Cloud, of all the\nbodies in the state, the nobles and other dignitaries. The next\nmorning the civil marriage was to be celebrated also at St Cloud. The\n2d of April was fixed for the grand entrance of the sovereigns into\nParis, and for the solemnity of the religious marriage in the chapel\nof the Tuileries; the following morning another presentation of the\nstate bodies and the court was to take place before the emperor and\nthe new empress seated on their thrones.\n\nTwenty-seven cardinals had taken counsel together; for Fesch, as\ngrand-almoner to the emperor, was out of the question, and Caprara was\ndying. They had decided, after deliberate research, that matrimonial\ncases between sovereigns belong exclusively to the cognizance of the\nHoly See, which either itself pronounces sentence at Rome, or else\nthrough the medium of the legates names local judges for instituting\nthe affair.\n\nAccording to Consalvi's account, the diocesan officialty of Paris on\nthis occasion refused at first to intervene, on the ground of\nincompetency; but the emperor caused competency to be declared by a\ncommittee of bishops assembled at Paris, and presided over by Cardinal\nFesch. The words, however, \"_declared competent,_\" were not eventually\ninserted in the documents drawn up of the meeting; it was pretended\ninstead that access could not be had to the Pope. But this pretended\nimpossibility could of course arise only from the will of Napoleon.\n\nConsalvi assures us that the preamble used by the committee in the\nfirst instance ran thus:\n\n\"The officialty, being declared competent, and without derogating from\nthe right of the sovereign pontiff, to whom access is for the moment\nforbidden, proclaims null and void the marriage contracted with the\nEmpress Josephine, the reasons for such decision being stated in the\nsentence.\" But when it was remarked how prejudicial this avowal would\nbe, the government made it disappear from among the acts of the\necclesiastical curia. For it had been previously arranged that all\npapers relative to this affair should be submitted to government.\nAccording to general report in Paris, some of the papers were burnt,\nand others changed. A person belonging to the officialty succeeded,\nhowever, in secretly saving a part, and especially the beginning of\nthe sentence, which was as given above.\n\nConsalvi does not so much as name the validity or invalidity of the\nmarriage; the point to establish for him was that the right of\ncognizance {18} belonged solely to the Holy See. The incident he\nmentions of the papers destroyed has no other importance than as\nshowing how conscience at first pronounced and how a strong hand\nsilenced its expression.\n\nThirteen cardinals resolved to brave any consequences rather than\nconsent to a dereliction of duty; for their oath, when raised to the\npurple, binds them to maintain at all hazards the rights of the\nChurch. The names of these thirteen were: Cardinals Mattei,\nPignatelli, della Somaglia, di Pietro, Litta, Saluzzo, Ruffo Scilla,\nBrancadoro, Galeffi, Scotti, Gabrielli, Opizzoni, and Consalvi. The\nother fourteen held different shades of opinion, and only agreed in\ndeciding not to oppose the emperor.\n\nThe sole means by which the thirteen could protest, under the\ncircumstances, was not to sanction the new marriage by appearing at\nthe ceremonies. This resolve was accordingly taken, and the fourteen\nwere apprised. Mattei, the oldest cardinal among the thirteen, called\nupon most of the fourteen to acquaint them with the resolution; other\nmembers of the thirteen likewise spoke of it to their colleagues; but\nno result was produced on the minds of the fourteen. To the shame of\nthe latter it must be said that they afterward untruly declared\nthemselves ignorant of the line of conduct which the thirteen had\nintended to adopt. Consalvi positively asserts that such was not the\ncase. The thirteen spoke with the caution commanded by prudence on so\ndelicate a matter, not seeking ostensibly to prevent the others from\nfollowing their own opinions, and anxious to avoid giving any pretext\nfor the accusation of exciting a feeling against the government. But\nthis reserve did not prevent them from clearly expressing their\nintention to uphold the rights of the Pope and of the Holy See by\nabstaining from all participation in the marriage ceremonies.\n\nThough called upon by duty to act in the way mentioned, the thirteen\ncardinals naturally wished to avoid, as much as possible, wounding\nNapoleon. With this view Mattei was deputed to seek an interview with\nFesch, for the purpose of informing him what course they felt obliged\nto pursue. At the same time Mattei gave him to understand that all\npublicity might be avoided, or any bad effect on the public obviated,\nby addressing partial, instead of general, invitations to the\ncardinals. This was to be done with regard to the senate and the\nlegislative body, and, indeed, the smallness of the enceinte offered a\nplausible pretext; for it was impossible that all entitled to appear\non the occasion could be present. Cardinal Fesch evinced great\nsurprise and anger, endeavoring to reason Mattei out of this view; but\nfinding it was of no use, he promised to speak to the emperor, who was\nthen at Compi\u00e8gne.\n\nAccording to Fesch's account, Napoleon flew into a violent passion on\nlearning the decision come to by the thirteen; but he declared that\nthey would never dare to carry out their plot, and utterly rejected\nthe idea of not inviting all the members of the Sacred College.\n\nAt the proper time a special invitation reached each cardinal. There\nwas no possibility of escape. To feign illness or invent a pretext\nthey rightly deemed would be unworthy.\n\nNevertheless, anxious as they were to avoid offence, when they came to\nconsider more closely the nature of the different ceremonies, it was\nconsidered by some that they might, without failing in duty, assist at\nthe two presentations that were to take place before and after the\nmarriages. Consalvi was among those opposed to this view on grounds of\nhonor at least; but, not to provoke any further schism in their ranks,\nthe minority yielded, and this mode of proceeding was decided on. Both\nmarriages were to be eschewed; but they would assist at both\npresentations. The cardinals hoped thus to prove that they did all\n{19} they possibly could to please Napoleon consistently with their\nsense of duty. It was also considered highly desirable to shield the\nfourteen from remark as much as could be, for it was a grievous matter\nto right-minded men to see the honor and dignity of the Sacred College\nthus abased.\n\nAccordingly, on the evening fixed, all the cardinals went to St Cloud.\nTogether with the other dignitaries, they were in the grand gallery\nwaiting the arrival of Napoleon and his new empress, when Fouch\u00e9, the\nminister of police, came up. Consalvi had been very intimate with him,\nbut having paid scarcely any visits since his return to Paris, from\nthe motives stated above, they had not hitherto met. Fouch\u00e9 drew him\naside, and asked with much cordiality and interest if it were true\nthat several cardinals refused to be present at the emperor's\nmarriage.\n\nConsalvi was silent at first, not wishing to name any one in\nparticular. But when Fouch\u00e9 insisted, saying that, as minister of\npolice, he knew of course all about it, and only asked through\npoliteness, Consalvi replied that he belonged to the number.\n\n\"Oh, what do you say?\" exclaimed Fouch\u00e9. \"The emperor was speaking of\nit this morning, and in his anger named you; but I affirmed that it\nwas not likely you should be of the set.\"\n\nFouch\u00e9 then pointed out the dangerous consequences of such a\nproceeding, saying that the non-intervention of the cardinals would\nseem to blame the state, the emperor, and even to attack the\nlegitimacy of the future succession of the throne. He tried to\npersuade Consalvi to be present himself at leasts or if the whole\nthirteen would not come to the civil marriage, to attend, however, the\nreligious ceremony. Consalvi could not of course consent; but he told\nthe efforts they had made to avoid invitations for all, and promised,\nat Fouch\u00e9's request, to repeat this conversation to the twelve.\n\nTheir discourse was interrupted by the appearance of the emperor and\nempress. Napoleon came in holding Marie-Louise by the hand, and he\npointed out each person to her by name as he drew near. On approaching\nthe members of the Sacred College, he exclaimed, \"Ah, the cardinals!\"\nand presented them, one after the other, with great courtesy, naming\neach, and mentioning some qualification. Thus Consalvi was designated\nas he who arranged the concordat.\n\nIt was said afterward that Napoleon's kindliness had been intended to\nwin them over.\n\nThey all bowed in return, without speaking. When this ceremony was\nover, the thirteen returned to Paris and met at the house of Cardinal\nMattei. Consalvi then related his conversation with Fouch\u00e9; they saw\nclearly what there might be to apprehend, but none wavered in the\nresolution taken.\n\nThe following day, the civil marriage was celebrated at St Cloud. The\nthirteen cardinals abstained from appearing. Of the fourteen, eleven\nwere present: one was ill, and two, seized with tardy misgiving, said\nthey were.\n\nMonday, the 2d of April, had been fixed for the triumphal entrance of\nthe sovereigns into Paris, and for the religious marriage in the\nchapel of the Tuileries. A successful representation of the arch of\ntriumph was made; afterward reproduced in the one at the top of the\nChamps Elys\u00e9es. Napoleon passed under it, with Marie-Louise at his\nside, in a carriage that afforded a fair view of both to the\nspectators. Arrived at the gate of the Tuileries, on the Place de la\nConcorde, they alighted, and he led her through the gardens till they\narrived at the chapel of the palace, prepared for the nuptial\nceremony.\n\nIt was crowded densely, and many more persons longed to enter, but\nthere were thirteen vacant seats!\n\nIt had been hoped that Fouch\u00e9's words would produce some effect, and\n{20} that the thirteen cardinals might, at least, be induced to attend\nthe religions marriage. Their seats had been left up to the last\nmoment; but as Napoleon drew near, they were hastily removed. His eye,\nhowever, fell immediately on the group of cardinals, always\nconspicuous from their red costume, and as he marked the smallness of\ntheir number, anger flashed from his countenance.\n\nIndeed, only twelve cardinals, including Fesch, were present One was\nreally too ill to go, and two others, as before, pretended sickness.\nBut, as they wrote to this effect, they were considered as absent from\naccident. And they encouraged this version.\n\nDuring both these days and nights, the thirteen remained at home,\ncarefully abstaining, as became their position, from all semblance of\nparticipation in any rejoicings.\n\nOn the morrow was to take place the final ceremony of presentation to\nboth sovereigns seated on their thrones. All the cardinals went, and,\naccording to injunction, in full costume. Two hours passed waiting for\nthe doors of the throne-room to be opened.\n\nThen the stream began to move toward the spot in the middle of the\ngrand gallery that connects the Tuileries with the Louvre, where\nNapoleon and Marie-Louise were seated on their respective thrones,\nsurrounded by the members of the imperial family and officers of\nstate.\n\nThe crowd entered slowly, one by one, according to the rule of\nprecedence prescribed, and each individual, stopping before the\nthrone, made a profound obeisance, passing out afterward by the door\nof the saloon beyond.\n\nIn conformity with French etiquette at that time, the senators were\nfirst introduced; and Fesch had the littleness to go in with them,\nrather than with the Sacred College. After these followed the\ncouncillors of state and the legislative body, and then came the turn\nof the cardinals. But at this moment, Napoleon, with imperious\ngesture, beckoned an officer toward him, and gave a hasty order to\nhave all the cardinals who had not been present at the marriage\nimmediately expelled from the ante-chamber, as he should not\ncondescend to receive them. The messenger was precipitately quitting\nthe hall, when Napoleon, with rapid change of thought, called him\nback, and ordered that only Cardinals Opizzoni and Consalvi should be\nturned out But the officer, confused, did not clearly seize this\nsecond order, and imagining that the two cardinals named were to be\nmore particularly designated, acted accordingly.\n\nThe scene that followed may be conceived. It rises up vividly. The\norder for expulsion was as publicly intimated as it had been publicly\ngiven; and scores of eager eyes turned on the thirteen culprits so\nignominiously dismissed. The report of what was coming got whispered\nfrom hall to hall, and flew on to the numerous groups that thronged\neven the vestibule and staircase; if the buzz ceased as the cardinals\ndrew near, it followed swiftly on their receding steps, while they\ntraversed each apartment. Friends began to tremble for their personal\nsafety: the bloody tragedy of Vincennes rose up in remembrance to many\nan anxious heart.\n\nTheir equipages had disappeared in the confusion of the day. The\nParisian crowd were astounded that morning to mark thirteen rich\nscarlet dresses wending about in search of conveyances or homes.\n\nWithin the palace, meanwhile, precedence, contrary to custom, had been\ngiven the ministers; but after them the other cardinals were at length\nintroduced. As each, in turn, drew near the thrones, and, not feeling\nvery pleasantly we may believe, made his respectful salutation.\nNapoleon was giving way to a rapid flow of violent language. Sometimes\nhe addressed the empress, or sometimes those standing near. The Sacred\nCollege, as a body, came in for its share of abuse; but two cardinals\nwere special objects {21} of reproachful epithets. \"He might spare the\nothers,\" said Napoleon, \"as obstinate theologians full of prejudice;\nbut Cardinals Consalvi and Opizzoni he never could forgive.\" Opizzoni\nwas ungrateful, owing, as he did, to him (Napoleon) the archbishopric\nof Bologna, and the cardinal's hat; but Consalvi was the most guilty\nof all. \"Consalvi,\" cried the emperor, warming as he went on, \"does\nnot act from theological prejudice: he is incapable of that; but he\nhates me for having caused his fall from the ministry. And this is now\nhis revenge. He is a deep politician, and he seeks now to lay a subtle\nsnare, whereby hereafter to attack the legitimacy of a future heir to\nthe throne.\"\n\nMarie-Louise, accustomed to the stalely etiquette of Austria, must\nhave been rather surprised at this outburst. Perhaps her own destiny,\nas bride of that crowned soldier of fortune, did not then look quite\nso brilliant to her. It is easy to fancy courtiers around with their\nvaried shades of amaze, horror, and fear at such delinquency, and its\nconsequences, painted on their faces.\n\nConsalvi tells us in his memoir on the marriage, and also in that of\nhis private life, that the fury of Napoleon on the day of the\nreligious ceremony had been so intense, that on coming out from chapel\nhe actually ordered three cardinals to be shot, afterward confining\nthe sentence to Consalvi alone. And the cardinal each time says that\nhe probably owed his life to the intervention of Fouch\u00e9.\n\nBut in a note which M. Cr\u00e9tineau-Joly mentions as detached from the\nmemoirs, Consalvi writes thus of Napoleon: \"In his fits of\nanger,--often more feigned than real, especially at first,--he would\nthreaten _to have persons shot,_ as he frequently did with regard to\nmyself; but I am persuaded that he never would have signed the order\nfor execution. More than once I have heard his devoted followers and\nintimate confidants relate that the murder of the Duke d'Enghien had\nbeen a surprise rather than a deliberate act of will. I should not be\nastonished at the truth of this, for it was a useless crime, leaving\nonly shame and remorse, which Bonaparte might easily have spared\nhimself.\"\n\nThe contradiction in these passages is remarkable. M. Cr\u00e9tineau-Joly\ndoes not give the date of the note, so we are reduced to conjecture.\nIt seems likely to have been written at a later period, when the\ndownfall of Napoleon would naturally call forth from Consalvi the\ndeepest charity and most lenient interpretations. The two memoirs, it\nwill be remembered, were penned during the cardinal's captivity at\nRheims.\n\nThe day after their expulsion, those among the cardinals who were\nbishops had orders to resign their sees immediately, under pain of\nimprisonment. They signed the deed as required, but with the proviso\nof the Pope's consent. At eight o'clock on the same evening each one\nreceived a short note from the minister of public worship, enjoining\nhim to wait on that functionary in an hour's time, for the purpose of\nhearing the emperors' orders.\n\nThe whole thirteen met in the minister's ante-chamber, and were\nintroduced together to his cabinet. Fouch\u00e9 was with him, and from a\nkindly intention, says Consalvi. Both seemed grieved at the business\nthey had to transact.\n\nAs soon as Fouch\u00e9 perceived Consalvi, he exclaimed,\n\n\"Ah, cardinal, I warned you the consequences would be terrible. What\npains me most is that you should be of the number.\"\n\nConsalvi thanked him for his sympathy, but said he was prepared for\nall that might follow.\n\nThe thirteen were then made to sit down in a circle, and the minister\nof public worship began a long discourse, which could not much have\nbenefitted the culprits, as only three understood French. The\nsubstance of it was that they had committed a {22} state crime, and\nwere guilty of treason, having conspired against the emperor. The\nproof of this lay in the secrecy they had observed toward him (the\nminister) and toward the other cardinals. They ought to have spoken to\nhim as their superior, and he would have enlightened them with regard\nto their erroneous idea of the privative right belonging to the Pope\nin matrimonial cases between sovereigns. Their crime, he said, might\nhave the most serious consequences on the public tranquillity, unless\nthe emperor succeeded in obviating them, for their mode of acting had\ntended to nothing less than to cast doubts on the legitimacy of the\nsuccession to the throne. He concluded by declaring that the emperor,\njudging the cardinals to be rebels guilty of conspiracy, had ordered\nthem to be informed:\n\n1. That they were from that moment deprived of all their property,\necclesiastical and patrimonial, for the sequestration of which\nmeasures had been already taken.\n\n2. That his majesty no longer considered them as cardinals, and\nforbade them henceforth to wear any ensigns of that dignity.\n\n3. That his majesty reserved to himself the right of afterward\ndeciding with regard to their persons.\n\nAnd the minister gave them to understand that a criminal action would\nbe brought against some.\n\nEven going back as fully as we can to the ideas of the times, there is\nsomething equally startling and absurd in the notion of a lay minister\nof state undertaking to enlighten princes of the church on matters of\ncanon law, coolly naming himself as their superior, and treating them\nto a long homily on their duties and misdemeanors. The same\npretensions are doubtless reproduced in all revolutionary times; but\nstill the absurdity strikes us forcibly as we read this account.\n\nConsalvi replied that they were erroneously accused of conspiracy and\nrebellion--crimes unworthy of the purple, and also of their individual\ncharacters. No secret, he said, had been made of their opinion to the\nother cardinals, though it had been expressed without seeking to gain\nproselytes. If they had not communicated with the minister, they had\nnevertheless spoken quite openly to Cardinal Fesch, their own\ncolleague and the emperor's uncle, begging him to lay their\ndetermination, founded solely on motives of conscience, before\nNapoleon. Consalvi also explained how they endeavored to avoid all the\nblame now laid to their charge by requesting partial invitations,\nwhich request, if complied with, would have prevented their views from\nbeing made public. The other two cardinals who could speak French\nlikewise expressed themselves in similar terms.\n\nBoth ministers appeared convinced, and, regretting the emperor had not\nhimself heard their defence, suggested that they should write it out\nfor his perusal. No difficulty was made in complying with this\nproposal. The ministers then said that the cardinals must not,\nhowever, bring forward the real motive of their absence, namely, the\nPope's right, as that was just what irritated Napoleon; but lay the\ncause to sickness, or some excuse of that kind. The cardinals declined\ntaking this course, as incompatible with their duty.\n\nHere we must remark that the whole scene appears to us got up to make\nthem yield at last; but Consalvi, ever charitable, says not a word to\nthat effect.\n\nOne of the ministers then tried to make out a draft of a letter for\nthe emperor that should be satisfactory to both parties; and one of\nthe cardinals had the imprudence to copy these rough sketches, for the\npurpose of comparing them and seeing afterward what could be done. The\nminister insisted much on having the paper then and there drawn up, as\nNapoleon was going to travel, and would leave Paris immediately. But\nConsalvi, pleading his colleagues' ignorance of the French language,\n{23} succeeded at length in obtaining consent for them to retire\ntogether and deliberate among themselves.\n\nIt was eleven o'clock when they withdrew; and some of the cardinals\nhad the further imprudence to assure the ministers that the\nexpressions used by the latter had been faithfully copied.\n\nAs soon as Consalvi was alone with his colleagues and could speak\nfreely, he showed them the full meaning of the French terms suggested,\nand the impropriety, to say the least, of using them. All agreed to\nhold staunchly to their duty. But now appeared the further difficulty,\ncreated by having copied the ministers' words, which it would thus be\nimpossible to seem to forget. Fouch\u00e9 was to see Napoleon soon after\nleaving them, and would doubtless hasten to assure him that the\ncardinals were writing a letter conformable to his wishes. Thus\nNapoleon, prepared for submission, would give way to tenfold anger on\nfinding the reverse.\n\nThe letter was dictated by conscience alone, but its expressions were\nas much as possible tempered by prudence. Every word was carefully\nweighed; and five hours passed in drawing it up. By its tenor, they\nsought to exculpate themselves from all suspicion of revolt and\ntreason, saying that the real cause of their absence was because the\nPope was excluded from the matter; that they had not pretended thereby\nto institute themselves judges, or cast any doubts among the public\neither on the validly of the first marriage, or the legitimacy of the\nchildren that might follow the second. In conclusion, they assured\nNapoleon of their submission and obedience, without making any request\nfor the restoration of their property or their purple. The thirteen\nsigned by order of seniority in the cardinalate.\n\nCardinal Litta immediately conveyed this document to the minister of\npublic worship, who pronounced himself tolerably satisfied. But\nNapoleon quitted Paris the next day sooner than had been anticipated,\nand without giving the audience to the minister which had been agreed\non. Consequently the latter could not give the letter then, and he\ninformed the cardinals that they must therefore conform to the orders\nalready received. Accordingly they laid aside the ensigns of their\ndignity, and hence arose the designation of _black_ and _red_\ncardinals. Their property was immediately confiscated, and their\nrevenues, contrary to custom, were thrown into the public treasury.\n\nAfter a short excursion in the Netherlands, Napoleon returned to\nParis. Meanwhile the cardinals had put down their carriages, and hired\nmore modest abodes, better suited to their fallen fortunes.\nContradictory rumors were afloat abroad as to their fate. Two months\nand a half passed ere any change took place.\n\nBut on the 10th of June each cardinal received a note from the\nminister of public worship, appointing a time for him to call; two\ncardinals being designated for each successive hour. Cardinals\nConsalvi and Brancadoro were those summoned for the first hour. When\nthey reached his cabinet, the minister informed them that they were to\nset out for Rheims in twenty-four hours, and to remain there until\nfurther orders should be given. Passports were in readiness. All the\nother cardinals successively received a similar sentence; the only\ndifference lay in the place of abode. They were exiled by twos, and\ncare was taken to separate those supposed to be intimate. The minister\noffered to each cardinal fifty louis for the expenses of his journey;\nsome accepted, and others declined; Consalvi being among the latter.\nSoon after their arrival in the towns designated, each cardinal had an\nintimation from the minister that a monthly pension of 250f. would be\nduly paid. Consalvi refused to profit by this allowance, and he thinks\nthe others did the same. On the 10th of January, 1811, both he and his\n{24} companion received a note from the sub-prefect of Rheims,\nrequesting them to call and give information on certain orders that\nhad arrived from the supreme authority in Paris. The two cardinals\nwent. The sub-prefect then informed them that he was required to ask\nwhat sums they had received for their subsistence since their exile at\nRheims, through what conveyance or persons, from whom, and to what\namount Consalvi was able to answer that he had not accepted a penny\nfrom any one. \"But how then do you live, since the government has\nseized all your property?\" \"My banker at Rome sends the necessary sums\nthrough his correspondent at Paris. Under other circumstances I would\nhave borrowed from my friends.\"\n\nThis measure of the government was caused by irritation on learning\nthat charitable persons had united to make up a general fund every\nmonth for the support of the cardinals, and it was wished to put a\nstop to the proceeding. Consalvi concludes the memoirs of his private\nlife about this time, expressing a fear that the business mentioned\nabove will not end with the interrogatory, but may bring about\ndisastrous consequences. He also says, \"We live in exile; foregoing\nall society, as becomes our situation and that of the Holy See and the\nsovereign pontiff our head. The red cardinals, I am told, remain in\nParis, and go much in the world, but are not esteemed for their late\nconduct.\"\n\nIt is curious to contract with the preceding account the manner in\nwhich M. Thiers disposes of this same episode. \"On the day of the\nemperor's marriage,\" says that historian, \"thirteen out of\ntwenty-eight cardinals failed to be present at the ceremony. The\nmotive, which they dared not assign, but which it was desired to make\nthe public understand, was that, without the Pope, Napoleon could not\ndivorce, and thence, the first marriage still subsisting, the second\nwas irregular. This motive was unfounded, since no divorce had taken\nplace (for in effect divorce being forbidden by the Church could only\nhave been pronounced by the Pope), but simply annulment of the\nmarriage with Josephine, pronounced by the ordinary after all the\ndegrees of ecclesiastical jurisdiction had been exhausted.\"  [Footnote 1]\n\n  [Footnote 1: M. Thiers here falls into a grave error: divorce being\n  contrary to the law of God, no Pope can pronounce one. The question\n  was whether Josephine were lawfully married or not.]\n\nIn reality, however, this conduct of the thirteen cardinals, acting in\nconformity with their head, Pope Pius VII., though cut off from all\ncommunication with him, was the protest of the Church against temporal\ndespotism in things spiritual. The Church was in chains, but God had\nleft her a living voice to proclaim her rights. Consalvi never for one\ninstant quits his ground--the Church's right of judgment--to give a\nshadow of personal opinion on the matter in question. It is a fine\nspectacle also to see him with his few colleagues, deserted by so many\nof their own body, quietly discussing what degree of excommunication\nNapoleon had incurred, whether all contact was forbidden, while they\ninhabited his very capital, and knew well the stem nature of that\ninexorable will.\n\nThe black cardinals continued to inhabit their different places of\nexile until Napoleon, working on the weakness and the affections of\nthe aged pontiff, drew from him that semblance of a second concordat\ndated the 25th of January, 1813. Then, restored to liberty, they\nhastened to the feet of Pius VII.; and found him overwhelmed with\ngrief at the concessions he had made, at what he called his guilt.\nTruly he had but yielded in his feebleness to the unceasing\npersuasions of the red cardinals, backed by Napoleon's promises in\nfavor of the Church, and to the charm exercised by that mighty genius\nwhen he stooped to court affection. The proviso made that the new\nconcordat, to become binding, should first be submitted to the Sacred\nCollege assembled, {25} happily afforded the opportunity of annulling\nit. That was fully and worthily done by the papal letter addressed to\nthe emperor on the 24th of March following.\n\nWhen the course of events in Europe brought about such a change in his\nown position, Napoleon, still powerful notwithstanding, began to wish\nfor a reconciliation with the Holy See. On the 23d of January, 1816,\nPius VII. was allowed to set out for Rome, restored to his paternal\nsovereignty. Strangely, however, Consalvi was not permitted to\naccompany him. He received instead a note from the minister of public\nworship, informing him that orders would shortly be transmitted\nconcerning himself, the execution of which admitted neither appeal nor\nyet delay.\n\nAnd accordingly, two days after the Pope's departure, a letter came\nfrom the Duc de Rovigo, minister of police, telling Consalvi that he\nwas condemned to another exile in the town of B\u00e9ziers, and was to set\nout immediately for that destination in the strictest incognito, and\nescorted during the whole journey by an officer of gendarmerie.\n\nNothing more is said of this incident. Consalvi does not carry his\nmemoirs beyond 1812. Two notes found among his correspondence, and\nsigned by the functionaries above named, reveal the orders for this\nsecond exile. Napoleon abdicated on the 4th of April, 1816. On the\n19th of May, in the same year, Pius VII. officially recalled Consalvi\nto his office of secretary of state.\n\nThus did Providence terminate the struggle between the spiritual and\ntemporal powers; thus closed for Consalvi the exile consequent on his\nopposition to the imperial marriage.\n\nOn the very day that restored Consalvi to his councils, Pius VII.\nlearned that all the nations of Europe refused to receive within their\nterritories the proscribed family of Napoleon. Rome opened her gates.\n\nMadame M\u00e8re, as she was called, the mother of Napoleon, wrote thus to\nConsalvi, 27th May, 1818:\n\n  \"I wish and I ought to thank your eminence for all you have done in\n  our favor since the burden of exile has fallen on my children and\n  myself. My brother, Cardinal Fesch, did not leave me ignorant of the\n  generous way in which you received the request of _mom grand et\n  malheureux proscrit de St. H\u00e9l\u00e8ne_. He said that on learning the\n  emperor's prayer, so just and so Christian, you had hastened to\n  interpose with the English government, and to seek out priests both\n  worthy and able. I am truly the mother of sorrows; and the only\n  consolation left me is to know that the Holy Father forgets the\n  past, and remembers solely his affection for us, which he testifies\n  to all the members of my family.\n\n  \"My sons, Lucian and Louis, who are proud of your unchanging\n  friendship toward them, have been much touched likewise by all that\n  the Pope and your eminence have done, unknown to us, to preserve our\n  tranquillity when menaced by the different powers of Europe. We find\n  support and an asylum in the pontifical states only; and our\n  gratitude is as great as the benefit. I beg your eminence to place\n  the expression of it at the feet of the holy pontiff, Pius VII. I\n  speak in the name of all my proscribed family and especially in the\n  name of him now dying by inches on a desert rock. His holiness and\n  your eminence are the only persons in Europe who endeavor to soften\n  his misfortunes, or who would abridge their duration. I thank you\n  both with a mother's heart,--and remain always, eminence, yours very\n  devotedly and most gratefully,\n      \"Madame.\"\n\nAnother letter, from the ex-king of Holland, father of the present\nemperor of the French, addressed to Cardinal Consalvi, still further\ndemonstrates the charity shown by Rome, and suggests many reflections.\nWith these extracts from Consalvi's {26} correspondence as a sequel,\nwe shall close our episode of the imperial marriage; the circumstances\nthey recall form a not uninstructive commentary on an event that\nseemed to place Napoleon at such a high point of worldly greatness.\n\n  \"Eminence,--Following the advice of the Holy Father and of your\n  eminence, I have seen Mgr. Bernetti, who is specially charged with\n  the affair in question; and he, with his usual frankness, explained\n  the nature of the complaints made by foreign powers against the\n  family of the Emperor Napoleon. The great powers, and principally\n  England, reproach us with always conspiring. They accuse us of being\n  mixed up, implicitly or explicitly, with all the plots in existence;\n  they even pretend that we abuse the hospitality granted us by the\n  Pope to foment divisions in the pontifical states, and stir up\n  hatred against the august person of the sovereign.\n\n  \"I was fortunately able to furnish Mgr. Bernetti with proofs to the\n  contrary; and he will himself tell you the effect produced on his\n  mind by my words. If the emperor's family, owing so much to Pope\n  Pius XII. and to your eminence, had conceived the detestable design\n  of disturbing Europe, and if it had the means of so doing, the\n  gratitude that we all feel toward the Holy See would evidently\n  arrest us on such a course. My mother, brothers, sisters, and uncle\n  owe too much respectful gratitude to the sovereign pontiff and to\n  your eminence to draw down new disasters on this city, where, while\n  proscribed by the whole of Europe, we have been received and\n  sheltered with a paternal goodness rendered yet more touching by\n  past injustice. We are not conspiring against any one, and still\n  less against God's representative on earth. We enjoy in Rome all the\n  rights of citizens; and when my mother learned in what a Christian\n  manner the Pope and your eminence were avenging the captivity of\n  Fontainebleau and the exile of Rheims, she could only bless you in\n  the name of her _grand et malheureux mort_, shedding sweet tears for\n  the first time since the disasters of 1814.\n\n  \"To conspire against our august and sole benefactor would be an\n  infamy that has no name. The family of Bonaparte will never merit\n  such a reproach. I convinced Mgr. Bernetti of it, and he will\n  himself be our surety with your eminence. Deign then to listen to\n  his words, and to grant us the continuance of your favor, together\n  with the protection of the Holy Father.--In this hope, I am,\n  eminence, your very respectful and most devoted servant and friend,\n\n    \"L. DE SAINT-LEU.\"\n    \"_Rome, 30th Sept_. 1821.\"\n\n------\n\n{27}\n\nFrom Once A Week.\n\nAN ENGLISH MAIDEN'S LOVE.\n\n\nI read this incident when a mere girl in a very stupid old novel\nfounded upon it, which I never could succeed in meeting with again.\nThe preface stated that in some church in England there yet remained\nthe monument of the knight with his noble one-armed wife beside him. I\nshould be glad if any of your readers could tell me where this\nmonument is to be seen, and the real names (which I have forgotten) of\nthe knight and lady.\n\n  'Twas in the grand heroic days,\n    When Coeur de Lion reigned and fought;\n  An English knight ta'en in those frays\n    To Sultan Saladin was brought.\n\n  The sultan sat upon his throne,\n    His courtiers stood around;\n  And emir, prince, and padisha\n    Bent lowly to the ground.\n\n  They served him upon bended knee--\n    \"To hear is to obey;\"--\n  For the fierce and cruel Moslem race\n    An iron hand must sway.\n\n  The monarch gazed on each stem face;\n    \"Ye Moslem chiefs are brave;\n  But I know a braver man than ye,\n    Bring forth the Christian slave!\"\n\n  The slave was brought, and at a sign\n    The scimitar waved high,\n  But the English captive gazed unmoved,\n    With calm unshrinking eye.\n\n  Then spoke the sultan: \"Hugh de Vere,\n    I've need of men like thee,\n  And thou shalt be the first man here,\n    In this land, after me.\n\n  \"Thou shalt have gold, and gems, and land,\n    Palaces shall be thine.\n  And thou shalt wed a queenly bride,\n    And be a son of mine.\n\n  \"Only forsake thy fathers' faith,\n    Mah'med and God adore,\n  And forget thy love and fatherland.\n    Which thou shalt see no more.\"\n\n  Then Hugh de Vere obeisance made;--\n    \"Since I must make reply,\n  I will not change my love or faith,\n    Far liever would I die.\n                                                         {28}\n\n  \"I have a God who died for me.\n    His soldier I am sworn.\n  Shall I, whose shoulder bears the cross,\n    Upon the cross bring scorn?\n\n  \"I have a love, a gentle girl.\n    Whom I love as my wife;\n  I cannot bear a Moslem name.\n    Nor wed a Moslem wife.\"\n\n  \"Bethink thee now,\" the sultan said;\n    \"How knowest thou that the maid\n  Is not now wed, since thy return\n    Hath been so long delayed?\n\n  \"Fickle and false is woman's heart,\n    It changes like the sky;\n  The showers that fall so fast to-night\n    To-morrow' sun will dry.\n\n  \"Nor--trust me--e'er was maiden yet\n    Constant as is the dove,\n  Who dies of grief for her lost mate,\n    And knows no second love.\"\n\n  Then at the monarch's feet bowed low\n    The saintly fr\u00e8res who came\n  To ransom slaves, bound by their vow,\n    For Jesu's holy name.\n\n  And at his footstool wealth untold\n    With lavish hands they pour:\n  \"His bride sends thee her gems and gold;\n    Sir Hugh de Vere restore!\"\n\n  The sultan spoke: \"The other knights\n    And men may go with thee.\n  But not for gold or jewels bright\n    Shall Hugh de Vere go free.\n\n  \"I love him with a brother's love,\n    His love I hope to win.\n  And in this land raise him above\n    All men save Saladin.\n\n  \"What is a woman's love to mine?\n    A hundred slaves I'll give,\n  Let him his Christian faith resign,\n    And in my shadow live.\n\n  \"His lady-love sends pearls and gold,\n    She'd give them for a shawl,\n  But she must give a dearer thing\n    Before I yield my thrall.\n                                                            {29}\n  \"I'll try how Christian maidens love--\n    This answer to her bear,\n  'Thy faith and fealty to prove,\n    Give what is far more dear.\n\n  \"'This is the ransom I demand,\n    No meaner thing I'll take,\n  Thy own right arm and lily hand\n    Cut off for thy love's sake.\"\n\n  \"Return, good fr\u00e8res,\" Sir Hugh then said,\n    \"To my betrothed bride,\n  And speak of me henceforth as dead,\n    Since here I must abide.\n\n  \"For rather would I die this day\n    Beneath the paynim swords,\n  Than ye should bear Agnes de Bray\n    The sultan's cruel words.\n\n  \"For well I know her faithful heart\n    Both arm and life would give\n  To ransom mine;--and will not prove\n    Her death, that I may live.\"\n\n  Then mournfully the ransom sent\n    The good fr\u00e8res took once more.\n  And with the captives they had freed\n    Sailed to the English shore.\n\n  And Earl de Bray's castell they sought,\n    And to fair Agnes told,\n  How that her lover could not be\n    Ransomed for gems or gold.\n\n  And that the cruel sultan asked,--\n    Nor meaner thing would take,--\n  Her own right arm and lily hand,\n    Cut off for her love's sake.\n\n  A shudder ran through all who heard,\n    Her mother shrieked aloud,\n  Her father, crimsoning, clutched his sword,\n    And death to Moslems vowed.\n\n  Her little sister to her ran,\n    And clasped her tightly round:\n  \"Sure, sister, such a wicked man\n    Cannot on earth be found?\"\n\n  But Agnes smoothed the child's long hair\n    And kissed her, then spoke low,\n  \"That cruel is the ransom asked.\n    My dear ones, well I know.\n                                                            {30}\n  \"But did not God for ransom give\n    His own beloved Son?\n  And do not churls and nobles give\n    Their lives for king and throne?\n\n  \"Has not my lord and father bled\n    By Coeur de Lion's side?\n  And would he bid his daughter shirk\n    Duty--whate'er betide?\n\n  \"Am I not Hugh de Vere's betrothed,\n    Fast pledged to be his wife?\n  Do not I owe him fealty,\n    Even though it cost my life?\n\n  \"What is my life? Long days and years\n    In vain repining spent,\n  And orisons to God to end\n    My dear love's banishment.\n\n  \"And he _has heard_. At last my prayers\n    Have reached up to God's throne\n  God gives me back my long lost one,\n    Nor leaves me sad and lone.\n\n  \"Only, he asks a sacrifice,\n    A proof my love is pure:\n  For such great gain, a little pain.\n    And shall I not endure?\"\n\n* * * * *\n\n  Once more the Sultan Saladin\n    Sat in his royal court,\n  At his right hand stood Hugh de Vere\n    Grave-eyed and full of thought.\n\n  A herald came. \"Sultan, our lord,\n    The Christians' holy men\n  Who come to ransom captive slaves,\n    An audience crave again.\"\n\n  The friars came, and, bowing low,\n    They placed before the throne\n  A silver casket richly chased:\n    And spoke in solemn tone.\n\n  \"Monarch, to whom women are slaves,\n    Toys of an idle hour,\n  Learn in a nobler faith than thine\n    Love's purity and power.\n\n  \"The cruel ransom thou didst ask\n    For Hugh de Vere here take,\n  His love's right arm and lily hand\n    \"Cut off for her love's sake.\"\n                                                               {31}\n  Then Hugh de Vere, beside himself,\n    The casket seized, and said,\n  \"O cruel monks, why told ye her?\n    I bade ye call me dead.\n\n  \"O fair sweet arm! O dear white hand!\n    Cut off for my poor sake!\"\n  And to his breast prest it and sobbed,\n    As if his heart would break.\n\n  But Saladin the casket oped,\n    And lo! embalmed there lay\n  The fair white arm and lily hand\n    Sent by Agnes de Bray.\n\n  And as he gazed his tears flowed down,\n    His nobles also wept\n  \"Oh I would ere I such words had said\n    I'd with my fathers slept!\"\n\n  The lily hand full reverently\n    And like a saint's he kissed.\n  \"O gentle hand! what noble heart\n    Thee owned, I never wist.\n\n  \"I never dreamed that woman lived\n    Who would, to save her lord,\n  Thus freely give her own right arm\n    And hand unto the sword.\n\n  \"Mah'med and God witness for me,\n    I loved Sir Hugh de Vere!\n  And thought if I this ransom asked\n    I should retain him here.\n\n  \"Fair arm, fair hand, and true brave love!\n    My kingdom I'd resign--\n  Richer than any king of earth\n    In such a love as thine!\n\n  \"Take, Hugh de Vere, thy freedom, won\n    So nobly by thy love;\n  Take gems, and silks, and gold,--all vain\n    Saladin's grief to prove.\n\n  \"Tell her I yield my selfish love:\n    Well may she claim thy life!\n  She who was such a noble love\n    Will be a noble wife!\n\n  \"Unloose the sails, make no delay,\n    Depart ere close the day.\n  While I among my precious things\n    Thy ransom stow away.\n\n  \"That, 'mid my treasure placed, it may\n    To future ages prove\n  How holy Christians' plighted troth,\n    How pure their maidens' love!\"\n\n{32}\n\nFrom Chamber's Journal.\n\nBELL GOSSIP.\n\n\nThere are some competent artistic observers who contend that bells\nwere the origin, the cause, the ruling motive, of one of the most\nimportant parts of a Christian church--perhaps _the_ most important,\nin regard to external appearance. The Rev. J. H. Sperling, in a paper\nread recently before the Architectural Institute, dwells at\nconsiderable length on the influence of the turret, campanile, or\nbell-tower in determining the character of a church. As a means of\nsummoning the faithful to mass (there were no Protestant churches,\nbecause no Protestants, in those days), or to bid them pray wherever\nthey might be, a bell was needed with a sound that would reach to a\ndistance; and this could only be insured by placing it in a tower at\nsome elevation. The Gothic architects made everything contribute to\nthe design of their cathedrals and churches; and this elevation of the\nbell was just the thing to call forth their ingenuity. They made the\nbell-tower one of the chief features in their design. It was often\nentirely detached from the building, and was known generally as the\ncampanile. Examples of this are observable at Canterbury and\nChichester cathedrals, at Beccles, at Ledbury, and at West Walton in\nNorfolk. Salisbury cathedral had originally a campanile; but modern\nwiseacres, who thought they knew better than the men of old, removed\nit. The central towers of cathedrals and churches were intended as\nlanterns to let in light, not as turrets to contain bells; this was a\nlater innovation. Many towers have been altered from their original\npurpose to convert them into bell-towers, but injuriously--as at\nWinchester and Ely. Mr. Sperling, as a matter of usefulness as well as\nof style, advocates the detached or semi-detached campanile; and\nrecommends architects to direct their attention more frequently to\nthis matter.\n\nAnother way in which church bells manifest, if not a scientific or\nartistic, at least a historical value, is in their connection with the\nsaints of the Catholic Church; they are still existing records of a\nvery old ecclesiastical custom. The bell of a church was frequently,\nif not generally, named after the patron saint of that church; and if\nthere were more bells than one, the lowest in tone was named after the\npatron saint, and the others after saints to whom altars, shrines, or\nchapels within the edifice were dedicated. Probably, in such case,\neach bell was appropriated to the service of its own particular saint;\nfor the use of many bells in a _peal_ is comparatively modern. At\nDurham cathedral, and at the church of St Bartholomew the Great near\nSmithfield, are (or were recently) examples of a family of bells\nreceiving names bearing special relation to the particular fabric for\nwhich they were intended.\n\nArchaeologists claim for church bells a certain value in regard to the\ninscriptions which they nearly always bear, and which serve as so many\nguide-posts directing to facts belonging to past ages. Each great\nbell-founder (and many of them belonged to monastic institutions) had\nhis own particular style of ornamentation, and his own favorite\ninscription, monogram, or epigraph. Sometimes it was only his own\nname; sometimes a name and a date; sometimes a pious ejaculation. The\ntowns of Norwich, Lynn, Colchester, Salisbury, etc., had all\ncelebrated families of bell-founders, in the days when the later\nGothic cathedrals and churches were built. {33} The earliest known\n_dated_ bell is at Fribourg, bearing the year 1258, and the\ninscription: _\"O Rex Gloriae, veni cum pace; me resonante pia populo\nsuccurre Maria.\"_ The oldest in England is supposed to be that at\nDuncton in Sussex, dated 1319. London can boast one a little over four\ncenturies old, at All Hallows Staining, Mark Lane. The inscriptions on\nthe bells, in the days when saints patronized them, were mostly in\nLatin, in most cases including the entreaty, _\"Ora pro nobis_\" (Pray\nfor us). Sometimes the mottoes adverted to the many uses which church\nbells subserved, such as:\n\n  \"Laudo Deum verum, plebem voco, congrego clerum,\n  Defunctos ploro, pestem fugo, festa decoro.\"\n\nEven this did not exhaust the list; for we meet with an enumeration of\nnearly twenty purposes answered by church bells--some of which we\nshould be little disposed to recognize in these scientific days of\nours. The following is not an actual motto on a bell, but an elegy on\nthe subject:\n\n  \"En ego Campana, nunquam denuntio vana,\n  Laudo Deum verum, plebem voco, congrego clerum.\n  Defunctos plango, vivos voco, fulmina frango,\n  Vox mea, vox vitae, voco vos, ad sacra venite.\n  Sanctos collaudo, tonitrua fugo, funera claudo,\n  Funera plango, fulgura frango, Sabbatha pango,\n  Excito lentos, dissipo ventos, paco cruentos.\"\n\nOccasionally, some of the more peculiar of these uses were expressed\nin English:\n\n  \"Sometimes joy, sometimes sorrow.\n  Marriage to-day, and Death to-morrow.\"\n\nThey generally lose their point when they lose their Latinity.\n\nThe mottoes on old bells, other than those which were dictated by the\nreverential feeling of the middle ages, comprise instances of vanity,\nignorance, and silliness, such as would hardly be expected in these\nmatters. Sometimes a kind of moral aphorism is attempted, with more or\nless success.\n\n  \"Mankind, like us, too oft are found\n  Possessed of nought but empty sound.\n\n  When backward rung, I tell of fire;\n  Think how the world shall thus expire.\n\n  When souls are from their body torn,\n  'Tis not to die, but to be born.\"\n\nOne, very short, bids us to\n\n  \"Embrace trew musick.\"\n\nA bell-founder named Pleasant used to put all kinds of punning mottoes\non his bells suggested by his name. Some record the financial virtues\nof the persons who supplied the money for casting the bell:\n\n  \"I'm given here to make a peal,\n  And sound the praise of Mary Neale.\"\n\n  \"All ye who hear my solemn sound.\n  Thank Lady Hopton's hundred pound.\"\n\n  \"Robert Forman collected the money for casting this bell:\n  I'll surely do my part as well.\"\n\nThe name of the founder is sometimes supplanted by that of the\nchurchwarden, or they may appear in companionship.\n\n  \"John Martin of Worcester he made wee,\n  Be it known to all that do wee see.\"\n\n  \"John Draper made, as plainly doth appeare.\n  This bell was broake and cast againe wich\n      tyme churchwardens were,\n  Edward Dixon for the one who stode close to his tacklin.\n  And he that was his partner then was Alexander Tacklyn.\"\n\nThe rhymster was evidently driven to his wits' end by the name of\nTacklyn. Some had a touch of loyalty in them:\n\n  \"God save the Church,\n  Our Queen, and Realme,\n  And send us peace in Xt.\"\n\nThe following are examples of a more or less childish class, marvels\nto find perpetuated in hard metal:\n\n  \"My sound is good, my shape is neat:\n  Perkins made me all complete.\"\n\n  \"I am the first, although but small,\n  I will be heard above you all.\"\n\n  \"I sound aloud from day to day:\n  My sound hath praise, and well it may.\"\n\n  \"I ring to sermon with a lusty boom,\n  That all may come, and none may stay at home.\"\n\n  \"Pull on, brave boys; I am metal to the backbone,\n  I'll be hanged before I'll crack.\"\n\nThe letters of the inscription are not, as some persons may suppose,\ncut or engraved on the metal by hand: they are formed in _intaglio_ or\nsunk in the sand of the mould, and thus appear in relief on the\noutside of the bell when cast. What can be done in this way by that\nstrange people the {34} Chinese may be seen in the British Museum; we\nmight search long enough to find an English bell equal in elaborate\nornamentation to the Chinese bell there deposited.\n\nThe musical _tone_ of a bell unquestionably depends on the scientific\nprinciples of acoustics as applied to music. The pitch of any one bell\nis determined conjointly by the size and the thickness. Of two bells\nequally large, the thicker gives the higher note; of two bells equally\nthick, the smaller gives the higher note. But then bell-founders look\nto the _quality_ of the tone as well as to the pitch; and on this\npoint there is much divergence of opinion among them. Concerning the\nmetal used, some combination of copper and tin predominates in nearly\nall church bells; generally from two to three times as much copper as\ntin. Small additions of other metals are occasionally made, according\nto the theoretical views of the founder. The popular belief that\nsilver improves the tone of a bell, is pronounced by Mr. Sperling and\nMr. Denison to be a mistake; if added in large quantity, it would be\nas bad as so much lead; if in small quantity, it does neither good nor\nharm. Whether there is or is not really silver in two well-known\nbells, called the \"Acton Nightingale\" and the \"Silver Bell\" of St\nJohn's College, Cambridge, it is believed by these authorities that\nthe sweetness of the tone is due to other causes. A feeling of piety\nprobably influenced the wealthy persons who, in old days, were wont to\ncast silver into the furnace containing the molten bell-metal. Mr.\nSperling thinks that the old bells were, as a rule, better than the\nmodern, by having more substance in them--obtaining depth and fulness\nof tone by largeness in height and diameter, rather than by\ndiminishing the thickness at the part where the hammer or clapper\nstrikes. \"Nothing is more easily starved than a church bell.\" A\nlong-waisted bell (high in the sides) is considered to give forth a\nmore resonant tone than a shallow or low waist, because there is more\nmetal to act as a kind of sounding-board; but a lower bell is easier\nto ring in a peal; hence, as Sperling thinks, a reason for the\ndifference in the richness of tone in old and modern bells. There are\nindications that the old founders sometimes tuned a set of bells in\nwhat is called the _minor_ mode, the source of much that is tender and\nplaintive in Scotch and Irish melodies; but in our days they are\nalways in the _major_ mode. Where the ringing is done by clock-work,\nthe sounds of several bells constitute a _chime_--where by hand, a\n_peal_--but in either case the actual tone or note of each bell is\nfixed beforehand. It is by many persons believed that the quality of\nthe tone is improved by age, owing to some kind of molecular change in\nthe metal; this is known to be the case in some old organs, and in\ninstruments of the violin class, in the metal of the one and the wood\nof the other; and so far there is analogy to support the opinion. For\ngood peals of bells, the founders generally prefer D or E as the note\nfor the tenor or largest bell.\n\nAs to largeness in a bell, its intention bears relation rather to\n_loudness_ than to _pitch_, as a means of throwing the sound to a\ngreat distance. This is the reason for the mighty bells that we are\ntold of--St. Paul's weighing something like 13,000 lbs.; Antwerp,\n16,000 lbs.; Oxford, 17,000 lbs.; Rome, 18,000 lbs.; Mechlin, 20,000\nlbs.; Bruges, 23,000 lbs.; York, 24,000 lbs.; Cologne, 25,000 lbs.;\nMontreal, 29,000 lbs.; Erfurt, 30,000 lbs.; \"Big Ben,\" at the Houses\nof Parliament, 31,000 lbs.; Sens, 34,000 lbs.; Vienna, 40,000 lbs.;\nNovgorod, 69,000 lbs.; Pekin, 119,000 lbs.; Moscow, 141,000 lbs.; and,\ngiant of all the giants, another Moscow bell weighing 192 tons, or\n430,000 lbs. Our own Big Ben is more than twice as heavy as our own\nSt. Paul's bell, which used to be regarded as one of our wonders, and\nits sound travels much further; but whether its quality of tone is\nequal, is a point on which opinions differ. {35} The history of the\ntwo Big Bens must be more or less familiar to most of our readers--how\nthat three chief commissioners of works, and two architects, and three\nbell-founders, and two bell-doctors, quarrelled year after year; how\nthat both the Bens cracked, and got into disgrace; how that one of\nthem recovered its voice again; and how that we have paid the piper to\nthe tune of something like four thousand pounds for the two Big Bens\nand the four smaller bells. If a musical reader wishes to know, he may\nbe told that the four quarter-bells give out the notes B, E, F++, G++,\nand that Big Ben's tone is E, an octave below the first E. Remember,\nwhen Big Ben is heard six miles off, it is half a minute behind time,\nseeing that sound takes about half a minute to travel that distance.\n\nAs to _bell-ringing,_ the adepts insist upon it that this is a\nscience; and they give it the name of _campanology._ We all know, ever\nsince we learnt about permutation and combination at school, that if\nthere are six, eight, ten, or any number of distinct things, we may\narrange them in an enormous number of ways, each way differing from\nevery other. The things in this case are bells of different tones; and\naccording to the order in which they are struck by the hammer or\nclapper so many changes may we produce. Out of the almost infinite\nnumber of these changes, campanologists select certain groups which to\ntheir ear seem most musical and agreeable; and these changes are known\nby the names of their proposers or inventors, just as we speak of a\nwork by a great artist. It is not clearly known whether change-ringing\nbegan earlier than the seventeenth century; but it is certain that the\nart is practised much more in England than in any other country. There\nare peals from two or three to ten or twelve bells. Sixteen of twelve\nbells, and fifty of ten bells, are mentioned in the books as peals now\nexisting in England. The largest peals now in England are at Bow\nchurch, Exeter, and York, each of ten bells; at Bow church and at York\nthey vary from eight hundredweights to fifty-three hundredweights\neach; at Exeter from eight to sixty-seven hundredweights. From these\nweights, it must be evident that it is no small labor for men to pull\nsuch bells for several hours at a time. Just as the achievements of\ncelebrated pedestrians and race-horses are placed upon record, so are\nthe fraternity proud to refer to the bell-ringing exploits of their\ncrack pullers. Twenty-four changes per minute are frequently reached.\nWe are told that in 1787, 5,040 changes were rung in three hours and a\nquarter; and that on other occasions there were 6,876 changes rung in\nfour hours and a quarter, 7,000 in four hours, 10,008 in six hours and\nthree quarters, 14,224 in eight hours and three quarters, and (the\n_magnum opus_) 40,320 changes rung by thirteen men in twenty-seven\nhours, working in relief gangs. In one of the old churches, North\nParret in Somerset, the belfry contains a set of rhyming rules,\npurporting that a six-pence fine shall be imposed on the ringers for\ncursing or swearing, for making a noise or telling idle stories, for\nkeeping on their hats, for wearing spurs, or for overturning the bell.\nThis overturning does sometimes occur, even to the loss of life. One\nringer was killed about the time when his brother was drowned; and the\nfollowing delectable epitaph records the double catastrophe:\n\n  \"These 3 youths were by misfortun serounded;\n  One died of his wound, and the other was drownded.\"\n\nWhether bell-pinging is really a science, or whether it is only an\ningenious art, as most people would prefer to call it, certainly the\ntechnical terms are most profuse and puzzling. Let the reader make\nwhat he can out of the following, taken at random from one of the\nbooks on the subject: Treble lead, plain work, course, call word,\nreverse method, direct method, double, method, balance, hold up, cut\ndown, following, handstroke, rounds, {36} backstroke, plain hunt,\ntouches, course ends, hunting up, hunting down, place making, dodging,\ndouble dodging, Bob doubles, singles, observation, grandsire doubles,\nslow course, principle, Bob minor, double Bob minor, treble Bob,\nsuperlative surprise, wrong way, Bob triple, tittums. Bob caller, Bob\nmajor, double Bob major, treble Bob major, Bob caters, grandsire\ncaters, Bob royals, Bob cinques, Bob maximus, treble Bob maximus. Bob\ncertainly seems to be in the ascendant here. When the reader has\nmarvelled at these funny names, let him try to understand the\ndirections for ringing one particular set of changes: \"Call two Bobs\non 9, O, x; bring them round. Or, if the practitioner pleases, he may\ncall the tenth and eleventh to make the ninth's place; the former will\nbe a six before the course end comes up. Then a Bob when the tenth and\neleventh dodge together behind completes it. In this course the bells\nwill be only one course out of the tittums\"--which it is very\nsatisfactory to hear. Once more; and here we would ask whether the\ndirections do not suggest the idea of a damsel going through a sort of\ncountry-dance with seven swains all rejoicing in the name of Bob?\n\"When the seventh has been quick, call a Bob when she dodges the right\nway behind, which will make her quick again; then, if the sixth goes\nup before the seventh, keep her behind with Bobs, until the seventh\ncomes up to her; but if the sixth does not go up before the seventh,\ncall her the right way behind again, and the sixth is sure to be up\nbefore her the next time.\" After a little more of these extraordinary\nevolutions--\"If not out of course, Bob with the seventh down quick\ntill the fourth comes home; if out of course, a single must be called\nwhen the seventh goes down quick, to put them right. But if it happens\nthat the fourth is before the fifth comes home, call when the seventh\ndoes her first whole term, and down quick with a double.\" And we hope\nthat they lived happy ever afterward.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month\n\nKIRKSTALL ABBEY: A SONNET.\n\n  Roll on by tower and arch, autumnal river;\n  And ere about thy dusk yet gleaming tide\n  The phantom of dead day hath ceased to glide,\n  Whisper it to the reeds that round thee quiver--\n  Yea, whisper to those ivy-bowers that shiver\n  Hard by on gusty choir and cloister wide:\n  \"My bubbles break; my weed-flowers seaward glide:\n  My freshness and my mission last for ever!\"\n  Young moon, from leaden tomb of cloud that soarest,\n  And whitenest those hoar elm-trees, wrecks forlorn\n  Of olden Airedale's hermit-haunted forest,\n  Speak thus: \"I died; and lo, I am reborn!\"\n  Blind, patient pile, sleep on in radiance! Truth\n  Fails not; and faith once more shall wake in endless youth.\n\n      AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n------\n\n{37}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nCONSTANCE SHERWOOD.\n\nAN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.\n\nBY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nOne day there was a great deal of company at Mistress Wells's house,\nwhich was the only one I then haunted, being as afore said, somewhat\nsickened of society and diversions. The conversation which was mostly\nministered amongst such as visited there related to public affairs and\nforeign countries, and not so much as in some other houses to private\nscandals and the tattle of the town. The uncertainty I was in\nconcerning my father's present abode and his known intent soon to\ncross over the sea from France worked in me a constant craving for\nnews from abroad, and also an apprehensive curiosity touching reports\nof the landing of seminary priests at any of the English ports. Some\nwould often tarry at Mr. Wells's house for a night who had lately come\nfrom Rheims or Paris, and even Rome, or leastways received letters\nfrom such as resided in those distant parts. And others I met there\nwere persons who had friends at court; and they often related\nanecdotes of the queen and the ministers, and the lords and ladies of\nher household, which it also greatly concerned me to hear of, by\nreason of my dearest friend having embarked her whole freight of\nhappiness in a frail vessel launched on that stormy sea of the court,\nso full of shoals and quicksands, whereby many a fair ship was daily\nchanced to be therein wrecked.\n\nNothing notable of this kind had been mentioned on the day I speak of,\nwhich, howsoever, proved a very notable one to me. For after I had\nbeen in the house a short time there came there one not known, and yet\nit should seem not wholly unknown to me; for that I did discover in\nhis shape and countenance something not unfamiliar, albeit I could not\ncall to mind that I had ever seen this gentleman before. I asked his\nname of a young lady who sat near to me, and she said she thought he\nshould be the elder brother of Mr. Hubert Rookwood, who was lodging in\nthe house, and that she heard he tabled there also since he had come\nto town, and that he was a very commendable person, above the common\nsort, albeit not one of such great parts as his brother. Then I did\ninstantly take note of the likeness between the brothers which had\nmade the elder's face not strange to me, as also perhaps that one\nsight of him I had at Bedford some years before. Their visages were\nvery like; but their figures and mostly their countenances different.\nI cannot say wherein that great differency did lie; but methinks every\none must have seen, or rather felt it. Basil was the tallest and the\nhandsomest of the twain. I will not be so great a prodigal of time as\nto bestow it on commendations of his outward appearance whose inward\nexcellences were his chiefest merit. Howsoever, I be minded to set\ndown in this place somewhat touching his appearance; as it may so\nhappen that some who read this history, and who have known and loved\nBasil in his old years, should take as much pleasure in reading as I\ndo in writing the description of his person, and limning as it were\nthe resemblance of him at a period in this history wherein the\nhitherto separate currents of his life and mine do meet, like a noble\nriver {38} and a poor stream, for to flow onward in the same channel.\n\nBasil Rookwood was of a tall stature, and well-proportioned shape in\nall parts. His hair of light brown, very thickly set, and of a sunny\nhue, curled with a graceful wave. His head had many becoming motions.\nHis mouth was well-made, and his lips ruddy. His forehead not very\nhigh, in which was a notable dissemblance from his brother. His nose\nraised and somewhat sharply cut. His complexion clear and rosy; his\nsmile so full of cheer and kindliness that it infected others with\nmirthfulness. He was very nimble and active in all his movements, and\nwell skilled in riding, fencing, and dancing. I pray you who have\nknown him in his late years, can you in aught, save in a never-altered\nsweetness mixing with the dignity of age, trace in this picture a\nlikeness to Basil, your Basil and mine?\n\nI care not, in writing this plain showing of mine own life, to use\nsuch disguises as are observed in love-stories, whereby the reader is\nkept ignorant of that which is to follow until in due time the course\nof the tale doth unfold it. No, I may not write Basil's name as that\nof a stranger. Not for the space of one page; nay, not with so much as\none stroke of my pen can I dissemble the love which had its dawn on\nthe day I have noted. It was sudden in its beginnings, yet steady in\nits progress. It deepened and widened with the course of years, even\nas a rivulet doth start with a lively force from its source, and,\ngathering strength as it flows, grows into a broad and noble river. It\nwas ardent but not idolatrous; sudden, as I have said, in its rise,\nbut not unconsidered. It was founded on high esteem on the one side,\non the other an inexpressible tenderness and kindness. Religion,\nhonor, and duty were the cements of this love. No blind dotage; but a\ndeathless bond of true sympathy, making that equal which in itself was\nunequal; for, if a vain world should have deemed that on the one side\nthere did appear some greater brilliancy of parts than showed in the\nother, all who could judge of true merit and sound wisdom must needs\nhave allowed that in true merit Basil was as greatly her superior whom\nhe honored with his love, as is a pure diamond to the showy setting\nwhich encases it.\n\nHubert presented to me his brother, who, when he heard my name\nmentioned, would not be contented till he had got speech of me; and\nstraightway, after the first civilities had passed between us, began\nto relate to me that he had been staying for a few days before coming\nto town at Mr. Roper's house at Richmond, where I had often visited in\nthe summer. It so befel that I had left in the chamber where I slept\nsome of my books, on the margins of which were written such notes as I\nwas wont to make whilst reading, for so Hubert had advised me, and his\ncounsel in this I found very profitable; for this method teaches one\nto reflect on what he reads, and to hold converse as it were with\nauthors whose friendship and company he thus enjoys, which is a source\nof contentment more sufficient and lasting than most other pleasures\nin this world.\n\nBasil chanced to inhabit this room, and discovered on an odd by-shelf\nthese volumes so disfigured, or, as he said, so adorned; and took such\ndelight in the reading of them, but mostly in the poor reflections an\nunknown pen had affixed to these pages, that he rested not until he\nhad learnt from Mr. Roper the name of the writer. When he found she\nwas the young girl he had once seen at Bedford, he marvelled at the\nstrong impulse he had toward her, and pressed the venerable gentleman\nwith so many questions relating to her that he feared he should have\nwearied him  but his inquiries met with such gracious answers that he\nperceived Mr. Roper to be as well pleased with the theme of his\ndiscourse as himself, and as glad to set {39} forth her excellences (I\nbe ashamed to write the words which should indeed imply the speaker to\nhave been in his dotage, but for the excuse of a too great kindness to\nan unworthy creature) as he had to listen to them. And here I must\nneeds interrupt my narrative to admire that one who was no scholar,\nyea, no great reader at any time, albeit endowed with excellent good\nsense and needful information, should by means of books have been\ndrawn to the first thoughts of her who was to enjoy his love which\nnever was given to any other creature but herself. But I pray you,\ndoth it not happen most often, though it is scarce to be credited,\nthat dissemblance in certain matters doth attract in the way of love\nmore than resemblance? That short men do choose tall wives; lovers of\nmusic women who have no ear to discern one tune from another; scholars\nwitless housewives; retired men ambitious helpmates; and gay ladies\ngrave husbands? This should seem to be the rule, otherways the\nexception; and a notable instance of the same I find in the first\nmotions which did incline Basil to a good opinion of my poor self.\n\nBut to return. \"Mistress Sherwood,\" quoth Basil, \"Mr. Roper did not\nwholly praise you; he recited your faults as well as your virtues.\"\n\nI answered, it did very much content me he should have done so, for\nthat then more credit should be given to his words in that wherein he\ndid commend me, since he was so true a friend as to note my defects.\n\n\"But what,\" quoth he, archly smiling, \"if the faults he named are such\nas pleased me as well as virtues?\"\n\n\"Then,\" I replied, \"methinks, sir, the fault should be rather in you\nthan in her who doth commit them, for she may be ignorant, or else\nsubject to some infirmity of temper; but to commend faults should be a\nvery dangerous error.\"\n\n\"But will you hear,\" quoth he, \"your faults as Mr. Roper recited\nthem?\"\n\n\"Yea, willingly,\" I answered, \"and mend them also if I can.\"\n\n\"Oh, I pray you mend them not,\" he cried.\n\nAt which I laughed, and said he should be ashamed to give such wanton\nadvice. And then he:\n\n\"Mr. Roper declares you have so much inability to conceal your\nthoughts that albeit your lips should be forcibly closed, your eyes\nwould speak them so clearly that any one who listed should read them.\"\n\n\"Methinks,\" I said, willing to excuse myself like the lawyer in the\ngospel, \"that should not be my fault, who made not mine own eyes.\"\n\n\"Then he also says, that you have so sharp an apprehension of wrongs\ndone to others, that if you hear of an injustice committed, or some\ncruel treatment of any one, you are so moved and troubled, that he has\nknown you on such occasions to shed tears, which do not flow with a\nlike ease for your own griefs. Do you cry mercy to this accusation,\nMistress Sherwood?\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" I answered, \"God knoweth I do, and my ghostly father also.\nFor the strong passions of resentment touching the evil usage our\nCatholics do meet with work in me so mightfully, that I often am in\ndoubt if I have sinned therein. And concerning mine own griefs, they\nhave been but few as yet, so that 'tis little praise I deserve for not\novermuch resentment in instances wherein, if others are afflicted, I\nhave much ado to restrain wrath.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, \"methinks if you answer in so true and grave a manner\nmy rude catechizing. Mistress Sherwood, I be not bold enough to\ncontinue the inventory of your faults.\"\n\n\"I pray you do,\" I answered; for I felt in my soul an unusual liking\nfor his conversation, and the more so when, leaving off jesting, he\nsaid, \"The last fault Mr. Roper did charge you with was lack of\nprudence in matters wherein prudence is most needed in these days.\"\n\n{40}\n\n\"Alas!\" I exclaimed; \"for that also do I cry mercy; but indeed, Master\nRookwood, there is in these days so much cowardice and time-serving\nwhich doth style itself prudence, that methinks it might sometimes\nhappen that a right boldness should be called rashness.\"\n\nRaising my eyes to his, I thought I saw them clouded by a misty dew;\nand he replied, \"Yea, Mistress Constance, and if it is so, I had\nsooner that myself and such as I have a friendship for should have to\ncry mercy on their death-beds for too much rashness in stemming the\ntide, than for too much ease in yielding to it. And now,\" he added,\n\"shall I repeat what Mr. Roper related of your virtues?\"\n\n\"No,\" I answered, smiling. \"For if the faults he doth charge me with\nbe so much smaller than the reality, what hope have I that he should\nspeak the truth in regard to my poor merits?\"\n\nThen some persons moving nearer to where we were sitting, some general\nconversation ensued, in which several took part; and none so much to\nmy liking as Basil, albeit others might possess more ready tongues and\na more sparkling wit. In all the years since I had left my home, I had\nnot found so much contentment in any one's society. His mind and mine\nwere like two instruments with various chords, but one key-note, which\nmaintained them in admirable harmony. The measure of our agreement\nstood rather in the drift of our desires and the scope of our\napproval, than in any parity of tastes or resemblance of disposition.\nAcquaintanceship soon gave way to intimacy, which bred a mutual\nfriendship that in its turn was not slow to change into a warmer\nfeeling. We met very often. It seemed so natural to him to affection\nme, and to me to reciprocate his affection, that if our love began\nnot, which methinks it did, on that first day of meeting, I know not\nwhen it had birth. But if it be difficult precisely to note the\nearliest buddings of the sweet flower love, it was easy to discern the\nmoment when the bitter root of jealousy sprang up in Hubert's heart.\nHe who had been suspicious of every person whose civilities I allowed\nof, did not for some time appear to mislike the intimacy which had\narisen betwixt his brother and me. I ween from what he once said, when\non a later occasion anger loosened his tongue, that he held him in\nsome sort of contempt, even as a fox would despise a nobler animal\nthan himself. His subtle wit disdained his plainness of speech. His\nconfiding temper he derided; and he had methinks no apprehension that\na she-wit, as he was wont to call me, should prove herself so witless\nas to prefer to one of his brilliant parts a man notable for his\nindifferency to book learning, and to his smooth tongue and fine\ngenius the honest words and unvarnished merits of his brother.\n\nHowsoever, one day he either did himself notice some sort of\nparticular kindness to exist between us, or he was advertised thereof\nby some of the company we frequented, and I saw him fix his eyes on us\nwith so arrested a persistency, and his frame waxed so rigid, that\nmethought Lot's wife must have so gazed when she turned toward the\ndoomed city. I was more frighted at the dull lack of expression in his\nface than at a thousand frowns or even scowls. His eyes were reft of\ntheir wonted fire; the color had flown from his lips; his always pale\ncheek was of a ghastly whiteness; and his hand, which was thrust in\nhis bosom, and his feet, which seemed rooted to the ground, were as\nmotionless as those of a statue. A shudder ran through me as he stood\nin this guise, neither moving nor speaking, at a small distance from\nme. I rose and went away, for his looks freezed me. But the next time\nI met him this strangeness of behavior had vanished, and I almost\nmisdoubted the truth of what I had seen. He was a daily witness, for\nseveral succeeding weeks, of what neither Basil nor I {41} cared much\nto conceal--the mutual confidence and increasing tenderness of\naffection, which was visible in all our words and actions at that\ntime, which was one of greater contentment than can be expressed. That\nsummer was a rare one for fineness of the weather and its great store\nof sun-shiny days. We had often pleasant divertisements in the\nneighborhood of London, than which no city is more famous for the\nbeauty of its near scenery. One while we ascended the noble river\nThames as far as Richmond, England's Arcadia, whose smooth waters,\nsmiling meads, and hills clad in richest verdure, do equal whatsoever\npoets have ever sung or painters pictured. Another time we disported\nourselves in the gardens of Hampton, where, in the season of roses,\nthe insects weary their wings over the flower-beds--the thrifty bees\nwith the weight of gathered honey--and the gay butterflies, idlers as\nourselves, with perfume and pleasure. Or we went to Greenwich Park,\nand underneath the spreading trees, with England's pride of shipping\nin sight, and barges passing to and fro on the broad stream as on a\nwatery highway, we whiled away the time in many joyous pastimes.\n\nOn an occasion of this sort it happened that both brothers went with\nus, and we forecasted to spend the day at a house in the village of\nPaddington, about two miles from London, where Mr. Congleton's sister,\na lady of fortune, resided. It stood in a very fair garden, the gate\nof which opened on the high road; and after dinner we sat with some\nother company which had been invited to meet us under the large cedar\ntrees which lined a broad gravel-walk leading from the house to the\ngate. The day was very hot, but now a cooling air had risen, and the\nyoung people there assembled played at pastimes, in which I was\nsomewhat loth to join; for jesting disputations and framing of\nquestions and answers, an amusement then greatly in fashion, minded\none of that fatal encounter betwixt Martin Tregony and Thomas\nSherwood, the end of which had been the death of the one and a fatal\ninjury to the soul of the other. Hubert was urgent with me to join in\nthe arguments proposed; but I refused, partly for the aforesaid\nreason, and methinks, also, because I doubted that Basil should acquit\nhimself so admirably as his brother in these exercises of wit, wherein\nthe latter did indeed excel, and I cared not to shine in a sport\nwherein he took no part. So I set myself to listen to the disputants,\nalbeit with an absent mind; for I had grown to be somewhat thoughtful\nof late, and to forecast the future with such an admixture of hope and\nfear touching the issue of those passages of love I was engaged in,\nthat the trifles which entertained a disengaged mind lacked ability to\ndivert me. I ween Polly, if she had been then in London, should have\nlaughed at me for the symptoms I exhibited of what she styled the\nsighing malady.\n\nA little while after the contest had begun, a sound was heard at a\ndistance as of a trampling on the road, but not discernible as yet\nwhether of men or horses' feet. There was mixed with it cries of\nhooting and shouts, which increased as this sort of procession (for so\nit should seem to be) approached. All who were in the garden ran to\nthe iron railing for to discover the cause. From the houses on both\nsides the road persons came out and joined in the clamor. As the crowd\nneared the gate where we stood, the words, \"Papists--seditious\npriests--traitors,\" were discernible, mixed with oaths, curses, and\nsuch opprobrious epithets as my pen dares not write. At the hearing of\nthem the blood rushed to my head, and my heart began to beat as if it\nshould burst from the violence with which it throbbed; for now the mob\nwas close at hand, and we could see the occasion of their yells and\nshoutings. About a dozen persons were riding without bridle or spur or\nother furniture, on lean and bare horses, which were fastened {42} one\nto the other's tails, marching slowly in a long row, each man's feet\ntied under his horse's belly and his arms bound hard and fast behind\nhim. A pursuivant rode in front and cried aloud that those coming\nbehind him were certain papists, foes to the gospel and enemies to the\ncommonwealth, for that they had been seized in the act of saying and\nhearing mass in disobedience to the laws. And as he made this\nproclamation, the rabble yelled and took up stones and mud to cast at\nthe prisoners. One man cried out, \"Four of them be vile priests.\" O ye\nwho read this, have you taken heed how, at some times in your lives,\nin a less space than the wink of an eye, thought has outrun sight? So\ndid mine with lightning speed apprehend lest my father should be one\nof these. I scanned the faces of the prisoners as they passed, but he\nwas not amongst them; however I recognized, with a sharp pain, the\nknown countenance of the priest who had shriven my mother on her\ndeath-bed. He looked pale and worn to a shadow, and hardly able to sit\non his horse. I sunk down on my knees, with my head against the\nrailings, feeling very sick. Then the gate opened, and with a strange\njoy and trembling fear I saw Basil push through the mob till he stood\nclose to the horse's feet where the crowd had made a stoppage. He\nknelt and took off his hat, and the lips of the priests moved, as they\npassed, for to bless him. Murmurs rose from the rabble, but he took no\nheed of them. Till the last horseman had gone by he stood with his\nhead uncovered, and then slowly returned, none daring to touch him.\n\"Basil, dear Basil!\" I cried, and, weeping, gave him my hand. It was\nthe first time I had called him by his name. Methinks in that moment\nas secure a troth-plight was passed between us as if ten thousand\nbonds had sealed it. When, some time afterward, we moved toward the\nhouse, I saw Hubert standing at the door with the same stony rigid\nlook which had frighted me once before. He said not one word as I\npassed him. I have since heard that a lady, endowed with more\nsharpness than prudence or kindness, had thus addressed him on this\noccasion: \"Methinks, Master Hubert Rookwood, that you did perform your\npart excellently well in that ingenious pastime which procured us so\nmuch good entertainment awhile ago; but beshrew me if your brother did\nnot exceed you in the scene we have just witnessed, and if Mistress\nSherwood's looks do not belie her, she thought so too. I ween his\ntragedy hath outdone your comedy.\" Then he (well-nigh biting his lips\nthrough, as the person who related it to me observed) made answer: \"If\nthis young gentlewoman's taste be set on tragedy, then will I promise\nher so much of it another day as should needs satisfy her.\"\n\nThis malicious lady misliked Hubert, by reason of his having denied\nher the praise of wit, which had been reported to her by a third\nperson. She was minded to be revenged on him, and so the shaft\ncontained in her piercing jest had likewise hit those she willed not\nto injure. It is not to be credited how many persons have been ruined\nin fortune, driven into banishment, yea, delivered over to death, by\ncareless words uttered without so much as a thought of the evil which\nshould ensue from them.\n\nAnd now upon the next day Basil was to leave London. Before he went he\nsaid he hoped not to be long absent, and that Mr. Congleton should\nreceive a letter, if it pleased God, from his father; which, if it\nshould be favorably received, and I willed it not to be otherwise,\nshould cause our next meeting to be one of greater contentment than\ncould be thought of.\n\nI answered, \"I should never wish otherwise than that we should meet\nwith contentment, or will anything that should hinder it.\" Which he\nsaid did greatly please him to hear, and gave him a comfortable hope\nof a happy return.\n\n{43}\n\nHe conversed also with Mistress Ward touching the prisoners we had\nseen the day before, and left some money with her in case she should\nfind means to see and assist them, which she strove to do with the\ndiligence used by her in all such managements. In a few days she\ndiscovered Mr. Watson to be in Bridewell, also one Mr. Richardson in\nthe Marshalsea, and three laymen in the Clink. Mr. Watson had a sister\nwho was a Protestant, and by her means she succeeded in relieving his\nwants, and dealt with the gaolers at the other prisons so as to convey\nsome assistance to the poor men therein confined, whose names she had\nfound out.\n\nOne morning when I was at Kate's house Hubert came there; and she, the\nwhole compass of whose thoughts was now circled in her nursery, not\nminding the signs I made she should not leave us alone, rose and said\nshe must needs go and see if her babe was awake, for Hubert must see\nhim, and he should not go away without first he had beheld him walk\nwith his new leading-strings, which were the tastefullest in the world\nand fit for a king's son; and that she doubted not we could find good\nenough entertainment in each other's company, or in Mr. Lacy's books,\nwhich must be the wittiest ever written, if she judged by her\nhusband's fondness for them. As soon as the door was shut on her,\nHubert began to speak of his brother, and to insinuate that my\nbehavior to himself was changed since Basil had come to London, which\nI warmly denied.\n\n\"If,\" I said, \"I have changed--\"\n\n\"_If_,\" he repeated, stopping my speaking with an ironical and\ndisdainful smile, and throwing into that one little word as he uttered\nit more of meaning than it would seem possible it should express.\n\n\"Yes!\" I continued, angered at his defiant looks. \"Yes, if my behavior\nto you has changed, which, I must confess, in some respects it has,\nthe cause did lie in my uncle's commands, laid on me before your\nbrother's coming to London. You know it, Master Rookwood, by the same\ntoken that you charged me with unkindness for not allowing of your\nvisits, and refusing to read Italian with you, some weeks before ever\nhe arrived.\"\n\n\"You have a very obedient disposition, madam,\" he answered in a\nscornful manner, \"and I doubt not have attended with a like readiness\nto the behest to favor the _elder_ brother's suit as to that which\nforbade the receiving of the younger brother's addresses.\"\n\n\"I did not look upon you as a suitor,\" I replied.\n\n\"No!\" he exclaimed, \"and not as on a lover? Not as on one whose lips,\nborrowing words from enamored poets twenty times in a day, did avow\nhis passion, and was entertained on your side with so much good-nature\nand apparent contentment with this mode of disguised worship, as\nshould lead him to hope for a return of his affection? But why\nquestion of that wherein my belief is unshaken? I know you love me,\nConstance Sherwood, albeit you peradventure love more dearly my\nbrother's heirship of Euston and its wide acres. Your eyes deceived\nnot, nor did your flushing cheek dissemble, when we read together\nthose sweet tales and noble poems, wherein are set forth the dear\npains and tormenting joys of a mutual love. No, not if you did take\nyour oath on it will I believe you love my brother!\"\n\n\"What warrant have you, sir,\" I answered with burning cheek, \"to\nminister such talk to one who, from the moment she found you thought\nof marriage, did plainly discountenance your suit?\"\n\n\"You were content, then, madam, to be worshipped as an idol,\" he\nbitterly replied, \"if only not sued for in marriage by a poor man.\"\n\nMy sin found me out then, and the hard taunt awoke dormant pangs in my\nconscience for the pleasure I had taken and doubtless showed in the\ndisguised professions of an undisguised admiration; but anger yet\nprevailed, {44} and I cried, \"Think you to advance your interest in my\nfriendship, sir, by such language and reproaches as these?\"\n\n\"Do you love my brother?\" he said again, with an implied contempt\nwhich made me mad.\n\n\"Sir,\" I answered, \"I entertain for your brother so great a respect\nand esteem as one must needs feel toward one of so much virtue and\ngoodness. No contract exists between us; nor has he made me the tender\nof his hand. More than that it behoves you not to ask, or me to\nanswer.\"\n\n\"Ah! the offer of marriage is then the condition of your regard, and\nlove is to follow, not precede, the settlements, I' faith, ladies are\nvery prudent in these days; and virtue and goodness the new names for\nfortune and lands. Beshrew me, if I had not deemed you to be made of\nother metal than the common herd. But whatever be the composition of\nyour heart, Constance Sherwood, be it hard as the gold you set so much\nstore on, or, like wax, apt to receive each day some new impress, I\nwill have it; yea, and keep it for my own. No rich fool shall steal it\nfrom me.\"\n\n\"Hubert Rookwood,\" I cried in anger, \"dare not so to speak of one\nwhose merit is as superior to thine as the sun outshines a\ntorchlight.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" he exclaimed, turning pale with rage, \"if I thought thou didst\nlove him!\" and clenched his hand with a terrible gesture, and ground\nhis teeth. \"But 'tis impossible,\" he added bitterly smiling. \"As soon\nwould I believe Titania verily to doat on the ass's head as for thee\nto love Basil!\"\n\n\"Oh!\" I indignantly replied, \"you do almost constrain me to avow that\nwhich no maiden should, unasked, confess. Do you think, sir, that\nlearning and scholarship, and the poor show of wit that lies in a\nready tongue, should outweigh honor, courage, and kindliness of heart?\nThink you that more respect should be paid to one who can speak, and\nwrite also, if you will, fair sounding words, than to him who in his\ndaily doings shows forth such nobleness as others only inculcate, and\nGod only knoweth if ever they practise it?\"\n\n\"Lady!\" he exclaimed, \"I have served you long; sustained torments in\nyour presence; endured griefs in your absence; pining thoughts in the\nday, and anguished dreams in the night; jealousies often in times\npast, and now--\"\n\nHe drew in his breath; and then not so much speaking the word\n\"despair\" as with a smothered vehemence uttering it, he concluded his\nvehement address.\n\nI was so shaken by his speech that I remained silent: for if I had\nspoken I must needs have wept. Holding my head with both hands, and so\nshielding my eyes from the sight of his pale convulsed face, I sat\nlike one transfixed. Then he again: \"These be not times, Mistress\nSherwood, for women to act as you have done; to lift a man's heart one\nwhile to an earthly heaven, and then, without so much as a thought, to\ncast him into a hellish sea of woes. These be the dealings which drive\nmen to desperation; to attempt things contrary to their own minds, to\nreligion, and to honesty; to courses once abhorred--\"\n\nHis violence wrung my heart then with so keen a remorse that I cried\nout, \"I cry you mercy, Master Rookwood, if I have dealt thus with you;\nindeed I thought not to do it. I pray you forgive me, if unwittingly,\nalbeit peradventure in a heedless manner, I have done you so much\nwrong as your words do charge me with.\" And then tears I could not\nstay began to flow; and for awhile no talk ensued. But after a little\ntime he spoke in a voice so changed and dissimilar in manner, that I\nlooked up wholly amazed.\n\n\"Sweet Constance,\" he said, \"I have played the fool in my customable\nfashion, and by such pretended slanders of one I should rather incline\nto commend beyond his deserts, if that were possible, than to give him\nvile terms, have sought--I cry you {45} mercy for it--to discover your\nsentiments, and feigned a resentment and a passion which indeed has\nproved an excellent piece of acting, if I judge by your tears. I pray\nyou pardon and forget my brotherly device. If you love Basil--as I\nmisdoubt not he loves you--where shall a more suitable match be found,\nor one which every one must needs so much approve? Marry, sweet lady;\nI will be his best man when he doth ride to church with you, and cry\n'Amen' more loudly than the clerk. So now dart no more vengeful\nlightnings from thine eyes, sweet one; and wipe away the pearly drops\nmy unmannerly jesting hath caused to flow. I would not Basil had\nwedded a lady in love with his pelf, not with himself.\"\n\n\"I detest tricks,\" I cried, \"and such feigning as you do confess to. I\nwould I had not answered one word of your false discourse.\"\n\nNow I wept for vexation to have been so circumvented and befooled as\nto own some sort of love for a man who bad not yet openly addressed\nme. And albeit reassured in some wise, touching what my conscience had\ncharged me with when I heard Hubert's vehement reproaches, I\nmisdoubted his present sincerity. He searched my face with a keen\ninvestigation, for to detect, I ween, if I was most contented or\ndispleased with his late words. I resolved, if he was false, I would\nbe true, and leave not so much as a suspicion in his mind that I did\nor ever had cared for him. But Kate, who should not have left us\nalone, now returned, when her absence would have been most profitable.\nShe had her babe in her aims, and must needs call on Hubert to praise\nits beauty and list to its sweet crowing. In truth, a more winsome,\ngracious creature could not be seen; and albeit I had made an\ninpatient gesture when she entered, my arms soon eased hers of their\nfair burthen, and I set to playing with the boy, and Hubert talking\nand laughing in such good cheer, that I began to credit his passion\nhad been feigning, and his indifferency to be true, which contented me\nnot a little.\n\nA few days afterward Mr. Congleton received a letter, in the evening,\nwhen we were sitting in my aunt's room, and a sudden fluttering in my\nheart whispered it should be from Basil's father. Mine eyes affixed\nthemselves on the cover, which had fallen on the ground, and then\ntravelled to my uncle's face, wherein was a smile which seemed to say,\n\"This is no other than what I did expect.\" He put it down on the\ntable, and his hand over it. My aunt said he should tell us the news\nhe had received, to make us merry; for that the fog had given her the\nvapors, and she had need of some good entertainment.\n\n\"News!\" quoth he. \"What news do you look for, good wife?\"\n\n\"It would not be news, sir,\" she answered, \"if I expected it.\"\n\n\"That is more sharp than true,\" he replied. \"There must needs come\nnews of the queen of France's lying-in; but I pray you how will it be?\nShall she live and do well? Shall it be a prince or a princess?\"\n\n\"Prithee, no disputings, Mr. Congleton,\" she said. \"We be not playing\nat questions and answers.\"\n\n\"Nay, but thou dost mistake,\" he cried out, laughing. \"Methinks we\nhave here in hand some game of that sort if I judge by this letter.\"\n\nThen my heart leapt, I knew not how high or how tumultuously; for I\ndoubted not now but he had received the tidings I hoped for.\n\n\"Constance,\" he said, \"hast a mind to marry?\"\n\n\"If it should please you, sir,\" I answered; \"for my father charged me\nto obey you.\"\n\n\"Good,\" quoth he. \"I see thou art an obedient wench. And thou wilt\nmarry who I please?\"\n\n\"Nay, sir; I said not that.\"\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" quoth he. \"Thou wilt marry so as to please me, and yet--\"\n\n\"Not so as to displease myself, sir,\" I answered.\n\n\"Come,\" he said, \"another question. {46} Here is a gentleman of\nfortune and birth, and excellent good character, somewhat advanced in\nyears indeed, but the more like to make an indulgent husband, and to\nbe prudent in the management of his affairs, hath heard so good a\nreport from two young gentlemen, his sons, of thy abilities and proper\nbehavior, that he is minded to make thee a tender of marriage, with so\ngood a settlement on his estate in Suffolk as must needs content any\nreasonable woman. Wilt have him, Conny?\"\n\n\"Who, sir?\" I asked, waxing, I ween, as red as a field-poppy.\n\n\"Mr. Rookwood, wench--Basil and Hubert's father.\"\n\nAlbeit I knew my uncle's trick of jesting, my folly was so great just\nthen, hope and fear working in me, that I was seized with fright, and\nfrom crimson turned so white, that he cried out:\n\n\"Content thee, child! content thee! 'Tis that tall strapping fellow\nBasil must needs make thee an offer of his hand; and by my troth,\nwench, I warrant thee thou wouldst go further and fare worse; for the\ngentleman is honorably descended, heir-apparent to an estate worth\nyearly, to my knowledge, three thousand pounds sterling, well disposed\nin religion, and of a personage without exception. Mr. Rookwood\ndeclares he is more contented with his son's choice than if he married\nMistress Spencer, or any other heiress; and beshrew me, if I be not\ncontented also.\"\n\nThen he bent his head close to mine ear, and whispered, \"And so art\nthou, methinks, if those tell-tale eyes of thine should be credited.\nYea, yea, hang down thy head, and stammer 'As you please, sir!' And\nnever so much as a _Deo gratias_ for thy good fortune! What thankless\ncreatures women be!\" I laughed and ran out of the room before mine\naunt or Mistress Ward had disclosed their lips; for I did long to be\nin mine own chamber alone, and, from the depths of a heart over full\nof, yea overflowing with, such joy as doth incline the knees to bend\nand the eyes to raise themselves to the Giver of all good--he whom\nall other goodness doth only mirror and shadow forth--pour out a hymn\nof praise for the noble blessing I had received. For, I pray you,\nafter the gift of faith and grace for to know and love God, is there\naught on earth to be jewelled by a woman like to the affection of a\ngood man; or a more secure haven for her to anchor in amid the present\nbillows of life, except that of religion, to which all be not called,\nthan an honorable contract of marriage, wherein reason, passion, and\nduty do bind the soul in a triple cord of love?\n\nAnd oh! with what a painful tenderness I thought in that moving hour\non mine own dear parents--my mother, now so many years dead; my\nfather, so parted from his poor child, that in the most weighty\nconcernment of her life--the disposal of her in marriage--his consent\nhad to be presumed; his authority, for so he had with forecasting care\nordained, being left in other hands. But albeit a shade of melancholy\nfrom such a retrospect as the mind is wont to take of the past, when\ncoming events do cast, as it should seem, a new light on what has\npreceded them, I could not choose but see, in this good which had\nhappened to me, a reward to him who had forsaken all things--lands,\nhome, kindred, yea his only child, for Christ's dear sake. It minded\nme of my mother's words concerning me, when she lay dying, \"Fear not\nfor her.\"\n\nI was somewhat loth to return to mine aunt's chamber, and to appear in\nthe presence of Kate and Polly, who had come to visit their mother,\nand, by their saucy looks when I entered, showed they were privy to\nthe treaty in hand. Mine aunt said she had been thinking that she\nwould not go to church when I was married, but give me her blessing at\nhome; for she had never recovered from the chilling she had when Kate\nwas married, and {47} had laid abed on Polly' wedding-day, which she\nliked better. Mistress Ward had great contentment, she said, that I\nshould have so good an husband. Kate was glad Basil was not too fond\nof books, for that scholars be not as conversable as agreeable\nhusbands should be. Polly said, for her part, she thought the less wit\na man had, the better for his wife, for she would then be the more\nlike to have her own way. But that being her opinion, she did not\nwholly wish me joy; for she had noticed Basil to be a good thinker,\nand a man of so much sense, that he would not be ruled by a wife more\nthan should be reasonable. I was greatly pleased that she thus\ncommended him, who was not easily pleased, and rather given to despise\ngentlemen than to praise them. I kissed her, and said I had always\nthought her the most sensible woman in the world. She laughed, and\ncried, \"That was small commendation, for that women were the\nfoolishest creatures in the world, and mostly such as were in love.\"\n\nAh me! The days which followed were full of sweet waiting and pleasant\npining for the effects of the letter mine uncle wrote to Mr. Rookwood,\nand looking for one Basil should write himself, when licence for to\naddress me had been yielded to him. When it came, how unforeseen, how\nsad were the contents! Albeit love was expressed in every line, sorrow\ndid so cover its utterance, that my heart overflowed through mine\neyes, and I could only sigh and weep that the beginning of so fair a\nday of joy should have set in clouds of so much grief. Basil's father\nwas dead. The day after he wrote that letter, the cause of all our\njoy, he fell sick and never bettered any more, but the contrary: time\nwas allowed him to prepare his soul for death, by all holy rites and\nghostly comforts. One of his sons was on each side of his bed when he\ndied; and Basil closed his eyes.\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nBasil came to London after the funeral, and methought his sadness then\ndid become him as much as his joyfulness heretofore. His grief was\nanswerable to the affection he had borne unto his father, and to that\ngentlemen's most excellent deserts. He informed Mr. Congleton that in\nsomewhat less than one year he should be of age, and until then his\nwardship was committed to Sir Henry Stafford. It was agreed betwixt\nthem, that in respect of his deep mourning and the greater commodity\nhis being of age would afford for the drawing up of settlements, our\nmarriage should be deferred until he returned from the continent in a\nyear's time. Sir Henry was exceeding urgent he should travel abroad\nfor the bettering as he affirmed of his knowledge of foreign\nlanguages, and acquirement of such useful information as should\nhereafter greatly benefit him; but methinks, from what Basil said, it\nwas chiefly with the end that he should not be himself troubled during\nhis term of guardianship with proceedings touching his ward's\nrecusancy, which was so open and manifest, no persuasions dissuading\nhim from it, that he apprehended therefrom to meet with difficulties.\n\nSo with heavy hearts and some tears on both sides, a short time after\nMr. Rookwood's death, we did part, but withal with so comfortable a\nhope of a happy future, and so great a security of mutual affection,\nthat the pangs of separation were softened, and a not unpleasing\nmelancholy ensued. We forecasted to hold converse by means of letters,\nof which he made me promise I should leastways write two for his one;\nfor he argued, as I always had a pen in my hand, it should be no\ntrouble to me to write down my thoughts as they arose, but as for\nhimself, it would cost him much time and labor for to compose such a\nletter as it would content me to receive. But herein he was too\nmodest; {48} for, indeed, in everything he wrote, albeit short and\nmostly devoid of such flowers of the fancy as some are wont to scatter\nover their letters, I was always excellently well pleased with his\nfavors of this kind.\n\nHubert remained in London for to commence his studies in a house of\nthe law; but when my engagement with his brother became known, he left\noff haunting Mr. Lacy's house, and even Mr. Wells's, as heretofore.\nHis behavior was very mutable; at one time exceedingly obliging, and\nat another more strange and distant than it had yet been; so that I\ndid dread to meet him, not knowing how to shape mine own conduct in\nhis regard; for if on the one hand I misliked to appear estranged from\nBasil's brother, yet if I dealt graciously toward him I feared to\nconfirm his apprehension of some sort of unusual liking on my part\ntoward himself.\n\nOne month, or thereabouts, after Basil had gone to France, Lady Surrey\ndid invite me to stay with her at Kenninghall, which greatly delighted\nme, for it was a very long time then since I had seen her. The reports\nI heard of her lord's being a continual waiter on her majesty, and\nalways at court, whereas she did not come to London so much as once in\nthe year, worked in me a very uneasy apprehension that she should not\nbe as happy in her retirement as I should wish. I long had desired to\nvisit this dear lady, but durst not be the first to speak of it. Also\nto one bred in the country from her infancy, the long while I had\nspent in a city, far from any sights or scents of nature, had created\nin me a great desire for pure air and green fields, of which the\nneighborhood of London had afforded only such scanty glimpses as\nserved to whet, not satisfy, the taste for such-like pleasures. So\nwith much contentment I began my journey into Norfolk, which was the\nfirst I had taken since that long one from Sherwood Hall to London\nsome years before. A coach of my Lord Surrey's, with two new pairs of\nhorses, was going from the Charter-house to Kenninghall, and a\nchamber-woman of my lady's to be conveyed therein; so for conveniency\nI travelled with her. We slept two nights on the road (for the horses\nwere to rest often), in very comfortable lodgings; and about the\nmiddle of the third day we did arrive at Kenninghall, which is a place\nof so great magnitude and magnificence, that to my surprised eyes it\nshowed more like unto a palace, yea, a cluster of palaces, than the\nresidence of a private though illustrious nobleman. The gardens which\nwe passed along-side of, the terraces adorned with majestic trees, the\nwoods at the back of the building, which then wore a gaudy dress of\ncrimson and golden hues,--made my heart leap for joy to be once more\nin the country. But when we passed through the gateway, and into one\ncourt and then another, methought we left the country behind, and\nentered some sort of city, the buildings did so close around us on\nevery side. At last we stopped at a great door, and many footmen stood\nabout me, and one led me through long galleries and a store of empty\nchambers; I forecasting in my mind the while how far it should be to\nthe gardens I had seen, and if the birds could be heard to sing in\nthis great house, in which was so much fine tapestry, and pictures in\nhigh-gilt frames, that the eye was dazzled with their splendor. A\nlittle pebbly brook or a tuft of daisies would then have pleased me\nmore than these fine hangings, and the grass than the smooth carpets\nin some of the rooms, the like of which I had never yet seen. But\nthese discontented thoughts vanished quickly when my Lady Surrey\nappeared; and I had nothing more to desire when I received her\naffectionate embrace, and saw how joyful was her welcome. Methought,\ntoo, when she led me into the chamber wherein she said her time was\nchiefly spent, that its rich adornment became her, who had verily a\nqueenly beauty, and a {49} presence so sweetly majestic that it alone\nwas sufficient to call for a reverent respect from others even in her\nyoung years. There was an admirable simplicity in her dress; so that I\nlikened her in my mind, as she sat in that gilded room, to a pare fair\ndiamond enchased in a rich setting. In the next chamber her\ngentlewoman and chambermaids were at work--some at frames, and others\nmaking of clothes, or else spinning; and another door opened into her\nbed-chamber, which was very large, like unto a hall, and the canopy of\nthe bed so high and richly adorned that it should have beseemed a\nthrone. The tapestry on the wall, bedight with fruits and flowers,\nvery daintily wrought, so that nature itself hath not more fair hues\nthan therein were to be seen.\n\n\"When my lord is not at home, I mislike this grand chamber, and do lie\nhere,\" she said, and showed me an inner closet; which I perceived to\nbe plainly furnished, and in one corner of it, which pleased me most\nfor to see, a crucifix hung against the wall, over above a\nkneeling-stool. Seeing my eyes did rest on it, she colored a little,\nand said it had belonged to Lady Mounteagle, who had gifted her with\nit on her death-bed; upon which account she did greatly treasure the\npossession thereof.\n\nI answered, it did very much content me that she should set store on\nwhat had been her grandmother's, for verily she was greatly indebted\nto that good lady for the care she had taken of her young years; \"but\nmethinks,\" I added, \"the likeness of your Saviour which died for you\nshould not need any other excuse for the prizing of it than what\narises from its being what it is, his own dear image.\"\n\nShe said she thought so too; but that in the eyes of Protestants she\nmust needs allege some other reason for the keeping of a crucifix in\nher room than that good one, which nevertheless in her own thinking\nshe allowed of.\n\nThen she showed me mine own chamber, which was very commodious and\npleasantly situated, not far from hers. From the window was to be seen\nthe town of Norwich, and an extensive plain intersected with trees;\nand underneath the wall of the house a terrace lined with many fair\nshrubs and strips of flower-beds, very pleasing to the eye, but too\nfar off for a more familiar enjoyment than the eyesight could afford.\n\nWhen we had dined, and I was sitting with my lady in her dainty\nsitting-room, she at her tambour-frame, and I with a piece of\npatch-work on my knees which I had brought from London, she began\nforthwith to question me touching my intended marriage, Mr. Rookwood's\ndeath, and Basil's going abroad, concerning which she had heard many\nreports. I satisfied her thereon; upon which she expressed great\ncontentment that my prospects of happiness were so good; for all which\nknew Basil thought well on him, she said; and mostly his neighbors,\nwhich have the chiefest occasions for to judge of a man's disposition.\nAnd Euston, she thought, should prove a very commendable residence,\nalbeit the house was small for so good an estate; but capable, she\ndoubted not, of improvements, which my fine taste would bestow on it;\nnot indeed by spending large sums on outward show, but by small\nadornments and delicate beautifying of a house and gardens, such as\nwomen only do excel in; the which kind of care Mr. Rookwood's seat had\nlacked for many years. She also said it pleased her much to think that\nBasil and I should agree touching religion, for there was little\nhappiness to be had in marriage where consent doth not exist in so\nimportant a matter. I answered, that I was of that way of thinking\nalso. But then this consent must be veritable, not extorted; for in so\nweighty a point the least shadow of compulsion on the one side, and\nfeigning on the other, do end by destroying happiness, and virtue\nalso, which is more urgent. She made no answer; and I then asked her\nif she {50} liked Kenninghall more than London, and had found in a\nretired life the contentment she had hoped for. She bent down her head\nover her work-frame, so as partly to conceal her face; but how\nbeautiful what was to be seen of it appeared, as she thus hid the\nrest, her snowy neck supporting her small head, and the shape of her\noval cheek just visible beneath the dark tresses of jet-black hair!\nWhen she raised that noble head methought it wore a look of becoming,\nnot unchristian, pride, or somewhat better than should be titled\npride; and her voice betokened more emotion than her visage betrayed\nwhen she said, \"I am more contented, Constance, to inhabit this my\nhusband's chiefest house than to dwell in London or anywhere else.\nWhere should a wife abide with so much pleasure as in a place where\nshe may be sometimes visited by her lord, even though she should not\nalways be so happy as to enjoy his company? My Lord Arundel hath often\nurged me to reside with him in London, and pleaded the comfort my Lady\nLumley and himself, in his declining years, should find in my filial\ncare; but God helping me--and I think in so doing I fulfill his\nwill--naught shall tempt me to leave my husband's house till he doth\nhimself compel me to it; nor by resentment of his absence lose one day\nof his dear company I may yet enjoy.\"\n\n\"O my dear lady,\" I exclaimed, \"and is it indeed thus with you? Doth\nmy lord so forget your love and his duty as to forsake one he should\ncherish as his most dear treasure?\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" she hastily replied; \"Philip doth not forsake me; a little\nneglectful he is\" (this she said with a forced smile), \"as all the\nqueen's courtiers must needs be of their wives; for she is so\nexacting, that such as stand in her good graces cannot be stayers at\nhome, but ever waiters on her pleasure. If Philip doth only leave\nLondon or Richmond for three or four days, she doth suspect the cause\nof his absence; her smiles are turned to frowns, and his enemies\nimmediately do take advantage of it. I tried to stay in London one\nwhile this year, after Bess was married; but he suffered so much in\nconsequence from the loss of her good graces when she heard I was at\nthe Charter-house, that I was compelled to return here.\"\n\n\"And hath my lord been to see you since?\" I eagerly asked.\n\n\"Once,\" she answered; \"for three short days. O Constance, it was a\nbrief, and, from its briefness, an almost painful joy, to see him in\nhis own princely home, and at the head of his table, which he doth\ngrace so nobly; and when he went abroad saluted by every one with so\nmuch reverence, that he should be taken to be a king when he is here;\nand himself so contented with this show of love and homage, that his\nface beamed with pleasant smiles; and when he observed what my poor\nskill had effected in the management of his estates, which do greatly\nsuffer from the prodigalities of the court, he commended me with so\ngreat kindness as to say he was not worthy of so good a wife.\"\n\nI could not choose but say amen in mine own soul to this lord's true\nestimation of himself, and of her, one hair of whose head did, in my\nthinking, outweigh in merit his whole frame; but composed my face lest\nshe should too plainly read my resentment that the like of her should\nbe so used by an ungrateful husband.\n\n\"Alas,\" she continued, \"this joy should be my constant portion if an\nenemy robbed me not of my just rights. 'Tis very hard to be hated by a\nqueen, and she so great and powerful that none in the compass of her\nrealm can dare to resent her ill treatment. I had a letter from my\nlord last week, in which he says if it be possible he will soon visit\nme again; but he doth add that he has so much confidence in my\naffection, that he is sure I would not will him to risk that which may\nundo him, if the queen should hear of it. 'For, Nan,' he writes, 'I\nresemble a man scrambling up unto a slippery rock, who, if he {51}\ngaineth not the topmost points, must needs fall backward into a\nprecipice; for if I lose but an inch of her majesty's favor, I am like\nto fall as my fathers have done, and yet lower. So be patient, good\nNan, and bide the time when I shall have so far ascended as to be in\nless danger of a rapid descent, in which thine own fortunes would be\ninvolved.\"\n\nShe folded this letter, which she had taken out of her bosom, with a\ndeep sigh, and I doubt not with the same thought which was in mine own\nmind, that the higher the ascent, the greater doth prove the peril of\nan overthrow, albeit to the climber's own view the further point doth\nseem the most secured. She then said she would not often speak with me\ntouching her troubles; but we should try to forget absent husbands and\nlovers, and enjoy so much pleasure in our mutual good company as was\npossible, and go hawking also and riding on fine days, and be as merry\nas the days were long. And, verily, at times youthful spirits assumed\nthe lead, and like two wanton children we laughed sometimes with\nhearty cheer at some pleasantry in which my little wit but fanciful\nhumor did evince itself for her amusement. But the fair sky of these\nsunshiny hours was often overcast by sudden clouds; and weighty\nthoughts, ill assorting with soaring joylity, wrought sad endings to\nmerry beginnings. I restrained the expression of mine own sorrow at my\nfather's uncertain fate and Basil's absence, not to add to her\nheaviness; but sometimes, whilst playing in some sort the fool to make\nher smile, which smiles so well became her, a sharp aching of the\nheart caused me to fail in the effort; which when she perceived, her\narm was straightway thrown round my neck, and she would speak in this\nwise:\n\n\"O sweet jester! poor dissembler! the heart will have its say, albeit\nnot aided by the utterance of the tongue. Believe me, good Constance,\nI am not unmindful of thy griefs, albeit somewhat silent concerning\nthem, as also mine own; for that I eschew melancholy themes, having a\nwell-spring of sorrow in my bosom which doth too readily overflow if\nthe sluices be once opened.\"\n\nThus spake this sweet lady; but her unconscious tongue, following the\ncurrent of her thoughts more frequently than she did credit, dwelt on\nthe theme of her absent husband; and on whichever subject talk was\nministered between us, she was ingenious to procure it should end with\nsome reference to this worshipped object. But verily, I never\nperceived her to express, in speaking of that then unworthy husband,\nbut what, if he had been present, must needs have moved him to regret\nhis negligent usage of an incomparable, loving, and virtuous wife,\nthan to any resentment of her complaints, which were rather of others\nwho diverted his affections from her than of him, the prime cause of\nher grief. One day that we walked in the pleasaunce, she led the way\nto a seat which she said during her lord's last visit he had commended\nfor the fair prospect it did command, and said it should be called \"My\nLady's Arbor.\"\n\n\"He sent for the head-gardener,\" quoth she, \"and charged him to plant\nabout it so many sweet flowers and gay shrubs as should make it in\ntime a most dainty bower fit for a queen. These last words did, I\nween, unwittingly escape his lips, and, I fear me, I was too shrewish;\nfor I exclaimed, 'O no, my lord; I pray you let it rather be\n_un_fitted for a queen, if so be you would have me to enjoy it!' He\nmade no answer, and his countenance was overcast and sad when he\nreturned to the house. I misdoubted my hasty speech had angered him;\nbut when his horse came to the door for to carry him away to London\nand the court, he said very kindly, as he embraced me, 'Farewell, dear\nheart! mine own good Nan!' and in a letter he since wrote he inquired\nif his orders had been obeyed touching his sweet countess's\npleasure-house.\"\n\n{52}\n\nI always noticed Lady Surrey to be very eager for the coming of the\nmessenger which brought letters from London mostly twice in the week,\nand that in the untying of the strings which bound them her hand\ntrembled so much that she often said, \"Prithee, Constance, cut this\nknot. My fingers be so cold I have not so much patience as should\nserve to the undoing thereof.\"\n\nOne morning I perceived she was more sad than usual after the coming\nof this messenger. The cloud on her countenance chased away the joy I\nhad at a letter from Basil, which was written from Paris, and wherein\nhe said he had sent to Rheims for to inquire if my father was yet\nthere, for in that case he should not so much fail in his duty as to\nomit seeking to see him; and so get at once, he trusted, a father and\na priest's blessing.\"\n\n\"What ails you, sweet lady?\" I asked, seeing her lips quiver and her\neyes to fill with tears.\n\n\"Nothing should ail me,\" she answered more bitterly than was her wont.\n\"It should be, methinks, the part of a wife to rejoice in her\nhusband's good fortune; and here is one that doth write to me that my\nlord's favor with the queen is so great that nothing greater can be\nthought of: so that some do say, if he was not married he would be\nlike to mount, not only to the steps, but on to the throne itself.\nHere should be grand news for to rejoice the heart of the Countess of\nSurrey. Prithee, good wench, why dost thou not wish thy poor friend\njoy?\"\n\nI felt so much choler that any one should write to my lady in this\nfashion, barbing with cruel malice, or leastways careless lack of\nthought, this wanton arrow, that I exclaimed in a passion it should be\na villain had thus written. She smiled in a sad manner and answered:\n\n\"Alas, an innocent villain I warrant the writer to be, for the letter\nis from my Bess, who has heard others speak of that which she doth\nunwittingly repeat, thinking it should be an honor to my lord, and to\nme also, that he should be spoken of in this wise. But content thee;\n'tis no great matter to hear that said again which I have had hints of\nbefore, and am like to hear more of it, maybe.\"\n\nThen hastily rising, she prepared to go abroad; and we went to a lodge\nin the park, wherein she harbored a great store of poor children which\nlacked their parents; and then to a barn she had fitted up for to\nafford a night's lodging to travellers; and to tend sick\npeople--albeit, saving herself, she had no one in her household at\nthat time one half so skilful in this way as my Lady l'Estrange. I\nween this was the sole place wherein her thoughts were so much\noccupied that she did for a while forget her own troubles in curing\nthose of others. A woman had stopped there the past night, who, when\nwe went in, craved assistance from her for to carry her to her native\nvillage, which was some fifteen miles north of Norwich. She was\nafraid, she said, for to go into the town; for nowadays to be poor was\nto be a wicked person in men's eyes; and a traveller without money was\nlike to be whipt and put into the stocks for a vagabond, which she\nshould die of if it should happen to her, who had been in the service\nof a countess, and had not thought to see herself in such straits,\nwhich she should never have been reduced to if her good lady had not\nbeen foully dealt with. Lady Surrey, wishing, I ween, by some sort of\nexamination, to detect the truth of her words, inquired in whose\nservice she had lived.\n\n\"Madam,\" she answered, \"I was kitchen maid in the Countess of\nLeicester's house, and never left her service till she was murthered\nsome years back by a black villain in her household, moved by a\nvillain yet more black than himself.\"\n\n\"Murthered!\" my lady exclaimed. \"It was bruited at the time that lady\nhad died of a fall.\"\n\n\"Ay, marry,\" quoth the beggar, {53} shaking her head, \"I warrant you,\nladies, that fall was compassed by more hands than two, and more minds\nthan one. But it be not safe for to say so; as Mark Hewitt could\nwitness if he was not dead, who was my sweetheart and a scullion at\nCumnor Place, and was poisoned in prison for that he offered to give\nevidence touching his lady's death which would have hanged some which\ndeserved it better than he did--albeit he had helped to rob a coach in\nWales after he had been discharged, as we all were, from the old\nplace. Oh, if folks dared to tell all they do know, some which ride at\nthe queen's side should swing on a gibbet before this day\ntwelvemonth.\"\n\nLady Surrey sat down by this woman; and albeit I pulled her by the\nsleeve and whispered in her ear to come away--for methought her talk\nwas not fitting for her to hear, whose mind ran too much already on\nmelancholy themes--she would not go, and questioned this person very\nmuch touching the manner of Lady Leicester's life, and what was\nreported concerning her death. This recital was given in a homely but\nwithal moving manner, which lent a greater horror to it than more\nstudied language should have done. She said her lady bad been ill some\ntime and never left her room; but that one day, when one of her lord's\ngentlemen had come from London, and had been examining of the house\nwith the steward for to order some repairing of the old walls and\nstaircases, and the mason had been sent for also late in the evening,\na so horrible shriek was heard from the part of the house wherein the\ncountess's chamber was, that it frighted every person in the place, so\nthat they did almost lose their senses; but that she herself had run\nto the passage on which the lady's bed-chamber did open, and saw some\nplanking removed, and many feet below the body of the countess lying\nquite still, and by the appearance of her face perceived her to be\ngone. And when the steward came to look also (this the woman said,\nlowering her voice, with her hollow eyes fixed on Lady Surrey's\ncountenance, which did express fear and sorrow), \"I'll warrant you, my\nlady, he did wear a murtherer's visage, and I noticed that the corpse\nbled at his approach. But methinketh if that earl which rides by the\nqueen's side, and treads the world under his feet, had then been nigh,\nthe mangled form should have raised itself and the cold dead lips\ncried out, 'Thou art the man!' Marry, when poor folks do steal a\nhorse, or a sheep, or shoot the fallow-deer in a nobleman's park, they\nstraightway do suffer and lose their life; but if a lord which is a\ncourtier shall one day choose to put his wife out of his way for the\nbettering of his fortunes, even though it be by a foul murther, no\nmore ado is made than if he had shot a pigeon in his woods.\"\n\nThen changing her theme, she asked Lady Surrey to dress a wound in her\nleg, for that she did hear from some in that place that she often did\nuse such kindness toward poor people. Without such assistance, she\nsaid, to walk the next day would be very painful. My lady straightway\nbegan to loosen the bandages which covered the sore, and inquired how\nlong a time it should be since it had been dressed.\n\n\"Four days ago,\" the beggar answered, \"Lady l'Estrange had done her so\nmuch good as to salve the wound with a rare ointment which had greatly\nassuaged the pain, until much walking had inflamed it anew.\"\n\nWe both did smile; and my lady said she feared to show herself less\nskilful than her old pupil; but if the beggar should be credited, she\ndid acquit herself indifferently well of her charitable task; and the\nbounty she bestowed upon her afterward, I doubt not, did increase her\npatient's esteem of her ability. But I did often wish that evening my\nlady had not heard this woman's tale, for I perceived her to harp upon\nit with a very notable persistency; and when I urged no credit should\nattach itself to her {54} report, and it was most like to be untrue,\nshe affirmed that some similar surmises had been spoken of at the time\nof Lady Leicester's death; and that Lord Sussex and Lord Arundel had\nonce mentioned, in her hearing, that the gypsy was infamed for his\nwife's death, albeit never openly accused thereof. She had not taken\nmuch heed of their discourse at the time, she said; but now it came\nback into her mind with a singular distinctness, and it was passing\nstrange she should have heard from an eye-witness the details of this\ntragedy. She should, she thought, write to her husband what the woman\nhad related; and then she changed her mind, and said she would not.\n\nAll my pleadings to her that she should think no more thereon were\nvain. She endeavored to speak of other subjects, but still this one\nwas uppermost in her thoughts. Once, in the midst of an argument\ntouching the uses of pageants, which she maintained to be folly and\nidle waste, but which I defended, for that they sometimes served to\nexercise the wit and memory of such as contrive them, carrying on the\ndispute in a lively fashion, hoping thus to divert her mind, she broke\nforth in these exclamations: \"Oh, what baneful influences do exist in\ncourts, when men, themselves honorable, abhor not to company with such\nas be accused of foul crimes never disproved, and if they will only\nstretch forth their blood-stained hands to help them to rise, disdain\nnot to clasp them!\"\n\nThen later, when I had persuaded her to play on the guitar, which she\ndid excellently well, she stopped before the air was ended to ask if I\ndid know if Lady Leicester was a fair woman, and if her husband was at\nany time enamored of her. And when I was unable to resolve these\nquestions, she must needs begin to argue if it should be worse never\nto be loved, or else to lose a husband's affection; and then asked me,\nif Basil should alter in his liking of me, which she did not hold to\nbe possible, except that men be so wayward and inconstant that the\nbest do sometimes change, if I should still be glad he had once loved\nme.\n\n\"If he did so much alter,\" I answered, \"as no longer to care for me,\nmethinks I should at once cast him out of my heart; for then it would\nnot have been Basil, but a fancied being coined by mine own\nimaginings, I should have doted on.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut!\" she cried; \"thou art too proud. If thou dost speak truly,\nI misdoubt that to be love which could so easily discard its object.\"\n\n\"For my part,\" I replied, somewhat nettled, \"I think the highest sort\nof passion should be above suspecting change in him which doth inspire\nit, or resenting a change which should procure it freedom from an\nunworthy thrall.\"\n\n\"I ween,\" she answered, \"we do somewhat misconceive each one the\nother's meaning; and moreover, no parallel can exist between a wife's\naffection and a maiden's liking.\" Then she said she hoped the poor\nwoman would stay another day, so that she might speak with her again;\nfor she would fain learn from her what was Lady Leicester's behavior\nduring her sorrowful years, and the temper of her mind before her so\nsudden death.\n\n\"Indeed, dear lady,\" I urged, \"what likelihood should there be that a\nserving-wench in her kitchen should be acquainted with a noble lady's\nthoughts?\"\n\n\"I pray God,\" my lady said, \"our meanest servants do not read in our\ncountenance, yea in the manner of our common and indifferent actions,\nthe motions of our souls when we be in such trouble as should only be\nknown to God and one true friend.\"\n\nLady Surrey sent in the morning for to inquire if the beggar was gone.\nTo my no small content she had departed before break of day. Some days\nafterward a messenger from London brought to my lady, from Arundel\nHouse, a letter from my {55} Lady Lumley, wherein she urged her to\nrepair instantly to London, for that the earl, her grandfather, was\nvery grievously sick, and desired for to see her. My lady resolved to\ngo that very day, and straightway gave orders touching the manner of\nher journey, and desired her coach to be made ready. She proposed that\nthe while she was absent I should pay a visit to Lady l'Estrange,\nwhich I had promised for to do before I left Norfolkshire; \"and then,\"\nquoth my lady, \"if my good Lord Arundel doth improve in his health, so\nthat nothing shall detain me at London, I will return to my\nbanishment, wherein my best comfort shall ever be thy company, good\nConstance. But if peradventure my lord should will me to stay with\nhim\" (oh, how her eyes did brighten! and the fluttering of her heart\ncould be perceived in her quick speech and the heaving of her bosom as\nshe said these words), \"I will then send one of my gentlewomen to\nfetch thee from Lynn Court to London; and if that should happen, why\nmethinks our meeting may prove more merry than our parting.\"\n\nShe then dispatched a messenger on horseback to Sir Hammond\nl'Estrange's house, which did return in some hours with a very\nobliging answer; for his lady did write that she almost hoped my Lady\nSurrey would be detained in London, if so be it would not discontent\nher, and so she should herself have the pleasure of my company for a\nlonger time, which was what she greatly desired.\n\nFor some miles, when she started, I rode with my lady in her coach,\nand then mounted on a horse she had provided for my commodity, and,\naccompanied by two persons of her household, went to Sir Hammond\nl'Estrange's seat. It stood in a bleak country without scarce so much\nas one tree in its neighborhood, but a store of purple heath, then in\nflower, surrounding it on all sides. As we approached unto it, I for\nthe first time beheld the sea. The heath had minded me of Cannock\nChase and my childhood. I ween not what the sea caused me to think of;\nonly I know that the waves which I heard break on the shore had, to my\nthinking, a wonderful music, so exceeding sweet and pleasant to mine\nears that one only sound of it were able to bring, so it did seem to\nme, all the hearts of this world asleep. Yet although I listed\nthereunto with a quiet joy, and mine eyes rested on those vasty depths\nwith so much contentment, as if perceiving therein some image of the\neternity which doth await us, the words which rose in my mind, and\nwhich methinks my lips also framed, were these of Holy Writ: \"Great as\nthe sea is thy destruction.\" If it be not that some good angel\nwhispered them in mine ear for to temper, by a sort of forecasting of\nwhat was soon to follow, present gladness, I know not what should have\ncaused so great a dissimilarity between my then thinking and the words\nI did unwittingly utter.\n\nLady l'Estrange met me on the steps of her house, which was small, but\nsuch as became a gentleman of good fortune, and lacking none of the\ncommodities habitual to such country habitations. The garden at the\nback of it was a true labyrinth of sweets; and an orchard on one side\nof it, and a wood of fir-trees beyond the wall, shielded the shrubs\nwhich grew therein from the wild sea-blasts. Milicent was delighted\nfor to show me every part of this her home. The bettering of her\nfortunes had not wrought any change in the gentle humility of this\nyoung lady. The attractive sweetness of her manner was the same,\nalbeit mistress of a house of her own. She set no greater store on\nherself than she had done at the Charter-house, and paid her husband\nas much respect and timid obedience as she had ever done her mistress.\nVerily, in his presence I soon perceived she scarce held her soul to\nbe her own; but studied his looks with so much diligence, and framed\neach word she uttered to his liking with so much {56} ingenuity, that\nI marvelled at the wit she showed therein, which was not very apparent\nin other ways. He was a tall man, of haughty carriage and\nwell-proportioned features. His eyes were large and gray; his nose of\na hawkish shape; his lips very thin. I never in any face did notice\nthe signs of so set a purpose or such unyielding lineaments as in this\ngentleman. Milicent told me he was pious, liberal, an active\nmagistrate, and an exceeding obliging and indulgent husband; but\nmethought her testimony on this score carried no great weight with it,\nfor that her meekness would read the most ordinary kindnesses as rare\ninstances of goodness. She seemed very contented with her lot; and I\nheard from Lady Surrey's waiting-maid (which she had sent with me from\nKenninghall) that all the servants in her house esteemed her to be a\nmost virtuous and patient lady; and so charitable, that all who knew\nher experience her bounty. On the next day she showed me her garden,\nher dairy, poultry-yard, and store-room; and also the closet where she\nkept the salves and ointments for the dressing of wounds, which she\nsaid she was every morning employed in for several hours. I said, if\nshe would permit me, I would try to learn this art under her\ndirection, for that nothing could be thought of more useful for such\nas lived in the country, where such assistance was often needed. Then\nshe asked me if I was like to live in the country, which, from my\nwords, she hoped should be the case; and I told her, if it pleased\nGod, in one year I would be married to Mr. Rookwood, of Euston Hall;\nwhich she was greatly rejoiced to learn.\n\nThen, as we walked under the trees, talk ensued between us touching\nformer days at the Charter-house; and when the sun was setting amidst\ngold and purple clouds, and the wind blew freshly from the sea, whilst\nthe barking of Sir Hammond's dogs, and the report of his gun as he\ndischarged it behind the house, minded me more than ever of old\ncountry scenes in past time, my thoughts drew also future pictures of\nwhat mine own home should be, and the joy with which I should meet\nBasil, when he returned from the field-sports in which he did so much\ndelight. And a year seemed a long time to wait for so much happiness\nas I foresaw should be ours when we were once married. \"If Lady\nl'Estrange is so contented,\" I thought, \"whose husband is somewhat\nchurlish and stem, if his countenance and the reports of his neighbors\nare to be credited, how much enjoyment in her home shall be the\nportion of my dear Basil's wife! than which a more sweet-tempered\ngentleman cannot be seen, nor one endued with more admirable qualities\nof all sorts, not to speak of youth and beauty, which are perishable\nadvantages, but not without attractiveness.\"\n\nMrs. l'Estrange, an unmarried sister of Sir Hammond, lived in the\nhouse, and some neighbors which had been shooting with him came to\nsupper. The table was set with an abundance of good cheer; and\nMilicent sat at the head of it, and used a sweet cordiality toward all\nher guests, so that every one should seem welcome to her hospitality;\nbut I detected looks of apprehension in her face, coupled with hasty\nglances toward her husband, if any one did bring forward subjects of\ndiscourse which Sir Hammond had not first broached, or did appear in\nany way to differ with him in what he himself advanced. Once when Lord\nBurleigh was mentioned, one of the gentleman said somewhat in\ndisparagement of this nobleman, as if he should have been to blame in\nsome of his dealings with the parliament, which brought a dark cloud\non Sir Hammond's brow. Upon which Milicent, the color coming into her\ncheeks, and her voice trembling a little, as she seemed to cast about\nher for some subject which should turn the current of this talk, began\nto tell what a store of patients she had {57} seen that day, and to\ndescribe them, as if seeking to stop the mouths of the disputants.\n\"One,\" quoth she, \"hath been three times to me this week to have his\nhands dressed, and I be verily in doubt what his station should be. He\nhath a notable appearance of good breeding, albeit but poorly\napparelled, and his behavior and discourse should show him to be a\ngentleman. The wounds of his hands were so grievously galled for want\nof proper dressing, when he first came, I feared they should mortify,\nand the curing of them to exceed my poor skill. The skin was rubbed\noff the whole palms, as if scraped off by handling of ropes. A more\ncourageous patient could not be met with. Methought the dressing\nshould have been very painful, but he never so much as once did wince\nunder it. He is somewhat reserved in giving an account of the manner\nin which he came by those wounds, and answered jestingly when I\ninquired thereof. But to-morrow I will hear more on it, for I charged\nhim to come for one more dressing of his poor hands.\"\n\n\"Where doth this fellow lodge?\" Sir Hammond asked across the table in\na quick eager manner.\n\n\"At Master Rugeley's house, I have heard,\" quoth his wife.\n\nThen his fist fell on the table so that it shook.\n\n\"A lewd recusant, by God!\" he cried. \"I'll be sworn this is the popish\npriest escaped out of Wisbeach, for whom I have this day received\norders to make diligent search. Ah, ah! my lady hath trapped the\nJesuit fox.\"\n\nI looked at Milicent, and she at me. O my God, what looks those were!\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED.]\n\n------\n\nFrom The Popular Science Review.\n\nMIGRATIONS OF EUROPEAN BIRDS.\n\nThe migrations of animals--especially those of the feathered\ntribe--constitute one of the most interesting and improving studies\nthat the admirer of nature can pursue. When naturalists were less\nconversant with the movements of birds of passage, and knew little of\ntheir habits and haunts, it used to be a favorite mode of accounting\nfor the regular disappearance of many species by attributing to them\nwhat is the case with certain animals, namely, a torpid condition\nduring winter. It was affirmed that certain birds spent the cold\nmonths at the bottom of lakes, and gravely asserted by an authority of\nthe last century that \"swallows sometimes assemble in numbers,\nclinging to a reed till it breaks and sinks with them to the bottom;\nthat their immersion is preceded by a song or dirge, which lasts more\nthan a quarter of an hour; that sometimes they lay hold of a straw\nwith their bills, and plunge down in society; and that others form a\nlarge mass by clinging together by the feet, and in this manner commit\nthemselves to the deep.\" Irrespective of the ridiculous absurdity of\nsuch assertions, and their want of corroborative evidence, we have the\nrecorded opinions of John Hunter and Professor Owen as to the\nincompatibility of a bird's organism for such a mode of existence. In\nall probability, the statement may have in part arisen from the\nwell-known circumstance that many birds of passage tarry in their\nsummer retreats until caught by the cold of winter, when individuals\nmay be found benumbed and senseless; {58} this is a common occurrence,\neven with the swallows and other birds of northern India, where in the\ncold months the temperature during night falls often to freezing,\nwhilst at midday it may range as high as 80\u00b0 Fahr. in the shade. I\nhave also seen the green bee-eater and small warblers so mach affected\nby a temperature of 40\u00b0 on the banks of the Nile in Nubia as to be\nscarcely able to fly from twig to twig. The effects of severe winters\non many of our indigenous as well as migratory birds have been\nfrequently exemplified by the numbers found dead in sheltered\nsituations, and especially if the cold sets in early, when\ncomparatively few birds of passage escape; for instance, the\ncorn-crake has been found in Britain during the winter months; we know\nof one individual that was picked up on Christmas-day, crouching among\nfurze bushes, almost insensible from cold. The winter homes of\nEuropean birds of passage comprehend southern Europe, lower Egypt, and\nthe countries that lie between the desert and southern shores of the\nMediterranean, including the elevated lands of Tunis, Algeria, and\nMorocco, which, although differing in physical features and, in some\nrespects, in climate, are, strictly speaking, but an extension of\nEurope, for their flora and fauna are European. It is only when the\ntraveller crosses the Sahara, with its salt lakes and moving clouds of\nsand, and gains the region of verdure beyond, that he enters on a new\nzoological and botanical province. It is curious and instructive to\nobserve how well this statement accords with late geological\ndiscoveries. From a series of ascertained facts the student of\nphysical science is enabled to speculate on a time when equatorial\nAfrica was divided from the northern portion of the continent by a\ngreat sea, of which the Sahara formed the bed; it extended from the\nGulf of Cabes to Senegambia in the west, and was many hundred miles in\nbreadth. The Mediterranean sea did not then exist; therefore there was\nno great obstacle to the southern migrations of animals until they\nreached the shores of the great central African sea; but as there was\nno desert in those days, there would be no hot winds to temper the\nclimates northward, and consequently we should expect to find traces\nof more rigorous winters in central and southern Europe; and such have\nbeen clearly proven by certain evidences, which were lucidly explained\nby Sir Charles Lyell at the last meeting of the British Association.\nThus, although we may wonder at the extraordinary intelligence which\nprompts the bird to cross the Mediterranean, we see at the same time\nthat it is going to no foreign land, where it will not meet friends to\ncheer it, or food unsuited to its wants. The two great causes which\nbring about the regular migrations of birds are either change of\nclimate or failure of food--most often both combined. Any ordinary\nobserver must have often remarked that the first effect of a decrease\nin temperature in autumn is the sudden disappearance of many winged\nand wingless insects, on which many soft-billed birds of passage\ndepend. At that season swallows, that seemed so full of life and\nvigor, skimming over fields, threading along the lanes, or twittering\nfrom straw-built sheds, are soon seen collecting in flocks, and\nflitting about with a marked diminution in their activity--now\nhuddling together on the eaves of houses, or assembling in long lines\non the telegraph wires; another boreal blast, not yet sufficient to\nturn the leaf, sends the whole flock southward, for they soon find\nthat there is no use facing the north from whence the cold puffs are\ncoming, whilst by holding in the direction of the sun, with the balmy\nsouthern winds occasionally beckoning them to advance, they soon gain\nthe object of their desires. Thus flocks may be seen pursuing their\njourney, and picking up a livelihood and more companions as they speed\ntheir way over mountain, moor, field, city, or sea to {59} the sunny\nclimes and eternal sunshine of southern Europe and trans-Mediterranean\nlands. The majority of migratory birds cross the latter sea during the\nvernal and autumnal equinoxes; whilst a few, such as certain finches\nand water birds, make their appearance on the islands and southern\nshores throughout the winter; the latter, however, are in a great\nmeasure dependent on the state of the weather, and their numbers\nincrease or decrease accordingly.\n\nIt is evident that such animals as the lapp, lemming, musk-ox, or\nreindeer must push southward on the approach of winter. Their\nmigrations are by no means unexpected; nor would the mere land journey\nof birds create amazement when we know the real causes; but to cross\nthe great inland sea anywhere, save at its entrance, must be\nconsidered a great feat when performed by tiny warblers, and birds not\nphysically adapted for long flights; for instance, the willow warbler\nor the land-rail, crossing the broadest parts of the Mediterranean,\nmust traverse at least six hundred miles. No doubt the heated winds\nfrom the desert exert a great influence in determining the route to be\ntaken by migratory birds, especially in the countries that come\ndirectly under their operation; and at no seasons are their presence\nmore apparent than during the spring and autumn; for not only then do\nthey blow their greatest violence, but are also most keenly felt by\ncontrast with the previous hot or cold months. Thus the winds that\nbeckon the bird in autumn to come southward, drive it back again to\nEurope in spring. Much, however, depends on the constitutional powers\nof the individual species, which vary greatly in members of the same\nfamily; for instance, the little chiffchaff often makes its appearance\nin England as early as the middle of March, whilst its congener, the\nwillow warbler, is seldom seen before the end of April; the spotted\nfly-catcher and night-jar arrive toward the end of May, and depart\nagain early in September. Bird migrations may be said to be either\ncomplete or partial; some birds totally abandon Europe during winter,\nand take up their residence in north Africa; others repair merely to\nthe more genial climates of the south of Europe; whilst many remain,\nbut in diminished numbers, throughout the year, the majority resorting\nto milder temperatures. For example, the swallow tribe leave Europe\nentirely; the wagtails have their winter homes among the oases of the\ndesert and on the banks of the Nile, whilst a few tarry in southern\nEurope, and with their brethren in spring push northward. A good many\nstone-chats spend the winter in Britain, whilst the majority move\nsouthward; not so with their close ally, the whin-chat, which\ndisappears entirely during the cold season, and, with the migratory\nportion of the last-named species, seeks the more genial climates of\nnorth Africa. Thus, in all probability, there are individual\nstone-chats that have alternately braved the cold of the north and the\nmore cheerful winter of the Sahara; for we cannot suppose that there\nis a set that invariably stop in the north, and another that constancy\nleave at the approach of winter. At all events, here is displayed a\nflexibility of constitution often considered characteristic of man\nalone. Although the regular birds of passage maintain much exactitude\nwith reference to their arrivals and departures, others seem to err\ngreatly when compelled by weather or other causes to trust to their\nown intelligence in guiding them from place to place; even many\nmigratory species far exceed the bounds of their usual resorts, and\ncertain individuals, not known to be migratory, have found their way\nacross the whole continent of Europe. A good example of the latter is\nseen in the late irruption of Pallas's sand-grouse from north-western\nAsia, so well illustrated by Messrs. Moore and Newton, in the \"Ibis.\"\nThe short-toed lark seldom {60} migrates beyond the northern shores of\nthe Mediterranean, yet finds itself often in Britain, and caught\neither in gales, or wandering unknowingly northward; occasional\nindividuals of the Egyptian vulture from Spain, the Griffon vulture\nand spotted eagle from the mountains of central Europe, and the\nspotted cuckoo from north Africa. Moreover, several American species\nhave been recorded, chiefly water birds, which, of course, are better\nadapted to brave the dangers of the deep. Certain birds--to wit, the\nredbreast, song-thrush, and black-bird--do not leave the north of\nEurope, whilst many of their brethren of Italy and the neighboring\ncountries make regular annual migrations to Africa and the islands. To\naccount for this remarkable anomaly, it will be observed that the\nrobin of the south is far less omnivorous than its northern compeer,\nand is not nearly so familiar in its habits--like the warblers, it\ndepends almost entirely on insect food; consequently, when that fails,\nit has no alternative but to push southward, and participating, like\nother species, in climatic effects, it would doubtless follow a like\nroute; and much the same with the thrushes, as they depend in a great\nmeasure on fruits for their winter subsistence. When the grapes of the\nsouth are gathered, having no holly-berries, mountain ash, or haws to\ndraw on for their winter wants, they would naturally disperse;\nprobably many fly northward as well; for all the thrushes that cross\nthe Mediterranean during winter are but an infinitesimal part of what\nfrequent Italy and the south of Europe in summer. No doubt much\ndepends on the nature of the locality, whether favorable or otherwise;\nand wherever a complete or only partial failure of food has taken\nplace, so accordingly will the species depart or remain. Moreover,\nwhat has just been remarked in connection with the stone-chat, might\nbe applied again to the robins and thrushes of southern Europe:\nsupposing one of either hatched in Italy, and after several years'\nmigrations to the oasis of the desert, should deviate on one occasion\nfrom its accustomed course and fly northward, and spend the winter in\nnorthern Europe,--with the example of the resident individuals before\nit, no doubt the robin would soon pick up crumbs at the kitchen door,\nand the thrushes crowd with their indigenous brethren on the\nholly-trees, and, becoming climatized, remain in their adopted\ncountries ever afterward. Although we have no direct proof that such\noccurrences actually take place, there is nothing in the bird's\nconstitution to preclude such a supposition; and not only that, but we\nknow in the case of Pallas's sand-grouse, and many other accidental\nvisitors, that they have at once adapted themselves to the food\nafforded by the country, although perfectly new to them. How far such\ninfluences, acting on generations and for long periods, do effect the\nexternal appearances or internal structure of a species, are points\nnot yet clearly determined; but doubtless, as the geographical\ndistribution and migrations of animals become better known, so will\nmany difficulties of that nature be cleared up. Of the vast hosts of\nbirds that cross the Mediterranean annually not a few perish on their\nway, and their bodies are thrown up on the beach; many arrive only to\ndie, as we can testify from our own observations along the shores of\nMalta, where we have picked up numerous warblers that had been either\ndrowned on their passage or died on the rocks, or had dashed\nthemselves at night against the fortifications and light-houses.\n\n      \"The beacon blaze illures\n  The bird of passage, till he madly strikes\n  Against it, and beats out his weary life.\"\n\nThe quail on its way to Europe in spring, or Africa in autumn, is\noften borne back by a strong head-wind to the country it had just\nleft; and we have repeatedly noticed that a strong sirocco in\nSeptember scarcely ever fails in throwing abundance of quail {61} on\nthe southeast coast of Malta, in the same way that a powerful gregale\nbrings in many that had been bent on an opposite direction. We now\ncome to observe that extraordinary intelligence whereby swallows, for\ninstance, are enabled year after year to return to the same nest.\nTaking into consideration the long absence, the dangers and\ndifficulties incident to the voyage, it seems incredible that any\nanimal not human can be capable, after nearly eight months' sojourn in\ncentral Africa, to return in spring to a farm-yard in the midland\ncounties of England; and still more wondrous, as recorded in\n\"Yarrell's British Birds,\" that several swifts, undeniably marked,\nreturned not only for three years in succession, but one of the number\nwas caught in the same locality at the expiration of seven years.\nHere, then, are displayed effects of memory and perception--in fine, a\nwondrous manifestation of intellect, which, under the vague name of\ninstinct, has been applied, we think too indiscriminately, to\nsuch-like mental phenomena among the lower animals.\n\nNone of the eagles of Europe seem to cross the great inland sea, or\nperform regular migrations. The osprey and peregrine falcon wander\nover the south of Europe and north Africa in increased numbers during\nthe winter months. Flocks of honey-buzzards, orange-legged falcons,\nand lesser kestrels, together with numbers of marsh harriers,\nkestrels, sparrow-hawks, and in a less proportion the hobby, merlin,\nand Montagu's and Swainson's harriers, follow the migratory birds to\nand from Africa--some in hot pursuit of the warblers and quail, which\nthey feed on when they cannot procure more choice food. Thus flocks of\nhawks may be seen hovering over the fields in spring, and along the\nsouthern shores of the Mediterranean, where the birds of passage are\nassembling before they commence their voyage northward,--all driven\nhence by the hot blasts of the desert, which, under such local names\nas harmattan, sirocco, kamsin, simoom, and samiel, soon wither\nverdure, and compel birds of passage to turn their faces northward,\nand fly with all speed to more genial climes. A naval officer informed\nus that one spring evening, when a hundred miles off the coast of\nAfrica, the rigging of his vessel was covered by small birds, which\nwere seen arriving in scattered flocks from the south; among them were\nmany hawks and a few small-sized owls, possibly the Scop's eared owl,\nwhich migrates in great numbers at that season. No sooner had the\nlittle birds settled down on the yards than the hawks commenced to\nprey on them, and were seen actually devouring their captives within a\nfew yards of the officers, who attempted to put a stop to the\nslaughter by shooting the depredators, but in vain; they continued\npursuing the unfortunate small birds from rope to yard-arm and around\nthe vessel, until night put an end to the scene, when friend and foe\nwent to roost, and at break of day all sped their way northward.\n\nThe short-eared and Scop's owls are migratory species; both pass and\nrepass the Mediterranean in great numbers every spring and autumn, not\nin flocks, but singly; the latter is much in request as an article of\nfood, and killed in several of the islands in large numbers; during\nits passage through Malta dozens of this handsome little owl may be\nseen in the poultry market. As beetles, moths, and the larger insects\nconstitute the favorite food of the Scop's owl, and bats enter largely\ninto the fare of its short-eared congener, it may be supposed neither\ncan have much inducement to prolong its stay in Europe after\nSeptember.\n\nThe night-jar, although late in arriving in the north of Europe,\ncrosses the Mediterranean in March; the nocturnal habits of the bird,\nby restricting its movements to night and twilight, will account for\nits slow progress; it is also much esteemed by the natives {62} of the\nsouth as an article of food. None of the swallow tribe are more exact\nin their times of arrival and departure than the swifts, which seem to\nproceed further southward than any of the others; whether from sudden\nfailure of food or change of climate, or both, it is seldom the black\nswift tarries on its way; for, not content with the climate of the\nsouthern shores of the great inland sea, it pushes on with little\ndelay to Abyssinia, Nubia, and even Timbuctoo. The Alpine swift passes\nto and from Europe in small numbers; compared with the last-named\nspecies, this is a hardy bird; we have seen it and the house marten\nsporting around Alpine glaciers at the latter end of August, when\nthere was a hoar frost every night, and occasional heavy falls of\nsnow; many Alpine swifts spend the entire year on the Himalayan\nranges. The chimney, house, and sand swallows make their first\nappearance in spring, and leave Europe in the order here given; none\nseem to pass the winter in any of the islands, and on their arrival in\nAfrica move steadily southward to more genial regions. The rock\nswallow and rufous swallow make regular migrations from Asia Minor to\nsouth-eastern Europe, few venturing westward of Greece. Owing to the\nstrong N.E. winds that prevail during the cold months, and sweep along\nthe Mediterranean basin with great violence, many birds are blown from\none coast to another, and turn up in districts in every way\nuncongenial to their habits and wants: thus are recorded by C. A.\nWright, Esq., in his admirable catalogue of \"Birds observed in Malta,\"\nthe appearance of the diminutive golden and fire-crested wrens among\nthe woodless tracts of these bare islands; supposing them to have come\nfrom the nearest point of Sicily, they must have flown at least fifty\nmiles! Along the shores of the Mediterranean the approach of spring is\nheralded by flocks of gaudy bee-eaters, which may be seen advancing\nnorthward in scattered hosts emitting their characteristic call-note.\nWe have watched them approaching Malta during the calm and delightful\nweather at that season, when a few, attracted by the verdure, would\nbreak off from the rest and descend, whilst the majority continued\nsteering their course in a northerly direction. Luckless is the bird\nwanderer that makes a temporary resting-place of Malta at any time,\nespecially on Sunday, for no sooner is an individual recognized than a\ndozen guns are put in requisition, and soon the fair forms of the\nbee-eater, oriole, etc., are seen stretched in rows on the benches of\nthe poulterer. The weird-like form of the hoopoe may constantly be\nseen drifting before a south wind in spring, or hastening southward in\nAugust, seldom in flocks, but so numerous that on one occasion, on a\nprojecting rock in the island of Gozo, we saw in the course of half an\nhour no less than ten hoopoes arrive, one after another. None of the\nwoodpeckers, neither the creeper, nuthatch, nor the wren, seem to\nmigrate. The warblers no doubt constitute by far the greatest minority\nof the birds of passage, and may be said to be most punctual in their\ntime of arrival and departure. As with other groups, many entirely\nabandon their summer or winter residences at the migratory seasons,\nwhilst others leave a few stragglers behind. The sedge, willow,\ngarden, the chiffchaff, whitethroat, Sardinian, Dartford, subalpine,\nVieillot's warblers, and the blackcap annually cross and recross the\nMediterranean with undeviating regularity, some in enormous numbers,\nespecially the garden warbler and whitethroat, which being then plump\nand in good condition are in great request, and constitute the\nItalian's much relished _beccafico_. The nightingale appears in\nconsiderable numbers and shares the same fate with the last-named\nspecies. The two redstarts, wheatear, whin, and stone-chats, with the\nredbreast, come and go to Africa regularly, leaving a few stragglers\non the islands during winter, which, {63} however, unite with their\nbrethren from north Africa in spring, when all proceed to Europe. The\nblue-throated warbler repairs to Egypt in winter, from the\nsouth-eastern countries of Europe and western Asia. A small migration\ntakes place of the russet and eared wheat-ears annually to southern\nEurope in summer, and back again to the African deserts in autumn. As\nthe song thrush and blackbird are plentiful throughout the year along\nthe Atlas range, it is probable few of them return in spring, and\nwhatever do cross in autumn and winter remain with the residents. The\ngolden oriole passes through Malta regularly on its way northward, and\nin small flocks returns to Africa immediately after the harvest and\nfruit are collected in autumn. The ring ousel is also migratory; and\nalthough a few missal thrushes and redwings appear on the islands and\nsouthern shores during the cold season, neither can strictly speaking\nbe called birds of passage, as their numbers seem entirely dependent\non the state of the weather in Europe and local gales. The tree,\nmeadow, red-throated and tawny pipits cross and recross regularly, and\noften in large flocks. The meadow pipit is another illustration of a\nbird which remains all the year in northern Europe, but is migratory\nin the southern parts. As soon as the hot weather has fairly set in in\nAfrica, flocks of the short-toed lark proceed to southern Europe and\ndistribute themselves over wastes; like other desert-living birds, it\nis very sensible of cold, and accordingly quits Europe before the\nregular migratory season. The sky, crested, and Calandral arks go\nsouthward late in October and the following month; the two last-named\nare extremely abundant in north Africa during winter. The woodlark\nrepairs to southern Europe during the winter, but a few also regularly\npush further southward, and cross again in spring. The pied wagtail\nand its northern variety, called after the late Mr. Yarrell, repair to\nsouthern Europe on the approach of winter, and many also cross the\ngreat inland sea and proceed a long way into Africa; we found the\nformer very common up the Nile to the second cataract. The grey\nwagtail, although nowhere so common, follows the same course and\npushes northward at the same time with its congener in spring. The\nyellow wagtails of Europe have been so frequently confounded and\nmisnamed, that until the student has carefully examined specimens of\neach he will be almost sure to become confused. There is, first, the\nyellow wagtail of the British islands, called also Ray's wagtail, that\nmigrates to the continent in winter, but we opine not to southern\nEurope; this bird has been mistaken for the yellow wagtail of the\ncontinent, first described by Linnaeus. Enormous flocks of the\nlast-named bird cross regularly to and from Africa annually: probably\nnot a straggler remains in either country after the migratory seasons\nare over. We have repeatedly noticed varieties of this wagtail with\ngrey and black-colored heads, which many naturalists consider as\nspecific differences, whilst others appear to class them under the\nhead of a race or variety of the _Motacilla flava_ of Linnaeus. We are\nenabled so far to strengthen the latter opinion, by the fact that in a\nlarge series of skins collected from flocks of yellow wagtails during\ntheir migrations across the Mediterranean, we could make out a gradual\ntransition from the one state of plumage to the other, and we\nfrequently found the grey, black, and olive-headed (or yellow wagtail\nproper) all in one flock and constantly associating together, and with\nthe same call-note; the only difference was the call-note in autumn in\nsome was noticed to be harsher; these, however, we ascertained to be\nbirds of the year. The rook is migratory in south-eastern Europe, and\nrepairs to the delta of the Nile in large flocks; sometimes it is\ndriven by stress of weather to the islands of the mid and western\nMediterranean. {64} The northern portion of Africa is a favorite\nresort for the starling in winter, when flocks may be constantly seen\nall over the south of Europe; they quit, however, in spring and go\nnorthward. The jay has been recorded as migratory, and said to\nfrequent north Africa, Malta, and Egypt. We cannot, however, find any\nauthentic confirmation of this statement. All the European flycatchers\ncross the Mediterranean very punctually. The spotted bird is by far\nthe most numerous, next the pied, and in a much less proportion, the\nwhite-necked flycatcher. The first has a very extensive geographical\nrange, embracing the whole continent of Africa and Europe, and breeds\nin great numbers even in North Britain, where we have seen large\nflocks in autumn pursuing their retrograde coarse southward. The\nwoodchat shrike seems to be the only representative of the family that\nregularly leaves Europe in winter; its red-backed congener has been\nsaid to migrate to north Africa. The finches are always late in\nmigrating in autumn, and leave north Africa long before the other\nbirds of passage; at all times much depends on the severity of the\nweather, their numbers increasing or diminishing accordingly. No\ndoubt, like the thrushes and other species indigenous to temperate\nclimes, many individuals extend their range during the winter months,\nnot so much from failure of food, as the cold weather allows them to\nwander over regions inimical to their constitutions and wants in\nsummer; from this cause and the state of the climate in north and mid\nEurope, together with the transporting power of gales, may be\nattributed the pretty regular appearance of flocks of the following\nfinches on the islands and southern shores of the great inland ocean.\nThe linnet is plentiful in Egypt and north Africa in winter; small\nflocks of the chaffinch, greenfinch, goldfinch, common buntings,\nsirinfinch, grosbeak, and ortolan may be seen among the tamarisk and\nolive groves of north Africa at the same season, whilst a few solitary\nindividuals of the crossbill, scarlet grosbeak, reed and meadow\nbuntings, cirl and bramble finches, tree and rock sparrows, find their\nway in winter to the islands and southern shores of the Mediterranean.\nThe cuckoo and wryneck are among the foremost birds of passage that\ncross to and from Africa, and both seem to have much the same\ngeographical distribution. We have heard the cuckoo's welcome note\namong the carol trees of Malta in March; in the north of Europe in\nMay; among the stunted birch trees on the confines of perpetual snow\non the Himalayan mountains in July; and often recognized its handsome\nform among the orange groves on the torrid plains of India as late as\nNovember.\n\nMany wood and stock pigeons migrate to Africa in winter; their\nheadquarters, however, would seem to be located in the south of\nEurope; not so with the turtle dove, of which flocks of thousands may\nbe seen steering their course southward in autumn and _vice versa_ in\nspring; very few, if any, remaining in Europe or in Africa at the\ntermination of their migrations. At these seasons they are caught in\ngreat numbers, by means of clapnets and decoy birds. The quail\ninvariably flies within a few feet of the sea when crossing.\n\nAs soon as the cold weather has fairly set in along the shores of the\nMediterranean, a partial migration of the following plovers takes\nplace. The Norfolk plover disperses in winter over the islands, and\npenetrates far south to central Africa. During November flights of\ngolden plovers arrive on the northern exposures of the Maltese\nislands; also a few of the grey and a good many of the lapwing\nplovers, all of which go to Africa. The dotterel, with its two-winged\nallies, and the Kentish plover, pursue much the same course, perhaps\nif anything more of all these pass in autumn than recross in spring,\nfor the reason that several of the species are resident {65} in\nAfrica, and extensively distributed over the entire continent. The\ncommon heron and crane repair southward to the African lakes and\nrivers, and may be seen during the winter months flying at great\nheights; neither is attracted by the mere appearance of land, whist\nthe purple heron Egret squacco, night heron, little bittern, glossy\nibis, whimbrel, common and slender-billed curlews, fly at lower\nlevels, and tarry on the islands on their way.\n\nThe frosts of October and the following months drive across the inland\nsea myriads of greenshanks, wood, the common and little sandpipers,\nstilts, water-rails, the common, spotted Baillons, and little crakes,\nand the coot. In smaller numbers come black-tailed godwits, common and\njack-snipes, common and spotted redshanks, marsh and green sandpipers,\nwith ruffs, the great snipe, knot, curlew sandpiper, dunlin turnstone.\nNow and then the woodcock wanders across, but as a rule its migration\nis mostly confined to the south of Europe. The Adriatic gull extends\nits range over the western Mediterranean in winter. Many northern\ngulls and terns, to wit, the herring, lesser, and black-backed gulls,\nSandwich, common, the little, the black, the white-winged, and the\nwhiskered terns, spread themselves over the sea, and wander up the\nNile and to the lakes of north Africa. Of the duck tribe nearly all go\nnorth in spring. Among others, we have noticed the bean goose,\nshoveller, shelldrake, mallard, pintail, gadwall, widgeon, teal,\ngargany, and castaneous ducks; the red-breasted merganser, and the\ncormorant; the crested, horned, eared, and little grebes.\n\n------\n\nTranslated from Etudes Religieuses, Historiques et Litt\u00e9raires, par\ndes P\u00e8res de la Compagnie de J\u00e9sus.\n\n\nANOTHER ATTEMPT AT UNION BETWEEN\nTHE ANGLICAN AND GREEK CHURCHES.\n\n\nIt is remarkable with what perseverance Protestants have ever labored\nto bring about a reconciliation and union between themselves and the\nschismatical churches of the East.\n\nWhen one compares the terms between which it is desired to effect this\nunion, it is difficult to conceive of two which are more opposed, and\nbetween which there is a more complete contrast. Protestants reject\nthe authority both of tradition and of the hierarchy; the veneration\nof saints, images, and relics; outward ceremonial, and all that which\nmay be considered as composing the external side of religion. The\nGreeks, on the contrary, so far from rejecting these, have rather\nexaggerated their importance. It seems impossible that they should\never reach a uniformity of sentiment; but yet the endeavor to effect\nit has been steadily persevered in.\n\nAs far back as 1559 Melancthon tried to bring about an understanding\nwith Joseph II., the patriarch of Constantinople; and on sending him\nthe confession of Augsburg, he wrote, with rather more cunning than\nfairness, \"that the Protestants had remained {66} faithful to the Holy\nScriptures, to the dogmatic decisions of holy councils, and to the\nteaching of Athanasius, Basil, Gregory, Epiphanius, etc., the fathers\nof the Greek Church; that they rejected the errors of Paul of\nSamosata, of the Manichees, and of all the heresiarchs condemned by\nthe Holy Church, as well as the superstitious practices introduced by\nignorant monks into the Latin Church, wherefore he besought the\npatriarch to give no heed to the evil reports which were in\ncirculation against Protestants.\"\n\nIt seems the patriarch was not to be caught by these plausible\nprofessions, for he made no reply. The Protestants were not\ndiscouraged, and fifteen years later a fresh attempt was made by the\nLutheran university of T\u00fcbingen. The ambassador of the German emperor\nat Constantinople was a Protestant, and had brought with him a\nminister of his own denomination, named Gerlach. It was he who carried\non the negotiations between the university of T\u00fcbingen and the\nPatriarch Jeremias. The whole of this correspondence is before the\npublic. The patriarch refutes the Protestant doctrines with great\nability and clearness, and concludes by requesting the professors of\nT\u00fcbingen to trouble him no longer and to send him no more letters.\nThey were not to be discouraged by a trifle like this; but write what\nthey would, the patriarch made them no further reply. This negotiation\nbegan in 1573 and lasted until 1581, but nothing came of it.\n\nFifty years after the Lutherans had failed, in their turn the\nCalvinists made another effort, which seemed to promise better\nsuccess. The ambassadors of Holland, England, and Sweden took the most\nactive and energetic part in the matter. The patriarch, of\nConstantinople, Cyril Lucar, himself a Calvinist at heart, so far from\nopposing their designs, favored them with all his power. Success\nseemed certain. After various vicissitudes Cyril Lucar died in 1638.\n[Footnote 2] A few weeks after his death the synod of Constantinople\npronounced sentence of censure upon his propositions, and anathema\nupon himself. In 1642 a second council was held under the Patriarch\nParthenius, who was very hostile both to Rome and to Catholics, which\nconfirmed the previous condemnation of Cyril. Among others, Peter\nMogila, metropolitan of Kief, signed this fresh censure. Last of all,\nthese condemnations of 1638 and 1642 were confirmed by a council held\nat Jerusalem in 1672, over which the Patriarch Dositheus presided.\n\n  [Footnote 2: He was thrown into the Bosphorus by the sultan, at the\n  request of his brother bishops.--Ed. C.W.]\n\nThe creation of a bishopric at Jerusalem may be regarded, also, as an\nattempt at reunion between the Protestants and the schismatic churches\nof the East. Frederick William IV., king of Prussia, assisted by M. de\nBunsen, was the promoter of this idea, but it was too ingenious and\ntoo complicated to be practical. It proposed to labor for the\nconversion of the Jews; to prepare the way for the union of the\nschismatical churches of the East with, the Anglican; and, by means of\nthe evangelical church of Prussia, to induce the various sects of\nProtestantism to conform in matters of doctrine and discipline to the\nChurch of England. The archbishop of Canterbury favored the plan; but,\nas was to be expected, there were many Protestants who were very far\nfrom giving it their approbation. As to the Oriental Christians, they\nwere exceedingly astonished, as Dr. Bowring humorously related before\nParliament, at the arrival, not only of a bishop (_un vescovo_), but\nof a lady-bishop (_una vescova_) and baby-bishops (_vescovini_). After\nan existence of twenty years, no pretence is yet made that the\nbishopric of Jerusalem has succeeded in effecting any reconciliation\nwhatever with the Oriental churches, or that it has in any measure\nprepared the way for the uniting of {67} Protestantism itself. The\nAnglican Church is herself more divided than ever, and demonstrates\nmore conclusively from year to year how impossible it is for her to\nkeep fast hold upon any creed whatever. Perhaps this manifestation of\ninternal division and doctrinal anarchy may contribute somewhat to\nturn the eyes of Anglicans toward the ancient and immovable Church of\nthe East.\n\nHowever this may be, we have before us in our own day a fresh attempt\nat reunion about which we must say a few words. The facts are as\nfollows: Three or four years ago Dr. Troll,  [Footnote 3] bishop of\nthe Episcopalian Church in San Francisco, discovered that there were\nin his diocese some four hundred persons belonging to the Greek\nChurch, who, while they recognized his authority up to a certain\npoint, yet refused to receive communion from his hands. Dr. Troll\nreferred the matter to the convention of the Episcopal Church in the\nUnited States, who appointed a committee to examine and report on the\nrelation in which the two churches stood toward one another. The\nChurch of England took part in the investigation, and convocation met\nat Canterbury in 1863, appointing a commission whose duty it should be\nto have an understanding with the Episcopal Church in America and\nco-operate with her. In the month of February, 1865, this commission\npresented their report before convocation at Canterbury. The American\ncommittee published a series of works designed to prepare the way for\nunion by making known the dogmas and rites of the Greco-Russian\nChurch. The English commission formed an association whose object it\nwas to make the Oriental churches known to Englishmen, and in turn to\nmake the Anglican Church understood by the Christians of the East. The\nAnglican archbishop of Dublin, many other bishops of the same church,\nand the archbishop of Belgrade, were among the patrons of this\nassociation.\n\n  [Footnote 3: There is some mistake here. Dr. Kip is the Protestant\n  Bishop of California.--Ed. C.W.]\n\nIn 1864, Dr. Young of New York made a visit to Russia, where he put\nhimself in communication with the more prominent members of the\nRussian episcopate. The Episcopalian bishop of San Francisco visited\nGeorgia, Servia, and Bulgaria, and more recently Nice, where he\nfrequented the Russian chapel.\n\nMessrs. Popof and Wassilief, chaplains of the Russian ambassadors at\nLondon and Paris, were present at the sittings of the English\ncommission and took part in its deliberations. By the very last news\nfrom America we are informed that _divine service_ [_i.e.,_mass.--Ed.]\nwas solemnly celebrated, according to the Oriental rite and in the\nSclavonic language, in one of the principal Episcopalian churches of\nNew York city. According to the American newspapers, the celebrant was\nF. Agapius, recently come to America, having been appointed by the\nRussian Church to the spiritual charge of his co-religionists in the\nUnited States. The \"Union Chr\u00e9tienne,\" Paris paper, informs us that\nFather Agapius Honcharenko is a deacon of the Russian Church who was\nordained priest by a bishop of the Greek Church, which ordination was\nirregular; and that F. Agapius acted without any authority from the\nRussian Church; and lastly, that he was associated with M. Alexander\nHerzen at London and took part in the publication of the \"Kolokol\"\n(the \"Clock\"). This last fact is of a character to make a deep\nimpression upon the members of the synod of St. Petersburg, but it is\nnot so clear that it exercised the same influence upon the mind of the\nAmericans. The \"Union Chr\u00e9tienne\" appears to think that when this\nvaluable information about Agapius Honcharenko reaches New York, the\nEpiscopal Church will have nothing more to do with him. This is\npossible, but as yet it is mere conjecture. However this may be, this\nlittle incident is not calculated to {68} kindle in the synod of\nRussia any great zeal for the proposed reunion.\n\nThe \"Den\" (Day), a periodical in Moscow, has also an account of the\ncelebration of this mass in New York, in its fourteenth number, 1865.\nEvidently the Moscovite journal has none of the information as to this\nindividual, P. Honcharenko, which was given by the \"Union Chr\u00e9tienne;\"\nbut it makes up for this by the important fact that although this\npriest may have received no mission from the Russian Church, he was\nendowed with at least equal power and authorization by the\nmetropolitan of Athens and the synod of the kingdom of Greece, which\nis easy of explanation, since from Athens he embarked for America.\n\nThe April number, 1865, of the \"Otetchestrennyja Sapiski,\" or\n\"Patriotic Annals,\" also speaks of the attempt at reunion, and it\nrepeats the conditions proposed by the theologians of the Episcopal\nchurches of England and America. These conditions no doubt constitute\nmatter of much interest, but as we have not been able to procure this\nnumber of the St. Petersburg review, we can say nothing about them.\n\nOn the whole, up to the present time but one bishop of the Oriental\nschismatic church has shown himself favorable to this project, viz.,\nMonsignor Michel, archbishop of Belgrade, or, rather, metropolitan of\nServia, under which title he presides over the church in Servia. This\nprelate made his theological studies at Kief, has held the see of\nBelgrade since 1859, and is not yet forty years of age. Those persons\nwhose privilege it has been to have access to him, represent him as a\nman of a high order of intelligence, very pleasing and attractive in\nhis personal appearance, dignified in his manners, and very exemplary\nin his life. If one may rely upon the testimony of Protestant\ntravellers who have been in communication with him, it would appear\nthat he has shown himself very favorable to a reconciliation between\nthe Church of England and the schismatical churches of the East, and\nthat for his own part he would not hesitate to express in warm terms\nhis gratitude to the Protestants for their profitable investigations\nregarding the Greek Church. In fine, it is possible that Monsignor\nMichel might allow himself to be induced to take up again, in an\nunderhand way, the scheme of Cyril Lucar. This is no small\nundertaking. Before it is possible to blend these two churches into\none, a perfect understanding must be had on a great number of points\nwhich are of the highest importance. It will suffice to mention such,\n_e.g._, as the mass, the sacraments, the procession of the Holy Ghost,\ndevotion to the Blessed Virgin and the saints, and the honor to be\npaid to relics and images. In addition to these must be settled the\nquestion as to the validity of the Anglican orders. As to Monsignor\nMichel personally, he would have an additional difficulty to contend\nwith. Everybody knows that the people of Servia have very little\nsympathy with the people of England, and they would undoubtedly\nmanifest very little inclination to follow their metropolitan should\nhe try to induce them to do so.\n\nIt must be admitted, however, that the endeavor to reunite the two\nchurches has far more hope of success in the nineteenth than it had\neither in the sixteenth or seventeenth centuries. On the one hand, the\nteaching of the Puseyites has spread widely among the Anglican clergy.\nMen of distinction who have made their studies at Oxford and Cambridge\nare beginning more and more to suspect that apostolicity is an\nessential note of the church of Jesus Christ, and that it is very\ndifficult to discover this in a church which dates only from the time\nof Henry VIII.; they are gradually giving up the principle of private\njudgment, and are learning to appreciate more and more the value of\ntradition, of the fathers, and of the general councils of the Church.\nOn the other hand, adherence to {69} orthodoxy has, in the East, lost\nsomewhat of its deep, sincere, and inflexible character. Some years\nsince we had occasion to show, in the pages of this review, that in\nher theological teaching the Russian Church had been materially\naffected by Protestant influence. This is no longer so in our own day,\nif we may judge by the public writings of the Russian bishops, and\nthere has been a very general return to doctrines much more in harmony\nwith the traditions of the churches of the East. But at the same time\none must admit that rationalism and infidelity have made fearful\nravages in the East as well as in the West. Talk with young men from\nRussia, Greece, Romania, and Servia who have made their studies in\neither Russian or German universities, who have attended the course of\nlectures given by professors from either Athens or Paris, and you will\nsee how feeble, cold, and wavering their faith has become. The result\nhas been a prevailing atmosphere, both intellectual and moral, which\nenervates the firmness of convictions, and generates a certain laxity\nin one's hold on the teachings of the faith. People have become more\nready to conform to public opinion, and I should be greatly surprised\nif an attempt similar to that made by Cyril Lucar should find in the\nEast of to-day an equally universal and prompt condemnation.\n\nMoreover, the working of Protestant missions in the East has not been\nso completely unsuccessful as many persons are pleased to report As a\ngeneral thing Protestant missionaries are men of intelligence,\neducation, and good breeding; they make a thorough study of the\ncountry in which they reside; they erect schools and printing presses,\nand put in circulation a large number of books. It is impossible to\nadmit that all this can be absolutely without effect. These schools\nand those books must be the germ of an influence which time cannot\nfail to develop. I am very well assured that Protestantism has very\nfew attractions for the people of the East in any point of view, least\nof all on the side of externals, and that the difficulty of making\nProtestants of the people of the East would be very great; still, one\nmust not conclude from this that it would be impossible to bring about\na certain kind of union; that an arrangement might not be made which\nwould introduce a different spirit into the schismatical churches of\nthe East while they yet preserved their external form. I grant you the\nliturgy of the East, eminently dogmatical as it is, would contrast\nmost singularly with Protestant notions; but remember, we are not now\nspeaking of Protestantism in its pure development, but of the Anglican\nphase of it, and of Anglicanism leavened by Puseyism.\n\nIn conclusion, I have no faith myself in this attempt; but still a\nperson would have a false idea of the state of the case who should\nregard the move as a purely fanciful one, and one unworthy the\nattention of serious-minded men.\n\nBut, now, supposing this effort should be successful, have we\nCatholics any cause for alarm? I think rather the contrary. The Church\nof England is as clearly wanting in apostolicity as the Greek Church\nis in catholicity. The one has need to link herself on to the chain of\npast time; the other to extend her boundaries, that she may no longer\nfeel herself to be enclosed within a part of the world; that she may\nnot have the appearance of identifying herself with only a few of the\nmany races of men. Even admitting that by means of this alliance the\nEnglish could congratulate themselves upon having won back their title\nto apostolicity, and the Greeks in turn theirs to catholicity, the\nneed of unity would be felt all the more, which neither can ever\nattain to, apart from that rock upon which our Lord and Saviour Jesus\nChrist has built his Church, and against which the gates of hell shall\nnever prevail.\n\nJ. GAGARIN.  [Footnote 4]\n\n  [Footnote 4: F. Gagarin is a Russian prince, a convert from the\n  Greek schism, and a member of the Society of Jesus.--Ed.]\n\n------\n\n{70}\n\nFrom The Sixpenny Magazine.\n\nTHE CHILDREN.\n\n  When the lessons and tasks are all ended,\n    And the school for the day is dismissed,\n  The little ones gather around me\n    To bid me \"good night,\" and be kissed.\n  Oh, the little white arms that encircle\n    My neck in their tender embrace;\n  Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven,\n    Shedding sunshine of love on my face.\n\n  And when they are gone, I sit dreaming\n    Of my childhood--too lovely to last--\n  Of joy that my heart will remember\n    While it wakes to the pulse of the past:\n  Ere the world and its wickedness made me\n    A partner of sorrow and sin,\n  When the glory of God was about me,\n    And the glory of gladness within.\n\n  I ask not a life for the dear ones\n    All radiant, as others have done;\n  But that life may have just enough shadow\n    To temper the glare of the sun;\n  I would pray God to guard them from evil;\n    But my prayer would bound back to myself:\n  Ah, a seraph may pray for a sinner.\n    But a sinner must pray for himself^\n\n  I shall leave the old house in the autumn,\n    To traverse its threshold no more;\n  Ah! how I shall sigh for the dear ones\n    That meet me each morn at the door;\n  I shall miss the \"good-nights\" and the kisses,\n    And the gush of their innocent glee;\n  The group on the green, and the flowers\n    That are brought every morning for me.\n\n----------\n{71}\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.\n\nBY ROBERT CURTIS.\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nThe next morning Winny presented herself at the breakfast-table,\nlooking more attractive and more tidily dressed, her rich glossy hair\nbetter brushed and smoothed down more carefully than was usual at that\nhour of the day. Her daily custom, like all other country girls who\nhad household concerns to look after, was not to \"tidy herself up\"\nuntil they had been completed. She was not ignorant, however, of the\ngreat advantage which personal neatness added to beauty gave a young\ngirl who had a cause to plead. And although the man upon whom she\nmight have to throw herself for mercy was her father, she was not slow\non this occasion to claim their advocacy for what they might be worth.\nBut she had also prayed to God to guide her in all her replies to the\nparent whom she was bound to honor and obey, as well as to Love. She\nhad not contented herself with having set out her own appearance to\nthe best advantage, but she had also set out the breakfast-table in\nthe same way. The old blue-and-white teapot had been left on the\ndresser, and a dark-brown one, with a figured plated lid, taken out of\nthe cupboard of Sunday china. Two cups and saucers, and plates \"to\nmatch,\" with two real ivory-hafted knives laid beside them. There was\nalso some white _broken_ sugar in a glass bowl, which Winny had won in\na lottery at Carrick-on-Shannon from a \"bazaar-man.\" There was nothing\nextraordinary in all this for persons of their means, though, to tell\nthe truth, it was not the every-day paraphernalia of their\nbreakfast-table. Winny had not been idle either in furnishing the\nplates with a piping hot potato-cake, a thing of which her father was\nparticularly fond, and which she often gave him; but this one had a\nfew carraway-seeds through it, and was supposed to be better than\nusual. Then she had a couple of slices of nice thin bacon fried with\nan egg, which she knew he liked too. All this was prepared, and\nwaiting for her father, whose fatigue of the day before had caused him\nto sleep over-long.\n\nWhile waiting for him, it struck Winny that he must think such\npreparations out of the common, and perhaps done for a purpose. Upon\nreflection she was almost sorry she had not confined her\nembellishments to her own personal appearance, and even that, she\nbegan to feel, might have been as well let alone also. But she had\nlittle time now for reflection, for she heard her father's step, as he\ncame down stairs.\n\nShe met him at the door, opening it for him.\n\n\"Good morrow, father,\" she said; \"how do you find yourself to-day? I\nhope you rested well after your long walk yesterday.\"\n\n\"After a while I did, Winny; but the tea you made was very strong, an'\nI didn't sleep for a long time after I went to bed.\"\n\n\"Well, 'a hair of the hound,' you know, father dear. I have a good cup\nfor you now, too; it will not do you any harm in the morning when you\nhave the whole day before you. And I have a nice potato-cake for you,\nfor I know you like it.\"\n\n\"Troth I b'lieve you have, Winny; an' I smell the carraways that I\nlike. But, Winny, sure the ould blue teapot's not broken, is it?\"\n\n{72}\n\n\"No, father; but I was busy with the potato-cake this morning, and had\nnot time to wash it out last night, so I took out number one to give\nit an airing; and I put down the other things to match.\"\n\nThe portion of this excuse which was true was far greater than that\nwhich was not; and Winny, who as a general rule was truthful, was\nsatisfied with it--and, reader, so must you be.\n\n\"Never mind, Winny, you are mistress here, an' I don't want any\nexplanation; it wasn't that made me spake; but I'd be sorry th' ould\nblue teapot was bruck, for we have it since afore you were well in\nyour teens. You're lookin' very well this mornin', Winny agra.\"\n\n\"Hush, father; eat your cake, and don't talk nonsense. There's an egg\nthat black Poll laid this morning, and here's some butter I finished\nnot five minutes before you came in yesterday evening. Shall I give\nyou some tea?\"\n\n\"If you please, Winny dear.\" And the old man looked at his daughter\nwith undeniable admiration.\n\nThey then enjoyed a neat and comfortable breakfast, which indeed\nneither of them seemed in a hurry to bring to an end. The old man was\nconstrained and silent, and left all the talk to Winny, who, it must\nbe admitted, never felt it more difficult to furnish conversation. Old\nNed looked at her once or twice intently, as if wondering at her being\nmuch finer than usual; and then he looked at the breakfast gear; and\nthe expression of his face was as if he suspected something. These\nlooks, both at herself and the table, did not escape Winny's notice,\nbut she never met them, always interrupting any exclamation which was\nlikely to follow them with some question or remark of her own, such\nas, \"Do you like that cake, father?\" \"That is the muil cow's butter; I\nalways keep her milk by itself, and churn it in the small chum for\nyou, father; you said you liked it.\" \"Here, Bully-dhu, is a piece of\ncake for you.\"\n\nWith some such heterogeneous questions or remarks as these, she\nmanaged to parry his looks, or at all events the observations which\nwere likely to follow them, and direct for the moment--ah, Winny, it\nwas only for the moment!--his thoughts from whatever was upon them,\nand which Winny believed she knew right well.\n\nBut this suspense on both sides must come to an end. Old Ned, from his\nconversation with Mick Murdock, had determined not to speak to his\ndaughter until he knew Tom had done so. But Winny did not know this,\nand dreaded every moment a thunder-clap would come which she was\nherself preparing for her father, and she was anxious, if it was only\nfor the sake of propriety, to tell her story unprovoked.\n\nThe old man now stood up from the table, saying he would be likely to\nbe out all day, as he was preparing to get down some wheat. But Winny,\nwhen it came to the point, could only stammer out in a feeble voice,\nthat she wanted to speak to him before he went.\n\n\"Now's your time, Winny dear, for I have a great dale to do before\ndinner-time; an' I must be off to the men.\"\n\n\"Father dear, I may as well tell you at once--I'm in trouble--about\n--about--about--Tom--Murdock.\" And she threw her arms round his neck,\nand laid her cheek upon his shoulder.\n\n\"An' is that all, mavourneen? Ah, Winny, Winny, I knew it would come\nto this!--mavourneen macree, I knew it would. But there, Winny jewel,\ndon't be crying--don't be crying; sure you know I'm not the man to\ncross your wishes; no--no, my own girl, I'd neither oppose you nor\nforce you for 'the world; aren't you the only one I have on airth? an'\nsure isn't your happiness mine, Winny dear? There, Winny, don't cry;\nsure you may do as you like, mavourneen macree, you may.\"\n\nWinny knew that all this was uttered under a misconception, and it\ngave her but little comfort. There was {73} _one_ part of it, however,\nshe would not forget.\n\n\"Oh, father,\" she sobbed out upon his breast, \"Tom Murdock has asked\nme to marry him.\" And the tears rolled down her cheeks.\n\n\"Why then, Winny dear, dhry up them tears; sure I know they're on my\naccount, at the thoughts of partin' me; but won't you be livin' at the\ndoore with me while I last? Isn't it what I always hoped an' prayed\nfor?--och, Winny, Winny, but you're the lucky girl this day, an' I'm\nthe lucky man, for it will add ten years to my life.\"\n\nAnd he kissed her yielding lips over and over again. But she did not\nspeak; while the big tears continued to course themselves down her\npale but beautiful cheeks.\n\n\"Don't--don't, Winny asthore; don't be crying on my account; sure I\nmay say we'll not have to part at all. Mick an' I have it all settled,\nmavourneen; he's to build you a grand new house where th' ould one\nstan's, an' I'm to furnish it from top to toe; and Mick an' I will\nlive here, not three hundred yards from the pair of you. Oh, Winny,\nWinny, but it's I is the happy man this day! There, don't be cryin', I\ntell you; sure I would not gainsay you for the world;\" and he kissed\nher again. But still she did not speak.\n\n\"There, Winny, there; don't be sobbin' an' cryin', I tell you. Why,\nwhat's the matther with you, Winny mavrone?\"\n\n\"Oh, father, father, it never can be!\" she exclaimed in broken sobs,\nand clinging to his neck closer than ever.\n\n\"Nonsense, Winny! what's the matther, I say? why can't it be? Of\ncourse you did not refuse Tom's offer?\"\n\n\"I'd, father--indeed I did. I never can care for Tom Murdock; father,\nI could never be happy with that man. Don't ask me to marry him.\"\n\n\"Is the girl mad? To be sure I will, Winny. There's but the two of you\nin it an' with Mick's farm an' mine joined,--the leases are all as one\nas 'free simple,'--you'd be as grand as many ladies an' gentlemen in\nthe county;\" and he disengaged himself from her arms, and strode\ntoward the door.\n\nWinny thought he was going; but he had no notion of it at so unsettled\na point. She rushed between him and the door.\n\n\"Father, don't go!\" she cried; \"for God's sake don't leave me that\nway!\"\n\n\"Winny, it's what I'm greatly surprised at you, so I am. My whole life\nhas been spent in puttin' together a dacent little fortun' for you; I\nnever had one on airth I loved but yourself an' your poor mother--God\nrest her sowl! I never spoke a cross word to you, Winny jewel, since I\nfollowed her to the grave, four days after you were born; an' now, in\nmy old days, when I haven't long to last, you're goin' to break my\nheart, an' shorten them same. Oh, Winny, Winny, say it's only jokin'\nyou are, an' I'll forgive you, cruel as it was.\"\n\n\"No, father, I'm telling you the real truth; people seldom joke with\nthe tears running down their cheeks; look at them, father. I know all\nyou say is true; and indeed it will break my own heart to oppose you,\nif you do not yield. But listen here, father dear; sure after all your\nlove and kindness to me for the last eighteen or twenty years, I may\nsay, you won't go now and spoil it all by crossing my happiness\nwithout any necessity for it. Tom put all the grandeur and wealth\nbefore me himself, that the joining of the two farms and marrying him\nwould bring to me. But it is no use, father; I never liked that man,\nand I never can. Oh, don't ask me, father asthore; I'm contented and\nhappy as I am.\"\n\n\"Winny, I never found you out in a lie since you could first spake,\nan' I'm sure you won't tell me one now. Listen to me, Winny. Tom\nMurdock is a fine, handsome young fellow, an' {74} well to do in the\nworld, with a grand education, an' fit to hould his own anywhere; and\nI say he's any young girl's fancy, or ought to be, at any rate. You\nan' he have been reared at the doore with each other. What you are\nyourself, Winny asthore, I need not say, for every one that sees you\nknows it; and well they may, for sure you spake for yourself. It\nseldom happens--indeed, Winny, I never knew it--that a boy an' girl\nlike you an' Tom, reared at the doore that way, fail but what they\ntake a likin' to each other. It seems Tom done his part, both as to\nthe likin' an' spakin', as he ought to do in both; but you, Winny,\nhave done neither. Now, Winny, I can't but think that's very strange,\nan' I have but the one way to riddle it. Tell me now, honestly and\nplainly, is there any one that cum afore Tom in his request? Answer me\nthat, Winny?\"\n\n\"I win, father, honestly and truly. It is not that any one has come\nbetween me and Tom that made me refuse him. The very thing that you\nsay, of our being reared at the door with one another, has made me\ndislike him. I have seen too much of his ways, and heard too many of\nhis words, ever to like him, father; there is no use in trying to make\nme, for I never can.\"\n\n\"But, Winny jewel, you have hardly answered my question yet. Are you\nsecretly promised, Winny, to any other young man that you're afeard I\nwouldn't like? that's the plain question. The truth now, Winny,--the\ntruth, Winny!\"\n\n\"No, father, certainly not. Tom Murdock is the only man that ever\nasked me.\"\n\n\"Was there ever anything betune you an' young Lennon, Emon-a-knock, as\nI have heard you call him myself?\"\n\n\"Never, father; Emon never spoke to me upon such a subject, and\nfurther than that, he has paid me less compliments and spoken less to\nme upon any subject than fifty young men in the parish.\"\n\nIt so happened, however, that the name had hightened Winny's color,\nand her father, looking at her with an admiring and affectionate\nsmile, said:\n\n\"Fifty, Winny! well, in throth, I don't wonder at it, or a hundred an'\nfifty, if they were in the parish.\"\n\nWinny took advantage of his smile.\n\n\"There, father dear, don't be angry with your poor colleen; she'll do\nbetter than to marry riches with misery. Thank God, and you, father,\nshe will have more than enough without coveting Tom Murdock's share.\"\nAnd she held up her beautiful lips, and looked in the old man's face\nwith eyes swimming in tears.\n\nOld Ned had fought the battle badly, and lost it. He bent down his\nhead to meet his daughter's caress, and pressed her to his heart.\n\n\"There, Winny mavourneen,\" he exclaimed; \"I have not loved you as the\napple of my eye, since your poor mother died, for me to thwart you\nnow. You shall never marry Tom Murdock except with your own free will\nand consent, asthore. As you say, Winny dear, we neither want nor\ncovet his share. But sure, Winny dear, I thought you were for him all\nalong.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you, thank you a thousand times, father dear; that is so\nlike you. I knew you would not break your Winny's heart.\"\n\nBut Winny Cavana was too honorable, even toward the man she hated, to\ntell her father of the conversation she had overheard between old\nMurdock and his son at the gate. She had gained her cause without\nthat.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nTom Murdock had no fixed purpose in anywhere he went after Winny\nCavana left him discomfited upon the road. He wandered on past Kate\nMulvey's, on toward Shanvilla, but not with any hope or wish to come\n{75} across Edward Lennon. His intentions of \"dealing with him\" were\nyet distant and undefined. What naturally occupied his thoughts was\nthe humiliation he felt at Winny Cavana having refused him. Although\nhe had complained to his father \"that he did not think she was for\nhim,\" yet upon a due consideration of his personal appearance, and his\nposition in the country, he felt persuaded in his own mind that his\nfather was right, and that nothing was required to secure success but\nto go boldly and straightforward to work. Tom had hinted to his\nfather, although the old man had not observed it, or if so, had taken\nno notice of it, that there were more reasons than he was aware of for\nhis wishing to secure Winny Cavana's ready money at all events; and\nhis exclamation when his father spoke of only the interest, might have\nawakened him to the dread, at least, that there really was some cause,\nwith which he was unacquainted, why he dwelt so much more on the\nsubject of her fortune than the land. The fact was so. Tom Murdock was\na worse young man than any one--except his immediate associates--was\naware of. In addition to his other accomplishments, perhaps I should\nrather say his attributes, he possessed a degree of worldly cunning\nwhich would have sufficed to keep any four ordinary young men out of\ntrouble. But he required it all, for he had four times more\nvillany--not to answer for, for it was unknown, but on his\nconscience--than any young man of like age in the parish.\n\nOne great keeper of a secret--for the time being, at least--is plenty\nof money. With plenty of money you can keep people in the dark, or\nblind them with the brightness of the glare. You can keep them in the\ncountry, or you can send them out of it, as circumstances require. You\ncan bribe people to be silent, or to tell lies, as you like. But a\nvillain who has not plenty of money cannot thrive long in his villany.\nWhen his money fails, his character oozes out, until he becomes\nfinally exposed.\n\nTom Murdock had practically learned some of the above truths by his\nexperience in life, short as it was, better than anything he had\nlearned at Rathcash national school. The later part of it was what he\nnow feared, but did not wish to learn.\n\nTom could not have been in the habit of going to Dublin, to Armagh,\nand Sligo (no one knew in what capacity), three or four times a year,\nwhere he played cards and bet high, without money of his own;\nsupposing even that his expenses of the road (which was shrewdly\nsuspected) had been paid. He could not have sent half-a-dozen young\n_friends_ to America, and compromised scores of actions ere they came\nbefore a court of law, without money. He could not have kept a brace\nof greyhounds, and a race-mare, at Church's hotel in\nCarrick-on-Shannon, as \"Mr. Marsden's,\" without money; and more money\nin all these cases, from the secrecy which was required, than almost\nthe actual cost might involve. There were other smaller matters, too,\nwhich increased the necessity for Tom Murdock to be always in\npossession of some ready cash. This, from his position as heir to\nRathcashmore, and heir presumptive, if not apparent, to Rathcash\nalongside of it, he had as yet found no difficulty in procuring upon\nhis own personal security; and to do him justice, he had hitherto\navoided mixing up his father's name or responsibility in any of his\nborrowing transactions. Then there was the usurious interest which\nthese money-lenders, be they private or public, charge upon loans, to\nbe added to Tom's liabilities. If he was pressed by Paul, he robbed\nPeter to pay him; and when (after long forbearance) he was pressed by\nPeter, he robbed Paul back again. Upon all these and such-like\noccasions, Winny Cavana's fortune, which he said would be paid down,\nwas the promptest guarantee he could hold out for payment; for {76}\nultimately, he said, they could not lose, as he must some day or other\n\"pop into the old chap's shoes,\" and in the meantime he was paying the\ninterest regularly.\n\nWinny Cavana's instinct had not deceived her; but had she known\none-half as much as some of Tom Murdock's bosom friends could tell\nher, she would have openly spurned him, and not have treated his\nadvances with even the forced consideration she had done.\n\nHe wandered on now toward Shanvilla, without, as we have seen, any\nfixed purpose. Personally humiliated as he had been by Winny's refusal\nof him, his thoughts dwelt more upon the fact that he could no longer\nreckon upon her fortune to pay off the tormenting debts which were\nevery day pressing more heavily upon him; for he could not but believe\nthat her refusal of him would get abroad. The Peters had been robbed\noften enough, and they would now let the Pauls fight their battle the\nbest way they could with Tom Murdock himself; they were safe now, and\nthey would keep themselves so. They had told Tom this,--\"not that they\ndoubted him, but their money was now otherwise employed.\" Tom began to\nfear, therefore, that an exposure must soon break out.\n\nHow could he face his father, too? He would undoubtedly lay his\nfailure to the score of his own impetuous and uncouth manner of\nseeking her favor; for he had often charged him with both,\nparticularly toward Winny Cavana. One or two of his creditors had\ngiven up even the pretence of being civil, and had sworn \"they would\ngo to his father for payment, if not promptly settled with.\"\n\nIt was no great wonder if Tom wandered through the country with no\nfixed purpose, and finally arrived, tired and ill-humored, at his\nfather's house.\n\nThe old man had missed him \"from about the place\" all the forenoon,\nand had naturally set down his absence to the right cause. He had been\ncandid in his advice to his son, \"to spake up bowldly, and at wanst,\nto Winny;\" and he was sincere in his belief that she would \"take him\nhoppin.\" This day, suspecting he was on the mission, he had \"kep'\nhimself starvin',\" and delayed the dinner for his return. He had\nordered Nancy Feehily to have \"a young roast goose, an' a square of\nbacon, an' greens, for dinner agen misther Tom cem home.\" He\nanticipated \"grand chuckling\" over Tom's success, of which he made no\nmore doubt than he did of his own existence.\n\n\"At last, Tom a wochal, you're cum,\" he said, as his son entered the\ndoor. \"But where the sorra have you been? I think Winny's at home this\nbetther nor two hours, for I seen her going in. Well, Tom, you devil!\ndidn't I tell you how it id be?--_dhitidtch!_\" he added, making an\nextraordinary noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and\ngiving his son a poke in the ribs with his forefinger.\n\n\"No, but did not I tell you how it would be? There, father! that\nbubble's burst, and I'm sorry I ever made an _onshiough_ of myself.\"\n\n\"Faix, an', Tom, you must be an _onshiough_ if that bubble burst,\nunless it's what you blew it out yourself. Di ye mane to say you spoke\nto her plain, as I tould you to do, Tom avic?\"\n\n\"As plain as the palm of my hand, father. I put the whole thing before\nher in the kindest and fondest manner ever a man spoke. I told her how\nmy whole heart and soul was waiting for her this three or four years\npast--God forgive me for the lie.\"\n\n\"Amen, Tom, if it was one; but maybe it wasn't, man. You're vexed now,\nTom agra; but it won't be so. I tell you she only wants to see if\nyou'll folly her up afther she giving you one refusal. What did she\nsay, agra?\"\n\nHere Nancy Feehily brought in the roast goose and square of bacon,\nwith a dish of smoking \"Brown's fancies\" {77} in their jackets, and a\ncheck was given to the conversation. The old man, as he had said, had\n\"kep' himself starvin',\" and Tom could not keep himself from a like\ninfirmity in his ramble through the country. He was not one of those\nwho permitted a mental annoyance to produce a physical _spite_ in\nreturn; he did not, as they say, cut his nose to vex his face, nor\nquarrel with his bread and butter; so, between them, they did ample\njustice to Nancy Feehily's abilities as a cook.\n\n\"You don't mane to say she refused you, Tom?\" said the old man, after\nthe girl had left, and while he was waiting for his son to cut him\nanother slice of bacon.\n\n\"She did, father; but let me alone about her now: I'll tell you no\nmore until I make myself a rousing tumbler of punch after dinner. She\nshall not take away my appetite, at all events.\"\n\nNor did she. Tom never ate a better dinner in his life, and his father\nfollowed his example. Old Mick had taken the hint, and said no more\nupon the subject. There was nothing but helping of goose, and slices\nof bacon, and cutting large smiling potatoes through the middle, with\na dangerous sound of the knife upon the cloth, until the meal was\nended.\n\nThen, when the things had been removed, and Tom had made his rouser to\nhis satisfaction, and his father had done the same, Tom told him\nprecisely what had taken place between him and Winny Cavana.\n\nOld Murdock listened with an attentive stare until his son had told\nhim all. He then put out his tongue and made another extraordinary\nsound, but very different from the one already alluded to; and\nexclaimed, \"Bad luck to her impidence, say I!\"\n\n\"And I say amen, father.\"\n\n\"Tell me, Tom, do you think that fellow Lennon is at the bottom of all\nthis? Did you put that to her?\"\n\n\"I did, father, and she was not a bit puzzled or flustrificated about\nhim. She spoke of him free and easy; but she denied that there was\never a word between them but common civility.\"\n\n\"An' maybe it's the thruth, Tom avic. You'll find anyhow that she'll\nchange her tune afther her father gets spakin' to her on the subject.\nHe'll be as stout as a bull, Tom; I know he will. He tould me he'd\nnever give in, and that he'd threaten to cut her fortun' off, and make\nover his interest in the land to the church for charitable purposes,\nif she tuck up the smallest notion of that pauper,--that scullion, he\ncalled him. Don't be down about it, Tom. They say that wan swallow\nmakes no summer; an' I say, wan wild goose makes no winter. My advice\nto you now, Tom, is, to wait a while; don't be goin' out at all,\nneither here nor there for some time. I'll let on I don't know what\ncan be the matther with you; an' you'll see she'll come an' be hoppin'\nround you like a pet robin.\"\n\n\"I hope you are right, father, but I don't think so; I never saw a\nwoman more determined in my life--she took her oath.\"\n\n\"Pshaw, Tom, that's nothin'. Don't torment yourself about it now; mark\nmy words, her father will soon bring her to her senses.\"\n\n\"I do not much care whether he does or does not as to herself; only\nfor that six hundred pounds, the most of which I want badly. I would\nnot envy any man that was tied to the like of her.\"\n\n\"Arra, Tom jewel, what would you want wid the most of six hundred\npounds; sure if you got it itself, you oughtn't to touch a penny of\nit.\"\n\nTom had not intended to say what he had said; it slipped out in his\nvexation. But here his worldly cunning and self-possession came to his\naid, and he replied.\n\n\"Perhaps not, indeed, father; but there is a spot of land not far off\nwhich will soon be in the market, I hear, and it would be no bad\nspeculation to buy it. I think it would pay six or seven per cent\ninterest.\" Tom knew his father's weakness for {78} a bit of land, and\nwas ready enough.\n\n\"Oh, that's a horse of another color, Tom. Arra, where is it? I didn't\nhear of it.\"\n\n\"No matter now, father. I cannot get the money, so let me alone about\nit. I wish the d--l had the pair of them.\"\n\n\"Whist, whist, Tom avic; don't be talking in that way. Sure af it's a\nsafe purchase for six per cent., the money might be to be had. Thanks\nbe to God, we're not behouldin' to that hussey's dirty drib for\nmoney.\"\n\nHere a new light dawned upon Tom. Might he not work a few hundreds out\nof his father in some way or other for this pretended purchase, and\nthen say that it would not be sold after all; and that he had relodged\nthe money, or lost it, or was robbed--or--or--something? The thought\nwas too vague as yet to take any satisfactory shape; but the result\nupon his mind at the moment was, that his father was too wide awake to\nbe dealt with in that way.\n\n\"Well, father,\" he said, \"I shall be guided by your advice in this\nbusiness still, although I have done no good by taking it to-day; but\nlisten to me now, father.\"\n\n\"An' welcome, Tom. I like a young man to have a mind of his own, an'\nto be able to strike out a good plan; an' then, if my experience isn't\nable to back it up, why I spake plainly an' tell him what I think.\"\n\n\"My opinion is, father, that I ought to go away out of this place\naltogether for a while. You know I am not one that moping about the\nhouse and garden would answer at all. I must be out and going about,\nfather, or I'd lose my senses.\"\n\nThis was well put, both in matter and manner, and the closing words\ntold with crowning effect. Tom had said nothing but the fact; such\nwere his disposition and habits that he had scarcely exaggerated the\neffects of a close confinement to the premises, while of sound bodily\nhealth.\n\n\"Begorra, Tom, what you say is the rale thruth; What would you think\nof going down to your aunt in Armagh for a start?\"\n\n\"No use, father,--no use; I could be no better there than where I am.\nDublin, father, or the continent, for a month or six weeks, might do\nme some good.\"\n\n\"Bedads, Tom, that id take a power of money, wouldn't it?\"\n\n\"Whether you might think so or not, father, would depend upon what you\nthought my health and happiness would be worth; here I cannot and will\nnot stay, that is one sure thing.\"\n\n\"Well, Tom, af she doesn't cum round in short, afther her father opens\nout upon her, we'll talk it over, and see what you would want; but my\nopinion is, you won't have to make yourself scarce at all--mind my\nwords.\"\n\nHere Tom fell into such a silent train of thought, that all further\nconversation was brought to an end. Old Mick believed his son to be\nreally unhappy \"about that impideut hussey;\" and having made one or\ntwo ineffectual efforts \"to rouse him,\" he left him to his\nmeditations.\n\nAt the moment they were fixed upon a few of his father's closing\nwords, \"see what you'll want.\" \"Want--want!\" he repeated to himself.\n\"A dam' sight more than you'll fork out, old cock.\"\n\nOld Mick busied himself about the house, fidgeting in and out of the\nroom--upstairs and downstairs; while Tom was silently arranging more\nthan one programme of matters which must come off if he would save\nhimself from ruin and disgrace.\n\nHis father had ceased to come into the room; indeed his step had not\nbeen heard through the house or on the stairs for some time, and it\nwas evident he had gone to bed. But Tom sat for a full hour longer,\nwith scarcely a change of position of even hand or foot. At length,\nwith a sudden sort of snorting sigh, he stood up, stretched himself,\nwith a loud and weary moan, and went to his room.\n\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED.]\n\n\n--------\n{79}\n\nFrom The Dublin Review.\n\nMADAME R\u00c9CAMIER AND HER FRIENDS.\n\n\n_Souvenirs et Correspondance tir\u00e9s des Papiers de Madame R\u00e9camier,_\nParis: Michel L\u00e9vy Fr\u00e8res. 1859.\n\n\nWe took occasion in our number of last January to trace the fortunes\nof that distinguished lady who became consort of the greatest, though\nnot the best, of the kings of France. We saw her rise from obscurity\nto eminence, without being giddy through her elevation; resisting the\nfascinations of a licentious court; imbibing celestial wisdom from\nhidden sources in proportion to the difficulties of her position;\nexerting great influence without abusing the delicate trust; and at\nlength, bowed with age, retiring into the conventual seclusion of the\nestablishment her piety had reared, and there breathing her last amid\nthe love and admiration, the prayers and blessings, of a thousand\nfriends.\n\nWe have now another portrait to hang beside that of Frances de\nMaintenon--the portrait of one who in some respects resembled her;\nwho, rising, like her, from an inferior condition, was courted by an\nemperor, and betrothed, or all but betrothed, to a royal prince;\nwithstood innumerable temptations at a period of boundless corruption;\nconciliated the esteem and friendship of the best and wisest men, and\nthen glided into the vale of years through the peaceful shade of the\nAbbaye-aux-Bois. The first of these ladies was resplendent in talents,\nthe second in beauty; the one excelled in tact, the other in sweetness\nand grace; the one in the sphere of politics and public life, the\nother in the realm of letters and the private circle. If Madame de\nMaintenon was the most admired, Madame R\u00e9camier was the most loved.\nEach appeared under a sort of disguise, for one spoke and acted as if\nshe were not the wife of her own husband, and the other as if she were\nthe wife of him who was her husband only in name. Both have had\nviolent detractors; both are best known by their letters; and thus,\nwhere they agreed and where they differed, they remind us of each\nother. Of both France is proud, and both, as years pass on, are rising\ninto purer and brighter fame. At the same time it can by no means be\nsaid of Madame R\u00e9camier, as it may most truly of Madame de Maintenon,\nthat religion was the one animating principle of her life; yet the\nfacts which we have to recount will show--not, indeed, that religion\nsupplied her with the main ends of her existence, but that it enabled\nher in a corrupt age to follow the objects of her choice in habitual\nsubmission to God's actual commandments.\n\nJulie Bernard, the subject of the present memoir, was born at Lyons,\non the 4th of December, 1777. Her father, a notary of that city, was\nremarkable for his handsome face and fine figure, and Madame Bernard\nwas a noted beauty. She had a passion for show, and during the long\nillness which ended in her death in 1807, found her chief amusement in\ndress and ornaments. When Julie was seven years old, her father was\nappointed to a lucrative post in Paris, and left his little daughter\nat Villefranche, under the care of an aunt. Here the first of her\nnumberless admirers, a boy of her own age, made a deep impression on\nher susceptible mind, and here, too, she received her earliest\neducation in the convent of La D\u00e9serte. The memory of that hallowed\nspot, its clouds of incense, its processions in the garden, its hymns\nand flowers, abode with her, {80} she said, through life like a sweet\ndream, and to the lessons there taught she ascribed her retention of\nthe faith amid the host of sceptical opinions she encountered in after\nyears. It was not without regret and tears that she bade farewell to\nthe abbess and sisters, and turned her face toward Paris and the\nattractions of her parents' home. Nothing but accomplishments were\nthought of to complete her education. The brilliant capital was to\nsupersede the \"D\u00e9serte\" in her affections, and her mother took great\npains to make Juliette as frivolous as herself. Her chief attention\nwas given to music, she was taught to play the harp and piano by the\nfirst artists, and took lessons in singing from Bo\u00efeldieu. This was a\nreal gain, though in a different way from that which was intended. We\nshall see further on how the skill thus acquired was afterward\nemployed in the service of religion, and how the habit of playing\npathetic airs and pieces soothed many a sad moment when she was old\nand blind.\n\nHer first contact with royalty was by accident. Her mother had taken\nher to see a grand banquet at Versailles, to which, as in the days of\nLouis XIV., the public were admitted as spectators. Juliette was very\nbeautiful, and the queen, struck by her appearance, sent one of her\nladies to ask that she might retire with the royal family. Madame\nRoyale was just of the same age as Juliette, and the two children were\nmeasured together. Madame Royale also was a beauty, and not\nover-pleased, it seems, by this close comparison with a girl taken out\nof a crowd. How little could either foresee the strange fortunes that\nawaited the other!\n\nMadame Bernard, with her love of display, took a pride also in\ngathering clever men around her. Laharpe, Lemontey, Barr\u00e8re, and other\nmembers of the legislative assembly, frequented her drawing-room, and\nM. Jacques R\u00e9camier, an eminent banker of Paris, and son of a merchant\nat Lyons, was a constant guest. His character was easy and jovial; he\nwrote capital letters, spouted Latin, made plenty of money, spent it\nfast, and was often the dupe of his generosity and good humor. He had\nalways been kind to Juliette, and had given her heaps of playthings.\nWhen, therefore, in 1793, he asked her hand in marriage, she consented\nwithout any repugnance, though Madame Bernard explained to her the\ninconveniences which might arise from their disparity of age, habits,\nand tastes--M. R\u00e9camier being forty-two and Juliette only fifteen. The\nwedding took place; but their union is a mystery which has never been\nsolved with certainty. To her nominal husband she was never anything\nbut a daughter. Her niece, Madame Lenormant, says she can only attest\nthe fact, which was well known to all intimate friends, but that she\nis not bound (_charg\u00e9e_) to explain it. Madame M----, another\nbiographer, believes, as did many beside, that she was in reality M.\nR\u00e9camier's daughter; that, living, as every one did during the reign\nof terror, in fear of the guillotine, he wished to be able to leave\nher his fortune in case of his death, and, in the meantime, to place\nher in a splendid position; that Madame R\u00e9camier, made aware of her\nreal parentage, would of course be the last to reveal and publish her\nmother's shame; and that this story, carefully borne in mind, explains\nall the anomalies of her life.\n\nTo this strange alliance, however, is due the formation of the most\nremarkable literary salon of the present age. It represented more\nperfectly than any other those of the H\u00f4tel Rambouillet and of Madame\nde Sabl\u00e9 in the seventeenth century; of Madame Geoffrin, Madame\nd'Houdetot, and Madame Suard, in the eighteenth;  [Footnote 5] and it\nsurpassed in solid attractions those of Madame de Sta\u00ebl at Coppet, and\nof Madame d'Albany of {81} Florence, of which it was the contemporary.\nShe was herself its life, and diffused over it a charm no biographer\ncan seize. So young and fair, so fascinating yet so innocent, she\nriveted every gaze, and attracted all hearts without yielding to any.\nLike the coloring of a landscape which changes every hour, she defied\ndescription, and found no adequate reflex save in the fond esteem and\nfaithful memory of those who knew her. Yet her nearest and dearest\nfriends felt that she was above them; and it might be said of her, as\nSaint-Simon said of the Duchess de Bourgogne, that she walked like a\ngoddess on clouds. Her beauty made her popular, and she was talked of\neverywhere; for the Parisians at this time, like refined pagans,\naffected the worship of beauty under every form. She seemed,\ntherefore, by general consent, to have a natural mission to restore\nsociety, which a series of revolutions had completely disorganized,\nand her power of drawing people together and harmonizing what party\npolitics had unstrung, became more apparent every day. By birth she\nbelonged to the people, by tastes and manners to the aristocracy, and\nhad thus a double hold over those who, with republican principles,\nwere fast returning to early associations of rank and order.\n\n  [Footnote 5: _\"Causeries du Lundi,\"_ par Sainte-Beuve. Tome i, pp.\n  114, 115.]\n\nIt was a happy day when the churches were re-opened in Paris, and the\nsoft swelling notes of the _O Salutaris Hostia_ filled the crowded\nfanes once more. It was as the paean of the faithful over the\nscattered army of unbelief. Madame R\u00e9camier was in request. She held\nthe plate for some charitable object at Saint-Roch, and collected the\nextraordinary sum of 20,000f. The two gentlemen who attended her could\nscarcely cleave a way for her through the crowd. People mounted on\nchairs, on pillars, and the altars of the side chapels, to see her. In\nthese days, dancing was her delight. She was the first to enter the\nball-room, and the last to quit it. But this did not last long. She\nsoon gave up the shawl-dance, for which she was famous, though nothing\ncould be more correct and picturesque than the movements she executed\nwhile, with a long scarf in her hands, she made it by turns a sash, a\nveil, and a drapery--drooping, fluctuating, gliding, attitudinizing,\nwith matchless taste. Her reign was absolute. In the promenades of\nLongchamps, no carriage was watched like hers; and every voice\npronounced her the fairest.\n\nTwice only in her life did she meet Bonaparte, and to most persons in\nher position and at that period those moments would have proved fatal.\nHis eye was as keen for female charms as for weak points in the\nenemy's line. He saw her first in 1797, during a triumphal f\u00eate given\nat the Luxembourg palace in his honor. He had just returned from his\nmarvellous campaign in Italy and genius was reaping the laurels too\nseldom bestowed on solid worth. Madame R\u00e9camier was not insensible to\nhis military prowess. She stood up to observe his features more\nplainly, and a long murmur of admiration filled the hall. The young\nconqueror turned his head impatiently. Who dared to divide public\nattention with the hero of Castiglione and Rivoli? He darted a harsh\nglance at his rival, and she sank into her seat. But the beautiful\nvision rested in his memory. He saw her once again, about two years\nlater, and spoke with her. It was at a banquet given by his brother\nLucien, then minister of the interior. Madame R\u00e9camier as usual was\nall in white, with a necklace and bracelets of pearls. The First\nConsul paid her marked attention, and his words, though insignificant\nin themselves, meant more than met the ear. His manners, however, were\nsimple and pleasing, and he held a little girl of four years old, his\nniece, by the hand. He chid Madame R\u00e9camier for not sitting next him\nat dinner, fixed his gaze on her during the music, sent Fouch\u00e9 to\nexpress to her his admiring regard, and told her himself that he {82}\nshould like to visit her at Clichy. But Juliette, though respectful,\nwas discreet. Time flowed on; Napoleon became emperor, and from the\ngiddy height of the imperial throne bethought him of the incomparable\nlady in white. He had a double conquest to make. Her ch\u00e2teau was the\nresort of emigrant nobles who had returned to France, and whose\nsympathies were all with the past. To break up her circle, to gain her\nover to his interests, to enhance by her presence the splendor of his\ndissolute court, were objects well worthy of his plotting, ambitious,\nand unscrupulous nature. Fouch\u00e9 was again employed as tempter. He\nremonstrated with her on the species of opposition to the emperor's\npolicy which was fostered in her salons, but found her little disposed\nto make concessions, or avow any liking for the despot. His genius and\nexploits, she admitted, had dazzled her at first, but her sentiments\nhad entirely changed since her friends had been persecuted, the Duc\nd'Enghein put to death, and Madame de Sta\u00ebl driven into exile. In\nspite of these frank avowals, which were equally respectful and\nfearless, Fouch\u00e9 persisted in his design, and in the park around\nMadame R\u00e9camier's elegant retreat, urged her, in the emperor's name,\nto accept the post of _dame du palais_ to the empress. His majesty had\nnever yet found a woman worthy of him, and it was impossible to say\nhow deep might be his affection for one like her; how wholesome an\ninfluence she might exert over him; what services she might render to\nthe oppressed of all classes; and how much she might \"enlighten the\nemperor's religion!\" Madame Murat, to her shame, seconded these\nproposals, and expressed her earnest desire that Madame R\u00e9camier\nshould be attached to her household, which was now put on the same\nfooting as that of the empress. To these reiterated advances, Madame\nR\u00e9camier returned the most decided refusal, alleging, by way of\ncourtesy, her love of independence as the cause. At last, foiled and\nirritated, Fouch\u00e9--the Mephistopheles of the piece--quitted Clichy,\nnever to return.\n\nThe consular episode in Madame R\u00e9camier's life has made us anticipate\nsome important events. We must return to the first years of her\nmarriage. It was in 1798 that some negotiations between her husband\nand M. Necker, the ex-minister of Louis XVI., brought her in contact\nwith that statesman's celebrated daughter, Madame de Sta\u00ebl. At their\nfirst interview a sympathy sprung up between the two ladies, which\nended in a lasting friendship. Madame R\u00e9camier lived in her friends,\nand her circle was a host ever increasing, for she always talked much\nand fondly of the friends of former years. She could say, like the\nCid, \"five hundred of my friends.\" Yet she had her degrees of\nattachment. They were, to use the beautiful simile of Hafiz, like the\npearls of a necklace, and she the silken cord on which they lay. The\nchief of this favored circle were four--Madame de Sta\u00ebl among\nwomankind, and for the rest Chateaubriand, Ballanche, and Montmorency.\n\nM. Necker's h\u00f4tel in the Rue du Mont-Blanc having been purchased by M.\nR\u00e9camier, no cost was spared in its decoration. It was a model of\nelegance, and every object of furniture down to the minutest ornament\nwas designed and executed expressly for it. Here the opulent husband\nwas installed, while the fair hostess held her court at the ch\u00e2teau of\nClichy. M. R\u00e9camier dined with her daily, and in the evening returned\nto Paris. No political distinction prevailed in her assemblies, but\nthe restored emigrants were peculiarly welcome. Like Madame de Sta\u00ebl,\nChateaubriand, and almost all reflective persons in our age, she\nthought monarchy had better be limited by a parliament than, as\nTalleyrand said, by assassination. Yet revolutionary generals and\nmilitary dukes gathered round her, side by side with the Duc de\nGuignes, Adrien and {83} Mathieu de Montmorency, and other\nrepresentatives of the fallen aristocracy. In her presence they forgot\ntheir difference at least for awhile, and lost insensibly the asperity\nof party prejudice.\n\nDuc Mathieu de Montmorency was Madame R\u00e9camier's senior by seventeen\nyears. He had served in America in the regiment of Anvergne, of which\nhis father was colonel, and on his return to France abandoned himself\nto all the pleasures and fashions of the world. His residence in the\nland of Penn and Washington had imbued him with republican notions,\nwhich he shared with a clique of young noblemen like himself. Such\npersons, as is well known, were among the earliest victims of the\nrevolution they hurried on. Duc Mathieu emigrated in 1792, and soon\nafterward learned in Switzerland that his brother, the Abb\u00e9 de Laval,\nwhom he tenderly loved, had been beheaded. Remorse filled his breast,\nand drove him almost to madness. He charged himself with his brother's\ndeath. It was he who had proposed in the states general the abolition\nof the privileges of nobility, approved the sequestration of church\nproperty, and strengthened the hands of Mirabeau and the power of that\nassembly which paved the way for regicide and the reign of terror.\nMadame de Sta\u00ebl was his intimate friend. She had shared his political\nenthusiasm, and did all in her power to soothe him. But religion alone\ncould pour balm into his smarting wounds. His conversion was complete\nand lasting. The impetuous, seductive, and frivolous young man became\nknown to all as a fervent and strict Christian. Sainte-Beuve speaks of\nhim as a \"saint.\" Extreme delicacy of language indicated the inward\ndiscipline he underwent; while the warmth of his feelings and the\nsolidity of his judgment inspired at the same time confidence and\nregard. His friendship for Madame de Sta\u00ebl continued, though their\nreligious convictions differed, and he was alive to the imperfections\nof her character. He hoped one day to see her triumph over herself,\nand his solicitude for Madame R\u00e9camier was equal, though in another\nway. Over her he watched continually like a loving parent. He trembled\nlest she should at last fall a victim to the gay world which so much\nadmired her, and which she sought to please. To shine without sinning\nis difficult indeed. Montmorency's letters prove the depth and purity\nof his affection. His intimacy with his _amiable amie_ lasted unbroken\nduring seven-and-twenty years, and ended only with his death.\n\nMontmorency's death was the fitting sequel of a holy and useful life.\nIt happened in 1826. He had recently been elected one of the forty of\nthe French Academy, and had also been appointed governor to the Duc de\nBordeaux, the grandson and heir of Charles X. He had gone to the\nchurch of St. Thomas d'Aquin on Good Friday, apparently in perfect\nhealth, and was kneeling before the altar and the \"faithful cross on\nwhich the world's salvation hung,\" when his head bowed lower, and in a\nmoment the bitterness of death was past.\n\nLaharpe was another distinguished man to be numbered among the lovers\nof Madame R\u00e9camier's society. He had known her from a child, and when\nhis exquisite taste in literature had obtained for him the title of\nthe French with his regard was not lessened for one whose reputation\nwas as flourishing as his own. He passed weeks at Clichy, and when he\nreopened his course of lectures on French literature at the Atheneum\nshe had a place reserved for her near his chair. The letters she\nreceived from him are equally affectionate and respectful. He too had\nbeen converted through the excesses of that revolution which he had in\nthe first instance encouraged. After suffering imprisonment in 1794,\nhis ideas and conduct underwent a total change, and he resolved to\ndevote his pen for the rest of his days to the service of religion.\n{84} The energy with which he denounced \"philosophers\" and demagogues\ndrew upon him proscription, and it was only by concealing himself that\nhe escaped being transported. Of all revolutions, that of France in\nthe last century has, by the horror it excited and the reaction it\nproduced, tended more than any other to consolidate monarchy,\ndiscredit scepticism, and promote the salvation of souls. It is a\nbeacon-fire kindled to warn nations of the rocks and shoals--the\nfaults of rule and the crimes of misrule--by which society may\nsuddenly be broken up and civilization retarded.\n\nMontmorency was a statesman, Laharpe a man of letters; let us now turn\nto another friend of Madame R\u00e9camier's, who from a private soldier\nrose to be a king and leave a dynasty behind him. This was Bernadotte.\nIn 1802, M. Bernard was postmaster-general, and suspected of\ncomplicity in a royalist correspondence that menaced the government.\nMadame R\u00e9camier was one day entertaining a few guests at dinner, and\nEliza Bonaparte, afterward Grand Duchess of Tuscany, was present by\nher own invitation. On rising from table a note was placed in the\nhands of the hostess announcing the arrest and imprisonment of M.\nBernard. To whom should she have recourse at such a moment but to the\nFirst Consul's sister? She must see him, she said, that very evening.\nWould Madame Bacciocchi procure her an interview? The princess was\ncold. She would advise Madame R\u00e9camier to see Fouch\u00e9 first. \"And where\nshall I find you again, madam, if I do not succeed?\" asked Madame\nR\u00e9camier. \"At the Th\u00e9\u00e2tre Fran\u00e7ais,\" was the reply; \"in my box with my\nsister.\"\n\nNothing could be gained from Fouch\u00e9 except the alarming information\nthat the affair was a very serious one, and that unless Madame\nR\u00e9camier could see the First Consul that night it would be too late.\nIn the utmost consternation she drove to the Th\u00e9\u00e2tre  to remind Madame\nBacciochi of her promise. \"My father is lost,\" she said, \"unless I can\nspeak with the First Consul to-night.\" \"Well, wait till the tragedy is\nover,\" replied the princess, with an air of indifference, \"and then I\nshall be at your service.\" Happily there was one in the box whose dark\neyes, fixed on the agonized daughter, expressed clearly the interest\nhe felt in her position. He leant forward, and explaining to the\nprincess that Madame R\u00e9camier appeared quite ill, offered to conduct\nher to the chief of the government. Madame Bacciocchi readily\nassented, and gladly resigned the suppliant to Bernadotte's charge.\nAgain and again he promised to obtain that the proceedings against M.\nBernard should be stopped, and repaired immediately to the Tuileries.\nThe same night he returned to Madame R\u00e9camier, who was counting the\nmoments till he re-appeared. His suit had been successful, and he soon\nafter procured the prisoner's release. Madame R\u00e9camier accompanied him\nto the Temple on the day M. Bernard was delivered. He was deprived of\nhis post, for, though pardoned, he had undoubtedly been guilty of a\ntreasonable correspondence with the _Chouans_.\n\nThis was the foundation of Bernadotte's friendship with Madame\nR\u00e9camier. \"Neither time,\" he wrote to her, when adopted by Charles\nXIII., as his son and heir--\"neither time nor northern ice will ever\ncool my regard for you.\" He had many noble qualities, and did much for\nSweden. We could forgive him for joining the coalition against France,\nif he had not embraced Lutheranism for the sake of a crown.\n\nDuring the short peace of Amiens, in 1802, Madame R\u00e9camier visited\nEngland, where she received the kindest attentions from the Duchess of\nDevonshire, Lord Douglas, the Prince of Wales, and the Duc d'Orleans,\nafterward king of the French. Those who can refer to the English\nnewspapers of that year will find that {85} all the movements of the\nbeautiful stranger were regularly gazetted.\n\nBut where is Madame de Sta\u00ebl? In the autumn of 1803 she was exiled by\nBonaparte, who feared her talents and disliked her politics. As the\ndaughter of Necker and the friend of limited monarchy, she was\nparticularly obnoxious to one who represented both democracy and\nabsolutism. Madame R\u00e9camier, with her habitual generosity, offered her\nan asylum at Clichy, which she accepted, under the impression that her\nfurther removal from Paris would not be insisted on. Junot, afterward\nthe Duc d'Abrantes, their mutual friend, interested himself in her\nbehalf, but without success. Her sentence of exile was confirmed; she\nwas not to approach within forty leagues of the capital. So she\nwandered through Germany, and collected materials for her\n\"_Allemagne_\" and \"_Dix ann\u00e9es d'Exil._\" At Weimar she studied German\nliterature under Goethe, Wieland, and Schiller, and in 1805 held her\ncourt at Coppet in the Canton de Vaud. Here occurred, as we shall\npresently see, one of the most singular episodes in Madame R\u00e9camier's\nlife. She, with Madame de Sta\u00ebl in Switzerland, and Madame d'Albany in\nFlorence, divided the empire of literary salons on the continent; and\neach of these ladies felt in turn the weight of the despot of Europe's\nsceptre.  [Footnote 6] In 1810 the writer of \"_Corinne_\" became the\nguest of Mathieu de Montmorency, near Blois, and within the prescribed\ndistance from Paris. In the ch\u00e2teau of Catherine de Medici she\ncollected round her a few friends, who were fearless of annoyance and\nexile. But her work on Germany abounded with allusions to the imperial\npolice. The whole edition of ten thousand copies was seized, and she\nreceived an order from the Duc de Rovigo to return immediately to\nSwitzerland Madame R\u00e9camier, faithful and courageous, followed her,\nthough timid advisers prophesied that no good would come of such\nimprudence. She stayed there only a day and a half, and then pursued\nher way in haste to Paris. But the sentence of exile had already gone\nforth against her. The calm and religious Duke Mathieu had just before\nexpiated in like manner the crime of visiting the illustrious exile.\nHer book on Germany did not contain a line directly against the\nemperor; but it was enough that the authoress's heart beat with the\npulses of rational freedom, and the Corsican's tyranny became minute\nin proportion to the territory over which it spread. Thus the ladies,\nwho so loved each other, were not only exiled, but separated. Rivers\nrolled and Alps rose between them; lest, perchance, they should\ncombine their elegant and harmless pursuits.\n\n  [Footnote 6: \"_Comtesse d'Albany_,\" par M. St. R\u00e9ne Taillandier, p.\n  229.]\n\nThe limits allowed us in this article do not admit of our tracing the\nevents of Madame R\u00e9camier's life in strict chronological order, and\nbringing out by degrees the character and history of her several\nfriends. Each of them in turn will lead us away from the main thread\nof our story, and we hope that our readers will follow us with\nindulgence when we are obliged to take it up again rather awkwardly.\nWe cannot do otherwise than mass together many things which had better\nbe kept apart.\n\nOne day, in the autumn of 1806, Monsieur R\u00e9camier brought some dismal\nnews to Clichy. The financial condition of Spain and her colonies,\ncombined with other untoward events, had placed his bank in such\njeopardy that, unless the government could be induced to advance him\n\u00a340,000 on good security, he must stop payment within two days. A\nlarge party had been invited to dinner; and the hostess, suppressing\nher emotions with extraordinary self-command, did the honors of her\nhouse in a manner calculated to obviate alarm. It was a golden\nopportunity for imperial vengeance, and it was not lost. All aid from\nthe Bank of France was {86} refused, and the much-envied Maison\nR\u00e9camier was made over, with all its liabilities, to the hands of its\ncreditors. So cruel a reverse was enough to try the fortitude of the\nmost Christian. Nor was Madame R\u00e9camier found wanting in that heroic\nquality. Indeed, there are few women who, taken all in all, would\nserve better to enforce Eliza Famham's ingenious arguments for the\nsuperiority of her sex.  [Footnote 7] While her husband's spirit was\nalmost broken under the blow, she calmly, if not cheerfully, sold her\nlast jewel, and occupied a small apartment on the ground floor of her\nsplendid mansion. The rest of the house was let to Prince Pignatelli,\nand ultimately sold. The French have their faults--great faults; what\nnation has not?--but let us do them the justice to say that in their\nfriendships they are faithful. The poor wife of the ruined banker was\nas much honored and courted by them in her adversity as she had been\nwhen surrounded with every luxury and every facility for hospitable\nentertainments. Let those who would form an idea of the sympathy\nexpressed by her friends read that touching letter of Madame de Sta\u00ebl\nwhich Chateaubriand has preserved.  [Footnote 8] The opulent and gay,\nthe learned, the brilliant, the serious, came in troops to that garden\nof the hotel in the Rue du Mont Blanc, where the unsullied and queenly\nrose was bending beneath the storm. The jealous emperor, at the head\nof his legions in Germany, heard of the interest she excited; for\nJunot, just returned from Paris, could not refrain from reporting at\nlength what he had seen. But Napoleon interrupted him with impatience,\nsaying, \"The widow of a field-marshal of France, killed on the\nbattle-plain, would not receive such honors!\" And why should she? Is\nthere no virtue but that of valor? Are there no conquests but those of\nthe sword?\n\n  [Footnote 7: \"Woman and Her Era.\" 2 vols. New York.]\n\n  [Footnote 8: In the \"_M\u00e9moires d'Outre-Tombe._\"]\n\n\nThe trial which Juliette bore so patiently was fatal to her mother.\nMadame Bernard's health had long been declining; laid on a couch, and\nelegantly attired, she received visits daily; but her strength gave\nway altogether when her daughter fell from her high estate. She little\nknew that Madame R\u00e9camier was on the very point of having a royal\nprince for her suitor. Only three months after the failure of the bank\nMadame Bernard passed away, deeply lamented by her loving daughter,\nwhom filial piety made blind or indulgent to her imperfections.\n\nPrince Augustus of Prussia was a nephew of Frederick the Great.\nChivalrous, brave, and handsome, he united very ardent feelings with\ncandor, loyalty, and love, of his country. He had, in October, 1806,\nbeen made prisoner at the battle of Saalfeld, where his brother,\nPrince Louis, had fallen fighting at his side. The mourning he still\nwore added to his dignity, and the society and scenery in the midst of\nwhich Madame R\u00e9camier first met him, deepened the charm of his\npresence and devoted attentions.\n\nIt was in 1807, on the banks of the lake of Geneva, hallowed to the\nthoughtful mind by so many historic associations, and encircled by all\nthe gorgeous loveliness of which nature is so lavish in the valleys of\nthe Alps. There in the ch\u00e2teau of Madame de Sta\u00ebl, Juliette listened\nduring three months to his earnest conversation, and heard him propose\nthat she should be his bride. Her marriage with M. R\u00e9camier presented\nno real difficulty; it was a civil marriage only; the peculiar case\nwas one in which the Catholic Church admits of declaration of nullity;\nand for which, in Protestant Germany, legal divorce could very easily\nbe obtained. Madame de Sta\u00ebl's imagination was kindled by this\nromantic incident, and she did not fail to second the prince's suit.\nJuliette herself was fully alive to the honors that were proposed her.\nIt was no impoverished refugee that sought her hand. Though a prisoner\n{87} for the moment, he would, doubtless, soon be set at liberty, and\nhe was as proud as any of his exalted rank. Yielding, therefore, to\nthe sentiments he inspired, Madame R\u00e9camier wrote to her husband to\nask his consent to a separation. This he could not refuse; but, while\ngranting it, he seems to have appealed to her feelings with a degree\nof earnestness which profoundly touched her heart. He had, he said,\nbeen her friend from childhood; and, if she must form another union,\nhe trusted it would not take place in Paris, nor even in France. His\nletter turned the current of her desires. She thought of his long\nkindness, his age, his misfortune, and resolved not to abandon him.\nReligious considerations may also have weighed with her, for Prince\nAugustus did not hold the true faith. He had, moreover, two natural\ndaughters, the countesses of Waldenburg, and this circumstance also\nmay have indisposed her to the match.  [Footnote 9] He had, as she\nonce said, many fancies. Would a morganatic marriage bind his\nwandering heart, or could she endure the pain of being expatriated for\never? They parted without any definite engagement, but he repaired to\nBerlin to obtain his family's consent. Madame R\u00e9camier returned to\nParis; and, though she declined the honor of his hand on the ground of\nher responding imperfectly to his affection, she sent him her\nportrait, which he treasured till the day of his death. A ring which\nshe also gave him was buried with him, and they never ceased while on\nearth to correspond in terms of the warmest friendship. In 1815 the\nprince entered Paris with the victorious legions of allied Europe,\nhaving written to his friend from every city that he entered; and in\n1825 they had their last interview in the Abbaye-aux-Bois.\n\n  [Footnote 9: \"Madame R\u00e9camier,\" by Madame M----]\n\nWe must now follow her into exile. It was in the latter part of 1811\nthat she took up her abode in the dreary town of Ch\u00e2lons-sur-Marne,\nwhich happened to be just as far from Paris as she was required to\nlive, and no further. The prefect was an amiable man, and retained his\npost during forty years, enjoying the confidence of each government in\nsuccession. But that which alleviated most the dulness of Ch\u00e2lons was\nits neighborhood to many beloved friends, particularly Montmorency. In\nJune, 1812, however, she quitted it for Lyons, being unwilling to\ncompromise those who were most ready to console her in exile. Many a\nch\u00e2teau round had claimed the happiness of entertaining her; but to be\nkind to those who are suspected is always to draw suspicion on one's\nself. Renouncing many delights within her reach, she had sought one of\nthe purest in playing the organ in the parish church, both during the\nweek and on Sundays at high mass and vespers. She did the same at\nAlbano during her stay there in the ensuing year.\n\nItaly, and above all Rome, attracts sooner or later whatever is most\ncultivated in mind and taste. Thither, in 1813, Madame R\u00e9camier turned\nher steps. She was attended by her niece and her maid. Montmorency\naccompanied her as far as Chambery, and her carriage was well supplied\nwith books, which M. Ballanche had selected to beguile the tedium of\nthe way. This gentleman was the son of a printer at Lyons, and his\ngenius became his fortune. His prose writings were considered a model\nof style, and ultimately obtained him a place in the French Academy.\nNeglecting subjects of the day, he uniformly indulged his fondness for\nabstract speculation, and in several works ingeniously set forth his\nideas on the progress of mankind through alternate periods of revival\nand decay.  [Footnote 10] He was profoundly Christian at heart, but\ncoupled his belief in the fall and redemption with peculiar notions\nrespecting human perfectibility.\n\n  [Footnote 10: \"_Institutions Sociales,_\" 1818. \"_Paling\u00e9n\u00e9sis\n  Sociale._\" 1830]\n\n{88} His mind was dreamy, his system mystical, but he realized\nintensely the existence of things unseen, and declared that \"he was\nmore sure of the next world than of this present.\" He mistrusted,\nindeed, the reality of material phenomena, and rested in the thought\nof two, and two only, luminously self-evident beings, himself and his\ncreator. But genius is a dangerous gift to the student of theology,\nand perhaps Ballanche would have been more sound if he had been less\nclever. From the moment he saw Madame R\u00e9camier, he became ardently\nattached to her society. Her praise was his richest reward, and the\nprospect of reading his essays and poems to her more than doubled the\npleasure of composing them. The first time he conversed with her a\ncurious incident occurred. After getting over the difficulty he\nexperienced in talking on ordinary topics, he had risen to a higher\nstrain, and expatiated in glowing language on philosophical and\nliterary subjects, till Madame R\u00e9camier, who had for some time been\nmuch incommoded by the smell of the detestable blacking with which his\nshoes had been cleaned, was obliged to tell him timidly that she\nreally could not bear it any longer. M. Ballanche apologized humbly,\nleft the room, and, returning a minute later without his shoes, took\nup the conversation where he had dropped it, and was soon in the\nclouds again. But his shoes were not his only drawback. He was\nhideously ugly, and that by a cruel mishap. A charlatan, like the one\nwho practiced upon Scarron, had prescribed such violent remedies for\nhis headaches that his jaw had become carious, and a part of it was\nremoved by trepanning. A terrible inroad was made on one of his cheeks\nby this operation; but his magnificent eyes and lofty forehead\nredeemed his uncomely traits, and amid all his awkwardness and\ntimidity his friends always discerned an expression of tenderness and\noften a kind of inspiration breathing from his face. Madame R\u00e9camier's\ntalents were of a high order, for she could appreciate those of\nothers. She soon forgot Ballanche's shoes, forgot his ungainly\nmovements and ghastly deformity, and fixed her gaze on that inner man\nwhich was all nobility and gentleness, glowing with poetry, and\nsteeped in the dews of Hermon. Let us leave him now at Lyons; we shall\nmeet him again before long.\n\nThere was a vast and dreary city toward the south of Italy which had\nonce been called Rome. It was now the capital of the department of the\nTiber. Without the Caesars or the Pope, it was Rome no more. No\nforeigners thronged its streets and fanes, its prelates were\nscattered, and its scanty inhabitants looked sullenly on the Frank\nsoldiers who turned its palaces and sanctuaries into barracks. Hither\ncame Madame R\u00e9camier, and her apartment in the Corso was soon hailed\nas an oasis in the wilderness. All the strangers in the deserted\ncapital, and many of the Romans, paid their court to this queen of\nsociety; and Canova, one of the few stars left in the twilight,\nvisited her every evening, and wrote to her every morning. He\nchiselled her bust as no hand but his could chisel it, and seized\nideal beauty while copying what was before him. He called it\n\"Beatrice,\" and it was worthy of the name. Ballanche, too, came all\nthe way from Lyons to visit the universal favorite. He travelled night\nand day, and could remain at Rome only one week. The very evening of\nhis arrival Madame R\u00e9camier began to do the honors of the Eternal\nCity. Three carriages full of friends drove from her house to St.\nPeter's and the Coliseum, where they all alighted. Ballanche moved\nsolemnly, with his hands beside him, overpowered by the grandeur of\nall around. On a sudden his _parfaite amie_ looked back. He was not\nwithout his shoes this time, but without his hat. \"M. Ballanche,\" she\nsaid, \"where is your hat?\" \"Ah!\" replied the philosopher, \"I have left\nit at Alexandria.\" And so it was--so {89} little did his thoughts\ndwell on external life.\n\nFrom  Rome the travellers proceeded to Naples. A cordial welcome\nawaited Madame R\u00e9camier from Caroline Bonaparte, whom she had known of\nold. A page from the royal palace brought her a magnificent basket of\nfruit and flowers immediately on her arrival, and she soon became the\nconfidante of both king and queen. Joachim Murat sat on a usurped\nthrone, and was reaping the bitter fruits of a false position. Duty\nbound him to Napoleon, interest to the allies. First he was perfidious\nto his master, next to his colleagues. One day he entered his wife's\nsaloon in great agitation, and finding Madame R\u00e9camier, avowed to her\nthat he had signed the coalition. He then asked her opinion of his\nact, taking it for granted that it would be favorable. But, though not\nan imperialist, she was a Frenchwoman. \"Sire!\" she replied, \"you are\nFrench, and to France you should be faithful.\" Murat turned pale. \"I\nam a traitor then,\" he exclaimed, and, opening the window in haste,\npointed to the British fleet sailing into the bay. Then burying his\nface in his hands, he sunk upon a sofa and wept. The year after,\nfaithless alike to Europe and to the empire, a tempest cast him on the\nshore of Pizzo, and he was taken and shot like a brigand.\n\nA dense crowd was collected in the Piazza del Popolo to see the entry\nof Pius VII., after the Apollyon of kingdoms had been sent to Elba.\nThe Roman nobles and gentleman headed the procession, and their sons\ndrew the pontiff's carriage. In it he knelt, with his hair unsilvered\nby age, and his fine face expressing deep humility. His hand was\nextended to bless his people, but his head bowed before the almighty\ndisposer of human events. It was the triumph of a confessor rather\nthan of a sovereign--of a principle, not of a person. Never did such a\nrain of tears fall on the marble paving at St. Peter's as when at last\nhe traversed the church and prostrated himself before the altar over\nthe tomb of the apostles. Then the _Te Deum_ rose and echoed through\nthose gorgeous arches, and Madame R\u00e9camier was not insensible to the\naffecting scene. Before leaving Rome the second time, she paid a\nfarewell visit to General Miollis, who had commanded the French\nforces. He was extremely touched by this civility, and received her in\na villa he had bought, and which still bears his name. He was quite\nalone, with an old soldier for his servant. She was, he said, the only\nperson who had called upon him since he had ceased to govern Rome.\n\nAfter three years' absence she returned to Paris, and, still radiant\nwith beauty and overflowing with gladness, resumed her undisputed\nempire over polite society. Her husband had regained his lost ground,\nand was again a prosperous banker, while she possessed in her own\nright a fortune inherited from her mother. The restoration of Louis\nXVIII. had changed the face of her salon and of society in general.\nHer friends were once more in power, and those who had vexed her and\nthem were banished or forgotten. The Duke of Wellington often visited\nher, and she presented him to Queen Hortense. He shocked her, however,\nafter the battle of Waterloo, by saying of Napoleon, \"I have well\nbeaten him!\" She had no love for the ex-emperor; but France was her\ncountry, and she could not exult over its defeat. Her niece declares\nthat Wellington was not free from intoxication with his success, and\nthat nothing but the indignant murmurs of the pit prevented him from\nentering the royal box with his aides-de-camp.  [Footnote 11] Madame\nde Sta\u00ebl died in 1817, and her friend, Mathieu de Montmorency,\ngathered up with piety and hope every indication of a religious spirit\nwhich she had left behind. She never raised her eyes to heaven without\nthinking of him, and she believed that {90} in his prayers his spirit\nanswered hers.  [Footnote 12] Prayer, she wrote, was the bond which\nunited all religious beings in one, and the life of the soul. Sin and\nsuffering were inseparable, and she had never done wrong without\nfalling into trouble. During the long sleepless nights of her last\nillness she repeated constantly the Lord's prayer to calm her mind,\nand she learned to enjoy the \"Imitation of Jesus Christ.\"\n\n  [Footnote 11: \"_Souvenirs de Madame R\u00e9camier_,\" vol. i., p.268.]\n\n  [Footnote 12: \"_Dix ann\u00e9es d'Exil._\" ]\n\nThe void she left in Madame R\u00e9camier's circle was filled by one whose\nwritings were, the talk and admiration of Europe. This was\nChateaubriand. Professor Robertson has lately brought him very\nagreeably to our remembrance in his able and interesting lectures on\nmodern history. The Duc de Noailles, that contemporary, as he has been\ncalled, of Louis XIV., pronounced his eulogy when taking his place in\nthe French Academy, and he has left us his biography in the most\ncharming form in which that of any one can be read, viz., written by\nhimself. The portrait a man draws of himself in writing rarely\ndeceives; for the very attempt to falsify would betray the real\ncharacter. Chateaubriand's vanity escapes him in his memoirs as\nfrequently as it did in his conversation, yet there cannot be a doubt\nthat he had great qualities, and has built himself an enduring name.\nThat extreme refinement of thought which is inseparable from genius\nmakes him difficult to appreciate, and the phases of society through\nwhich he passed were so conflicting as to be fatal to the consistency\nof almost all public men. Yet he was on the whole faithful through\nlife to his first principles. At one time he defended monarchy, at\nanother freedom, pleading most eloquently for that which for the\nmoment seemed most in danger. He knew the value of their mutual\nsupport, and, like all who move on a double line, he was often\nmisunderstood. Born of an ancient and noble family, he chose at the\nsame time the profession of arts and arms. The popular excesses of\n1791 drove him from Paris, and he embarked for America. There, in the\nimmense forests and savannas of Canada and the Floridas, often living\namong savages, he stored up materials for his early romances, and\nacquired that grandeur and depth of coloring in descriptions of\nnatural scenery for which he is so remarkable. He was near the\ntropics, in the land of the fire-fly and hummingbird, when he heard of\nthe flight of Louis XVI. and his arrest at Varennes. Hastening back to\nrejoin the standard of his royal master, he again took arms, and was\nseriously wounded at the siege of Thionville. From Jersey he was\ntransported to London, where he lived in extreme want, taught French,\nand translated for publishers. Here, too, he produced his first work,\nwhich was tainted with the infidelity of the day. The death of his\npious mother recalled him to a better mind, and awakened in him a\ntrain of thought which issued at length in the \"_G\u00e9nie du\nChristianisme._\" \"_Atala_\" and \"Ren\u00e9,\" likewise under the form of\nromance, serving as episodes to his great work, avenged the cause of\nreligion, and powerfully aided in producing a reaction in favor of\nChristianity. The First Consul hailed the rising star, and attached\nhim as secretary to Cardinal Fesch's embassy at Rome. In 1804 he had\njust been appointed to represent France in the republic of Valais,\nwhen he heard of the odious execution of the Duc d'Enghien, and\nimmediately sent in his resignation. He could serve a ruler who had\nbrought order out of chaos, but not an assassin. From that day he\nnever ceased to be hostile to the empire. After wandering, as Amp\u00e8re\ndid later, along the classic shores of Greece and the monuments of\nEgypt, and kissing the footprints of his Redeemer on the mount of\nCalvary, he returned to France, and in the Vall\u00e9e-aux-Loups composed\nhis prose poem, the \"Martyrs,\" in {91} which, as in \"Fabiola\" and\n\"Callista,\" the glowing imagery of pagan art is blended with the\nethical grandeur of the religion of Christ. A place was awarded him in\nthe French Academy, which he was not permitted to take till the\nBourbons were restored. Their return filled him with joy, and a\npamphlet he had written against Bonaparte was said by Louis XVIII. to\nhave been worth an army to his cause. On the escape of Napoleon from\nElba he accompanied the king to Ghent, and, on re-entering Paris, was\nraised to the peerage and made minister of state. In 1816, having\npublished his \"Monarchy according to the Charter,\" he lost the royal\nfavor and his honorary title. His work, however, continues to this day\n\"a textbook of French constitutional law.\"  [Footnote 13]\n\n  [Footnote 13: Robertson's \"Lectures,\" p. 291.]\n\nSuch was the statesman, apologist, philosopher, and poet who, in his\nforty-ninth year, obtained an ascendancy over Madame R\u00e9camier's\nimagination so complete that the religious Montmorency trembled, and\nthe thoughtful Ballanche dreamed some ill. They thought, too, that her\nmanners changed toward them, but she soon restored their confidence.\nIt would be vain, indeed, to deny that her regard for Chateaubriand\ncaused her many anxious thoughts and secret tears, particularly when,\nafter a few years, he neglected her for the din of political debate\nand the society of beings less exalted and pure. But this estrangement\nwas only temporary, and both before it and after it, till he died, her\ndaily task was to soothe the irritability to which poets are said to\nbe especially subject; to amuse him herself, as Madame de Maintenon\namused Louis XIV.; and to surround him with those who, for her sake as\nwell as for his, labored for the same charitable end.\n\nAnother reverse befel her in 1819. M. R\u00e9camier fouled again, and\n\u00a34,000, which his wife had invested in his bank, went with the rest.\nTrusting in the security of his position, she had shortly before\npurchased a house in the Rue d'Anjou and furnished it handsomely.\nThere was a garden belonging to it, and an alley of linden-trees,\nwhere Chateaubriand tells us he used to walk with Madame R\u00e9camier. But\nthe house and garden were sold, and the occupant removed to a small\napartment in the quaint old Abbaye-aux-Bois. She placed her husband\nand M. Bernard with M. Bernard's aged friend in the neighborhood, and\ndined with them, her niece, Ballanche, and Paul David every day. In\nthe evening she received company, and her cell soon became the\nfashion, if not the rage. It was an incommodious room, with a brick\nfloor, on the third story. The staircase was irregular; and\nChateaubriand complains of being out of breath when he reached the\ntop. A piano, a harp, books, a portrait of Madame de Sta\u00ebl, and a view\nof Coppet by moonlight, adorned it. Flower-pots stood in the windows;\nand in the green garden beneath nuns and boarders were seen walking to\nand fro. The top of an acacia rose to a level with the eye, tall\nspires stood out against the sky, and the hills of S\u00e8vres bounded the\ndistant horizon. The setting sun used to gild the picture and pierce\nthrough the open casements. Birds nestled in the Venetian blinds, and\nthe hum of the great city scarce broke the silence.\n\nHere Madame R\u00e9camier received every morning a note from Chateaubriand,\nand here he came at three o'clock so regularly that the neighbors, it\nis said, used to set their watches by his approach. Few persons were\nallowed to meet him, for he was singular and exclusive; but, when\nevening closed, the _\u00e9lite_ of France and half the celebrities of\nEurope found their way here by turns. The Duchess of Devonshire and\nSir Humphrey Davy, Maria Edgeworth, Humboldt, Villemain, Montalembert,\nAlexis de Tocqueville, and Sainte-Beuve were frequent guests, and so\nalso was one who {92} deserves more special notice, Jean Jacques\nAmp\u00e8re.\n\nIt was on the 1st of January, 1820, that his illustrious father\npresented him, then in his twentieth year, to the circle of friends\nwho met at the Abbaye-aux-Bois.  [Footnote 14] The enthusiasm with\nwhich he spoke, the gentleness of his disposition, the nobility of his\nsentiments, and the brilliancy of his talents, soon secured him a high\nplace in Madame R\u00e9camier's esteem. He attached himself to her with an\nardor that never cooled, and that appeared quite natural to the elder\nguests who had long experienced her magical influence. During the\ncareer of fame which he ran her counsels were his guide, and her\ngoodness his theme. However deep his studies, however distant his\nwanderings, among the surges of the Categat or the pyramids of the\nPharaohs, his thoughts always reverted to her, and letters full of\nrespect and devotion proved how amiable was his character, how\nobservant and gifted his mind.\n\n  [Footnote 14: _Le Correspondant_, Mai, 1864, p. 46.]\n\nIn November, 1823, he and the faithful Ballanche accompanied her to\nItaly. Her niece, whom she treated as a daughter, was suffering from a\npulmonary complaint, and change was thought desirable for her.\nChateaubriand's visits had grown less frequent. A political rivalry\nalso had sprung up between her dearest friends, Chateaubriand having,\nin December, 1822, accepted the office of minister of foreign affairs\nvacant by the resignation of Mathieu de Montmorency. They disdained\nalike riches and honors, but each was bent on the triumph of a\nconviction, and on linking his name with a public act. Many thorns\nbeset her path in consequence of their disunion, and absence for a\ntime from France seemed to offer several advantages. She fully\npossessed the confidence of Madame de Chateaubriand, and all who knew\nthe _capricieux immorel,_ as that lady called her husband, were of\nopinion that by going to Italy she might avoid many occasions of\nbitterness, and recall him to a calmer and nobler frame.\n\nNearly a month was passed in the journey from Paris to Rome. The\ntravellers paused in every town, and explored its monuments, churches,\nand libraries. During the halt at midday, and again in the evening,\nthey talked over all they had seen, and read aloud by turns. Ballanche\nand his young friend Amp\u00e8re discussed questions of history and\nphilosophy, and Madame R\u00e9camier gave an air of elegance to an\napartment in the meanest inn. She had her own table-cloth to spread,\ntogether with books and flowers; and her presence alone, so dignified,\nso graceful, invested every place with the charm of poetry. Ballanche\nand Amp\u00e8re projected a guide-book, and thus the latter was\nunconsciously laying up stores for that graphic \"Histoire Romaine \u00e0\nRome,\"  [Footnote 15] on which his reputation as an author mainly\nrests. The year was just closing when they arrived in Rome. It was\nhere that he met Prince Louis Bonaparte, the present emperor, who was\nthen a boy, and here he had long and frequent conversations with\nPrince Napoleon, his elder brother, while Queen Hortense, then called\nthe Duchess of Saint-Leu, was walking with Madame R\u00e9camier in the\nColiseum, or the campagna around the church of St. John Lateran or the\ntomb of Cecilia Metella. Rome was then the asylum of the Bonapartes,\nas it has ever been the home of the outcast and the consolation of the\nwretched. The aspect was greatly changed since the former visit Pius\nVII. had lately yielded up his saintly spirit to God, and Leo XII. sat\non his throne. The f\u00eates and ceremonies that attended his elevation\nwere all over except that of the pontifical blessing given from the\nbalcony of St Peter's. Madame R\u00e9camier took her place beside the\nDuchess of Devonshire in joint sovereignty over society at Rome. {93}\nThe Duc de Laval, Montmorency's cousin, who was then the French\nambassador, placed his house, horses, and servants at her disposal,\nand began or ended every evening with her. The duchess just mentioned\nwas in her sixty-fourth year, and preserved the traces of remarkable\nbeauty. Her eyes were full of fire, her skin was smooth and white. She\nwas tall, erect, queenly, and thin as an apparition. Her skeleton\nhands and arms were like ivory, and she covered them with bracelets\nand rings. Her manners were distinguished, and she seemed at the same\ntime very affectionate and rather sad.\n\n  [Footnote 15: Published in the _Revue des Deux Mondes,_ 1866-67.]\n\nThe long friendship which subsisted between this English Protestant\nlady and Cardinal Consalvi was not the least singular feature in her\nhistory. Her intimacy with Adrien and Mathieu de Montmorency was such\nthat they always called her the _duchesse-cousine_, though they were\nnot related to her at all. The Duc de Laval, whom she had known in\nEngland, writes thus of her to Madame R\u00e9camier, in May, 1823:\n\n  \"The duchess and I are agreed in admiring you. She possesses some of\n  your qualities, and they have been the cause of her success though\n  life. She is of all women the most attaching. She rules by\n  gentleness, and is always obeyed. What she did in her youth in\n  London, that she now recommences here. She has all Rome at her\n  disposal--ministers, cardinals, painters, sculptors, society, all\n  are at her feet.\"\n\nHer days, however, were dwindling to a close, as were those also of\nCardinal Consalvi. Just seven months after the decease of Pius VII.\nthat eminent statesman followed him to the tomb. All Rome went to see\nhim laid in state--all except Madame R\u00e9camier, who, full of the sorrow\nwhich the duchess would feel for his loss, and imagining that she\nwould only be pained by such idle curiosity, drove to the solitude of\nthe villa Borghese. On alighting from her carriage, she saw the tall\nand elegant figure of the duchess in deep mourning, and looking the\npicture of despair. To her astonishment the latter proposed that they\nshould go and see the lifeless cardinal. It was, indeed, a solemn\nscene. The chaplains had retired for a brief space to dine, and the\npublic were excluded. The ladies only entered to take their last look\nof human greatness. There he lay--the steady foe of the French\nrevolution and the imperial despot, the minister of two popes during\nfive-and-thirty years, the able and successful nuncio at the congress\nof Vienna. There he lay in the sleep of death, with his purple round\nhim, and with his features still beautiful, calm, and severe.\n\nMadame R\u00e9camier and her niece fell on their knees, praying fervently\nfor the departed, and still more so for the lonely friend beside them,\nwho had survived all the affections of her youth. She did not long\nsurvive. In March, 1824, she expired after a few days' illness. No one\nhad been allowed to approach her till the last moment and for this\nextraordinary exclusion different reasons are assigned. Madame\nR\u00e9camier and the Duc de Laval believed that it was through fear lest\nshe should declare herself a Catholic. They were admitted just before\nthe vital spark was extinguished, and she died while they knelt beside\nher, and Madame R\u00e9camier held her wan hand, and bathed it with tears.\nAfter again visiting Naples, after excursions round the gulf, and\nreading as she went the glowing descriptions of Chateaubriand and de\nSta\u00ebl, while the ardent Amp\u00e8re and the meditative Ballanche supplied\ntheir living comments, Madame R\u00e9camier returned to spend her second\nwinter in Rome, and enjoy the society of the Duc de Noailles and\nMadame Swetchine. The duke was in his twenty-third year, and she used\nto say that he was the last and youngest of those whom she called her\nreal friends. His subsequent history of Madame de Maintenon proves how\njust a claim he had to be so regarded.\n\n{94}\n\nMadame Swetchine, when she arrived in Rome, was imbued with some\nprejudices against Madame R\u00e9camier, but they vanished at the first\ninterview, and the love that sprang up between them was of the holiest\nkind:\n\n  \"I feel the want of you (she wrote in 1825) as if we had passed a\n  long time together, as if we had old associations in common. How\n  strange that I should feel so impoverished by losing what a short\n  time since I did not possess! Surely there is something of eternity\n  in certain emotions. There are souls--and I think yours and mine are\n  among the number--which no sooner come in contact with each other\n  than they throw off the conditions of their mortal existence, and\n  obey the laws of a higher and better world.\"\n\nAfter an absence of eighteen months, Madame R\u00e9camier returned to\nParis. It was in May, 1825. Charles X. was being consecrated at\nRheims, and both Chateaubriand and Montmorency were there for the\nceremony. When the former received a line to inform him that the cell\nin the Abbaye was again occupied, he lost no time in paying his usual\nvisit at the same hour as before. Madame R\u00e9camier's residence in Italy\nhad produced the desired effect on him. His fitful mood was over. Not\na word of explanation or reproach was heard, and from that day to his\ndeath, twenty-three years later, the purest and most perfect harmony\nexisted between them. He had again fallen from power, and had been\nrudely dismissed. His only crime had been silence. He would not\nadvocate the reduction of interest on the public debt, which appeared\nto him an act of injustice. How many would be half ruined by the\nchange from five to three per cent! He abstained from voting. De\nVill\u00e8le was incensed, and a heartless note informed one of the\ngreatest men in France that his services were no longer needed. By a\nstrange mishap he did not receive it at the right time, went to the\nTuileries, attended a levee, and was going to take his place at a\ncabinet council, when he was told that he was no longer admissible. He\nhad ordered his carriage for a later hour, and was now obliged to walk\nback in his full court robes through the streets of Paris. He long and\nbitterly remembered this ungenerous treatment. In his opposition to\nthe Vill\u00e8le ministry he displayed prodigious talent; and in January,\n1828, it gave place to that of Martignae, and he was himself appointed\nambassador at Rome.\n\nAmong the letters he wrote during his embassy, there is one very brief\nand touching, addressed to the little Greek Canaris, then educated in\nParis by the Hellenic committee. The emancipation of the Christians of\nthe East, whether Catholic or schismatic, was an object dear to\nChateaubriand's heart, as well as to the royalists in general. The\nquestion was not embarrassed by those false views of freedom which\nmake many who love it afraid to speak its praise lest they should seem\nto countenance its abuse. \"My dear Canaris,\" he says, \"I ought to have\nwritten to you long ago. Pardon me, for I am full of business. My\nadvice to you is this: Love Madame R\u00e9camier. Never forget that you\nwere born in Greece, and that my country has shed its blood for the\nfreedom of yours. Above all, be a good Christian; that is, an honest\nman submitting to the will of God. Thus, my dear little friend, you\nwill keep your name on the list of those famous Greeks of yore where\nyour illustrious father has already inscribed it. I embrace\nyou.--Chateaubriand.\" How delighted must the young Athenian have been\nto carry this note to the Abbaye-aux-Bois the next time he went to\nvisit Madame R\u00e9camier, as he did on almost every holiday!\n\nWe have already spoken of Mathieu de Montmorency's singular death.\nMadame R\u00e9camier was one of the first to hear of it. She hastened to\nsit beside the corpse of her revered friend, and mingled her tears\nwith those of his mother and widow. The {95} latter, who had always\nbeen attached to her, now became her intimate companion, and, when she\ncame to Paris, stayed at the Abbaye expressly to be near her. Even\nChateaubriand, who had been Montmorency's political rival, joined the\ntrain of mourners, and composed a prayer on the occasion for Madame\nR\u00e9camier's use. It is somewhat inflated, and breathes the language of\na poet rather than of a Christian. It ends thus: \"O miracle of\ngoodness! I shall find again in thy bosom the virtuous friend I have\nlost! Through thee and in thee I shall love him anew, and my entire\nspirit will once more be united to that of my friend. Then our divine\nattachment will be shared through eternity.\" These expressions are\noverstrained; but they illustrate the character of Madame R\u00e9camier's\naffection for her male friends. Of these Chateaubriand became\nhenceforward the chief, and his letters to her from Rome, together\nwith his subsequent intercourse with her in Paris, form the most\nimportant part of her remaining history. Everything was summed up in\nhim,--diplomacy, politics, literature: he was to her, and not to her\nonly, their chief representative. His correspondence, as preserved by\nher niece, is sparkling and pointed, full of incident, and especially\ninteresting to those who remember Rome during the last years of Leo\nXII. and the pontificate of Pius VIII. Three letters a week reached\nher while his embassy lasted, and he has inserted several of them in\nhis \"_M\u00e9moires_,\" though not without dressing them up a little for\nposterity. Veneration and regard for her is their key-note. _Mille\ntendres hommages_, he writes. _Que je suis heureux de vous aimer!_ But\nFrench politeness always sounds strange and fulsome when dissected in\nEnglish. In May, 1829, he obtained leave to return to Paris for a\ntime, and he was welcomed at the Abbaye by numerous admirers. There he\nread aloud his \"_Moise,_\" in the presence of Cousin, Villemain,\nLamartine, M\u00e9rim\u00e9e, and a host of _literati_ beside. There he\nexpressed all his fears for the ancient dynasty under the guidance of\nPrince Polignac. He had no personal feeling for the minister, save\nthat of friendship. But he could discern the signs of the times. He\nsought an audience of the king, to warn him of the reefs on which he\nwas being steered; but he was no favorite with Charles X., and his\nrequest was refused. Yet he might, if his counsels had been listened\nto, have saved his master from exile and France from the revolution of\nJuly. The crown was in his idea above all things except the law. He\nwould neither abandon the charter for the king, nor the king for the\ncharter. The ordinances of July were subversive of the constitution,\nbut the moment they were recalled he was on the monarch's side.\n\nIt was too late to stem the tide of insurrection. A ducal democrat was\ncalled to the throne. His partisans and those of the dethroned\nsovereign did not usually mix in society; but the salon in the Abbaye\nwas an exception to every rule. There and at Dieppe, in the bathing\nseason, the royalists Grenarde and Chateaubriand constantly met\nBallanche, Amp\u00e8re, Lacordaire, and Villemain, who welcomed the new\nregime. Madame R\u00e9camier, with admirable tact, kept them in social\nharmony, and her efforts in this direction were the more praiseworthy\nbecause she was not indifferent to their respective bias. She had\nalways loved the old dynasty, both because of its hereditary rights\nand the glorious associations attached to it in history. She lamented\nthe shortsightedness of the Polignac ministry; but she lamented still\nmore the accession of Louis Philippe, which drove the greater part of\nher friends into the obscurity of private life.\n\nIn April, 1830, her husband died. He was then in his eightieth year,\nand during his last illness was removed to the Abbaye, that he might\nbe surrounded by every sort of attention. In taste, character, and\nunderstanding he differed from Madame R\u00e9camier {96} as widely as\npossible. They had but one quality in common: each was good and kind.\nNotwithstanding the singularity of their tie, they lived together\nthirty-five years without any disagreement. M. Bernard and his old\nfriend Simonard were also gone. Madame Lenormant was married, and\nthough the family circle that used to dine at the Abbaye was no more,\nsome faithful friends, such as Ballanche and Paul David, met daily at\nthe widow's hospitable board. The former of these was especially\ndisappointed by the fall of the elder Bourbon branch. He had hoped to\nsee its alliance with that moral, political, and social progress which\nwas the dream of his existence. Elective monarchy now seemed to hold\nout better prospects of his _paling\u00e9n\u00e9sie sociale_.\n\nThe attitude assumed by Chateaubriand at this period was such as to\ncommand general respect. He attempted, but in vain, to procure the\nrecognition of Henry V., and to place his rights under the protection\nof the Duke of Orleans. Then, declining to take the oath of allegiance\nto Louis Philippe, he retired from the peerage, and gave up his\npension. The friends, however, from whom he differed were delighted to\nperceive that his cordiality with them in private was in no degree\nlessened. But there was a circle within the circle that frequented the\nAbbaye, and it was in 1832 that the Duc de Noailles became enrolled\namong the select few. This was owing in part to the sympathy which\nexisted between him and Chateaubriand, and the high estimate which the\nlatter formed of his judgment. Neither was he so dazzled by the future\nof society as to forget or despise its past. Both found in the history\nof the kings of France the sources of all subsequent improvement. The\nDuc de Noailles did not come alone to the Abbaye. His regard for\nMadame R\u00e9camier was such that he brought with him every member of his\nfamily whom he thought most worthy of her acquaintance, and invited\nher in turn and her friends to grace with their presence the fair\ndomain of Maintenon. Here, surrounded by souvenirs of Louis XIV.,\nChateaubriand took notes for a chapter in his \"Memoirs,\" which was not\ninserted, but given in manuscript to Madame R\u00e9camier. It fills\nseventeen pages, and forms one of the most striking parts of the\nvolume under review. The writer recalls the delicious gardens he has\nvisited in Greece, Ithaca, Grenada, Rome, and the East, and compares\nthem with the surroundings of the ch\u00e2teau of Maintenon. He touches on\nmany salient points in the history of that remarkable lady who bought\nit in 1675, and whose corpse had, in his own day, been dragged round\nthe sacred enclosure of St. Cyr with a halter round the neck. He then\npasses to the night spent in the ch\u00e2teau by Charles X., when the king,\ndriven from the seat of government, dismissed his Swiss Guards, and\nplaced himself almost in the condition of a prisoner. It was in Madame\nR\u00e9camier's drawing-room that the auto-biography for which this\ndescription was intended was first published, and that in the way so\nfashionable among the ancient Romans and still common in France--by\nthe author's reading it aloud to an assembly of friends. Thus Statius\nread his \"Thebais,\"  [Footnote 16] thus Alfieri his tragedies, at\nRome. The readings of the \"_M\u00e9moires d'outre Tombe_\" spread over two\nyears, and his fame extended so fast that it was difficult to find\nroom for those who craved admittance. Publishers, also, were eager to\npurchase the manuscript, to be printed at the writer's death; and some\nroyalist friends availed themselves of this circumstance to obtain for\nhim a pension for life. The excitement attending the recitals relieved\nhis ennui, and literary labor helped to pay his debts. The work\nitself, though intensely interesting to all who heard it and felt\npersonally interested in the events it recorded, is too lengthy,\ndetailed, peevish, {97} and egotistic to add much to Chateaubriand's\nfame. Any theme he handled was sure to call forth eloquence and\ngenius; but himself was the very worst subject he could choose,--the\nworst, not, perhaps, for the entertainment of his readers, but for the\nreputation of the writer.\n\n  [Footnote 16: Juvenal, Sat. VII., 82-86.]\n\nIn October, 1836, Louis Napoleon made his attempt at Strasburg, and\nhaving been arrested, was brought to Paris for trial. His mother, the\nex-queen Hortense, fearing lest her presence there might only add to\nhis danger, paused at Viry, and allowed her devoted follower, Madame\nSalvage, to proceed. This lady, relying on Madame R\u00e9camier's fidelity\nto her friends, repaired immediately to the Abbaye, and, with a\nportfolio of treasonable correspondence, sought an asylum there. On\nthe morrow, Madame R\u00e9camier visited the queen, or, to speak more\ncorrectly, the Duchess of St. Leu, at Viry, and found her in extreme\ndistress. Her worst fears, indeed, were over. The prince's life was\nspared, but, before his trial was concluded, he was shipped off to New\nYork. The prospect of thus losing him afflicted the duchess greatly,\nfor she had a mortal malady, and knew that her time on earth could not\nbe long. The next year, in fact, Louis Napoleon, informed of her\ndangerous illness, hastened to Europe to see her once more. In 1840 he\nagain asserted, at Boulogne, his claim to the throne. He was tried by\nthe chamber of peers, and Madame R\u00e9camier, though she had been obliged\nto appear and answer some questions before the _juge d'instruction_,\nwas not deterred by this annoyance from asking permission to visit the\nprisoner. She saw him at the _Conciergerie_, not through attachment to\nhis cause, but for his departed mother's sake. Two years after, when\nimprisoned in the fortress of Ham, he sent her his \"_Fragmens\nHistoriques_.\" In writing to her, he said: \"I have long wanted to\nthank you, madam, for the kind visit you paid me in the\n_Conciergerie_, and I am happy to have the opportunity now of\nexpressing my gratitude. . . . . You are so accustomed to delight\nthose who approach you, that you will not be surprised at the pleasure\nI have felt in receiving a proof of your sympathy, and in learning\nthat you feel for my misfortunes.\" Enclosed in this letter was another\nfor Chateaubriand, much longer, and highly creditable to the prince's\ntalents and good taste. In it he declared his intention of beguiling\nhis prison hours by writing a history of Charlemagne as soon as he\nshould have collected the necessary materials. The prominent place\nwhich that prince held in his thoughts is strikingly brought before us\nin the preface to his \"Julius Caesar.\" In 1848, when fortune smiled,\nand he arrived in Paris already elected deputy, one of his first\nvisits was to the Abbaye-aux-Bois. It was just after the death of\nChateaubriand, and Madame R\u00e9camier had not the pleasure of seeing him.\nIn another year, she had entered into her rest, and he was far on the\nturbulent way to an imperial throne.\n\nWe must not forget to mention among her friends one with whom we may\nbe excused for having more sympathy than with Napoleon III. This was\nFrederic Ozanam. He was born in 1813, and was still a student, and in\nhis twentieth year, when first presented by Amp\u00e8re to Madame R\u00e9camier.\nChateaubriand was much struck by him, and he was present at several\nreadings of the \"_M\u00e9moires_.\" But he came to the Abbaye rarely, and\nwhen his friend Amp\u00e8re asked him the reason, he replied:  \"It is an\nassembly of persons too illustrious for my obscurity. In seven years,\nwhen I become professor, I will avail myself of the kindness shown\nme.\" With rare modesty, the young man kept his word. In seven years,\nand no less, he took his place in the renowned circle. His talents\nwere already appreciated, and though timid and all but awkward, his\nconversation often {98} broke through the restraints of habit, and\nswept along its shining course as if he were surrounded by his pupils\nin the lecture-room. Every year added to his celebrity. His character,\nhis philosophy, his scholarship, were all Christian, and his\nprofessional life was devoted to one end. He vindicated the moral and\nliterary attainments of the middle ages against modern\ndetractors--against those who mean by the dark ages the ages about\nwhich they are in the dark. He traced in all his works the history of\nletters in barbarous times, and showed how, through successive periods\nof decadence and renaissance, the Church has ever been carrying\nforward the civilization of mankind.  [Footnote 17] His publications\nhave been edited by friends of whom he was worthy--Lacordaire and\nAmp\u00e8re; and who would come to lay a votive wreath on Madame R\u00e9camier's\ntomb, without having one also for the grave of Ozanam?\n\n  [Footnote 17: \"_La Civilisation au Ve Si\u00e8cle_,\" etc.]\n\nThe winter of 1840-41 was a disastrous one for Lyons and its\nneighborhood. The swollen waters of the Rhone and Saone rising,\noverflowed their banks, and ravaged the surrounding country with\nresistless violence. The government was not slow to relieve the\nsufferers, and public as well as private charity poured in from every\nquarter. Madame R\u00e9camier felt deeply for her native city, and resolved\non making an extraordinary to aid it in its distress. She organized a\n_soir\u00e9e_ to which persons were to be admitted by tickets. These were\nsold at twenty francs each, but were generally paid tor at a higher\nrate. Lady Byron gave a hundred for hers. Rachel recited _Esther;_\nGarcia, Rubini, and Lablache sang; the Marquis de V\u00e9rac placed his\ncarriages at their disposal; and the Duc de Noailles supplied\nrefreshments, footmen, and his _ma\u00eetre d'h\u00f4tel_. The Russians residing\nin Paris were especially active in disposing of tickets; Chateaubriand\nfrom eight o'clock to the end of the _soir\u00e9e_ did the honors of the\nsaloon by which the company entered. Reschid-Pacha sat on the steps of\nthe musician's platform, half buried beneath waves of silk and\nflowers. The rooms were adorned with exquisite objects of art, and\n4,390 francs were received and transmitted to the mayor of Lyons.\nSixty poor families were selected by the cur\u00e9s to receive this bounty;\nMadame R\u00e9camier having requested that it might not be broken up into\npetty sums. In the midst of the glittering throng that assembled in\nthe old Abbaye that evening, it is said that she eclipsed them all in\nbeauty and grace. This may appear fabulous to many, for she was then\nin her sixty-third year; yet her niece would hardly assert it if it\nhad not been the general opinion.\n\nIn 1842, Madame R\u00e9camier had the satisfaction of seeing Ballanche take\nhis place in the French Academy. His friends, indeed, were more elated\non the occasion than the philosopher himself. Literary honors were\nlittle in his eyes compared with the exertion of a moral and\nphilosophic influence. His passion for machinery had nearly ruined\nhim; and his generosity was always beyond his narrow means. Like\nSocrates in the basket, he lived above the earth, and the trivial\nconcerns of daily life dried up the sap of his sublime speculations.\n[Footnote 18] Chateaubriand used to call him the hierophant; for he\nhad a small sect of followers whom he initiated in his mysticism.\n\n  [Footnote 18: Aristophanes. \"The Clouds.\" ]\n\nA cloud was gathering over his existence, and over the gladness of all\nwho frequented the Abbaye. Since the year 1839, Madame R\u00e9camier's\nhealth had been growing feebler, and a cataract was perceived slowly\nforming on her eyes. She bore the affliction with her usual calm, and\nthe fear of becoming less able to amuse Chateaubriand was her chief\ndistress. When her blindness became confirmed, her eyes were still\nbrilliant; and her ear being {99} fine, she knew all who approached\nher by their voice. The valet took care to set everything in her\napartment in its fixed place, so that she could move about without\nstumbling. In this way she often dissembled her loss of sight, and\nmany who visited her came away with the impression that she saw pretty\nwell. Long intercourse with Chateaubriand had made her habits as\nmethodical as his. He still came to her daily at half-past two. They\ntook tea together, and talked for an hour. Then the door opened to\nvisitors, and the good Ballanche was always the first. This would have\nbeen mere dissipation, but for the more serious occupations of the\nmorning. She rose early, had the papers read to her rapidly, then the\nchoicest of new works, and afterward some standard author. Modern\nliterature had always been her delight; and it cheered her even in her\ndarkness. When she drove out, it was generally with some charitable\npurpose; for the time was passed for paying other visits. Never, since\nMontmorency had recommended it, did she forget to read or hear read,\ndaily some work of piety; and as age advanced and sorrow weighed more\nheavily, she derived from the practice increasing solace and strength.\n\nNow came what Ballanche called \"the dispersion,\" from which afterward\nhe dated his letters. Prince Augustus of Prussia died in 1845, and\ncharged Humboldt to execute his last commands with regard to her whom\nhe had never ceased to respect and love. Her portrait, by Gerard,\nwhich she had given him, and her letters, were returned when he could\nno longer treasure them. His death affected her deeply; for other\nflowers also were fading from life's garden, and the winter of age was\nfreezing everything but her affections. From Maintenon she passed into\nNormandy with her niece and Amp\u00e8re, who had just returned from Egypt,\nweary and sick with travel. Wherever she went, the blind beauty of the\nfirst empire wanted no one claim to respectful and devoted attention.\nBy the use of belladonna, she sometimes dilated the pupil, and\nacquired for a few hours the sense of sight. In this way she saw and\nadmired Ary Scheffer's beautiful picture of St. Augustine, which he\nbrought from the exhibition to the Abbaye-aux-Bois, on purpose that\nChateaubriand and herself might inspect it. But such brief enjoyment\nonly made returning darkness more gloomy; and an operation offered the\nbest prospect of permanent relief. Meanwhile, Chateaubriand having\nbroken his collar-bone in stepping from his carriage, a delay\noccurred. Madame R\u00e9camier would not deprive herself of the pleasure of\ndiverting him during his confinement to the house. Her friends often\nassembled under his roof; and when he visited the Abbaye again, he was\nalways carried into the roam by two domestics. Indeed, he never walked\nany more. Nor in her case did the operation for cataract succeed, for\nthe patient did not enjoy that composure which was indispensable for a\ncure. Ballanche had been seized with pleurisy, and was dangerously\nill. The blind lady to whom he had so long been devoted, breaking\nthrough all her surgeon's instructions, and braving the light she\nshould have shunned, crossed the street which separated her from the\ndying man, and sat by his pillow to the last.\n\nOne who has often looked on death declares that she never saw it\npresent so grand a spectacle as in Ballanche. All his philosophy was\nheightened into faith; all his poetry was wrapt into devotion.\nSerenely trusting in the divine goodness, he realized intensely the\nmysteries of the unseen world; and, with the holy viaticum on his\nlips, quitted his earthly tabernacle with joy, whilst she who watched\nat his side lost all hope of sight in her streaming tears. Ballanche's\nmortal remains lie in the vault of the R\u00e9camier family; and his life\nhas been written by Amp\u00e8re. He and Madame R\u00e9camier {100} together\nselected the choicest passages from his works; and beneath the shade\nof beech-trees, amid the calm of nature, her niece's daughters read\naloud to her Ballanche's long-treasured letters. She would scarcely\nhave survived her grief had not Chateaubriand's infirmities still\ngiven a scope to her existence. Madame de Chateaubriand died in the\nwinter of 1846-7. She abounded in charitable works, and the poor loved\nher name. The desolate widower proposed that Madame R\u00e9camier should\ntake her place. He pressed his suit, but she persisted in her refusal.\nShe thought the little variety caused by his daily visits to her\nessential for his comfort; and that if she were always with him, he\nwould be less consoled. \"What end,\" she asked, \"could marriage answer?\nAt our age there is no service I may not reasonably render you. The\nworld allows the purity of our attachment; let it remain unaltered. If\nwe were younger, I would not hesitate a moment to become your wife,\nand so consecrate my life to you.\"\n\nA second operation was performed, with no better result than before.\nThe hope of being enabled to serve Chateaubriand more effectually\nalone induced her to submit to it. His end was fast approaching, and\nsociety itself seemed about to be dissolved. Without were contests;\nwithin were fears. The revolution of February, 1848, undid the\nrevolution of July, 1830. The streets of the capital flowed with\nblood, and the roar of cannon in the insurrection of June shook the\nchamber of the expiring poet, and brought tears to his eyes. He heard\nwith keen interest of the death of Monseigneur Affre, the good\nshepherd who gave his life for his sheep. The intrepid courage of that\nglorious martyr lent fresh nerve to his jaded spirit; and though his\nbrilliant intellect had for some time past lost its lustre, his\nthoughts were perfectly collected to the last. He was heard to mutter\nto himself the words he had written in 1814: \"No; I will never believe\nthat I write on the tomb of France.\" The chill waters of the river of\ndeath could not extinguish the patriotism that burned in his breast.\nThe Abb\u00e9 Guerry, his confessor and friend, stood near him with the\nconsolations of religion; his nephew, Louis de Chateaubriand, and the\nsuperioress of the convent of Marie-Ther\u00e9se, which he and his wife had\nfounded. After receiving the blessed sacrament, he never spoke again;\nbut his eyes followed Madame R\u00e9camier with an expression of anguish\nwhenever she left the room. This was her crowning sorrow, that she\ncould not see the sufferer she sought to relieve. When the worst was\nover, the calm of despair spread over her face, and a deathly\npaleness, which nothing could remove. She gratefully assented to\neverything which was proposed for her comfort; but her sad smile\nproved how vain was the effort to restore her to gladness. Those\naffectionate beings alone who live on friendship can comprehend the\nextent of her desolation.\n\nChateaubriand's obsequies were performed in the church of the\n_Missions \u00e9trang\u00e8res_, where a large concourse assembled,\nnotwithstanding the city and the state were still in the agony of a\nsocial crisis. But his ashes were transferred to his own Brittany,\nwhere a solitary rock in the bay had long before been granted him by\nthe municipality of St. Malo, as a place of burial. More than 50,000\npersons were present at this strange and solemn interment. They seemed\nto represent France mourning his loss. The sea was covered with boats;\nthe roofs of the houses, and the shores beneath, were crowded with\nspectators; banners floated from rock and tower; while mournful\ncanticles and booming cannon broke the stillness of the air. The\ncoffin was laid in a recess of the steep cliff, and surmounted by a\ngranite cross. Amp\u00e8re was deputed by the French Academy to pronounce\nhis eulogy on the occasion; and he concluded his report to that body\nin these {101} words: \"It would seem that the genius of the\nincomparable painter had been stamped on this last magnificent\nspectacle; and that to him alone among men it had been given to add,\neven after death, a splendid page to the immortal poem of his life.\"\n\nOn Easter day in the following year Madame R\u00e9camier was persuaded to\nremove from the Abbaye-aux-Bois to the National Library, where her\nniece and nephew resided. The cholera had broken out in the\nneighborhood of the Abbaye; and though she did not fear death, she had\na peculiar horror of that dreadful pestilence. But her flight was\nvain; the scourge pursued her, and fell with sadden violence on her\nenfeebled frame. The day before, Amp\u00e8re and Madame Salvage had dined\nwith her, and on the morning of her seizure her niece's daughter\nJuliette had been reading to her the memoirs of Madame de Motteville.\nDuring twelve hours she suffered extreme torture, but spoke with her\nconfessor, and received the sacrament of extreme unction. Continual\nvomiting prevented the administration of the eucharist. Amp\u00e8re, Paul\nDavid, the Abb\u00e9 de Cazal\u00e8s, her relations and servants, knelt around\nher bed to join in the prayers for the dying. Sobs and tears choked\ntheir voices, and \"Adieu, adieu, we shall meet again; we shall see\neach other again,\" were the only words her agony allowed her to utter.\n\nMadame R\u00e9camier breathed her last on the 11th of May, 1849. The\nterrible epidemic, which generally leaves hideous traces behind,\nspared her lifeless frame, and left it like a beautiful piece of\nsculptured marble. Achille Dev\u00e9ria took a drawing of her as she lay in\nher cold sleep, and his faithful sketch expresses at the same time\nsuffering and repose.\n\nSuch was the end of her who, without the prestige of authorship, was\nregarded by her contemporaries as one of the most remarkable women of\nher time. We will not indulge in any exaggerated statement of her\npiety. Great numbers, no doubt, have attained to more interior\nperfection. Her ambition to please was undoubtedly a weakness.\nReligion did not make her what she was; yet she would never have been\nwhat she was without it. It was the ballast which steadied her when\ncarrying crowded sail. It was the polar star that directed her course\namid conflicting currents and adverse storms. It raised her standard\nof morality above that of many of her associates. It taught her how to\nbe devout without dissimulation, a patroness of letters without\npedantry, a patriot and a royalist without national disdain or\npolitical animosity. It made her charitable to the poor, kind to the\naged and sorrowful, gracious and unassuming with all, at the very time\nthat the proudest of emperors invited her presence at his court, and\nhis brother Lucien made her the idol of his verse. Its golden thread\nguided her aright through the intricate mazes of social life--through\na matrimonial position equally strange and unreal--an engagement to a\nroyal prince who was the foe of France--through friendships with\nBernadotte and Murat on their thrones, with the queens of Holland and\nof Naples when fallen, and with the third Napoleon when plotting to\nregain the sceptre of the first. It so lifted her above intrigue and\ncabals that she could give her right hand to the disaffected General\nMoreau and her left to the devoted Junot--could be made the confidante\nof all parties without betraying the secrets of any. It inclined her\nto be chary of giving advice, but to make it, when asked for, tell\nalways on the side of virtue. It enabled her to exhort the sceptical\nwith effect, and dispose the philosophic to accept the faith.\n[Footnote 19]\n\n  [Footnote 19: See her letters to Amp\u00e8re in the _Correspondant_,\n  1864.]\n\nHer autobiography has unfortunately been destroyed by her own\ndirection, because blindness would not allow her to revise it and\ncancel its {102} defects. But many fragments of it have been\npreserved, and a thousand personal recollections, collected from those\nwho knew her, have been wrought by her niece and other biographers\ninto a lasting monument.\n\n--------\n\nFrom The Fortnightly Review\n\nCHINESE CHARACTERISTICS.\n\nBY SIR JOHN BOWRING.\n\n\nI was gathering together some examples of the strange opinions held by\nthe Chinese as to \"outer nations,\" when I fell upon a curious official\ndocument, presented to the emperor by a great mandarin, who occupies a\nvery prominent place in the modern history of China, Keshen, once\nviceroy of the two Kwang. His name brought immediately to my\nrecollection, by a very natural association, that of my old\nacquaintance, Father Huc, whose contributions to our knowledge of\nChina, Tartary, and Tibet are among the most original authentic, and\ninstructive that we possess.\n\nIt is a matter much to be regretted that only a small part of Father\nHuc's personal adventures has ever been communicated to the public. I\nfirst met with him on one of the Chusan islands, dressed as a\nChinaman, and living in every particular as the natives live--his food\nwas rice--his drink was only tea. He was recognized as the director\nand instructor of no less than five Catholic communities. I had heard\nof the existence of professors of the Tien-choo (heavenly master)\nreligion, and, going some way into the interior, found the Lazzarist\ndoctor instructing the people. He had an extraordinary mastery of the\ncolloquial Chinese; spoke and wrote Manchoo, and was not unacquainted\nwith the Mongolian tongue. I enjoyed his company as a fellow\ntraveller, having given him a passage in a vessel which was at my\ndisposal, and I fell in with him in five different and distant parts\nof China. I have no doubt of the general veracity of his narrative, of\nhis sincere love of truth--perhaps not wholly separated from a\ncertain credulity and fondness for the marvellous, with which, I have\nobserved, oriental travellers are not unfrequently imbued. It would be\ninteresting to learn how Father Huc got to Peking, lived for many\nyears in the city and its neighborhood, no one knowing or supposing\nhim to be a foreigner--what were the arrangements by which, departing\non his mission to Manchuria, he managed to escape from the\nscrutinizing eye of the police, at a period, too, when the\ndetermination to repel the intrusion of \"barbarian strangers\" was at\nits height. Of his interviews with Keshen, after the discovery of the\nobjects of his journey, and the determination of the mandarin envoy to\ndrive him out of the country, he gives many interesting particulars in\nhis \"Souvenirs,\" but he does not mention that Keshen, who had been\nstripped at Peking of some millions sterling, the gatherings of\nprofits and peculations in the high offices he had filled, and who\nmanaged to amass a considerable sum of money in Tibet, confided his\nsayings in that country to the keeping of the Lazzarist missionary;\nand at the very time when the decree was issued for his banishment,\nKeshen obtained from him a promise that he would, when he passed into\nthe {103} territory of China, deliver over \"the silver\" to the parties\nwhom Keshen designated. Huc was a delightful companion; he had no\nasperity; on the contrary, he was full of jokes and merriment.\nCourageous, too, when in the presence of danger, his ready wit\nfurnished him with every appliance necessary to his safety and\nprotection. His familiarity with Chinese character was remarkable; he\nknew when and where and how to domineer and command, where it was safe\nto assume authority. In China, one of the common instruments of\ngovernment is to send from the court secret spies, whose persons are\nunknown, and the object of whose mission is to report confidentially\nto the emperor on the shortcomings or misdoings of the great\nmandarins. It was often Huc's fortune to be thought one of these\nmysterious but redoubtable visitants, and he turned the suspicion to\nexcellent account. The fact of his speaking Manchoo, and being well\nacquainted with Tartar forms and usages, very naturally strengthened\nthe conclusion that it was most desirable to obtain his patronage and\nfavorable opinion in the confidential communications to be made to the\nTartar dynasty. No doubt many a functionary has trembled,\nself-condemned, in the presence of the missionary, and has courted his\nindulgent judgment by those attentions which are supposed to\nconciliate. Bribes, large and attractive, representing the estimated\nvalue of the service to be rendered, are constantly offered and\nfrequently received by the traveller who is believed to have the ear\nof the supreme authority. I have heard that from twenty to thirty\nthousand pounds sterling are sometimes collected in a district\ncircuit, the collection being made at the risk of either the bribed or\nthe briber, or of both, each being necessarily at the mercy of the\nother in case of betrayal. But, at the same time, Father Huc possessed\nall the arts of prostration and deference when the circumstances of\nthe case required them. There was, however, less of assumption in his\nlowliness than in his loftiness; his was never \"a pride that aped\nhumility.\" The acting was when he played the part of a ruler. He was\naltogether a natural man--unobtrusive, but fluent in the presence of\nthose interested--and who could fail to be interested in his strange\nadventures? He never recovered the free use of his limbs after he\nreturned to Europe; and died in France, leaving much undone--the doing\nof which would have been most useful to his race.\n\nOne of the great grievances of which the Chinese complained, in the\ntime of the East India Company monopoly, and down to the Pottinger\nwar, was the \"oozing out\" of the silver in China for the payment of a\npoisonous drug to the \"outer barbarians.\" It was, however, then the\nfact, as it is the fact now, that the poppy is widely cultivated, and\nopium largely manufactured, by the Chinese themselves in several of\nthe provinces of the empire. It used to be the belief in China that\nthere alone was the pure metal produced, and that the coins brought\nfrom afar would in process of time be converted, by natural process,\ninto base metal, or something worse. I recollect a person being\ncharged with stealing his master's money; he did not deny having had\nthe custody of the dollars, but swore they had been eaten by white\nants. Keshen was directed to give his opinion to the emperor as to the\nquality of the silver brought to China by foreigners, and these are\nhis words:\n\n\"The foreign money brought from these outer nations is all boiled and\nreduced by quicksilver. If you wrap it up and lay it aside for several\nyears without touching it, it will be turned into moths and corroding\ninsects, and the silver cups made from it by these strangers will\nchange into feathers.\"\n\nAfter stating that the coins show their impurity when submitted to the\ncrucible, he adds:\n\n\"Yet we find that in Kiangnan and by the course of the river Hwac, and\n{104} all along the rivers to the south, foreign dollars are used in\ntrade and circulated most abundantly; we even find them of more value\nthan Sycee silver; this is really what I cannot understand!\" Truly it\npasseth all understanding if the premises of the mandarin be correct.\nSome one suggests that Keshen had read in our sacred book of our\ntreasures \"that moth and rust do corrupt\" (Matt. vi. 19), and of the\n\"riches\" which \"make to themselves wings and fly away\" (Prov. xxiii.\n5).\n\nAs was said of old time, \"An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,\"\nso the Chinese still recognize the principle that the penalty to be\npaid for crime need not be visited on the criminal himself, but that\nthe substitution of an innocent for a guilty person to bear the award\nof the law may satisfy all the demands of justice. In the\nembarrassments of the imperial treasury during the last war,\nproclamations of the emperor frequently appeared in the _Peking\nGazette_, authorizing the commutation of the judicial sentences which\ninflicted personal punishment by the payment of sums of money, to be\nestimated according to the gravity of the offence, and the rank or\nopulence of the offender. Men are to be found as candidates for the\nscaffold when a large remuneration is offered for the sacrifice of\nlife--to such a sacrifice posthumous honor is frequently attached--a\nfamily is rescued from poverty, and enters on the possession of\ncomparative wealth. The ordinary price paid for a man's life is a\nhundred ounces of pure silver, of the value of about \u00a333 sterling. In\nthe Buddhist code such an act of devotion and self-sacrifice ranks\nvery high in the scale of merits, and would ensure a splendid\nrecompense in the awards of the tribunal which is, after death, to\nstrike the balance of good and evil, when every individual's mortal\nhistory is to be the subject of review.\n\nSome illustrations may not be unwelcome. In the history of the\nintercourse of the East India Company with the Chinese, it will be\nfound that the authorities were never satisfied with the averment that\nthe individual charged with offences could not be found; they always\ninsisted that some English subject could be found and delivered over\nto the penalties of the law. They invariably took high ground;\nasserted that the laws of China must be respected in China, and that\nthose laws provided a certain and always applicable punishment by\nwhich the demands of justice might and ought to be satisfied. They\nturned a deaf ear to the representation that, according to European\nlaw, the individual who had committed a crime was the only proper\nperson to be punished for that crime, and considered it a sort of\n\"barbarian\" notion that any crime should be passed over without being\nfollowed by the appropriate penalty visiting somebody or other. The\ntheory fills the whole field of penal legislation. Households,\nvillages, and even districts are made responsible for offences\ncommitted within their boundaries; and it is not unusual for high\nfunctionaries to be called upon to suffer for misdeeds not their own,\nwhich no vigilance could prevent and no sacrifices repair. There\nought, say the sages, to be no wrong without a remedy, no sin without\nconsequent suffering; and it is better that an innocent man should now\nand then be sacrificed than that guilt should not necessarily and\ninevitably be followed by penal consequences.\n\nThere is every reason to believe that on one occasion, to prevent the\nstoppage of trade, which was the menaced consequence of non-obedience,\nan innocent man was delivered over to the authorities (but not by the\nBritish), and executed at Canton. During the administration of Sir\nJohn Davis, six Englishmen were brutally murdered at Kwan Chuh Kei, a\nsmall village on the Pearl river. The English government insisted on\nthe punishment of the murderers, and six men were publicly beheaded.\nIt is quite certain they had nothing to do with {105} the crime; they\nwere brought gagged to the place of execution, and English gentlemen,\nunder the instructions of the consul, witnessed the decapitation; but\neverybody was satisfied that the criminals were allowed to escape, and\nthat guiltless men were beheaded in their stead; and Lord Palmerston\nmost properly directed that no British authority should be present at\nsuch executions, lest their presence might be deemed to imply\napprobation of the administration of justice in China.\n\nIt once occurred to me to have to make representations to the governor\nof Kiangsoo in consequence of some Chinese troops having fired upon\nthe British settlement of Shanghai. No injury was done, but the act\nwas of a character which might have led to serious consequences. An\ninterview was asked, and, accompanied by the British admiral, I went\nto the tent of the great mandarin. On being introduced, we found six\nsoldiers kneeling by his side. Close at hand was an executioner, and\nwe saw as we passed the huge heavy swords which are employed by him in\nhis wonted work. \"It was quite right to complain,\" said the mandarin;\n\"it was quite fit those who had committed the outrage should be\nvisited with the punishment. Inquiries had been made, and it was very\nlikely the men present were guilty; at all events, they had been in\nthe neighborhood. Utter the word, and their heads shall fall at your\nfeet.\" We informed his excellency that such abrupt and sudden action\ndid not accord with our notions of justice, and we requested that the\nmen might be relieved of their terrors and released on the spot This\nwas done, and the governor, who was also the military\ncommander-in-chief, merely told the trembling soldiers that they owed\ntheir lives to our clemency--a clemency they little anticipated from\n\"outside barbarians.\"\n\nBaron Gros informed me that when the French embassy was going up the\nPeiho--which, by the way, is not the real name of the river, and only\nmeans a river in the north, by which the Tientsing stream is usually\ndesignated in the south--an outrage was committed on a French sailor\nby a Chinaman, who was arrested and condemned to death. A deputation\nwaited on the ambassador from the offender's native village, bringing\nwith them an old man whom they wished to be hanged instead of him who\nhad committed the offence. They represented that the condemned man was\nyoung, that his mother was dependent upon his labor, and would have no\nmeans of support if deprived of her son; that it would be very hard if\nshe were made the victim. And, moreover, it could make no difference\nto his excellency (the minister) whether the old man or the young were\nexecuted. The death of either would show that punishment would\nassuredly follow injuries done to the subjects of \"the great man's\nnation.\" They were informed that European usages demanded that the\ncriminal should suffer for the crime. They returned next day to offer\n\"a better bargain\" to the ambassador. They brought down two men to\nsuffer in expiation of the offence of one. Surely two Chinamen might\nbe accepted for the wrong committed upon the stranger. The mission, of\ncourse, failed; the delegates departed sorely disappointed, and\ngreatly wondering at the strange notions which the \"red-haired outer\nmen\" had of what is right and what is wrong.\n\nThere is a Chinese aphorism, _Puh t\u00e1, puh chaou_ (\"No blows, no\ntruth\"), whose universal recognition will best illustrate the general\ncharacter of the administration of justice. Torture is not employed on\ncriminals alone in order to elicit confession, but constantly to\nwitnesses when their evidence does not suit the foregone conclusions\nof the judge, who, in very many cases, is bribed beforehand, and\ndesirous that the statements made should be such as to warrant his\npredetermined verdict. Truth is a virtue little appreciated among\nOrientals, and especially among the Chinese. They are afraid {106} of\ntruth. It gives the authorities accurate information as to their\nwhereabouts which may involve them in difficulties. They do not know\nwhat may have happened in a particular locality, and therefore prefer\nsaying where they were not than where they were, in order to avoid\ncompromising themselves by putting the _runners_ upon a true scent.\nThen again, habits of mendacity and a constant disregard of truth lead\nto inaccuracy of observation. I remember a case in which three sets of\nwitnesses gave three separate versions as to the time of the day on\nwhich an important event had occurred--that it was in bright daylight;\nthat it was in utter darkness; that it was neither light nor dark; and\nin that case I had reason to believe there was no intended perjury.\nAgainst perjury there is really no protection but in the dread of\npunishment. We tried in Hong Kong different usages which were expected\nto give some security for obtaining the \"truth, the whole truth, and\nnothing but the truth.\" Cocks' heads were cut off by or in the\npresence of the witnesses, and they pronounced denunciations and\nconsented to have their blood shed if there was falsehood in their\ntestimony. Sometimes an earthenware plate was broken, and the parties\noffered themselves to be shattered and broken to bits as was the plate\nif they did not tell the truth. Others favored the writing of an\naphorism of the sages on a piece of paper, burning it at a lamp, and\nrequiring the witness to swear that as he hoped not to be burned and\ntormented he would say all that was true. But every experiment failed.\nOaths, however enforced, with whatever forms invested, were discovered\nto be utterly worthless; and it was wisely decided that the penalties\nof perjury should attach equally to the sworn and the unsworn man. It\noccurred to me to consult a person of some eminence as to the\npossibility of administering any form of an oath which would be held\nbinding. He said that there was one temple within the city which was\nheld sacred to truth, and that promises made and contracts entered\ninto within that particular sanctuary were deemed better guaranteed\nthan any other. But he said the place was inaccessible to Europeans;\nand he thought that nothing but the dread of punishment for falsehood\ngave any security, and even that security was most insufficient, for\nthe elucidation of truth.\n\nA case, which it was my duty to investigate, connected with the\nsmuggling of British property, came before the chief judge at Canton.\nI had come to a conclusion as to the guilt of certain parties, which\nconclusion was different from that formed by the Chinese official. One\nday several Chinamen were brought to me in a dreadfully mutilated\nstate--their faces and arms covered with wounds and bruises inflicted\nby heavy blows of the bamboo. It appeared their evidence confirmed the\nopinion I had formed, and was altogether opposed to the theory of the\nmandarin, and they were bastinadoed until they declared that all they\nhad said was false, and their testimony was made to accord with the\nviews of the magistrate. Sentence was delayed; new and irresistible\nevidence was brought forward--meanwhile, perhaps, the mandarin had\nbeen bribed; but certain it is the witnesses were again summoned\nbefore him. They were informed they must be punished for the _lies_\nthey had told while under torture; and I heard, but I did not see the\nmen a second time, that they were again beaten until they declared\nthat their first and not their last story was the true one; the\nmandarin reporting that his early impressions had been removed on\nfurther investigation.  [Footnote 20]\n\n  [Footnote 20: The Emperor Paul, of Russia, once published a decree\n  requiring that every one who passed in front of his palace should\n  wear short breaches and silk stockings, under penalty of a flogging.\n  In the cold weather people took care to avoid the neighborhood of\n  the palace, and went to their business by various circumambulations.\n  Being annoyed at the absence of the multitude, whom he was fond of\n  looking at from the palace windows, he published a second edict, in\n  which he ordered that any person wearing the before-enforced costume\n  should receive the same sort of castigation. It was said that an\n  unfortunate foreigner, who did not understand Russian--and had he\n  understood it, might not have escaped the penalty--was flogged on\n  two following days for disobeying the imperial mandate--for not\n  wearing, and for wearing, the obligatory and the interdicted\n  costumes.]\n\n{107}\n\nI was once engaged in correspondence with the Taeping chiefs, while\nthey were in possession of Nanking. The fact that they had printed and\ncirculated a portion of the Old Testament in Chinese created a\nwonderful interest in the religious world, while the belief that they\nwere banded together for the patriotic purpose of replacing an\nintrusive and oppressive dynasty by a national and liberal government,\nled to much sympathy even beyond the field of missionary action. I\nsent a ship of war to Nanking in order to ascertain, by direct\nintercourse with its traders, the exact character of the insurrection.\nThey put forward the most monstrous pretensions. One of the kings\ncalled himself \"The Holy Ghost, the Comforter\"--the third person of\nthe Trinity; and demanded our recognition of his authority, advising\nus that we knew his coming had been foretold in our own Scriptures.\nAnother claimed to be the \"Uterine, younger brother of Jesus Christ;\"\nand gave an account of mutual invitations which had passed between\nthem; of the visits of the king to paradise, where his \"heavenly\nbrother\" had introduced him to his wives and family; and he reported\nspecially a personal intervention of Jesus, who came down to earth in\norder to settle the number of stripes which were to be given to a\nwoman of the harem who had offended her master. Our people on landing\nwere called \"ko-ko\" (brothers) by the insurgents, who inquired whether\nwe had brought them tribute, and were willing to recognize the\nuniversal authority of the celestial king. It was only on this\ncondition that they would allow us to obtain the coal we desired to\npurchase for the use of the steamer--a condition of course not\ncomplied with; so that the evidence of brotherhood was not of a very\ncomplete or satisfactory character.\n\nIn a very elaborate communication which I received from the Taeping\nsovereigns, they desired a personal description of \"God the Father,\"\nthat they might compare our notions of the Deity with their own--the\ncolor of his hair, the size of his abdomen; and inquired particularly\nwhether we had any poetry--as they had--written with his own hand.\nThat there was, and is, in this extraordinary movement an element of\nwell-warranted discontent and resistance to the exactions, extortions,\nand corruptions of the Manchoo authorities cannot be doubted; but,\nstrange to say, not a single man of mark, not one literary graduate,\nnot an individual either known to or possessing the confidence of the\nhigher or the middle classes, ever joined the rebellion. Lamentable as\nis the general ignorance of the Chinese as to remote nations, the\nignorance exhibited by the Taepings was the grossest of all. It will\nbe no wonder that \"the rebels,\" most of whom came from the interior of\nChina, and had never had any communication with western nations,\nshould display such a want of knowledge, when even books of authority\ngive such confirmation as will be found in a popular geography,\nwritten by a man who had visited the Dutch archipelago, and on his\nreturn gave to his countrymen the results of his observation and\nexperience:  [Footnote 21]\n\n  [Footnote 21: Dr. Medhurst published a translation of this work of\n  Wang Tac Lai, Shanghai, 1849.]\n\n  \"European countries are originally on the outside verge of\n  civilization, and their being now assimilated to the villages of our\n  inner land is entirely owing to the virtuous influences of our\n  august government, which transforms these distant and unknown\n  regions by the innate force of its own majesty.\"\n\nEuropean nations are thus described:\n\n  \"The Dutch share the sovereignty of Europe with the English, or\n  'red-haired nation,' and the French.\n\n  \"The English nation is poor but powerful; and being situated at a\n  most {108} important point, frequently attacks the others.\n\n  \"The Hollanders are like the man who stopped his ears while stealing\n  a bell. Measuring them by the rules of reason, they scarcely possess\n  one of the five cardinal virtues (which, according to the Chinese,\n  are benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and truth). The\n  great oppress the small, being overbearing and covetous. Thus they\n  have no benevolence. Husbands and wives separate with permission to\n  marry again; and before a man is dead a month his widow is permitted\n  to go to another. Thus they have no rectitude. They are extravagant\n  and self-indulgent in the extreme, and so bring themselves to the\n  grave without speculating on having something to tranquillize and\n  aid their posterity. Thus they have no wisdom. Of the single quality\n  of sincerity, however, they possess a little.\n\n  \"The dispositions of the French are violent and boisterous. Their\n  country is poor and contains but few merchants; hence they seldom\n  come to Batavia. Whenever the Dutch are insulted by the English,\n  they depend upon the French for assistance. The kingdom of France is\n  large and the population numerous, so that the English are somewhat\n  afraid of them.\n\n  \"The dependent countries of Europe are intermixed and connected\n  without end. Some of the places can be visited by ships when they\n  become a little known; and some are held in subjection by the Dutch,\n  and governed by them. The rest live in hollow trees and caves of the\n  earth, not knowing the use of fire, and wander about naked or in\n  strange and uncouth attire. They cannot all be fully known, nor are\n  there any means of inquiring about them. We have heard of such names\n  as Tingli (English), Po-ge (Pegu?) Wotsie (Bussorah?), China (which\n  is not supposed to mean the celestial empire); but have no\n  opportunity of knowing anything of their manners and customs.\"\n\n  He says of Mekka (Mohia) that \"its walls are extremely high, and the\n  whole ground splendid with silver and gold and beautiful gems,\n  guarded by a hundred genii, so that the treasures, cannot be taken\n  away. The true cultivators of virtue may ascend to Mekka and worship\n  the real Buddha, when, after several years of fasting, they return\n  and receive the title of Laou Keun--doctor; they can then bring down\n  spirits, subdue monsters, drive away noxious influences, and defeat\n  demons.\"\n\nHe mentions a sea-dog on the loadstone sea (_tze-she-yang_), where\nthere are so many magnets, that if a vessel with iron nails gets into\nthe neighborhood it is inevitably absorbed. Hence, those who navigate\nit employ only bamboo pegs. He reports the existence of a sea-horse\n(_hai ma_) at Malacca, which comes out of the ocean in pursuit of a\nmare. The horse has a fine black skin, a very long tail, and can\ntravel hundreds of miles a day; but when on shore, if he be allowed\nonly to see a river, off he goes to his native element; nothing can\ncontrol him. He describes a sea-mare attached to the rocks at the\nbottom of the sea by a stalk from her navel many hundred yards long.\n\"When discovered,\" he, says, and this is no doubt true, \"male and\nfemale appear together, so that they are never solitary. The Dutch pay\nthe fishermen liberally for catching a sea-mare, but she never lives\nafter separation from her root. When caught, the Dutch, who are\n'envious people,' put them into spirits, and preserve them.\" \"I  never\nsaw,\" he says, \"the flying head, but have heard of it, and that it\nabounds in Amboyna, and resembles a native woman. Its eye has no\npupil, and it can see in the dark. It flies about; nothing but the\nhead enters houses and eats human entrails; but if it meet anything\nsour it cannot open its eyes. Drops from a piece of linen sprinkled\nupon it will be security against its mischief.\" He says there \"is an\nanimal somewhat like a man, {109} but with a mouth from ear to ear.\nIts loud laughs indicate a storm  its name is the _hai-ki-shang,_ or\nsea priest; its appearance prognosticates evil.\"\n\nHe speaks of a race of men called _wei tan,_ \"dwelling among the\nhills, with ugly faces and tattooed bodies, who have tails five or six\ninches long, at the end of which are several bristles, about an inch\nor two in length. These savages frequently engage themselves as\nsailors, and come to Batavia, but as soon as they are discovered, run\naway and conceal themselves, and if examination be insisted on, they\nchange countenance and violently resist.\" He gives a description of\nsundry European instruments; calls the telescope \"a cunning invention\nof supernatural agents.\" He recommends his countrymen not to believe\nthat the \"large eggs\" (no doubt ostriches) sometimes brought to China\nare \"mares' eggs,\" which he is sure they are not. He thinks there may\nbe fishes large enough to swallow ships, as he himself saw a mortar\ncapable of holding five pecks, which he was told was the vertebral\nbone of a fish.\n\nOf Manilla he gives a tolerably sensible account, having, as he says\nhimself, traded there. He adds: \"Since the withdrawal of the English\nthere has been general tranquillity, peace, and joy in the regions\nbeyond sea. He humbly conceives this is due to the instruction\ndiffused by the sacred government of China, which overawes insulated\nforeigners, soaking into their flesh, and moistening their marrow, so\nthat even the most distant submit themselves.\"\n\nIt is not an unusual practice for opulent Chinamen from the interior\nto visit their friends at the ports opened to trade, and to seek\nintroductions to \"the merchant outer people\" who buy their silks,\nteas, and rhubarb, and pay them dollars or opium in exchange. As\nChinese habits, Chinese costumes, and Chinese opinions are all moulded\nto the same type--as all read the same language, study the same books,\nand have done so for a hundred generations--the contrast between\nEuropean and Chinese life is startling. That a guest or visitor should\nbe placed on the right hand, shows that one of the first requirements\nof courtesy is unknown or disregarded; that a lady with large feet\nshould by possibility be of \"gentle birth,\" no Chinese woman of\nquality dares to believe; that the magnetic needle should point to the\nnorth, instead of the south, shows a strange unacquaintance with\nelementary science; but, above all, that civilized and adjacent\nnations should have written languages so imperfect that they cannot\nread the letters on the books of their neighbors, is wholly\nunintelligible to a Chinese literate. I remember showing a picture of\nthe Crystal Palace to a mandarin from the interior. He at first denied\nthat such a building could ever have been erected; he was sure it was\nonly a picture--a fancy; he had never seen anything like it at Peking.\nWas it possible there should be an emperor out of China with so\nbeautiful a palace as this? He was told this was the palace built by\nand for the people. This was quite sufficient to convince him that we\nwere practising upon his credulity; and though Chinese courtesy would\nnot allow him to call us liars, it was very clear he had come to the\nconclusion that we were nothing better.\n\nThey have manufacturers of false noses in China, but none of false\nteeth. There are practitioners who profess to cure the tooth-ache\ninstantaneously, and people worthy of credit have assured me they\nsucceed in doing so. The works of European dentists are among the most\nadmired examples of the skill of foreigners. A mandarin who was\nanxious to learn something about the making of teeth, once produced to\nme a box fall of artificial noses of various sizes and colors, with\nwhich he supplied the defects of his own; he said he used one sort of\nnose before and another after his meals, {110} and insisted that\nChinese ingenuity was greater than our own. What, in process of time,\nwill be the action of western civilization on the furthest eastern\nregions--whether, and in what shape, we shall make returns for the\ninstruction our forefathers received from thence--is a curious and\ninteresting inquiry--more interesting from the vast extent of the\nregions before us. The fire-engine is almost the only foreign\nmechanical power which has been popularized in China. There is\nscarcely a watch or clock maker in the whole empire, though opulent\nmen generally carry two watches. The rude Chinese agricultural and\nmanufacturing instruments have been nowhere supplanted by European\nimprovements. No steamship has been built by the Chinese; the only one\nI ever saw would not move after it was launched; it was said a\nChinaman, who had only served on an English steamer as stoker, was\nrequired by the authorities to construct the vessel. There is neither\ngold nor silver coinage; the only currency being a base metal, chien,\nwhose value is the fifth of a farthing. The looms with which their\nbeautiful silk stuffs are woven are of the most primitive character.\nYet they have arts to us wholly unknown. They give to copper the\nhardness and the sharpness of steel; we cannot imitate some of their\nbrightest colors. They have lately sent us the only natural green\nwhich is permanent, which has been known to them, as printing, wood\nengraving, the use of the compass, artillery practice, and other great\ninventions, from immemorial time. Paper was made from rags long\nanterior to the Christian era, and promissory notes were used at a\nstill earlier period. The Chinese may be proud of a language and a\nliterature which has existed for thirty centuries, while in Europe\nthere is no literary language now written or spoken which would have\nbeen intelligible seven hundred years ago. If, then, this singular\npeople--more than a third of the whole human race--look down with\nsome contempt on the \"outside races,\" let them not be too harshly\njudged, or too precipitately condemned.\n\n--------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nPIERRE PR\u00c9VOST'S STORY;\nOR, TRUE TO THE LAST.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nIn one of my summer rambles through the north of France, I came across\na little seaside village which possessed so many charms that it was\nthe greatest difficulty in the world to tear myself away from it.\n\nIt was indeed a lovely spot. The village, situated on a noble cliff,\nwas enclosed almost in a semicircle of richly wooded hills, which\nstretched, as far as the eye could see, into the very heart of noble\nNormandy.\n\nAt your feet the glorious sea came dashing in to a shore over which\ngreat masses of bold rock were liberally scattered, and round which\nthe waves used to play in the summertime, however little obstacle was\nafforded to their fury when fierce winds blew up a storm in the cruel\nwinter-time.\n\nBut perhaps the most attractive feature of the place to me was a\nsplendid river, within a mile's walk of the village, which was\nplentifully supplied with fish, and afforded me many and {111} many\nday's amusement, and not a little excellent sport.\n\nMy time was pretty well my own, and I had made up my mind for a\ntolerably long spell of idle enjoyment; so, under these circumstances,\nit may not appear strange that I resolved to take up my quarters\nat----.\n\nThe inhabitants of the place were mostly poor fishermen, who used to\nply their trade nearly the whole of the week, and by great good luck\nfrequently got back to their wives and families toward its close.\n\nA very pretty cottage, with a bay-window commanding a splendid view of\nthe sea, took my fancy immensely, and though it was rather a humble\nsort of place, I determined if possible to make an impression on its\npossessors, in order to secure two rooms for my use during my stay.\nAlphonsine was certainly not the most sweet-tempered woman I have ever\nmet, in fact rather the contrary; at the same time I fully persuaded\nmyself that a great many disagreeables would be counteracted by the\npossession of my much-coveted bay-window.\n\nAlphonsine evidently ruled the establishment with a rod of iron. She\nwas a tall, thin, ill-favored looking woman, who was always prepared\nfor a wrangle, and who looked uncommonly sharp after her own\ninterests. However, by paying pretty liberally and in advance, I soon\nwon her heart, and flatter myself that it was by excellent generalship\non my part that I contrived very soon to be entirely in her good\nbooks. Her hard face used sometimes actually to relax into a grim kind\nof smile in my presence, and I fancied her harsh voice used almost\nimperceptibly to soften in addressing me. Beside, she was accustomed\nto bustle about in a rough kind of way in order to get things straight\nand comfortable, and I really think tried to do her best to make me\nfeel at home. What more could I want than this? And then she had two\ndelightful children, a boy and a girl, with whom I was very soon\nespecially friendly, and who tended to enliven me up a bit whenever I\nchanced to be at all dull. The boy was about thirteen years old, and\nhis sister, who looked a year or so younger, was indeed a lovely\nchild. She was as fair as a lily, and had that sweet expression of\ncountenance which is so often found among the peasants in Normandy;\nher eyes were large and exquisitely blue, and with all this she had a\ndecided will of her own. But then she was the daughter of Alphonsine.\n\nIt was some little time before I made the acquaintance of the master\nof the establishment; for he was always busy fishing, and, as I have\nsaid before, the fishermen who lived in the village seldom got home\nbefore Saturday evening, and had to be off again either on Sunday\nevening or by daybreak on Monday.\n\nHowever, Saturday soon came round, and with it Pierre Pr\u00e9vost.\n\nHe was about five-and-thirty years old, very dark and singularly\nhandsome. His hair, which was thick, fell about his head in ringlets;\nhe was short, and had most expressive eyes. I was not long in\nperceiving that he was in every way a great contrast to Alphonsine.\nHis expression was sad, and he seldom or never smiled; and I noticed\nhe seemed to shrink rather nervously from the piercing look with which\nhe was very frequently favored by \"la belle Alphonsine.\" His sweet and\nhandsome face soon disposed me favorably toward him, notwithstanding\nthat there were circumstances which occurred on our first acquaintance\nwhich would otherwise have tended to prejudice me entirely against\nhim.\n\nI was smoking a pipe and chatting quietly to Alphonsine in the great\nchimney-corner on the evening I allude to, when all at once the two\nchildren came tearing in from school with their books under their\narms.\n\n\"He is come!\" cried they, in their shrill treble voices. \"We saw his\nboat just coming near the shore. He will be on the sand almost in a\n{112} moment We may go and meet him, may we not, mother?\"\n\n\"What's the use?\" said she, in rather a more disagreeable tone than\nusual. \"I am sure he would much prefer to come alone. Beside, I want\nyou both. Go into the garden to get me something to make a salad of.\nCome now!\"\n\nThese last two words settled the matter, and the children were soon\noff, without another word about the expedition to the sea-shore.\n\n\"That's strange,\" thought I to myself; \"I wonder if this Pierre can be\na bad father, or at any rate a bad husband?\"\n\nA few minutes afterward he came in.\n\nAs if to strengthen this bad impression of mine, I noticed that\nAlphonsine never moved when he entered, and did not attempt to offer\nher hand or cheek to him. She did not even welcome him with a smile.\n\nNo, she contented herself with taking a slate down from the wall, the\npencil belonging to which was already in her hand:\n\n\"How much?\" said she, coolly.\n\nPierre Pr\u00e9vost pulled out of his pocket a great leather purse, and\ndetailed, day by day, how much he had made by the sale of his fish.\nAfter which, he put down the money upon the corner of the table.\n\nAll this time the woman was eagerly dotting down the various sums on\nthe slate. Then she gravely added them all up, and determinedly\ncounted out every sou.\n\nBy great good luck the figures tallied with the money. Then Alphonsine\nshut up the money in a drawer, and locked it very securely.\n\nMeanwhile Pierre repocketed his leather purse, which he had just\nemptied, never attempting to grumble in the least, and going through\nthe task as methodically as possible.\n\n\"I was quite wrong in forming so hasty an opinion,\" thought I to\nmyself, as I witnessed this peculiar scene; \"Pierre is not such a bad\nfellow, after all.\"\n\nIt was not long before the young ones made a second burst into the\nroom, making rather more noise than they did on the first occasion.\n\nThey were not long in scrambling on to Pierre's knees, and smothering\nhim with kisses, and it was all done so heartily, with such warmth,\nand so naturally, that I could not help exclaiming to myself, \"Why,\nhe's a capital father, after all!\"\n\nBut, judge, of my astonishment when I heard their pretty voices call\nout,\n\n\"Oh! we're so glad to see you back again, dear uncle Pierre!\"\n\nThen he was their uncle, after all, and he was not married to\nAlphonsine. But was he her brother, or merely a brother-in-law? And\nyet she seemed so entirely to have the upper-hand over him. It\ncertainly was a very remarkable coincidence.\n\nBut what surprised me most of all was the fatherly affection that\nPierre Pr\u00e9vost seemed to have for the two children.\n\nHe took them on his knees, and played with them, and appeared to make\nso much of them, that I, who was a silent spectator of this little\nscene, became really quite interested.\n\nThis lasted for about five minutes, and then all at once it seemed as\nif the old pain came over him, for he turned quite sad again, and\nturned deathly pale, and I could see the tears starting to his eyes.\nAnd then he got up, and looking steadily into the young innocent faces\nof his nephew and niece, said, in an extremely soft voice,\n\n\"Go and play on the sand. Go along, my pretty ones!\"\n\nThe poor children, who seemed quite astonished at the sudden change in\nhis demeanor, hesitated for a moment. However, another beseeching look\nfrom their uncle, and an angry word or so from Alphonsine, soon\npersuaded them what to do; whereupon they set out very slowly for the\nsea-shore.\n\n{113}\n\n\"They know perfectly well how little you care for them,\" said\nAlphonsine, very bitterly; \"and it would be just as well if you would\nnot go out of your way to show it.\"\n\nPierre made no answer. He shut his eyes, and put his hand to his heart\nas if to express the pain he was suffering.\n\nThen taking a spade from the corner,\n\n\"I am going to work in the garden,\" said be, gently.\n\nAnd then he went out, looking very sorrowful.\n\n------\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThings seemed to be taking quite a dramatic turn, and I made up my\nmind to try hard and unravel the plot.\n\nI followed Pierre, and having secured myself in a convenient\nhiding-place, determined to watch.\n\nHe walked quietly on, but soon stopped at a little vegetable garden,\nquite at the end of the village. At first he pretended to set to work\nvigorously, but his eyes kept wandering to a little rose-covered\ncottage within a stone's-throw of the garden. He soon left off\nworking, and leaning listlessly on his spade, he kept his eyes firmly\nfixed on one of the windows, which was almost covered with the\nluxuriant growth of roses and honeysuckle.\n\nAs the wind played fitfully with the curtain of green which darkened\nthe window, I fancied I recognized the shadow of a woman.\n\nImmovable as a statue, Pierre Pr\u00e9vost remained where he was, and\nthough night drew on, he did not leave his post till the heavens were\nbright with myriads of stars; and then swinging his spade over his\nshoulder, he began to retrace his steps to the village.\n\nBut, just before he left the garden, I thought I heard a bitter sigh\nborne on the wind from the cottage window.\n\nThe next day, when I was coming away from early mass, I saw Pierre\nstanding in the porch of the church. The two children were clinging to\none of his hands, while the other, still wet with holy water, was\ngently extended to a young woman who was in the act of passing before\nhim. She was a lovely creature, with golden hair, large expressive\nblue eyes, and a face like one of Fra Angelico's angels. Although she\ncould not have been less than thirty years old, she appeared to have\nall the lightness and vivacity of a girl of eighteen.\n\nWhen their fingers met, an almost imperceptible thrill seemed to\naffect them both, and as they gazed into one another's faces they both\nturned deathly pale.\n\nCould it have been the shadow that I recognized through the roses the\nevening before?\n\nThe tide came up very early that evening, and necessitated the\ndeparture of all the fishermen before night came on.\n\nPierre Pr\u00e9vost was one of the first to start, but he went a long way\nround to get to the sea-shore, and passed before the windows of the\nrose-covered cottage.\n\nA flower fell at his feet. He picked it up eagerly, and kissing it\npassionately, thrust it into his bosom and hastened away.\n\nAs the evening wore on, and while the little boats were just fading\naway in the distance, I watched again, and distinctly saw a white\nhandkerchief waving from the window of the pretty cottage.\n\nI was naturally anxious to find out about this little romance, and was\ncontinually puzzling my poor brains to discover the truth of the\nstory.\n\nThere were hundreds of people I might have asked, and, of course,\nAlphonsine would have been only too happy to have enlightened me. But\nI determined, if possible, to hear it all from Pierre's own lips, and\naccordingly made up my mind to stifle my idle curiosity.\n\n{114}\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nPierre and I soon became firm friends, and I persuaded him on one\noccasion to take me on one of his fishing expeditions.\n\nIt was a lovely night, the heavens were ablaze with stars, and the\nlittle boat tossed idly on the waves which scarcely rippled against\nits keel. Pierre's companions were asleep down in the cabin, waiting\nfor a breeze to spring up before they could throw in their nets. As\nfor myself, I was smoking quietly on deck, having my back against a\ncoil of rope, and revelling in the delicious quiet which reigned\naround, when Pierre joined me, and having lighted his pipe, sat down\nby my side, and spoke, as far as I can remember, as follows:\n\nI believe, monsieur, you are anxious to know why I am such a sad\nlooking fellow? Perhaps you will laugh at me, but that can't be\nhelped. I am sure you are sincere, and wish me well, and therefore I\nhave no hesitation in opening my heart to you.\n\nI love Marie! There is hardly any need, perhaps, to tell you that. And\nyet this love is the foundation of all my sorrow. But I firmly believe\nthat the good God willed that we should love one another, and so I am\ncontent. Ever since our earliest childhood we have gone through life\nhand in hand. When we were little ones we always played together on\nthe sand; and there has hardly been a pang of sorrow or a feeling of\njoy which has not been felt by both alike. I used to think once that\nwe were one both in body and soul, and there are old folks in the\nvillage who have said it over and over again. We made our first\ncommunion on the same day, and at the same hour, side by side; and\nthese little matters are bonds of union indeed, and are not easily\nforgotten. When I first began to seek my bread on the sea, she always\noffered up a little prayer for me at the cross in the village and she\nwas ever the first to rush waist-deep into the sea to greet me on my\nreturn. And then I used to carry her on my shoulders back again, and\nkiss off the tears of joy which flowed down her pretty cheeks. Ah! we\nwere happy indeed in those childish days, which are passed and gone.\nWhy are we not always children?\n\nAnd the years that followed were hardly less happy for either of us.\nIn the cold winter-time we were always side by side in the\nchimney-corner. Spring saw us wandering over the fresh meadows\ngathering the early violets. We worked together in the harvest-field\nunder the summer sun, and went off nutting when the brown leaves told\nus of the approaching autumn. And then came the time when we were both\nold enough to marry. We had neither of us dreamed of such a thing, and\ncould not be persuaded that we were not still children. We were quite\nhappy enough without troubling our heads about marriage.\n\nHowever, others thought of it for us, and good Father Hermann began to\nbe anxious that we should make up our minds.\n\nBut the matter was not so easily settled, and several obstacles soon\npresented themselves. To begin with, Marie's mother was rich. I was\nfar from it, and an orphan into the bargain. I had been brought up by\nmy brother Victoire--a splendid fellow. It was he who went with Father\nHermann to Marie's mother, in order boldly to talk over our marriage,\nwhich they were all so anxious about.\n\n\"I had always made up my mind that Marie should never marry any one\nwho had not quite as much as herself,\" replied she, \"and that was her\ndear father's wish. However, I am sure you speak truly when you say\nthat they both love one another very dearly. Let it be as you say.\"\n\nThe old lady had a kind warm heart\n\n[As he said these last words, Pierre's voice thickened, and I noticed\na tear trickling down his honest brown face. But my sailor was a {115}\nbrave fellow, and I had hardly time to shake him warmly by the hand\nbefore he had quite mastered his grief, and was able to go on with his\nstory.]\n\nMarie and I were not the only happy ones then, I can assure you.\nVictoire, my brother. Father Hermann, the whole village in fact, for\nwe were both very popular, rejoiced with us. It was the week before\nthe marriage. Of course I had not gone to sea. Victoire was also very\nanxious to remain; however, his wife persuaded him to go. Several in\nthe village found fault with her for doing so, on the pretext that\nworking at a festal time was very bad luck; but they had no right to\nsay so. Victoire's children were very young, and had to be provided\nfor; and so Victoire went. In the evening great black clouds darkened\nthe sky. We were evidently threatened with a dreadful storm. But we\nwere enjoying ourselves too much to think of storms or friends at sea.\nAll at once there was a vivid flash of lightning and then a peal of\nthunder, which seemed to shake every cottage to its foundation. And\nthen came piercing cries:\n\n\"A boat in distress, and threatened with instant destruction!\"\n\nIt was Victoire's boat!\n\nI was on the shore in an instant What an awful storm! Never in my\nwhole life had I seen its equal.\n\nAll that was in a man's power I did, you may be quite sure. Three\ntimes I dashed madly into the waves, only to be thrown back by the\nfury of the sea. The last time I was all but lost myself. However, I\nwas rescued and brought back to the shore, bruised and insensible.\nSome thought me dead. Would that I had been, and had out side by side\nwith that other body stretched lifeless on the rocks!\n\nIt was Victoire!\n\nWhen I came to myself he was near me, quite still, and covered with\nblood; but with just enough breath left to whisper in my ear:\n\n\"Pierre, my boy, be a brother to my wife, a father to my children. God\nbless you, boy.\"\n\n\"Victoire,\" answered I, \"I swear it.\"\n\nAnd then he died without a murmur.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nOf course you will guess, monsieur, that this awful affair was the\nmeans of putting off our marriage. Marie and I neither of us\ncomplained, but consoled ourselves with the reflection that all would\nsoon be well. I took up my position in my brother's house, and warmly\nkissed my brother's children, now mine. Alphonsine tried to show her\ngratitude as well as she could. And so six months slipped away, and\nthe villagers began talking again about our marriage. I don't know how\nit was, but I began to feel very nervous and uneasy about the matter,\nand I did not so much as dare broach the subject either to Alphonsine\nor Marie's mother. In a little time the latter began the subject\nherself.\n\n\"Pierre,\" said she, \"you have adopted your brother's children, have\nyou not?\"\n\n\"Yes, mother.\"\n\n\"And his wife also?\"\n\n\"Yes; I must take care of his wife quite as much as her children.\"\n\n\"You have quite made up your mind?\"\n\n\"Perfectly.\"\n\n\"Am I to understand that you never mean to leave them?\"\n\n\"I swore I would not to my brother before he died.\"\n\nThen there was a silence, and my heart beat very quick.\n\n\"Listen, Pierre,\" said the old woman; \"don't think that I wish to\ndeprive the widow or the orphans of one morsel of the sustenance you\nintend to set aside for them. Even if I did, your good heart would\nhardly listen to me. But you must understand that I know Alphonsine.\n{116} My daughter can never live with Alphonsine; and Alphonsine can\nnever live with me. Never!\"\n\nThis last word seemed to open an abyss before my very feet. I too knew\nAlphonsine. I too began now to understand that either of these\narrangements would be perfectly impracticable.\n\n\"Mother,\" I began--\n\n\"I don't wish to hinder jour marriage,\" replied the old lady, very\nslowly; \"I simply impose one condition. You must be quite aware that\nin this matter my will must be law.\"\n\nStill I hesitated.\n\n\"It will be for you then to decide your own fate,\" added she; \"and my\ndaughter's as well.\"\n\nI raised my head. Marie was there, and our eyes met. I must break my\noath or lose her for ever.\n\nIt is absolute torture to recall those fearful moments. My head seemed\nto swim round, and when I tried to speak, there was something in my\nthroat which nearly choked me. And still Marie looked at me; and oh,\nhow tenderly!\n\n\"Pierre,\" said the old lady again, \"you must answer; will you remain\nalone with Alphonsine, or will you come here alone? Choose for\nyourself.\"\n\nI looked at Marie again, and was on the point of exclaiming, \"I must\ncome here!\" but the words again stuck in my throat, and my tongue\nrefused to speak. And then I began to ease my conscience with the\nthought that I could still work for Victoire's wife and children, and\ntried to think they would be equally happy, although I was not always\nwith them. But then I thought of that dreadful night, and the storm,\nand the pale face, and the whisper in my ear came back again, and I\nfancied I heard my brother say, \"It was not that you promised me, my\nbrother; it was not that!\"\n\nAt last the bitter words rose to my mouth, and in a hollow voice I\nanswered:\n\n\"I must keep my oath!\" And then, like a drunken man, I fell prostrate\non the floor.\n\nWhen I recovered she was near me still, and her sweet voice whispered\nin my ear,\n\n\"Thank God, Pierre, you are an honest man!\"\n\nThose words were my only comfort in the long dreary year which\nfollowed that fearful day. I was never myself again. I tried to rouse\nmyself up, and take some interest in my daily work, and did my best to\nappear cheerful and contented at home, but I was not the same man that\nI used to be. The children were a great comfort to me when I was at\nhome; but the long hopeless days and the dark dreary nights were\nmiserable enough, God knows. I seemed to dream away my life.\n\nI thought it best to keep away from Marie, as a meeting would be\npainful to both. And so we never met.\n\nAt last a report got about the village that Marie was going to be\nmarried.\n\nI could no longer keep away from her now, and she, too, appeared\nanxious that we should meet. In a very few days we were once more side\nby side.\n\nThere was no need of me to speak. She read my question in my eyes: of\nher own accord she answered:\n\n\"Yes, Pierre, it is quite true.\"\n\n\"But, Pierre,\" added she in tears, \"I am yours, and must be yours for\never. Unless I can get you to say, Marry Jacques, I will remain single\nall my life. But my mother begs me to get married; and what can I do?\nShe is very old, and very ill just now. I feel I _too_ have got a duty\nto fulfil.\"\n\nI uttered a cry of despair.\n\n\"Pierre,\" said Marie, still weeping, \"you must know how dearly I love\nyou. My fate is that I must love you still. But, for all that, Pierre,\nI cannot let my mother die.\"\n\nI could not bear to hear her weep; but what comfort could I give? At\nlast the devil entered into my heart, {117} and I broke forth in\nbitter curses at my fate, and what I chose to call her inconstancy.\n\n\"I don't deserve this,\" said Marie very softly; \"and I hardly expected\nthat I should ever hear these words from your lips. Still, I believe\nyou love me, after all. I hope you will feel, when you think over all\nthat has passed, that I am not heartless, and that I deserve some\nanswer to the question which my lips almost refuse to ask. You will\ngive me an answer, I am sure, by-and-by.\"\n\nAnd then she left me, half-mad as I was, lying coiled up in a heap at\nthe roadside.\n\nDuring the next few days I did reflect. If I could not marry Marie\nmyself, had I any right to hinder her marriage with another? Was I\njustified in preparing for her a life of solitude, and in depriving\nher of a mother's care? And then, again, I began to perceive that no\none was at all inclined to take my part in the village. My popularity\nwas fast declining, since no one could look into my heart, or could\nhave the least idea what I had suffered, or knew what had actually\ntaken place. I was pitied, but considered very selfish. I was\ncontinually told that Marie's mother was ailing sadly, and that she\nhad deserved better treatment at my hands.\n\nAt last Father Hermann comforted me, and benefitting by his good\nadvice and by the help of our holy religion, I began to be in a better\nframe of mind.\n\nI made up my mind to give Marie her freedom. But I could not bear to\nsee her again, and so I wrote.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe marriage between Jaques and Marie was soon arranged, and soon the\nsecond festal day came round.\n\nIn the morning I put out to sea as usual; but as the evening wore on,\nI found I was under the influence of a spell and that it was quite\nimpossible for me to remain where I was. Accordingly I returned; and,\nled on by the spell and attracted like a moth to the candle, wended my\nway to the rejoicings, in order that I might torture myself for the\nlost time.\n\nI have heard of the agonies of the rack, of the thumb-screw, of saints\nbeing boiled in oil and crucified, and many other dreadful horrors;\nbut I very much doubt if any martyr ever suffered the agony that I did\nthat night.\n\nIt was in the dusk of the evening, and Marie was just finishing a\nsong, while all were resting from the dances which had followed one\nanother in quick succession. She was just singing the last verse, in\nwhich my name was accidentally introduced, when a sailor who was just\nbehind me struck a match in order to light his pipe. The light exposed\nme to the view of the whole company. Directly Marie saw me, she\nuttered a piercing cry and fainted away. I rushed toward her, not\nthinking what I was doing. But Jaques was at her side before me.\nInstead, however, of showing the least jealousy or putting himself in\na passion, he grasped me warmly by the hand, and then looked tenderly\nat Marie, who now began to revive.\n\n\"Never fear, and keep up a good heart,\" said he, in a strange kind of\nvoice. You would never guess what he did, and perhaps will hardly\nbelieve when I tell you.\n\nOrdinarily a very temperate, steady man, he astonished the company by\ngiving out that he intended to throw a little life into the f\u00eate. On\nthis he ordered wine and cider, and lastly a plentiful supply of\nbrandy.\n\nIn a very little time he was helplessly drunk, or at least pretended\nto be so. As the evening wore on, he got from bad to worse, insulted\nand quarrelled with the men, and fairly disgusted the women. The\nvillage was in an uproar, and there was not a soul who did not speak\nin strong terms of the disgraceful conduct of Jaques. At the earnest\nentreaty of the worthy {118} fellow we kept our counsel, and\naccordingly the new marriage was at once broken off.\n\nThe rest of my story you know almost as well as I do myself. You see\nmy life from day to day. You can picture to yourself my sorrow and my\nunhappy position. You can see how little _she_ has changed.\n\nAnd yet we can never be more to one another than we are now. Never.\nNever! We are married, and yet we are not. We are separated, alas,\nhere on earth, but we _must_ be united in heaven. Think of the years\nthat have passed, and think how happy we might have been, and what a\nthread there was between our present existence and the life we long to\nlead. God's will be done!\n\nPoor Pierre here let his head fall into his hands, and wept in\nsilence.\n\nHow could I comfort the poor fellow?\n\nIt was not the kind of grief that needed consolation, and so I let him\nweep on.\n\nAll at once a breeze sprung up and filled the sails. Pierre\nimmediately roused himself, but soon relapsed into his accustomed calm\nquiet manner.\n\nBoth the other sailors now came on deck, the nets were thrown over,\nand the business of the night began.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThree years afterward, by the merest accident in the world, I happened\nto return to my favorite little village. There was evidently some\nexcitement going on, and as I chanced to recognize my old friend\nFather Hermann, I went up and renewed our acquaintance.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said he; \"why you do not mean to say you don't\nknow?\"\n\n\"Not in the least.\"\n\n\"Why your old friend Alphonsine has been dead six months.\"\n\n\"I really don't see why the worthy inhabitants of the village should\nrejoice at that,\" said I.\n\n\"A great obstacle has been removed,\" said the father; \"don't you\nremember?\"\n\n\"Of course; and what has followed?\"\n\n\"The marriage of Pierre Pr\u00e9vost and Marie!\"\n\nI was not long in accompanying Father Hermann to the cottage in which\nmy old friends were receiving the warm congratulations of their\nfriends and neighbors.\n\nThey recognized me at once, and insisted that I should be present at\nthe entertainment which was to follow in the course of the day. Of\ncourse I accepted the invitation. I never remember having enjoyed\nmyself so much, and am quite certain that I spoke from my heart when I\nproposed, in my very best French, the healths of la belle Marie and\nPierre Pr\u00e9vost.\n\n------\n\n{119}\n\nFrom The Popular Science Review.\n\nINSIDE THE EYE:\nTHE OPHTHALMOSCOPE AND ITS' USES.\n\nBY ERNEST HART, OPHTHALMIC SURGEON.\n\n\nThere are few spectacles more affecting--and there were few more\nhopelessly distressing--than that which many have seen, of the blind\nman, with eyes unaltered in their human aspect of beauty, searching\nvainly to penetrate the unchangeable darkness of a noonday, bright to\nothers, and replete with the splendor of light and color. There have\nalways been many of these sufferers from a disease which claims the\nmost profound sympathy, and which seemed bitterly to reproach our\nscience that it could not timely penetrate the mystery of that obscure\nchamber which lies behind the iris, and had found no means for\nenabling us to see through the clear but darkened space of the pupil.\nThat reproach, at least, exists in part no longer. Since some few\nyears now we have learnt how to explain the obscurity of the interior\nof the eye, and by what optical contrivances we can overcome this\ndarkness and look into the depths of the ocular globe; thus inspecting\nwith ease, and quite painlessly to the individual, the lenses and\nhumors of the eye, the nerve of sight and its transparent retinal\nexpansion, and even the vascular tissue which lies behind and\nsurrounds this. This is a great triumph of physical science, and it is\nno barren triumph. The insight which we gain into the host of\naffections of the refracting media and deep membranes of the eye has\ngiven to our diagnosis and therapeutical treatment of the most obscure\nforms of disease leading to blindness, a certainty and precision to\nwhich we were formerly strangers.\n\nThe optical instrument by which we are able to effect this inspection\nis known by the fitting title of the _Ophthalmoscope_ ([Greek text]\nthe eye; [Greek text],  I survey). With this instrument, the manner of\nusing it, and its valuable applications, I am necessarily\nprofessionally much occupied in daily work; and as the editor of the\n\"Popular Science Review\" has requested me to give some plain account\nof the matter, I will endeavor to afford an untechnical statement of\nwhat the ophthalmoscope is, and what are some of the most useful\nresults which have been obtained by its use.\n\nLet me first remind the general reader that in the human eye, behind\nthe pupillary aperture of the colored iris, which presents to the\nunaided eye of the observer the mere aspect of black darkness, lies,\nfirst, a clear bi-convex _lens_; and behind this, filling the eye, and\ngiving to it the character of a solid ball, a transparent globular\nmass, known as the _vitreous body_, or _humor_. It is into a\ndepression in the front of this that the aforesaid lens is fitted, so\nthat the whole space of the eye behind the _iris_ is filled by the\n_lens_ and _vitreous body_. The optic nerve, or nerve of sight, which\npierces the tunics of the eye at the back and near the centre, spreads\nout and forms an expanded tunic of nerve-structure which enwraps the\nvitreous body as far as its most forward edge, where the colored iris\ndescends in front of it. Enwrapping again this nerve-tunic or _retina_\nis a vestment, chiefly made of blood-vessels, connected by fine tissue\nand thickly coated with black pigment, having its own optical uses.\nThis second outer pigmented vascular tunic is _the choroid_. This\nagain is enclosed within the external strong fibrous membrane, which\nincludes and protects all the sclerotic membrane {120} ([Greek text],\nhard). These are the two humors and three tunics of the eye which can\nto a greater or less extent be examined during life by the aid of the\nophthalmoscope.\n\nThey can all be more or less investigated in the living eye by the aid\nof the ophthalmoscope, because by the aid of this instrument we are\nable to see through the pupillary space. If one considers what is the\nreason of the apparent darkness of the pupillary aperture and the\nchambers of the eye behind it, it is not difficult to gain an idea of\nthe means by which this optical condition may be altered so as to\nenable us to see where all seem to the unaided vision obscure.\n\n[Illustration: Doctor looking through ophthalmoscope.]\n\n{121}\n\nThis darkness of the pupillary aperture is attributable partly to\nobvious causes, such as the natural contraction of the pupil or _iris_\nwhich occurs under light--this contraction limiting the number of rays\nwhich can enter the eye. Then that black pigment which lines the iris\nabsorbs a great deal of light; and thus, as in the case of albinos,\nwhose eyes are deficient in pigment, or where the pupil is dilated,\neither through disease or by artificial agents, these obstacles for\nseeing into the living eye are removed. But still the main\ndifficulties are not cleared away; and if you take for example an\nalbino animal, such as one of those beautiful little white-furred\nrabbits, whose rosy eyes look like fiery opals edged with swan's down,\nand dilate the pupils with atropine, it is still not possible to see\nclearly the details of the structure within and at the back of the\neye. This is by reason of the structure of the eye as an optical\ninstrument, and because the rays of light in entering and in emerging\nfrom it undergo refraction, according to definite laws. The light\nwhich penetrates the eye traverses the transparent retina, producing\nthe impression necessary for sight, and is partly absorbed by the\nblack pigment of the choroid; but a great number of the rays are\nreflected; for here there is no exception to the general rule that\nsome of the rays of light falling upon any substance are always\nreflected. These rays, in returning, are refracted through the\nvitreous body and lens, just as they were in entering the eye, with\nthe object then of causing them so to converge as to produce upon the\nretina a clear and definite image of whatever external object they\nstarted from. Similarly, then, on their emergence they are refracted\nchiefly by the lens and cornea, so as to form an image in the outer\nair, the emergent rays coinciding in their path with that which they\ntook when entering, and the image formed in the air being conjugated\nwith the retinal image; being formed, therefore, on the same side,\nvarying with the position of the lens and object, and the\naccommodation of the eye. Thus, then, to perceive this aerial image,\nderived from the retinal reflection, the eye of the observer needs to\nbe placed in the axis of the converging rays; but since this is also\nthe axis of the entering rays, he will of necessity in that position\ncut off those rays altogether of the light proceeding, say, from a\nlamp, or the source of light opposite to the eye to be illuminated.\n\nThe problem to be solved consists, then, in the simple illumination of\nthe eye to be observed by a source of light so arranged that the\nobserver can be placed in the axis of the rays entering and emerging\nwithout intercepting those rays. This may be most conveniently\neffected by placing the source of light aside of the eye to be\nobserved, and observing through a pierced concave mirror, which\nreflects that light into the eye. We can then, by looking through the\ncentral aperture of this mirror, place ourself in the path of the\nentering and emerging rays. The mirror becomes the source of light to\nthe observed eye; the rays which it flashed into the eye emerge {122}\nin part, and return along the same path, forming the aerial image at a\ndistance and under circumstances regulated by the optical conditions\nof the eye observed, and within view of the observer who is looking\nthrough the mirror. A very simple diagram will suffice to explain\nthis: _r a_ is the circle of diffusion of the retina, and the lines\nindicate how the reflected rays will pass through the media of the\neye, and form at _r' a'_ real enlarged but inverted image of the\nfundus of the eye. This will be placed at the distance of distinct\nvision of the subject, and has relation to the accommodation of the\neye.\n\n[Illustration:  Diagram of preceding discussion.]\n\nAs these are variable quantities, the practice of ophthalmoscopy\ndemands a little address, which habit quickly gives. It is for want of\nunderstanding this, and from impatience of these preliminary\ndifficulties, that many have been discouraged at the outset, and have\nabandoned unwisely the attempt to learn the use of the ophthalmoscope.\n\nThe image obtained in the way mentioned is not so distinct as to give\nthat full perception of details which is necessary for scientific and\nmedical purposes. A more defined image is obtained by interposing, for\nexample, a bi-convex lens on the path of the luminous rays emerging\nfrom the eye observed. The effect of holding such a lens of short\nfocus before the observed eye whilst examining it with a concave\nophthalmoscopic mirror is to cause the rays emerging from the eye to\nundergo a further refraction, and to modify the actual image which\nthey form, producing one which is smaller, more defined, but still\ninverted. This is the most simple and one of the most satisfactory\nmethods of exploring the eye with the ophthalmoscope. It is that of\nthe most general and easy application, and I will, therefore, add a\nfew words to explain how it may most conveniently be practised.\n\nWe will suppose that it is the human eye which is to be examined. The\nroom is to be made dark; the person to be seated; a light--the white\nflame of an oil-lamp or an Argand gas-burner--to be placed near his\nhead, on the side, and at the level of the eye to be observed. The\nobserver takes then the concave mirror in the hand of the side toward\nthe lamp, and placing it against the front of his eye, so that the\nupper edge rests against his eyebrow, brings his head to the level of\nthat of the person seated, looks through the central perforation at\nthe eye to be observed, and by a little careful change in the\ndirection of the mirror casts, by its aid, upon the eye examined the\nlight of the lamp.\n\nHe will now perceive that the pupillary aperture is illuminated, and,\nno longer black, shines with a silvery or reddened light. He takes now\nthe bi-convex lens of short focus in the hand hitherto free, and\nplaces it in front of the examined eye, and at such a distance as to\nmake the focus of the lens coincide with the pupil of that eye\n--distance varying from two to three inches. He himself will usually\nneed to be at a distance from twelve to eighteen inches. This is for\nnormal eyes. The slight movements backward and forward necessary to\nadjust these distances correctly, are effected very easily and\nprecisely after practice; but at first it is a little difficult to\navoid changing the direction of the mirror while thus slightly\nadvancing or retiring the head; and this is a point on which it is\nwell to give a warning, for it is a frequent source of discouragement\nto beginners, who find that at every movement they interfere with the\nillumination of the eye, and so suffer from a series of little\nfailures at the outset. The first thing, in fact, that every one sees\namounts to a little more than a red, luminous disc; those who begin by\nseeing nothing more, therefore, need not to be discouraged; a little\npatience and time will enable them to see what more practised persons\ndescribe. The eye to be examined may be more fully observed by\ndilating the pupil {123} with atropine--a drop of a solution, one\ngrain to a pint of water, or one of the atropized gelatines prepared\nfor me by Savory and Moore, each of which contains one hundred\nthousandth of a grain of atropine, and will maintain dilation during\nseveral hours. This acts also perfectly well with rabbits or cats.\n\n[Illustration:  Doctor examining patient.]\n\nThe first thing seen is the red reflection of the choroidal vessels\nshowing through the transparent retina; and when the eye observed is\ndirected upward and inward, we see the usually circular disc of the\noptic nerve, encircled by a double ring, cream-colored, or very\nfaintly roseate or grey, and surrounded by the red choroid. The two\nrings are the apertures in the choroid and sclerotic, of which the\nformer is the smaller. From out this disc we see springing the retinal\nartery and retinal veins, sometimes centric, at others excentric, in\ntheir passage. The artery is easily recognized as being somewhat\nsmaller in calibre, and of a lighter red. The artery usually divides\ninto a superior and inferior branch, each of which subdivides\nforthwith into two secondary branches, and these again continue to\nsubdivide, dichotomously, running forward to the anterior limits of\nthe retina. The veins, which are somewhat larger and deeper colored,\nusually pierce the disc of the optic nerve in two trunks. Pulsation\nmay occasionally be detected in the veins by watching carefully their\ncolor, which seems to change at each impulse just where they pass over\nthe edge of the optic disc and bend to pierce the nerve.\n\nFuller details of the ophthalmoscopic appearances of healthy eyes,\nboth human and animal, will be found in Zander's treatise, excellently\nedited and translated by Mr. R. B. Carter, of Stroud. In the healthy\neye the aqueous humor, lens, and vitreous humor are clear, and do not\nin any way obstruct the passage of the light. It is otherwise in\ndisease; and this brings us to the discussion of some of the practical\napplications of the ophthalmoscope. Here, perhaps, I may be permitted\nto quote some of the {124} paragraphs of a paper which I read lately\non the subject before the Hanveian Society:\n\n[Illustration: Interior of eye. ]\n\n  \"Taking up the diagnosis of the various forms of disease any of\n  which would have been held to constitute the condition known as\n  amaurosis, it may be noted, first of all, that even in the hands of\n  the novice ophthalmoscopic examination supersedes those chapters in\n  ophthalmology which were formerly devoted to the means of\n  distinguishing between incipient cataract and amaurosis. In the\n  past, and even at present, with those surgeons who are content to\n  treat deep-seated diseases of the eye by guessing at their nature,\n  and have not adopted the systematic use of the ophthalmoscope into\n  their practice, the functional annoyances which commonly occur at\n  the outset of the formation of lenticular cataract, have been, and\n  are, fertile sources of deception. The patient complains of frontal\n  pain, of confused vision, stars of light, and some other vague\n  symptoms which characterize the outset alike of many forms of\n  deep-seated disease of the eye, and of the fatty degeneration of the\n  lens which commonly gives rise to lenticular cataract, probably from\n  coincident swelling of the lens. An error arising from this source\n  has many times condemned the unfortunate subject of a commencing\n  cataract to the severe treatment thought appropriate to the unhappy\n  class of amaurotics. The kind of alteration in the lens,\n  imperceptible by any other means than the ophthalmoscope, is the\n  slightly opaque striation of the substance of the lens sometimes\n  seen in an early stage. These opaque striae may occupy either the\n  anterior or the posterior segment of the lens, and spring from the\n  centre of the crystalline or converge toward the centre from the\n  circumference. In order to see the latter, the pupil must be fully\n  dilated with atropine; as, indeed, for the purposes of complete\n  ophthalmoscopic examination it always needs to be; and then, just as\n  the greatest expert cannot discover them except by ophthalmoscopic\n  illumination, so, neither with its aid, can they be passed over with\n  ordinary care. In order to be quite sure in any delicate case, it is\n  well to lower the light a little, and use only a feebly illuminating\n  power, as a very strong light may overpower a {125} commencing\n  opacity, and render us unable to detect the striae. This practical\n  caution applies equally to all other conditions of opacity in the\n  transparent media. In two cases, lately, I have been able to set at\n  rest doubts of this kind, which happened to be in the persons of\n  medical men, who were much disquieted by the symptoms--one a member\n  of this society. In a third case I have recently detected incipient\n  cataract (peripheric striae) in a gentleman supposed to be suffering\n  from commencing glaucoma.\n\n  \"It is of frequent occurrence to find the capsule of the lens\n  stained with black spots; these are stains left by the uveal\n  pigment, and occur usually after an attack of iritis, when the iris\n  has been in contact with the lens. When the iris has been adherent,\n  a complete ring of pigment may often be seen on the surface of the\n  lens. A day's experience at any ophthalmic clinique can mostly show\n  examples of this condition; but it is only when these deposits are\n  numerous, and in the central line of vision, that they become\n  troublesome. They are then met with as the sequences of severe\n  choroido-iritis, and usually coincide with further mischief in the\n  vitreous and choroid.\n\n  \"The vitreous, under the influence most commonly of choroiditis, and\n  usually syphilitic choroiditis, presents alterations of the most\n  striking character for ophthalmoscopic observation. The patients who\n  offer these changes complain usually of considerable dimness of\n  sight, which on examination is found to include both diminution in\n  the acuteness of visual perception, and restriction in _the field of\n  vision_, or extent of any object seen at once. The great source of\n  trouble to them is, that when they lift the eye or move the head,\n  black corpuscles, or streaks, or webs float before their eyes, and\n  obscure the object at which they are looking; and when the eyes are\n  kept still, these fall again and disappear. Examine now the eyes of\n  such an one, and you will see that the phenomena described are due\n  to the existence of actual shreds, corpuscles, or webs of fibrous\n  and albuminous exudation, which float in the vitreous, and at each\n  motion of the eye rise in clouds and obscure the fundus, so that you\n  can barely see it, or perhaps not at all. These conditions, I say,\n  are mostly specific, but not invariably. They are sometimes the\n  result of scrofula, and probably of other forms of choroiditis.\"\n\n\nHere, then, are a large number of cases in which the ophthalmoscope\ntransports us at once from the regions of the known to the unknown.\nThere are other classes of cases equally striking. Let me take\nillustrative examples. Two persons apply for advice, complaining that\nthe sight has been gradually growing more and more dim, perhaps in one\neye,--it may be in both. The progress of the disease has been\ninsidious and nearly painless. The eyes are to all external appearance\nhealthy, except probably that in both patients the pupils are\npartially dilated and sluggish. The ophthalmoscope helps us to solve\nthe problem.\n\nThe one is a case, it may be, of slow atrophy of the optic nerve,\nproceeding from central disease of the brain--from pressure on the\noptic tracts of nerve within the skull, or from defective nutrition\nfollowing losses of blood. We find the nerve glistening white and\nslightly cupped, the arteries small, the fundus otherwise healthy. In\nthe other we recognize at once, in the fulness of the veins, their\npulsation, and the marked excavation of the optic disc, the\nindications of excessive tension of the eyeball and undue pressure of\nthe nerve. The first requires careful constitutional treatment and a\nlong course of studied hygiene and medication; the second calls for\ndirect and immediate interference, with the view of relieving the\nintra-ocular pressure. In the diagnosis of this great class of\nglaucomatous disease of the eye--disease {126} characterized of loss\nof vision, sometimes slow and sometimes rapid, but always\ncharacterized by definite ophthalmoscopic signs: cupping of the disc,\npulsation, fullness of the veins, and it may be more or less haziness\nof the transparent media--ophthalmoscopy has rendered a most brilliant\nand inestimable service. Prior to the introduction of the use of this\ninstrument the disease was of an unknown pathology; its results were\nfatal to vision, but there were no means of diagnosing the conditions\nattending the earlier stages, and blindness followed almost certainly\nand inevitably. The investigation of the disease has brought us a\nremedy in the excision of a portion of the iris--a practice introduced\nby Von Gr\u00e4fe, of Berlin, and of which the success is in suitable cases\nmost gratifying.\n\nAnother series of examples may be chosen to illustrate the application\nof ophthalmoscopy. I avoid giving details here, but it is perhaps\nright to say that these are not fanciful sketches, but notices of\ncases in my experience and taken from my note-books of practice. Two\npersons are asking for advice as to the management of their eyes for\nshort-sightedness. Are both to receive the same advice? The\nophthalmoscope alone can furnish positive data. With this we may\ndiscover a staphylomatous condition of the back of the eye, a bright\nexcentric margin around the optic disc and edge with black pigment.\nExamining it closely, we may find that this pigmented edge gives\nevidence of progressive inflammation at the back of the eye, and\nextending to continuous and increasing atrophy and retrocession of the\ncoats of the eye. This person is in danger of becoming rapidly made\nshort-sighted or of losing sight altogether. We must prohibit the use\nof concave glasses for a certain length of time, and must adopt active\nand effectual measures for subduing the atrophic inflammation. In the\nother patient the ophthalmoscope may show us but little stretching or\nwaste, and that not progressive, and will enable us then to calm his\nfears, to prescribe appropriate glasses, and to dismiss him to his\noccupation with ease of mind and safety. So with sudden lose of sight\nfrom intra-ocular haemorrhage, the ophthalmoscope gives us information\nwhich could never have been guessed at without it, and guides us, not\nonly to the local knowledge, but to the constitutional information\nessential for cure.\n\nThere are certain conditions of the eye which may warn any one that it\nis desirable that the condition of the vision ought to be investigated\nby the ophthalmoscope. Rapidly increasing short-sightedness is one of\nthe most marked, and when this becomes associated with weakness of\nsight and loss of acuteness in the perception of small objects, the\nwarning is very urgent. A diminution in the field of vision is another\nimportant indication of internal changes in the eye, of which only the\nophthalmoscope can detect the true nature. It would be difficult,\nperhaps, to say whether more mischief is done and more suffering is\ncaused by the total neglect of such symptoms or by their ignorant\npalliation by the aid of common spectacles, chosen empirically,\nbecause they facilitate vision for the time. The great use of the\nophthalmoscope, then, is this: that it arms us with an instrument of\nprecision, by which we can determine the precise local condition of\nthe parts of the eye in which the function of sight is resident and\nthrough which it is regulated. If it cannot do all that we might ask,\nit is because the sense of sight is in truth a cerebral function, of\nwhich the eye is only an instrument; and in dealing with cerebral\naffections of the sight, it can indeed give us information which\nwithout it we should lack, but it leaves still to be desired more\nintimate acquaintance with first causes, which at present we can only\ndiscuss inferentially. To the amateur in science, and to the lover of\nnature, it discloses an exquisite spectacle, unknown till now, that\ncarries {127} observation into the inner chambers of the living eye,\nand displays its wonders and its beauties. The observation is\nperfectly painless, and may easily be effected: rabbits, for example,\nsubmit to it with great calmness and composure, and at the College of\nPhysicians' _soir\u00e9e_ last year, a little pet white rabbit of mine sat\nup calmly in a box which I had made for the purpose, and was examined,\nby the aid of a modification which I devised of Liebreich's\ndemonstrating ophthalmoscope, by many score of observers. Mine has the\nadvantage of being adapted for use even amid a blaze of light, and it\ncannot easily be disarranged; two qualities valuable in an instrument\nfor demonstration.\n\n----------\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nTHE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR.\n\nFROM THE GERMAN.\n\n\n  The mother stood at the window.\n    The son he lay in bed;\n  \"Here's a procession, Wilhelm;\n    Wilt not look out?\" she said.\n\n  \"I am so ill, my mother,\n    In the world I have no part;\n  I think upon dead Gretchen,\n    And a death-pang rends my heart.\"\n\n  \"Rise up; we will to Kevlaar;\n    Will staff and rosary take;\n  God's Mother there will cure thee,--\n    Thy sick heart whole will make.\"\n\n  The Church's banner fluttered,\n    The Church's hymns arose;\n  And unto fair C\u00f6ln city\n    The long procession goes.\n\n  The mother joined the pilgrims,\n    Her sick son leadeth she;\n  And both sing in the chorus,\n    \"_Gelobt seyst du, Marie!_\"    [Footnote 22]\n\n      [Footnote 22: \"Praised be thou, Mary!\"]\n\nII.\n\n  The holy Mother in Kevlaar\n    To-day is well arrayed,--\n  To-day hath much to busy her.\n    For many sick ask her aid.\n\n{128}\n\n  And many sick people bring her\n    Such offerings as are meet;\n  Many waxen limbs they bring her,\n    Many waxen hands and feet.\n\n  And who a wax hand bringeth,\n    His hand is healed that day;\n  And who a wax foot bringeth,\n    With sound feet goes away.\n\n  Many went there on crutches\n    Who now on the rope can spring;\n  Many play now on the viol\n    Whose hands could not touch a string.\n\n  The mother she took a waxen light.\n    And shaped therefrom a heart;\n  \"Take that to the Mother of Christ,\" she said,\n    \"And she will heal thy smart.\"\n\n  He sighed, and took the waxen heart,\n    And went to the church in woe;\n  The tears from his eyes fell streaming,\n    The words from his heart came low.\n\n  \"Thou that art highly blessed,\n    Thou Mother of Christ!\" said he;\n  \"Thou that art queen of heaven,\n    I bring my griefs to thee.\n\n  I dwell in C\u00f6ln with my mother;\n    In C\u00f6ln upon the Rhine,\n  Where so many hundred chapels\n    And so many churches shine.\n\n  And near unto us dwelt Gretchen;\n    But dead is Gretchen now.\n  Marie, I bring a waxen heart,--\n    My heart's despair heal thou.\n\n  Heal thou my sore heart-sickness;\n    So I will sing to thee\n  Early and late with fervent love,\n    \"_Gelobt seyst du, Marie!_\"\n\n{129}\n\nIII.\n\n  The sick son and the mother\n    In one chamber slept that night;\n  And the holy Mother of Jesus\n    Gild in with footsteps light\n\n  She bowed her over the sick man's bed,\n    And one there hand did lay\n  Upon his throbbing bosom,\n    Then smiled and passed away.\n\n  It seemed a dream to the mother,\n    And she had yet seen more\n  But that her sleep was broken,\n    For the dogs howled at the door.\n\n  Upon his bed extended\n    Her son lay, and was dead;\n  And o'er his thin pale visage streamed\n    The morning's lovely red.\n\n  Her hands the mother folded.\n    Yet not a tear wept she;\n  But sang in low devotion,\n    \"_Gelobt seyst du, Marie!_\"\n\nMARY HOWITT.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Reader.\n\nTHE ANCIENT LAWS OF IRELAND.\n\n\n\n_Ancient Laws of Ireland_. Vol. I. Printed for Her Majesty's\nStationery Office. (London: Longman. Dublin: Thorn.)\n\n\nThis is a curious book, throwing some glimmerings of light upon a very\nremote and obscure period of Irish history. In 1852 a government\ncommission, called the \"Brehon Law Commission,\" was issued to the Lord\nChancellor of Ireland, Lord Rosse, Dean Graves, Dr. Petrie, and\nothers, appointing them to carry into effect the selection,\ntranscription, and translation of certain documents in the Gaelic\ntongue containing portions of the ancient laws of Ireland, and the\npreparation of the same for publication. In pursuance of this, the\ncommissioners employed Dr. O'Donovan and Professor O'Curry, two Gaelic\nscholars of high distinction, to transcribe and translate various law\ntracts in the Irish language in the library of Trinity College,\nDublin, of the Royal Irish Academy, of the British Museum, and in the\nBodleian Library at Oxford. The transcriptions occupy more than 5,000\nmanuscript pages, including all the law tracts which it was thought\nnecessary to publish, and have nearly all been translated; but the two\nchosen scholars did not live to complete and revise their\ntranslations. The portion now published was prepared for the press by\nW. Neilson, Hancock, LL.D., first in conjunction with Dr. O'Donovan,\nand, after his death, with the Rev. Mr. O'Mahony, professor of Irish\nin the university of Dublin. It is a volume of some 300 pages, the\nIrish on one page and the translation opposite, containing the first\npart of the _Senchus Mor_ (we are not told how much is to follow),\ntreating of the law of distress or distraint, with an Irish\nintroduction, and various Irish glosses and commentaries on the text.\n\nThe title _Senchus Mor_  (pronounced \"Shanchus M\u00f4r\") for which seven\nor {130} eight different derivations are suggested, appears to mean\n\"the great old laws,\" or \"the great old decisions.\" The chief\nmanuscripts of it which are known to exist are three in Trinity\nCollege, Dublin, and one in the Harleian collection in the British\nMuseum, and the earliest of these is assigned to _circa_ A.D. 1300.\nBut quotations from the _Senchus Mor_ are found in \"Cormac's\nGlossary,\" the greater part of which was probably composed in the\nninth or tenth century, and the date of the original compilation is\nput by good judges, on various evidence, at A.D. 438 to 441. It is, in\nshort, a codification and revision, under the direction of St.\nPatrick, of the judgments of the pagan Brehons. Three kings, three\npoets, and three Christian missionaries (of whom Patrick was one) were\ncombined in this work, and the code then established remained the\nnational law of Ireland for nearly twelve centuries. The pagan laws\nembodied in this revised code were in force during a period of unknown\nantiquity, prior to the introduction of Christianity to the island.\n\n  \"The _Senchus Mor_ has been selected by the commissioners for early\n  publication as being one of the oldest and one of the most important\n  portions of the ancient laws of Ireland which have been preserved. It\n  exhibits the remarkable modification which these laws of pagan\n  origin underwent, in the fifth century, on the conversion of the\n  Irish to Christianity.\n\n  \"This modification was ascribed so entirely to the influence of St.\n  Patrick that the _Senchus Mor_ is described as having been called in\nafter times 'Cain Patraic,' or Patrick's law.\n\n  \"The _Senchus Mor_ was so much revered, that the Irish judges,\n  called Brehons, were not authorized to abrogate anything contained\n  in it.\n\n  \"The original text, of high antiquity, has been made the subject of\n  glosses and commentaries of more recent date; and the _Senchus Mor_\n  would appear to have maintained its authority among the native Irish\n  until the beginning of the seventeenth century, or for a period of\n  1,200 years.\n\n  \"The English law, introduced by King Henry the Second in the twelfth\n  century, for many years scarcely prevailed beyond the narrow limits of\n  the English pale (comprising the present counties of Louth, Meath,\n  Westmeath, Kildare, Dublin, and Wicklow). Throughout the rest of\n  Ireland the Brehons still administered their ancient laws amongst\n  the native Irish, who were practically excluded from the privileges\n  of the English law. The Anglo-Irish, too, adopted the Irish laws to\n  such an extent that efforts were made to prevent their doing so by\n  enactments first passed at the parliament of Kilkenny in the\n  fortieth year of King Edward III. (1367), and subsequently renewed\n  by Stat. Henry VII., c. 8, in 1495. So late as the twenty-fourth and\n  twenty-fifth years of the reign of King Henry VIII. (1534) George\n  Cromer, archbishop of Armagh and primate of Ireland, obtained a\n  formal pardon for having used the Brehon laws. In the reign of Queen\n  Mary, 1554, the Earl of Kildare obtained an eric of 340 cows for the\n  death of his foster-brother, Robert Nugent, under the Brehon law.\n\n  \"The authority of the Brehon laws continued until the power of the\n  Irish chieftains was finally broken in the reign of Queen Elizabeth,\n  and all the Irish were received into the king's immediate protection\n  by the proclamation of James I. This proclamation, followed as it\n  was by the complete division of Ireland into counties, and the\n  administration of the English laws throughout the entire country,\n  terminated at once the necessity for, and the authority of, the\n  ancient Irish laws.\n\n  \"The wars of Cromwell, the policy pursued by King Charles II. at the\n  restoration, and the results of the revolution of 1688, prevented any\n  revival of the Irish laws; and before the end of the seventeenth\n  century the whole race of judges (Brehons) and professors (Ollamhs)\n  of the Irish laws appears to have become extinct.\"\n\n{131}\n\nPortions of the text of the _Senchus Mor_, as we now have it, are held\nby Gaelic scholars to be in the language of the fifth century, in what\nwas called the _B\u00e9rla Feini_ dialect; other portions translated from\nthat ancient form into Gaelic of the thirteenth century. Various\nancient Irish glosses and commentaries accompany the text, and also an\nintroduction of high antiquity, giving an account of the origin of the\n_Senchus Mor_.\n\n  \"Patrick came to Erin to baptize and to disseminate religion among\n  the Gaeidhil--_i.e._, in the ninth year of, the reign of Theodosius,\n  and in the fourth year of the reign of Laeghair\u00e8 [pronounced Layorie\n  or Layrie], son of Niall; king of Erin.\" The combination of the\n  Roman pagan laws with Christian doctrine in the Theodosian code\n  received imperial sanction in A.D. 438, and was at once adopted both\n  in the eastern and western empires. St. Patrick, Dr. Hancock\n  remarks, a Roman citizen, a native of a Roman province, and an\n  eminent Christian missionary, would be certain to obtain early\n  intelligence of the great reform of the laws of the empire and of\n  the great triumph of the Christian church. Having now been six years\n  in Erin, and established his influence there, he attempted\n  successfully a similar reform in that remote island, and the\n  composition of the _Senchus Mor_ was accordingly commenced in that\n  same year, 438, and completed in about four years.\n\n  \"In ancient Irish books the name of the place where they were\n  composed is usually mentioned. The introduction to the _Senchus Mor_\n  contains this information, but is very peculiar in representing the\n  book as having been composed at different places in different\n  seasons of the year: 'It was Teamhair in the summer and in the\n  autumn, on account of its cleanness and pleasantness during these\n  seasons; and Rath-guthaird was the place during the winter and the\n  spring, on account of the nearness of its fire-wood and water, and\n  on account of its warmth in the time of winter's cold.'\n\n  \"Teamhair, now Tara, was, at the time the _Senchus Mor_ was\n  composed, the residence of King Laeghair\u00e8, the monarch of Erin, and\n  of his chief poet Dubhthach Mac ua Lugair, who took such a leading\n  part in the work.\n\n  \"Teamhair ceased to be the residence of the kings of Ireland after\n  the death of King Dermot, in A.D. 565, about a century and a quarter\n  after the _Senchus Mor_ was composed. Remains are, after the lapse\n  of nearly 1,400 years, to be still found, the most remarkable of\n  their kind in Ireland, which attest the ancient importance of the\n  place.\"\n\nIn the introduction a curious account is given of St. Patrick's manner\nof dealing with the existing \"professors of the sciences,\" and his\nadmission of the claim of inspiration on behalf of his pagan\npredecessors.\n\n  \"Patrick requested of the men of Erin to come to one place to hold a\n  conference with him. When they came to the conference the gospel of\n  Christ was preached to them all; and when the men of Erin heard of\n  the killing of the living and the resuscitation of the dead, and all\n  the power of Patrick since his arrival in Erin, and when they saw\n  Laeghair\u00e8 with his Druids overcome by the great signs and miracles\n  _wrought_ in the presence of the men in Erin, they bowed down, in\n  obedience to the will of God and Patrick.\n\n  \"Then Laeghair\u00e8 said: 'It is necessary for you, O men of Erin, that\n  every other law should be settled and arranged by us, as well as\n  this.' 'It is better to do so,' said Patrick. It was then that all\n  the professors of the sciences in Erin were assembled and each of\n  them exhibited his art before Patrick, in the presence of every\n  chief in Erin.\n\n  \"It was then that Dubhthach was ordered to exhibit the judgments and\n  all the poetry of Erin, and every law which prevailed among the men of\n  Erin, through the law of nature, and {132} the law of the seers, and\n  in the judgments of the island of Erin, and in the poets.\n\n  \"They had foretold that the bright word of blessing would\n  come--_i.e._, the law of the letter; for it was the Holy Spirit that\n  spoke and prophesied through the mouths of the just men who were\n  formerly in the island of Erin, as he had prophesied through the\n  mouths of the chief prophets and noble fathers in the patriarchal\n  law; for the law of nature had prevailed where the written law did\n  not reach.\n\n  \"Now the judgments of true nature which the Holy Ghost had spoken\n  through the mouths of the Brehons and just poets of the men of Erin,\n  from the first occupation of this island down to _the reception_ of\n  the faith, were all exhibited by Dubhthach to Patrick. What did not\n  clash with the Word of God in the written law and in the New\n  Testament, and with the consciences of the believers, was confirmed\n  in the laws of the Brehons by Patrick and by the ecclesiastics and\n  the chieftains of Erin; for the law of nature had been quite right,\n  except the faith and its obligations, and the harmony of the church\n  and the people. And this is the _Senchus Mor_.\n\n  \"Nine persons were appointed to arrange this book--viz., Patrick,\n  and Benen, and Cairnech, three bishops; Laeghair\u00e8, and Corc, and\n  Dair\u00e8, three kings; Rosa--_i.e._, Mac-Trechim, and\n  Dubhthach--_i.e._, a doctor of the _B\u00e9rla Feini_, and\n  Fergus--_i.e._, a poet.\n\n  \"Nofis, therefore, is the name of this book which they\n  arranged--_i.e._, the knowledge of nine persons--and we have the\n  proof of this above.\"\n\nAnd in one of the ancient commentaries on the introduction we are\ntold:\n\n  \"Before the coming of Patrick there had been remarkable revelations.\n  When the Brehons deviated from the truth of nature, there appeared\n  blotches upon their cheeks; as first of all on the right cheek of\n  Sen Mac Aige, whenever he pronounced a false judgment, but they\n  disappeared again when he had passed a true judgment, etc.\n\n  \"Connla never passed a false judgment, through the grace of the Holy\n  Ghost, which was upon him.\n\n  \"Sencha Mac Col Cluin was not wont to pass judgment until he had\n  pondered upon it in his breast the night before. When Fachtna, his\n  son, had passed a false judgment, if, in the time of fruit, all the\n  fruit of the territory in which it happened fell off in one night,\n  etc.; if in time of milk, the cows refused their calves; but if he\n  passed a true judgment the fruit was perfect on the trees; hence he\n  received the name of Fachtna Tulbrethach.\n\n  \"Sencha Mac Aililla never pronounced a false judgment without\n  getting three permanent blotches on his face for each judgment.\n  Fitliel had the truth of nature, so that he pronounced no false\n  judgment. Morann never pronounced a judgment without having a chain\n  around his neck. 'When he pronounced a false judgment the chain\n  tightened around his neck. If he passed a true one it expanded down\n  upon him.\"\n\nCorc and Dair\u00e8 were territorial chieftains, or minor kings. Laeghair\u00e8,\nson of Niall of the Nine Hostages, was monarch of Erin; his reign\ncommenced A.D. 428, four years before the arrival of Patrick, and\nended with his life in 458, one year after the foundation of Armagh by\nthat great Christian missionary. Laeghair\u00e8 is usually called the first\nChristian king of Ireland, but it seems more likely from the evidence\nwe have that he himself did not become a Christian, although he\nacknowledged the merit of St. Patrick, and gave him permission to\npreach and baptize, on condition that the peace of the kingdom should\nnot be disturbed. Travellers in our time, by mail-steamers from\nHolyhead and the Island of Druids, may some of them not know that\nKingstown is a name given, but a few years ago, to \"Dunleary\"--that\nis, the fortress of King Laeghair\u00e8, when George IV., by graciously\nlanding there, supplanted the {133} memory of the ancient king.\nDubhthach, Fergus, and Rossa, or Rosa, were eminent poets and learned\nmen; they exhibited \"from memory what their predecessors had\n_sung_\"--for much of the ancient law was preserved in the form of\nverse, and Dubhthach, \"royal poet of Erin,\" at the compilation of the\n_Senchus Mor_, put a thread of poetry round it for Patrick. Many parts\nof the work as we have it are in verse.\n\nThe subject of that part of the _Senchus Mor_ which is contained in\nthe volume before us is the \"Law of Distress\"--that is, the legal\nrules under which distraint was to be made of persons, cattle, or\ngoods, in a great variety of cases. To a general reader, the legal\nverbosity and trivial repetitions make the book hard to read; but\nimbedded in it, so to speak, are many curious little fragments of a\nvery remote and obscure social system, and some of these we shall\nproceed to set before our readers.\n\nFines in cases of death, bodily hurt, insult, or injury of whatever\nkind were arranged according to the dignity of the parties concerned.\nThe \"honor-price\" is the same for a king, a bishop, a chief\nlaw-professor, and a chief poet who can compose a quatrain\nextemporaneously.\n\nAt a feast, \"his own proper kind of food\" is assigned to persons of\ndifferent rank--as, for example, the haunch for the king, bishop, and\nliterary doctor; a leg for the young chief; a steak for the queen; the\nheads for the charioteers; and a _croichet_ [unknown part] for \"a king\nopposed in his government.\"\n\nShould a person have property, it shall not increase his honor-price,\nunless he do good with it.\n\nA king with a personal blemish was allowed with difficulty, if at all.\n\nIn case of distress by or on a person of distinction, _fasting_ was a\nnecessary legal form--the creditor had to \"fast upon\" his debtor until\na pledge was given for the claim. Something very similar to this\ncurious process is found in the ancient Hindoo laws, and appears to be\npractised in India to the present day, under the name of \"_dherna_,\"\nAccording to Sir William Jones, the creditor sat at the debtor's door,\nabstaining from food, till, for fear of becoming accountable for the\nman's death, the debtor paid him. As to the Irish mode of \"fasting\nupon\" a debtor of the chieftain grade, exact particulars are not\ngiven; but it would seem that on presentation of the claim of\ndistraint at the residence of the debtor the \"fasting\" began, and if\nthe debtor did not pay or give a pledge, but allowed his creditor to\ngo on fasting (it is not said for how long), he became liable to\ndouble the debt, and other penalties.\n\nIf one of inferior grade comes to sue one of the chieftain grade, he\nmust be accompanied, on his part, by one of the chieftain grade.\n\nAmong articles enumerated as coming under various rather puzzling\nrules and exemptions in cases of distraint, we find, weapons for\nbattle; a racehorse; a harp-comb, and other requisites for music; toys\nfor the children--viz., \"hurlets, balls, and hoops,\" and also \"little\ndogs and cats;\" the \"eight parts which constitute a mill;\" the fork\nand cauldron; the kneading-trough and sieve; the bed-furniture--\n_i.e._, plaids and bolsters; the reflector or mirror; the chess-board;\nthe seven valuable articles of the house of the chieftain--viz.,\n\"cauldron, vat, goblet, mug, reins, horse-bridle, and pin;\" the\ncattle-bells, the griddle, the \"branch-light of each person's house;\"\nthe lap-dog of a queen, the watch-dog, the hunting hound; implements\nof weaving and of spinning.\n\nFines and penalties were provided, among other cases, for withholding\nthe food-tribute from a king or chief; for the deficiency of a feast;\nfor neglecting the due clearing of roads in war, or in winter, or at\ntime of a fair; for neglecting the due preparation of a fair-green;\nfor neglecting any persons or things cast ashore by the sea (in this\ncase the \"territory\" was liable); {134} for neglecting \"the common net\nof the tribe;\" for breaking the laws of rivers and fishing; for\nneglecting the due maintenance and medical treatment of the sick; for\nnot helping in the erection of the common fort of the tribe; for not\nblessing a completed work. This last is a curious offence. \"It was\ncustomary,\" we read in a note to p. 132, \"for workmen, on completing\nany work, and delivering it to their employer, to give it their\nblessing. This was the 'abarta,' and if this blessing was omitted, the\nworkman was subject to a fine, or loss of a portion of his fee, equal\nto a seventh part of his allowance of food while employed--the food to\nwhich a workman was entitled being settled by the law in proportion to\nthe rank of the art or trade which he professed. And it would appear\nthat the first person who saw it finished and neglected the blessing\nwas also fined.\" To the present day, among Irish peasants, it is\nthought a marked omission if, in transferring or praising, or even\ntaking notice of, any possession, especially if it be a living\ncreature, one neglects to say \"God bless it!\" or \"I wish you luck with\nit!\" or some such good word; and where you see any work going on, it\nis right to say, \"God bless the work!\"\n\nDistress was levied on defaulters for share in building \"the common\nbridge of the tribe;\" for beef to nourish the chief \"during the time\nthat he is making laws;\" for the \"cow from every tribe,\" sent on\ndemand, \"when the king is on the frontier of a territory with a host.\"\n\"Now, the custom is that this cow is taken from some one man of them\nfor the whole number. They make good that cow to him only.\" Also for\nthe victualling of a fort; for guarding and feeding captives; for the\nmaintenance of a fool, or of a madwoman, or of an aged person, or of a\nchild. \"Five cows is the fine for neglecting to provide for the\nmaintenance of the fool who has land, and _power of amusing;_ and his\nhaving these is the cause of the smallness of the fine. Ten cows is\nthe fine for neglecting to provide for the maintenance of every\nmadwoman; and the reason that the fine is greater than that of the\nfool is, for the madwoman is not a minstrel, and has not land. If the\nfool has not land, or has not power of amusing, the fine for\nneglecting to provide for his maintenance is equal to that of the\nmadwoman who can do no work.\" \"A 'cumhal' of eight cows is the fine\nfor neglecting to maintain any family senior who has land after his\neighty-eighth year. As to each man of unknown age after his ninetieth\nyear, his land shall pass from the family who have not maintained him\nto an extern family who have maintained him. As to every senior of a\nfamily and man of unknown age without land, a 'cumhal' of five 'seds'\nis the fine for not maintaining him.\"\n\nThere are fines for evil words, false reports, slander, nicknames, and\nsatire. The poets were supposed to have the power of turning a man's\nhair gray by force of satire, or even of killing him. There are also\nfines for \"failure of _hosting_,\" \"the head of every family of the lay\ngrades is to go into the battle;\" \"every one who has a shield to\nshelter him, and who is fit for battle, is to go upon the plundering\nexcursion.\" \"Three services of attack\" are enumerated--on pirates,\naggressors, and wolves; and \"three services of defence\"--to secure\n\"promontories [hills?], lonely passes, and boundaries.\"\n\n\"Distress of three days for using thy horse, thy boat, thy basket, thy\ncart, thy chariot, for wear of thy vessel, thy vat, thy great\ncauldron, thy cauldron; for 'dire'-fine in respect of thy house, for\nstripping thy herb-garden, for stealing thy pigs, thy sheep; for\nwearing down thy hatchet, thy wood-axe; for consuming the things cast\nupon thy beach by the sea, for injuring thy meeting-hill, for digging\nthy silver mine, for robbing thy bee-hive, for the fury of thy fire,\nfor the crop of thy sea marsh, for the 'dire'-fine in respect to thy\ncorn-rick, thy turf, thy ripe {135} corn, thy ferns, thy furze, thy\nrushes, if without permission; for slighting thy law, for slighting\nthy inter-territorial law, for enforcing thy 'Urradhus' law; _in the\ncase_ of good fosterage, _in the case_ of bad fosterage, the fosterage\nfee in the case over fosterage _for_ cradle clothes; for recovering\nthe dues of the common tillage land, for recovering the dues of joint\nfosterage, for recovering the dues of lawful relationship, for\nunlawful tying, over-fettering of horses, breaking a _fence_ to let\ncows into the grass; breaking it before calves _to let them_ to the\ncows. The restitution of the milk is in one day.\"\n\nThere are also fines for quarrelling in a fort; for disturbing the\nmeetinghill; for stripping the slain; for refusing a woman \"the\nlonged-for morsel;\" for scaring the timid, with a mask or otherwise;\nfor causing a person to blush; for carrying a boy on your back into a\nhouse so as to strike his head; for love-charms and \"bed-witchcraft;\"\nfor neglect in marriage; for \"setting the charmed morsel for a\ndog--_i.e._, to prove it;\" for failure as to \"the safety of a\nhostage;\" for \"withholding his fees from the Brehon.\"\n\nFor mutilation and for murder, the \"eric-fine and honor-price\" varied\naccording to circumstances.\n\nDistress of five days' stay is \"for not erecting the tomb of thy\nchief;\" \"for false boasting of a dead woman;\" for satirizing her after\nher death; for causing to wither any kind of tree; for the eric-fine\nfor an oath of secret murder.\n\nIn certain cases, persons were exempted from distress for a longer or\nshorter period. For example: \"A man upon whom _the test of the\ncauldron_ is enjoined--_i.e._, to go to a testing cauldron--and he\nshall have exemption until he returns;\" \"a man whose wife is in\nlabor;\" \"a man who collects the food-tribute of a chief.\"\n\nThe bodies and bones of the dead are protected by penalties. There is\na fixed fine and \"honor-price\" for carrying away the remains of a\nbishop out of his tomb (as relics?); also _breaking bones_ in a\nchurchyard, \"to take the marrow out of them for sorcerers.\" \"The bone\nof a king drowned in the stream, or of a hermit condemned to the sea\nand the wind,\" belongs to the people of the land where it happens to\nbe cast, until the tribe of the deceased pay for its redemption.\n\nThere are penalties for \"lookers-on\" at an ill deed; and these are\ndivided into three classes: \"a looker-on of full fine\" is one who\n\"instigates, and accompanies, and escorts, and exults;\" of half fine,\none who does not instigate, but does the other acts; of quarter-fine,\none who \"accompanies only, and does not prohibit, and does not save.\"\nClerics, women, and boys are exempt.\n\nOne is accountable (in different degrees) for one's own crime, the\ncrime of a near kinsman, the crime of a middle kinsman, and the crime\nof a kinsman in general.\n\n\"There are four who have an interest in every one who sues or is\nsued\"--the tribe of the father, the tribe of the mother, the chief,\nthe church; also the tribe of the foster-father.\n\n\"Every tribe is liable after the absconding of a member of it, after\nwarning, after notice, and after lawful waiting.\"\n\nThe notes to this volume are few and unimportant, and further\nelucidations on many points are much to be desired. The printing of\nthe original Gaelic along with the translation must add greatly to the\ncost of the work, but the value of the text to philologers may perhaps\nmake this worth while. Only we hope that this laudable and interesting\nundertaking, of the publication of the ancient laws and institutes of\nIreland, will not, like other Irish schemes that could be named, make\na costly and elaborate beginning, and then, exhausting its means in\nthe outset, break down altogether. This first volume gives us a strong\ndesire to see the proposed plan carried into {136} completion without\nundue delay. It would appear that all the heavy part of the literary\nwork of it is already done.\n\n------\n\nMISCELLANY.\n\n\n_The Transparency of the Sea. _--At a late meeting of the French\nAcademy of Science, M. Cialdi and Father Secchi sent the result of\nsome observations they have made \"On the Transparency of the Sea.\" The\nexperiments were made at the end of April, on board a vessel, near\nCivita Vecchia, from six to twelve miles from land, and at depths\nvarying from 90 to 300 metres, the sea being perfectly clear and\ntranquil. Discs of different diameters and colors attached to wires\nbeing plunged horizontally under water, showed that the maximum depth\nat which the largest (a white disc 3-1/4 metres in diameter) could be\nseen was 42-1/2 metres, the sun being elevated 60-1/4\u00b0 above the\nhorizon. With a vertical sun the depth of visibility shall be 45\nmetres. The color of the disc appeared at first a light green, then a\nclear blue, which became darker as it was lowered, until it could no\nlonger be distinguished from the surrounding medium. Discs of a yellow\nor sandy color disappeared at less than half the depth of the white\ndiscs--that is to say, between 17 and 24 metres. The height of the sun\nand the clearness of the sky greatly influence the depth at which\nobjects may be seen. Viewing the light reflected from a submerged\nwhite disc through a spectroscope, the red and yellow colors were\nfound to be rapidly absorbed. As it was sunk deeper in the sea a\nportion of the green became absorbed, the other colors remaining\nunaltered. The authors remark that this luminous absorption of the\nmore refrangible rays is what would be expected from the calorific\nopacity and the actinic transparency of water. From the foregoing\nresults, they doubt whether the bottom of the sea has ever been seen\nat a depth of 100 metres, as it is more probable that the mud and sand\nbrought up by waves has been mistaken for such: the fact that the\nbottom of the sea is a worse reflector than the white disc,\nstrengthens this supposition.\n\n\n\n_Irish Limestone Caverns._--At a late meeting of the Cork Cuvierian\nSociety, Professor Harkness, so well known for his investigations of\nScottish rocks, announced the discovery of the bones of mammals in a\nlimestone quarry at Middleton, County Cork. The rock consists of the\nordinary limestone of the district, in one part much fissured, and\nunder this fissured portion there is a mass of brown clay, the\nthickness of which cannot be determined, as its base is not seen. This\nreddish-brown clay under the limestone is the deposit which furnishes\nthe fossil bones, and which, doubtless, fills the space which was once\na natural grotto. Beside the bones, which are in a fragmentary\ncondition, there are also present teeth and antlers. The latter are\nmuch broken, and do not afford sufficient character to enable the\nspecies to be accurately determined. They seem, however, to belong to\ntwo forms, one of which had the beam and branches smooth and\nsub-compressed, features which indicate the antlers of the reindeer;\nand the other with the horns rounded and rough, a form of surface\nwhich marks the antlers of the common stag. Of these antlers two\nportions which appear to belong to the reindeer have been cut while in\nthe fresh state; and the faces of the cuts being almost smooth, this\ncutting appears to have been effected by a fine regular-edged\ninstrument rather than, by a serrated tool. The leg bones which appear\nin this clay have all been broken, for the most part longitudinally,\nexcept the carpal and tarsal, and other small bones of the\nextremities. This longitudinal fracturing of the long bones of the leg\nis not known to occur in any mammalian remains which belong to a\nperiod previous to that where we have evidence of the existence of\n{137} the human race; and these broken bones afford evidence of the\noccurrence of man, who, for the purpose of obtaining the marrow,\ndivided them in the direction most available for this object. Beside\nthe evidence afforded by the cut antlers and longitudinally divided\nbones, there are other circumstances indicating the occurrence of man\nin connection with these remains; one of these is the presence of\ncharred wood, which is equally disseminated through the clay with the\nbones and teeth. This charred wood is the remains of the ancient fires\nby means of which former human beings cooked their food.\n\n\n\n_Is there an Open Arctic Sea?_--Sir Roderick Murchison, who answers\nthis question in the affirmative, gives the following arguments in\nsupport of his opinion:--(1.) The fact has been well ascertained by\nScoresby and others, that every portion of the floating pack-ice north\nof Spitzbergen is made up of frozen sea-water only, without a trace of\nterrestrial icebergs like those which float down Baffin's Bay, or\nthose which, carrying blocks of stone and _d\u00e9bris_, float northward\nfrom the land around the South Pole. (2.) The northern shores of\nSiberia tell the same tale; for in their vast expanse the absence of\nicebergs, or erratic blocks, or anything which could have been derived\nfrom great or lofty masses of land, has been wen ascertained. (3.) As\na geologist, Sir R. Murchison could point out that this absence of\nerratic blocks in northern Siberia has existed from that remote\nglacial period when much larger tracts of northern Europe were\noccupied by glaciers than at the present day. (4.) The traveller\nMiddendorf found the extreme northern promontory of Siberia, Taimyr,\nclad with fir trees, while the immense tract of country to the south\nof it was destitute of trees, showing a milder climate at that point\nof Siberia nearest the pole.\n\n\n\n_Food as a Means of Preventing Disease_,--It seems not at all\nimprobable that, as has been shown by Liebig in the case of plants,\nmost of those diseases which we at present attribute to the presence\nof some morbid substance in the blood, are produced in the first\ninstance by the absence of some of the proper constituents of the\nblood. The blood when abnormally composed will allow vegetable and\nother growths to take place in it, thus producing painful symptoms;\nbut if it contained its suitable components, it is most probable that\nit would be then enabled to resist the development of the materials we\nrefer to. In the case of the potato disease, there can hardly be a\ndoubt that the sap becomes deteriorated, owing to the absence of the\nproper proportion of potash, prior to the development of the o\u00efdium\nwhich commits such ravages. The idea which we have given has not had\nmany advocates in this country, and we are glad to find that Mr.\nErasmus Wilson has in some measure lent his support to the theory.\nAlthough Mr. Wilson does not go as deeply into the question as we\nshould wish, still he shows that food may well be employed not only in\npreventing but in curing disease. If, he says, it be admitted that\nfood is the source of the elements of which the body is composed, what\nkind of body can be expected in the case of a deficient supply of\nfood, whether that deficiency proceed from actual want, or from some\nperverse theory of refinement, founded on a false conception of the\nnature and objects of food, and ignorance of its direct convertibility\ninto the flesh and blood of man? We think Mr. Wilson is too determined\na supporter of flesh-eating tastes. If he had his way, he would\nconvert man into a decidedly carnivorous animal, and we do not think\nthat either experience or an appeal to the anatomy of the human\nmasticatory and digestive organs would bear out his views.--_Vide \"On\nFood as a Means of Prevention of Disease._\"\n\n\n_Are the Flint Implements from the Drift Authentic?_--A pamphlet has\nappeared from the pen of Mr. Nicholas Whitley, of the Royal\nInstitution of Cornwall, in which it is attempted to be proved that\nthe so-called flint implements are not the result of workmanship. The\n_Popular Science Review_ gives the following abstract of Mr. Whitley's\nargument: (1.) _The \"implements\" are all of flint._ The tools employed\nby men of the recognized archaeological stone age are made of stones\nof various kinds, of which there are examples of serpentine, granular\ngreenstone, indurated claystone, trap greenstone, claystone, quartz,\nsyenite, chest, etc. Why, therefore, {138} should the only weapon in\nthe drift deposit be manufactured from flint solely? (2.) The\n_\"implements\" are all of one class--axes_. Were they then a race of\ncarpenters? Man is a cooking animal; and if ten thousand axes have\nbeen found, surely one seething-pot or drinking-cup ought to have\nturned up. He needs shelter, but no remnant of his clothing or hut has\nbeen found. Almost everywhere where there are chalk flints we find\naxes, and nothing but axes. (3.) _There is a gradation in form_ from\nthe very rough fracture of the flint to the perfect almond-shaped\nimplement. Let the most enthusiastic believer in their authenticity\nexamine carefully the one thousand implements in the Abbeville museum,\nand he would probably reject two-thirds as bearing no evidence of the\nwork of man. But it would be impossible for him to say where nature\nended and art began. (4.) Some of the implements are admirable\nillustrations of the form produced by the natural fracture of the\negg-shaped flint nodule. (5.) It is supposed that these weapons were\nused for cutting down timber and scooping out canoes. But it should be\nremembered that the gravels in which they are found were formed during\na severe Arctic climate, in which no tree but a stunted birch could\nhave grown, certainly none large enough to form a canoe. (6.) _Their\nnumber._ The implements are found by thousands in small areas, and in\nnumbers quite out of proportion to the thinly scattered population\nthat must have (if at all) then existed.\n\n\n\n_The Sponge Fishery._--The main industry of the island of Crete is the\nsponge fishery which is pursued on its coasts. It is chiefly carried\non by companionships of from twenty to thirty boats, for mutual\nsupport and protection. The mode of operation preparatory to a dive is\nvery peculiar and interesting. The diver whose turn it is takes his\nseat on the deck of the vessel, at either the bow or stern, and\nplacing by his side a large flat slab of marble, weighing about 25\nlbs., to which is attached a rope of the proper length and thickness\n(1-1/2 inch), he then strips, and is left by his companions to prepare\nhimself. This seems to consist in devoting a certain time to clearing\nthe passages of his lungs by expectoration, and highly inflating them\nafterward; thus oxidizing his blood very highly by a repetition of\ndeep inspirations. The operation lasts from five to ten minutes, or\nmore, according to the depth; and during it the operator is never\ninterfered with by his companions, and seldom speaks or is spoken to;\nhe is simply watched by two of them, but at a little distance, and\nthey never venture to urge him or distract him in any way during the\nprocess. When from some sensation, known only to himself, after these\nrepeated long-drawn and heavy inspirations, he deems the fitting\nmoment to have arrived, he seizes the slab of marble, and, after\ncrossing himself and uttering a prayer, plunges with it like a\nreturning dolphin into the sea, and rapidly descends. The stone is\nalways held during the descent directly in front of the head, at\narm's-length, and so as to offer as little resistance as possible;\nand, by varying its inclination, it acts likewise as a rudder, causing\nthe descent to be more or less vertical, as desired by the diver. As\nsoon as he reaches the bottom he places the stone under his arm to\nkeep himself down, and then walks about upon the rock, or crawls under\nits ledges, stuffing the sponges into a netted bag with a hooped\nmouth, which is strung round his neck to receive them; but he holds\nfirmly to the stone or rope all the while, as his safeguard for\nreturning and for making the known signal at the time he desires it.\nThe hauling up is thus effected: The assistant who has hold of the\nrope awaiting the signal, first reaches down with both hands as low as\nhe can, and there grasping the rope, with a great bodily effort raises\nit up to nearly arm's-length over his head; the second assistant is\nthen prepared to make his grasp as low down as he can reach, and does\nthe same; and so the two alternately, and by a fathom or more at a\ntime, and with great rapidity, bring the anxious diver to the surface.\nA heavy blow from his nostrils to expel the water and exhausted air\nindicates to his comrades that he is conscious and breathes, a word or\ntwo is then spoken by one of his companions to encourage him if he\nseems much distressed, as is often the case; and the hearing of the\nvoice is said by them to be a great support at the moment of their\ngreatest state of exhaustion. A few seconds' rest at the surface, and\nthen the diver returns into the boat to recover, generally putting\n{139} on an under-garment or jacket, to assist the restoration of the\nanimal heat he has lost, and to prevent the loss of more by the too\nrapid evaporation of the water from his body.--_Travels in Crete._\n\n\n\n_The Sun's Spots._--Father Secchi writes from Rome, under date of Aug.\n8, to the _Reader_ as follows: I thank you for the interest you take\nin the observations of the sun. The last large spot has been very\ninteresting for science, and I hope to be able to publish all the\ndrawings we have made of it by projection. Meanwhile I send you two of\nthem, photographed on a large scale. You will see in the printed\narticle which I send you, that I have been able to see the\n_prominences_ and _depressions_ produced by the spot at the edge of\nthe sun; not only myself but also M. Tacchini. I regret that the\nshortness of time does not allow me to copy the drawings made on that\noccasion, but I send a copy of them to Mr. De la Rue, and you will see\nthem. As to the _willow-leaves_ and _rice-grains_ question, I think,\nas you say, we are all right and all wrong. I will state clearly what\nI see. On first placing the eye to the telescope, and in very good\nmoments of definition, the surface of the sun appears certainly to me\nmade up of many oblong bodies, which I think are the willow-leaves of\nMr. Nasmyth; their orientation is in every direction, but they take a\nconverging direction in the neighborhood of the spots, where they form\nthe tongues, currents, and such like. But this view is, as I said,\nrather difficult to obtain, and many times I have looked for it quite\nwithout success. Is this a defect of vision, or caused by the sun's\n_changements?_ If by willow-leaves other things than these are\nunderstood, I have not seen them. M. Airy seems to understand other\nthings, and then I am quite at a loss. This, therefore, is a matter\nvery problematic, and to be better studied. By projection on a large\nscale in some beautiful moments of definition, these oblong bodies on\nthe general surface of the sun have been seen by my assistant also;\nbut generally they are not visible, but the sun appears like clouds.\nAs to the mobility of the solar surface, you can judge from the two\nphotographs that I send you; they have been made only at an interval\nof twenty-four hours. I think we assisted at the outbreaking of the\nspot, and at its arrangement from a great confusion of movements into\na regular transformation of an ordinary group of spots. The appearance\nwhich I have seen is quite like that which takes place when a great\nmovement is excited in a stream of running water, which finally\nresolves itself into some vortices which take their course\nindependently. The movement of these spots even alone is capable of\ndemonstrating materially what Mr. Carrington has found with great\nlabor--that there is in the sun a real drift of matter, since without\nthis it would be impossible to explain how the spot has been increased\nin two days to a length twice as great as its breadth, this remaining\nalmost constant. But more of this in a particular memoir.\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nHISTORY OF MY RELIGIOUS OPINIONS.\nBy John Henry Newman, D.D., of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri. London:\nLongman, Green, Longman, Roberts & Green. 1865. 8vo., pp. 379.\n\nUnder this title, Dr. Newman has republished the charming\nautobiography which originally appeared as an answer to the calumnies\nof Charles Kingsley, and was entitled \"_Apologia pro Vita Sua_,\"\nrepublished in a neat and attractive manner by the Appletons. We\nearnestly recommend all our readers, whether they be Catholics or not,\nwho have not procured and read the \"_Apologia_,\" to do so without\ndelay, if they wish to give themselves a rich intellectual treat. The\nAmerican edition is decidedly to be preferred, on account {140} of the\ncomplete history it furnishes of the controversy with Mr. Kingsley\nwhich led to the composition of the book. In England, this controversy\nis already well-known to the entire religious and literary world, and\nmay be supposed by this time to have lost its interest. Dr. Newman's\nautobiography will never lose its interest and value while the English\nlanguage remains; and for this reason, it was no doubt a wise thought\nin the author to prepare it for posterity in a form wherein the local\nand personal controversy which occasioned its being written should no\nlonger be connected with its proper subject-matter. No doubt, too, the\nauthor felt some reluctance to perpetuate, in close connection with\nhis own personal history, the memory of the severe castigation which\nhe administered to his opponent. This is honorable to his delicate and\ncharitable sentiments. At the same time, the castigation was\nnecessary, it was just, it was not one whit too severe, and we owe a\ndebt of gratitude to Dr. Newman for having applied the terrible lash\nwhich he possesses, but which he employs so seldom and usually so\nlightly, in this case with all his strength to the shoulders of a\ndelinquent. There is a certain small class of writers in the English\nChurch, some of whom are Puseyites, others more or less broad in their\nviews, who violate all the laws of honorable and courteous warfare in\ntheir attacks on the Catholic Church. They take the line of charging\nfraud, forgery, lying, and utterly unprincipled and wicked motives and\nmaxims upon the hierarchy, priesthood, and other advocates of the\nCatholic cause. One of the first and foremost of these was Mr.\nMeyrick, of Oxford, the author of a disingenuous work against Catholic\nmorals, and one of Mr. Kingsley's defenders. This work of Mr.\nMeyrick's was republished in this country with a more offensive\npreface, by the Rev. A. C. Coxe, now the bishop of Western New York, a\nperson who has abjured all regard to the rules of common civility,\nboth in his public writings and speeches concerning the Catholic\nclergy, and also in his private demeanor when he has happened to be\nthrown into contact with them personally. This class of writers adopt\nwhat Dr. Newman happily styles a mode of warfare which consists in\n\"poisoning the wells.\" That is, they seek to forestall all debate on\nthe merits of the Catholic question, by accusing the advocates of the\nCatholic side of being liars by principle and on system; infamous\npersons, who have no claim to decent treatment or even to a hearing.\nThere is but one course to be taken with opponents of this sort.\nArgument, explanation, courtesy, are alike thrown away upon them. They\nmust be treated like guerrillas, and summary justice must be done up\non them, as the only means of self-defence, and as a salutary example\nto others. They must be taught that they cannot have free license to\ncalumniate and vituperate the Catholic Church or its members with\nimpunity. How effectually this lesson was read to them by Dr. Newman,\nis shown by the hearty applause which his book received from all\nEngland, the evidence of which may be seen in the review of it which\nappeared in the principal English periodicals.\n\nWe wish to be understood that the language we have used above has no\napplication to any but a few offending individuals, whose spirit and\nmanner are even more severely condemned by a large class of the\nnon-Catholic public than by Catholics themselves. It is very\ngratifying to observe the respectful, moderate, and courteous tone\nwhich many of the most illustrious of the recent advocates of the\nProtestant side maintain toward the Church of Rome and her\ndistinguished and worthy members. Copying after Leibniz, the greatest\ngenius which the Protestant confession can boast of, we have, among\nothers, Guizot, Ranke, Dr. Pusey, Palmer; and in this country, William\nR. Alger, who, albeit he has inadvertently repeated some of the\ncurrent misstatements of Catholic doctrine, has always shown a\nfairness and generosity of spirit and a readiness to correct mistakes\nwhich make him conspicuous among our honorable opponents. In this\nspecies of candor and courtesy the most eminent writers of the\ncontinent are still far before the most of those in England and\nAmerica. Dr. Newman himself and his compeers in the early Oxford\nmovement, even in their strongest and most pronounced expressions of\nopinion against Rome and against various form of dissent, furnished\nthe most perfect specimens of the truly Christian and gentlemanly\nstyle of polemics which English literature had yet {141} seen. Never\nwas there a man who kept his intellect and his varied gifts as a\nwriter more completely under the discipline of a strict conscience,\none who was more scrupulously just and fair, truthful and frank, yet\nguarded and cautious, than John Henry Newman. He has the soul of\nknightly chivalry in him; religious, fearless, modest, and\ncompassionate; loyal to the death to every sacred obligation, and\nscorning a mean or deceitful act more than common men do treason and\nperjury. Such a man ought to have been secure of honorable treatment;\nand yet he has not been spared in the strife of tongues; and if he has\nat last triumphed over calumny, it has only been by overpowering his\nenemies with the superior weight of his armor and strength of his arm,\nand not because his holy retirement and spotless name have been\nrespected. However, after long years, during whose lapse the English\npeople have disdained and slighted the man of genius and the pure\nChristian who is one of the greatest ornaments of their literature, on\naccount of their intense hostility to his religion, their love of fair\nplay, and admiration for intellectual greatness and prowess, has\ngained a signal victory, and we give them due credit for it. The\ndemand for the \"_Apologia_\" on its first publication in successive\nnumbers was so great that the Longmans were unable to keep up with it.\nThat it has not been unappreciated also in this country is proved by\nthe fact that four editions of the American reprint have been\nexhausted. Of the book itself, it is almost superfluous to speak at\nthis late day. It will bear to be read and re-read, and the repeated\nperusal, instead of wearying, only brings out new charms and occasions\nan increasing delight. We have read and admired Dr. Newman's writings\nfor more than twenty years, but have never so fully appreciated the\nwonderful subtlety and vigor of his intellect as we have done since\nreading his last book. It is like the keen, bright, dexterously\nwielded, and irresistible scimeter of Saladin. At his conversion\nAnglicanism lost a champion far more capable than any other of coping\nwith its stoutest antagonists, and the Catholic Church gained over the\nmost formidable of her foes who wields an English pen. Even as now\nreproduced by himself, as a mere history of the past, his method of\ndefending the Church of England against Rome appears to us so much\nmore subtle and plausible, and adroitly managed, not through any\ndesigned artifice on his part, but from the acuteness with which his\nmind detects all the most defensible points of his own position and\nthe most assailable ones of the opposite, than that of any other\nwriter, that we instinctively say, no man but John Henry Newman could\nfully refute himself. Each successive post at which he pauses in his\ngradual approach to the Catholic Church seems as defensible as the\nothers which he has abandoned as untenable. At his very last halting\nplace, he has the air of a man who is about to defend himself there to\nthe last, and is not to be driven further. Indeed, he was not _driven_\nby any mind more powerful than his own; for although the arguments of\nCardinal Wiseman had considerable weight with him, neither he nor any\nother Catholic writer really answered the difficulties which were in\nhis own mind, or fully refuted, in a manner consonant to his\nintellectual convictions, the plausible arguments by which he\njustified to himself and recommended to others a continuance in the\nAnglican communion. He was driven only by his innate love of truth,\nhis conscientiousness, his logical fidelity to his own first\nprinciples, and the grace of God. Humanly speaking, his conversion was\none of the most unlikely events which has ever taken place. Ten years\nbefore it occurred he was at an immense distance from the Catholic\nChurch, and advancing toward it by a most circuitous route, with the\ngreatest apparent, reluctance. We rise from the perusal of his own\nrecord of his journey with a sentiment of astonishment that he ever\nreached his destination. When we remember the light in which Dr.\nNewman was regarded by his own school in the days of his leadership at\nOxford, it appears to us that the estimate formed of him was both\nsingularly just and singularly incorrect. It was just in one way,\ninasmuch as, whatever his modesty may suggest to the contrary, he was\nmore than any other man the leader of the movement. It was incorrect,\ninasmuch as a far greater originative force in causing this movement\nand a far greater comprehension of its principles were attributed to\nhim than he or any other man possessed. The {142} movement itself\ncreated its own agents, and bore them on with a power infinitely\ngreater than they possessed of themselves. Dr. Newman was a master to\ninferior and more backward scholars; but was himself only a scholar,\nwho began with the first and simplest rudiments of Catholicity. His\nmerit consisted in this, that while many paused at various stages of\nelementary and partial knowledge, he pushed on to the mastery of final\nresults and completed his curriculum. Considering what he had to\nlearn, and that he had in great measure to be his own teacher, the\nspace of ten years was really a short rather than a long period for\nthe process.\n\nThe history of this process constitutes the direct object and the\nprincipal value and charm of the \"_Apologia_,\" and the \"History of My\nReligious Opinions.\" The mind of the author is, however, one of those\nfull streams that overflows its bounds, and whose _obiter dicta_ are\nfrequently the richest and most precious of its effusions. There are\nseveral passages in this work falling within the scope of this remark.\nWe can only call attention to two, without quoting them. One is found\non pp. 266-273 of the American edition of the \"_Apologia_,\" and\nrelates to the doctrine of original sin. Another, on pp. 275-291,\nconcerns the question of the relations between faith and science and\nreason and authority. In the very act of giving a reason for avoiding\nthe discussion of these questions, the author has given in a short\ncompass, one of the most admirable disquisitions we have ever read.\nThere is no passage in all his writings which exhibits better the fine\ndiscrimination of his thought, and the perspicuity and beauty of his\nstyle, and in both these respects it is a specimen of the most perfect\nlogical and rhetorical art.\n\nWe feel bound, however, to enter one _caveat_ against a part of Dr.\nNewman's philosophy, which we regard not so much as being a positive\nerror as a defect, and which has been quite distinctly brought out by\nthe _Westminster Review_, as a part of his defence of Catholicity\nwhich presents a weak side to the infidel. This defect is one\noriginating in the philosophy which has prevailed in England, and in\nwhich Dr. Newman was educated; one which has always been conspicuous\nin the writers of the Oxford school, and which appears to us to leave\na great _hiatus_ in their theology. This defect may be described,\nthough it is not defined, as the doctrine _probability_, We have no\nhesitation in agreeing with Dr. Newman in the maxim, that in most\nmatters \"probability is the guide of life.\" We have heretofore\nthought, however, that he extended this principle into the domain of\nnatural and revealed religion so far as to agree with those writers\nwho consider their fundamental verities as being merely more probable\nthan their logical contradictories. After carefully weighing his\nwords, we have come to the conclusion that he does not use the word in\nthis sense, when he speaks of the great truths of religion. That is,\nhe does not admit that there is any real probability, though a lesser\none, in the infidel negations, but only a metaphysical possibility. He\nallows of a moral certainty which admits of no prudent doubt to the\ncontrary, but does not reach to a metaphysical certainty. Here again\nwe agree with him partially, and if we understand rightly the\necclesiastical decisions on the point, we think his doctrine is one\nthat has official sanction. That is, we regard, with him, the evidence\nof revealed religion and of the authority of the Catholic Church, as\napprehended by the light of our natural intelligence in that act which\ntheologians call \"the preamble to faith,\" as being in the order of\nprobability and incapable of generating more than a moral certainty.\nThat certitude of belief which excludes possibility of error, we\nregard as an effect of the gift of faith imparting a supernatural\nfirmness to the intellectual assent. We dissent from Dr. Newman, when\nhe extends this doctrine to our ultimate belief in God, and we think\nit necessary, in order to give a firm basis even to a true\nprobability, that we should affirm the absolute intuition of that idea\nof God, from which we are able to deduce his attributes; and,\nmoreover, affirm also the perfect metaphysical demonstrability of all\nthese attributes as expressed in the Christian conception of God. We\ndislike very much any form of expression which implies that we believe\nin God on a probability, which is tantamount to saying that \"it is\nprobable there is a God.\" Even if we say that the being of God is\nmorally certain, we still leave it possible that there is no God. If\nwe deduce {143} the being of God from the ultimate principle of the\ncertainty of our own existence, we make our self-consciousness, our\nreason, the laws of our own being, the standard of right and truth\nwhich we establish within ourselves, more certain, and to us more\nultimate than God. We become our own centre and stand-point, our own\nultimate judge, a light and a law to ourselves, really subsisting in\nan intellectual independence of God. This is ceding, in our view, to\nthe pure infidel rationalist all the ground he wants, which is simply\nliberty for every one to speculate about the cause of all things, and\ntheir procession to the ultimate end, as he lists. It is true he will\ndo it without our leave, whatever our way of stating Christian truth;\nbut if we admit, or do not clearly repudiate, his first principles, he\nwill point out a logical defect in our argument, and show that we are\ninconsistent; and then the philosophical proof of Christianity, which\nconsists in demonstrating the conception of God from first principles\nintuitively certain, and showing that none of the Christian doctrines\nwhich we received from testimony are incompatible with these first\nprinciples, will, in our hands, be defectively managed.\n\nIt is proper to state, however, that Dr. Newman does not propose\nanything dogmatically on this important question, but rather indicates\nthat he has not yet obtained a solution which satisfies him.\n\n\nA GENERAL HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH; FROM THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE\nCHRISTIAN ERA UNTIL THE PRESENT TIME.\nBy M. l'Abb\u00e9 J. E. Darras; First American from the last French\nedition. With an Introduction and Notes by the most Rev. M. J.\nSpalding, D.D., Archbishop of Baltimore. Vol. I. 8vo., pp. 675. New\nYork: P. O'Shea.\n\nThe appearance of this volume realizes very fully all we were led to\nexpect from its prospectus. The first impression made upon us by its\nexterior dress is that this is an attractive and readable book; two\nqualities of a work on history which, whatever be the learning,\naccuracy, and completeness displayed in its more intimate perusal, are\nnot to be despised. We are glad to meet with a life of the Church\nwhich does not look like a catalogue of dried and dead specimens for a\nscientific museum. The majority of the volumes which issue from the\npress now-a-days like a literary flood, owe their success a vast deal\nmore to their beautiful typography, chaste binding, and other general\nattractive features, than to the solid merit of their contents. As\nthere are certain orators whose appearance alone captivates their\nauditory, and excites in us a curiosity to hear what fine things such\na fine-looking man has to say, so there are books which feel well to\nthe touch, look good to the eyes, and prejudice one's judgment in\ntheir favor. We will listen to a stupid-looking speaker, or read a\ncommonplace featured book, on the testimony of their friends, provided\nthey give us strong recommendations; but a speaker \"of a commanding\npresence and a winning air,\" or a book that is well gotten up, we\nthink worthy of notice at the first introduction.\n\nIt is difficult to write an interesting history. Simple facts of the\npast stated in dry statistical style, like the reports of an insane\nasylum or a poor-house, are about as interesting as they, and appear\nto the general reader to be of about equal importance. We may be\nthought weak in judgment to say it, but we should like to read history\nfor the same reason we like to read the last novel by Dickens, in\nwhich the author wields his magic pen to paint life-pictures of the\nevents of the world before our mind, and compels us to be living\nwitnesses of the past in the realm of imagination. To insure a deep\ninterest and a lasting impression all the faculties of the mind should\nbe engaged. Our imagination must not be told to step out of doors or\ngo to sleep whilst our memory takes an inventory of facts consigned to\nits storehouse by a historian. The senses of sight and of taste are\ngiven to man that he may be guided in supplying his stomach with the\nproper quantum and quality of the food it craves. What these senses\nare to the stomach, the imagination is to the mind, and if it have no\nhand in the choice of mental food there cannot help but be an\nindigestion; the brain, indeed, holding the crude mass, but unable to\nmake any use of it.\n\nWe may sum up in a few sentences the application these remarks may\nhave to the history before us. The volume {144} comes to us with uncut\nedges. Let the reader open it at random. He finds before him a fair\npage, printed in large cool type, with broad generous margins, looking\nas a page ought to look, like a goodly field of wheat or corn, and not\nlike a stiff, prim, pinched, and gravelled parterre. Let him read down\none page, and he will surely bring his paper-cutter into requisition\nand follow the author to the beginning of the next paragraph. He will\nfind the style, if we mistake not, like one of those charming, shady,\nwinding, country roads, which always entice you to go just as far as\nthe next turning; an agreeable contrast to the ordinary page of\nhistory, which to us is so like a grievous paved military road in\nFrance, straight enough, wide enough, and direct enough, but\nlamentably monotonous, dry, dusty, and tiresome. There is a little\nstiffness and dull regularity about the division of the\nsubject-matter; but this is inevitable to any history of a long\nperiod, and may be regarded as the signboards and finger-posts on the\nroad, making up in convenience what they detract from the romance.\n\nAs to the character of the work of M. Darras as a history--as one in\nwhich we can learn the actual life of our mother, the Church; one\nwhich we can quote with confidence in public, and not be obliged to\ncontradict to its back as it stands on our shelves; one which we can\ngive to our friends, of all classes and opinions, as a good, reliable,\nand respectable Church history--we are content to take it as such upon\nthe warm approbation it has received at the hands of the Holy Father,\nthe use that is made of it in colleges and seminaries in Europe, the\napproval it has obtained from the Rt. Rev. bishops there and in the\nUnited States, and the good opinion universally expressed concerning\nit by scholars whose critical judgment is worthy of reliance.\nCertainly we have no Church history equal to it in the English\nlanguage, and we bid this translated French one welcome, and hope it\nmay receive an hospitable reception amongst us.\n\nThe dissertation on the perpetuity of the Church, and the immortality\nof the Papacy, from the pen of the Most Rev. Archbishop Spalding,\nwhich embellishes this edition under the form of an introduction, is\nboth appropriate and well deserving of perusal. The learned prelate\nputs us at once on reading acquaintance with the work of M. Darras,\nand enkindles in us the desire to know more of the eventful course of\nthe existence of Holy Church.\n\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\nCAPE COD. By Henry D. Thoreau. Boston: Ticknor and Fields. 1865.\n12mo., pp. 252.\n\nCOMPLETE WORKS OF THE MOST REV. JOHN HUGHES, D.D., late Archbishop of\nNew York. Comprising his Sermons, Letters, Lectures, Speeches, etc.\nCarefully compiled from the best sources, and edited by Lawrence\nKehoe. Two vols. 8vo., pp. 670 and 810. New York: Lawrence Kehoe.\n\nPASTORAL LETTER OF THE MOST RET. J. B. PURCELL, D.D., Archbishop of\nCincinnati, to the Clergy and Laity of the archdiocese, on the late\nEncyclical Letter of his Holiness Pius IX. promulgating the Jubilee of\n1865, with the Bull of Pius IX. authorizing the Jubilee of 1846.\nPrinted at the \"Cincinnati Catholic Telegraph\" Office.\n\n\nNATURAL HISTORY. A Manual of Zoology for Schools, Colleges, and the\nGeneral Reader, by Sanborn Tenney, A.M. Illustrated. New York: Charles\nScribner & Co. 12mo., pp. 540.\n\n\n\nFrom D. & J. Sadlier and Co., New York, we have received the\nfollowing: BANIM'S COMPLETE WORKS. PARTS 1, 2, 3, AND 4; THE OLD HOUSE\nBY THE BOYNE, by Mrs. Sadlier; CATHOLIC ANECDOTES. Part 1. Translated\nfrom the French by Mrs. Sadlier; THE LIVES OF THE POPES, from the\nFrench of Chevalier d'Artaud, Parts 1 and 2; CAECILIA, a Roman Drama,\nand THE SECRET, a Drama, by Mrs. J. Sadlier.\n\n------\n{145}\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n\nVOL, II., NO. 8.--NOVEMBER, 1865,\n\n\n\nFrom Revue G\u00e9n\u00e9rale, Bruxelles.\n\nREV. DEMETRIUS AUGUSTIN GALLITZIN,\nAND THE CATHOLIC SETTLEMENTS IN PENNSYLVANIA.\n\n\nThe events of which the United States have, during late years, been\nthe theatre of action, have revived in the recollection of the editors\nof the _Historisch-politische Bl\u00e4tter_ of Munich the name of Loretto,\na small and unpretending town of Pennsylvania, the founder of which\nwas Prince Demetrius Angustin Gallitzin, the son of the remarkable\nwoman of whom Germany has a right to be proud. The occasion has\nsuggested to them a biographical sketch, which, full of interest and\nappositeness, will unquestionably be read in Belgium and France with\nas much avidity as in Germany.\n\nTwenty years have elapsed since Prince Gallitzin, who had exchanged\nthe luxuries of princely courts for the poverty of those who herald\nthe glad tidings, slept in the Lord, after forty years of apostleship\nin the wild regions of the Alleghany mountains. The work set up by the\npious missionary yet remains, marked by all the elements of thrifty\nlife, and the little oasis will long continue to be what it was at its\norigin--the cradle of a Christian civilization, which will go on\nspreading its blessings to the remotest boundaries, still retaining\nthe unobtrusive modesty which moved its founder's thought. Indeed, had\nthe matter rested with Gallitzin's own wishes, his very name would\nhave passed into vague tradition in those extended regions. It might\neven have slept in oblivion; for the prince, so careful was he to\navoid anything that could attract the attentions of the world, lived\nand exercised his holy ministry for many years under the borrowed name\nof Schmidt.\n\nIn Father Lemcke, however, and fortunately too, a canon of the abbey\nof the Benedictines of St. Vincent in Pennsylvania, was found a man\nwho, better than any other, had it in his power to preserve the\nreminiscences of the noble missionary, and accurately to depict for us\nthe traits of his manly character. Not only did the biographer of the\nprince know him personally, but he was also his friend, his confidant,\nhis confessor, and his co-laborer in the missions. After Gallitzin's\ndeath, Father Lemcke came into possession of his papers, letters, and\nmemoranda, which supplied him with desirable data on the period of\nlife preceding their ministerial connection. He, and he alone,\ntherefore, was in a condition to write a true biography of the prince,\nand he deemed it a duty to {146} rescue from oblivion the memory of\nthis distinguished man. In connection with this subject, Father Lemcke\nindulges in a judicious remark: \"The life of Gallitzin,\" says he, \"is\nso intimately inwoven with the events which occurred during his own\ntimes, that it holds out to future generations an interest like to\nthat which is offered to us in the life of a Bonifacius or of an\nAnsgarius, by reason of the facts which have characterized the epochs\nin which they lived.\"\n\nGallitzin belonged to the phalanx of missionaries who, in the United\nStates, scattered the seeds of spiritual life. When the prince stepped\non the soil of that vast territory, there was but one prelate, Rt.\nRev. John Carroll of Baltimore, the first bishop of the United States,\nwho, from the circumstances of the Church, had been obliged to seek\nEurope for his episcopal consecration.  [Footnote 23] He had been but\ntwo years installed--from 1790--and had but uncertain and broken\nintercourse with his flock. His surroundings, restricted in numbers,\nbut devoted to the holy cause, were mainly composed of, French\npriests. In this infant church Gallitzin was the second priest\nconsecrated by the Bishop of Baltimore, and missioned, as a true\npioneer of civilization, to carry the cross through the untouched\nforests of the New World, There is an unvarying likeness in all great\nundertakings; yet it required but a short time--a relatively short\ntime--considerably to increase the number of those men who had devoted\nthemselves to the task. In contrast with the bishop, who, in the\ncourse of five years, could ordain and rely on two priests only to\nfeed the flock of the Lord, \"The Catholic Almanac\" of the day exhibits\nto us, for the United States, seven archbishops, thirty-six bishops,\nand four apostolic vicars, with the ministry of two thousand priests,\nwith the addition of convents of various orders, of seminaries, of\ncolleges, of numberless benevolent institutions, with over 4,000,000\nof Catholics living under the protection of the laws, in the practice\nand enjoyment of their faith.\n\n  [Footnote 23: There are new details on this distinguished man in a\n  recently published work: \"_Die Katholische Kirche in den Vereinigten\n  Staatm von Nord Amerika_,\" etc., etc. Regensburg. 1864.]\n\nThe Germans delight in recalling to mind that one of those who helped\nto lay the foundations of the Church in North America was the\noffspring of a princely house of the Fatherland. Gallitzin was a\nGerman on the maternal side; and the noble parent could well claim\nboth the spiritual and natural motherhood of her son, the latter of\nwhich was, perhaps, glory enough. How magnificent a mission was that\nof Princess Amelia Gallitzin! While gathering around her circle the\nchoice spirits which seemed destined to keep bright the torch of faith\nin Germany, and its living convictions in the midst of a superficial\nsociety without belief and without its guiding lights, the princess\nwas rearing for the New World a son who was about to turn aside from a\ncareer which his birth and his wealth justly reserved for him, and\ntake up the arduous and thankless labors of the apostleship. This very\nson it was who, through the work of faith, was destined to be the\nfounder and civilizer of a now flourishing colony.\n\nStrangely enough, nothing in young Gallitzin gave earnest of such a\nvocation. His almost feminine nature had marked him for a timid,\nshrinking child; but what was still worse, and a source of deep\nanxiety to his mother, to this was added a lack of decision, which\nseemed so deeply rooted in him that not even the iron will of the\nprincess could, during the course of many years, draw out any\nperceptible results. We have a letter of the princess of the date of\n1790, two years before the departure of Demetrius for America, in\nwhich she reiterates on this ground her former complainings, her\nexhortations, and her admonitions. It is proper, however, to advert\nthat the incipient {147} method of training pursued by the princess\nherself was not free from defect; for, daring the nonage of her son,\nshe herself wavered and hesitated between various systems of\nphilosophy--a course which necessarily must have drawn her into many\nan error.\n\nThere was, therefore, a defectiveness in the main foundation of the\ntraining of young Gallitzin, who was reared in a sort of religious\nindifferentism. But a complete revulsion took place when, after\nleaving M\u00fcnster, the princess was led to rest her convictions, not on\nthis or the other system of philosophy, but on the rock of Christian\nfaith--when, from her relations with such men as Furstenberg and\nOverberg, she herself had gained a greater degree of firmness and\nsteadfastness. This reacted on the education of the son, in the\ngreater decision and authority exerted by the mother; and it was not\nwithout fit intention that Demetrius, in the sacrament of\nconfirmation, received the surname of Angustin.\n\nBorn on the 22d of December, 1770, at the Hague, where his father, a\nfavorite of the Empress Catherine, was accredited as ambassador of\nRussia, young Gallitzin saw before him the opening of a career bound\nto lead to the highest dignities of either military or administrative\nservice. Nothing, therefore, was spared in giving him a complete\neducation, according to the requirements of the world. This education,\ndeveloped and closed under his mother's eyes, must be perfected by\ntravel; but whither to direct it was a question of moment. The\naristocratic banks of the Rhine were ravaged by the revolutions and\nwar had converted Europe into a vast battle-field. It opportunely\nhappened, at that time, that a young priest, by the name of Brodius,\nwhom the princess had known through the family of the Droste, and who\nhad been admitted to her circle, was about crossing the Atlantic as a\nmissionary to America. The princess had had occasions to value the\nrare endowments of this priest, and knew how justly her confidence in\nhim could extend. She therefore proposed to him the companionship of\nher son in a journey which seemed to her to be the only practicable\none warranted by the times. The princess, fortunately, met with no\nopposition on the part of the prince, her husband. An admirer of\nWashington, and still more so of the philosophic Jefferson, he readily\nagreed that his son should devote a couple of years to a visit to the\nUnited States, so as to judge for himself of the institutions all that\ncountry. He earnestly charged him to be introduced to these two great\nmen; while the princess on her part armed him with a letter of\nrecommendation to the Right Reverend Bishop Carroll.\n\nIn August, 1792, when twenty-two years of age, young Gallitzin took\nship at Rotterdam on his way to America. No one could, certainly, have\nthen stirred him with the idea that the land of America was marked out\nas a theatre for the evolutions of his existence. Was there a\npresentiment in that parting hour which, he could not know, was to\nmark an eternal farewell? Was it a last return of the original\nindecision of character which made him linger at the roadstead to\nwhich his mother had accompanied him? No one can now tell; but what we\ncan say is that when, on the crests of the foaming billows, he caught\nsight of the yawl which was to carry him on board, his heart failed\nhim, and he turned back to retrace his steps. Then did his mother turn\nback to him and, with a look of disappointment, \"Dimitri,\" said she,\n\"I blush for thee\"--and, grasping his arm, she urged him on to the\nboat. In a moment, and how no one could tell, the young prince was\nengulfed in the waves. As quick as thought the practised hands of the\nsailors fished him up from the waters, and wafted him to the vessel\nthat was to bear him away. Such was his farewell to Europe; but this\nsea baptism had regenerated him into a new man, as, at a later period,\nhe told the story to his biographer.\n\n{148}\n\nOn the whole, a noted change had taken place in young Gallitzin. In\nhim every weakness and every irresolution had disappeared, and made\nroom for a firmness, a determination, and an inflexibility which, to\nhis family, became a source of greatest astonishment. Two months had\nhardly passed by in the intimacies of life with the Bishop of\nBaltimore, when he already felt, within himself, what soon became a\nclearly defined resolve. With the close of the year 1792 he wrote to\nM\u00fcnster that he had devoted himself, body and soul, to the service of\nGod and to the salvation of souls in America. He wrote that this\nresolution had been determined by the urgent call for laborers in the\nvineyard of the Lord; for in the country in which he was then\nsojourning, his priests had to travel over a hundred and fifty miles\nof territory, and more, to bring to the faithful the word and the\nmeans of salvation.\n\nThese were the first news of him received in M\u00fcnster, and they were\ndisseminated with the rapidity of lightning. From all sides sprang up\nobjections, doubts, and remonstrances against the scheme of the young\nprince and the boldness of his undertaking. His mother, however, who\nhad at first been alarmed and steeped in agony at the idea of such a\nvocation, soon reasserted her unerring judgment, and looked into the\nmatter with her wonted greatness of soul. From the moment that, from\nletters of distinguished persons, and especially from those of the\nBishop of Baltimore, as well as from those of her son, she became\nsatisfied that his was a real and substantial calling, she felt\nperfectly secure, and all human considerations vanished from her\nsight. She therefore wrote to Dimitri that if, after having tried\nhimself, he was sure that he had really obeyed his vocation, she\nwillingly accepted the reproaches and troubles which could not fail to\nshower upon him; and that, for herself, she could not desire a\nconsummation dearer to her heart--a greater reward--than to see the\nchild of her affections a minister at the altar of God. And, indeed,\nnot light was the burden of reproaches and afflictions which she had\nto bear for the love of that son--especially on the part of her\nhusband, it was anything but light. Her letters to Overberg more than\namply inform us on that subject Gallitzin, however, seemed to have\nleft his European friends to the indulgence of their astonishment.\nHeedless of his former social relations, in firmness and resoluteness\nhe trod the path which he had marked for himself, and prosecuted his\ntheological studies with such fervency that his superiors, in view of\nhis failing health, deemed it their duty to interpose. After two years\nof study, however, he became a sub-deacon, and, on the sixteenth of\nMarch, 1795, he was ordained to the priesthood.\n\nThere was no lack of labor, however, in the vineyard of the Lord, and\nthe young Levite, the second one who came out of the first Catholic\nseminary in North America, was immediately put to work. At Port\nTobacco, on the Potomac, Gallitzin entered his apostolical career. His\nfervor, no doubt, carried him too far into those proverbially malarial\nregions; for, stricken down by a spell of fever, he was ordered by his\nbishop to return to Baltimore, where Gallitzin was subsequently\ndirected to ascend the pulpit and preach to the German population\nwhich had settled that portion of the state of Maryland.\n\nThe democratic spirit of American manners, which, with its innumerable\nabuses, had permeated even religions existence itself, was\ndiametrically opposed to the just conceptions of the priesthood and of\nthe organization of the Church which Gallitzin had formed in his mind.\nFor the primitive morals of which he was then in quest he turned to\nthe unsettled portions of Pennsylvania. \"I went there,\" he tells us at\na later period, \"to avoid the _trustees_ and all the irregularities\nwhich they beget. For success, I had {149} no other warrant than the\nbuilding of something new, that could escape the routine of inveterate\ncustom. Had I settled where the hand had already been put to the\nplough, my work would have been endangered, for it had been soon\nassailed by the spirit of Protestantism.\"\n\nIn the apostolic trips which frequently took him into the then far\nWest, on the table lands of the Alleghany range, near Huntington,\nwhere the waters of the Ohio fork away from those of the Susquehanna,\nGallitzin had alighted on a settlement made up of a few Catholic\nfamilies. In the midst of this Catholic nucleus he resolved to\nestablish a permanent colony, which he destined in his mind as the\ncentre of his missions. Several poor Maryland families, whose\naffections he had won, resolved to follow him; and, with the consent\nof his bishop, he took up his line of march with them in the summer of\n1799, and travelled from Maryland with his face turned to the ranges\nof the Alleghany mountains. And a rough and trying journey it\nwas;--hewing their way through primitive forests, burdened at the same\ntime with all their worldly goods. So soon as the small caravan had\nreached its new home, Gallitzin took possession of this, as it were,\nconquered land; and, without loss of time, all the settlers addressed\nthemselves to the work before them, and worked so zealously that,\nbefore the end of the year, they had already erected a church. The\nfollowing is Father Lemcke's account of the humble origin of this\nestablishment:\n\n  \"Out of the clearings of these untrodden forests rose up two\n  buildings, constructed out of the trunks of roughly hewn trees; of\n  these, one was intended for a church--the other, a presbytery for\n  their pastor. On Christmas eve of the year 1799, there was not a\n  winking eye in the little colony. And well there might not be! The\n  new church, decked with pine and laurel and ivy leaves, and blazing\n  with such lights as the scant means of the faithful could afford,\n  was awaiting its consecration to the worship of God! There Gallitzin\n  offered up the first mass, to the great edification of his flock,\n  that, although made up of Catholics, had never witnessed such a\n  solemnity, and to the great astonishment of a few Indians, who,\n  wrapped up in the pursuit of the chase, had never, in their life,\n  dreamed of such a pageantry. Thus it was that, on a spot in which,\n  scarcely a year previous, silence had reigned over vast solitudes, a\n  prince, thenceforward cut off from every other country, had opened a\n  new one to pilgrims from all nations, and that, from the wastes,\n  which echoed no sounds but the howlings of the wild beast, welled up\n  the divine song which spoke: 'Glory to God in the highest, and\n  peace, on earth, to men of good will!'\"\n\nThe cost of this spiritual and material colonization was at first\nindividually borne by Gallitzin. Captain McGuire, an Irishman, one of\nthe early settlers of the country, had acquired 400 acres of land,\nwhich he intended for the Church. These he conveyed to Gallitzin, who\ndivided into small tracts the lands, which he had purchased with his\nown means, and distributed them among the poorer members of his\ncolony, on condition of reimbursement, by instalments, at long\nperiods--a condition, however, which, in a majority of cases, never\nwas complied with.\n\nThe wilderness soon put on a new aspect. The settlers followed the\nimpulses of the indefatigable missionary, who kept steadfastly in view\nthe improvement of his work. His first care was to set up a\ngrist-mill; then arose numerous out-buildings; additional lands were\npurchased, and in a short time the colony was notably enlarged.\n\nIn carrying out his work, Gallitzin received material assistance from\nEurope. In its origin, sums of money were regularly remitted to him by\nhis mother; for he kept up a correspondence, which his devotion to her\nmade {150} dear to his heart In these relations his father took\nlittle, if any, interest, as the determination of his son--his only\nson--had proved to him a source of bitter disappointment. Still he\nanxiously desired to see him return to Europe. So engrossed, however,\nwas the young missionary by his work, that such a trip seemed next to\nan impossibility. Several years had thus glided by, when the idea of\nvisiting Europe earnestly engaged his mind.\n\nIn the month of June, 1803, he wrote to his mother, in apology for a\nlong silence; telling her that he is seriously contemplating seeing\nher once more, but that he is trammelled in his desire by the want of\na priest to take his place;--indeed, that his work has so grown under\nhis hands, that he doubts whether he will ever again be privileged to\nclasp his mother in his arms. \"I may not think of it,\" he adds; \"my\nheart is fraught with affection for you, and it seems to me that I\nshould absolutely see you once more, so as to borrow courage to follow\nthe path which is marked out for me in this perverse world.\" The\nletters from Overberg are witnesses of the tears shed by the mother,\nso anxious again to look upon her son, as well as of the unmurmuring\nmournfulness of her resignation.\n\nThe announcement of his father's death again brought up the subject of\nhis visit to Europe. Indeed, his presence was required in the\nsettlement of his inheritance; but now, as before, the joy of once\nmore treading his native soil, and the happiness of embracing his\nmother, had to yield to what he considered his duty to his infant\ncolony. The just and plausible reasons which he alleges to his mother\nfor his course, allow us at the same time fairly to appreciate the\nextent of his work, and the hopes built upon its success. Hence he\nsuggests the consideration due to those families that his advice had\ninfluenced, for the greater honor of religion, to follow him in the\nwilderness;--the money obligations, contracted with various friends,\nwho had trusted him with large sums to speed the development of his\nscheme, and whose confidence, therefore, might be seriously wronged by\nhis departure;--the interests of so many others, who had committed all\ntheir worldly hopes into his hands and whom his absence might leave an\neasy prey to heartless speculators;--and, finally, the pending\nquestions, started by the scheme of erecting into a county the\nterritory to which the lands of the colony belonged. All these\nmotives, to which others were added, were sufficiently weighty to\npress on the conscience of Demetrius the duty Of remaining at his\npost. This final resolution his mother learned with the firmness of\nChristian heroism. She wrote to the prince: \"Whatever sorrow may have\npanged my motherly heart at the idea of renouncing a hope that a while\nseemed within reach, I owe it to truth to tell thee that thy letter\nhas afforded me the greatest consolation that I can look for upon\nearth.\" It is a touching picture to behold, in the sequel, this\nzealous mother continuing her interest in the mission founded by the\nprince, and providing for its success in keeping with the inspirations\nof her heart. Thus it was that, through the channel of the Bishop of\nBaltimore, she transmitted to her son a bill of exchange for a\nconsiderable amount, a box of books--a treasure in those\ndays--rosaries for the settlers, linen for himself and friends,\ngarments, and even baby-clothes, for the poorer members of the\nsettlement, sacerdotal vestments, embroidered by the princess herself,\nby her daughter, and by Countess de Stolberg, and, lastly, a\nmagnificent present, which the missionary during his life valued\nbeyond all price, and with which, in accordance with his wishes, he\nwas laid to slumber in the tomb.\n\nIn the meantime Gallitzin's colony, settled in the midst of those wild\nwastes, had expanded and become a town, to which he gave the name of\nLoretto, the beginning of which are {151} thus described by our\nmissionary's successor: \"The colony was composed of individuals who\ngenerally purchased considerable tracts, varying from one to four\nhundred acres in extent, which they cleared and converted to\ncultivation. In proportion as the population increased, they gradually\nemerged from the savagery of the earlier periods, and soon experienced\nthe wants of a growing civilization. The indication of those wants\nsuggested to Gallitzin's mind the necessity of converting the humble\nsettlement into a town. Mechanics, of every useful trade, rapidly\ngathered around the nucleus--blacksmiths, millers, carpenters,\nshoemakers, with even storekeepers, and Loretto soon assumed the\nposition which its founder had designed.\n\n\"Here, then, stands the town; but, with its new dignity, came a host\nof vexations. It marked for Gallitzin a period of struggle against\nevery imaginable difficulty, which brought his firmness to the sorest\ntrials, and which indeed might have jeoparded the very existence of\nhis work. In fact, the means of reducing, under the control of a\nsingle hand, the heterogeneous components of such a colony was no easy\nproblem to be solved. Gallitzin efforts to bring it under a normal\norganization had to meet many an antagonizing element, whilst the\npeculiar American spirit, which had even then permeated those\nsolitudes, reared up obstacles to his scheme. Gallitzin, however,\nproved unshakable, and exhibited an unbending energy of character. At\none time there was an actual crisis in the prospects of the colony. A\nmember of the community, with a fair allotment of the goods of this\nworld, with the excitable American brain and a marked tendency to\nspeculation, suddenly conceived the idea to set up a competition with\nthe growing colony and to lay the foundations of a rival one in the\nneighborhood. He went to work accordingly, and, with the assistance of\na few Irishmen, actually laid the foundations of  village, which he\nnamed Munster, after one of the provinces of Ireland. This rival of\nLoretto immediately became the headquarters of the _propagators of\nlight_, in other words, of those who had little relish for the zeal of\nGallitzin and the inconvenient discipline of the Church. Satisfied not\nonly with putting the prosperity of Loretto in evident peril, the\nseceders also assailed the character of Gallitzin, and through these\nmeans derived an unexpected help. It happened fitly for their purposes\nthat at the time two German vagabonds--one a priest of most\nquestionable character, and the other a nobleman, whom the crime of\nforgery had driven from the Old World--presented themselves to\nGallitzin, and anything but pleased, no doubt, with the welcome which\nthey received, resolved to swell the party of malcontents. With\ncunning malice, they soon disseminated reports injurious to their\ncountryman, gave a pretended substance to unfounded suspicions,\nfeeding the animosities of the common herd. The fact, also, of\nGallitzin's having assumed a borrowed name was a means of shaking the\nsettlers and sowing distrust in their minds. Things went on from bad\nto worse, and a catastrophe seemed to be imminent, when came the\nupshot, so much the more ludicrous because the less expected. The\nGordian knot, after the expeditious American fashion, was cut by an\nAlexander who rejoiced in the name of John Wakeland. He was an\nIrishman, a giant in stature and strength, famed in the settlement as\na wolf and bear killer; and in reality one of the kindest men in the\nworld, and one of the hardest to stir from his natural proprieties.\nThese miserable intrigues and base machinations aroused his\nindignation, and he immediately came to the conclusion to put an end\nto them by the interposition of the logic of the strong hand. The\nagitators had concocted a plan, which was devised to extort from\nGallitzin some sort of an assent, and the {152} prince could hardly\nhave escaped their intended violence had he not sought sanctuary in\nthe chapel of Loretto. But the mob had merely adjourned their intended\nexcesses; and they were preparing for extreme means to achieve their\nends when John Wakeland, brandishing a sturdy hickory in the midst of\nthe infatuated mob, declared that, he would \"settle,\" on the spot, any\none who durst threaten the good priest. There was a magical spell in\nthe _hickory_. The timidly good men, who there, as everywhere else,\nhad shrunk into a circle of impassive inaction, feeling the influence\nof a sturdy support, borrowed courage from the hour; and had it not\nbeen for the interference of Gallitzin, his detractors, to use an\nAmerican phrase, would have had 'a rough time of it' From that moment,\na complete revulsion of feeling took place in behalf of the\nmissionary; while the bishop succeeded in ultimately restoring order\nand peace in the little parish. He carefully inquired into all the\nfacts, and then addressed to the parishioners a letter which was\nposted at the church door, and recalled the faithful to the regular\norder of things.\n\n\"Difficulties, however, of another kind, and of a more serious import,\nwaited on Gallitzin. From the death of his father, he had been\nsuddenly cut off from the pecuniary assistance which he had\nperiodically received from Europe. He himself, as a Catholic priest,\nhad been, by the laws of Russia, excluded from his paternal heritage;\nwhile his mother, who had exhausted her means in litigations, was\ncompelled to forego the assistance which, from time to time, she had\nextended to her son. In satisfying his boundless charities, and in the\nachievements of his plans, the founder of Loretto had somewhat relied\non this inheritance, which thus passed away from his hands. This\ndisappointment, therefore, brought upon him a new burden of anxiety\nand cares. Destitution and poverty might have been easily borne by\nhim; but he could not make up his mind to give up the idea of founding\nan imposing Catholic colony--to abandon the undertaking which he had\ninitiated--to be compelled to relinquish lands which had been\nreclaimed by so much toil and so much care--and, especially, to face\nimpatient creditors, who might accuse him of thoughtlessly going into\ndebt, and from such an accusation justify their expression of\ncontempt.\"\n\nAs a crowning development to all of these tribulations, the European\nmail brought to Gallitzin the news of his beloved mother's death. On\nthe 17th of April, 1806, in the city of M\u00fcnster, the excellent\nprincess had closed her eyes for ever, comforting her disappointment\nthat she had not been permitted to see her son on earth by the hope\nthat she would surely meet him in heaven. The narrative of the last\nmoments of the Princess Gallitzin, received, by the stout-hearted\nmissionary, through the letters of his sister, of Overberg, and of\nCount de Stolberg, supplied a fund of inexpressible comfort; but from\nthat hour the temporal claims and requirements of his position bore\nterribly on his endurance. It required unheard-of efforts to save his\nundertaking from the burden of indebtedness, and if, at the hour of\nhis death, he quit-claimed the property of the Church and left it free\nfrom all and every charge, the blessed consummation came with the\nsunset of life only, and that, too, after miracles of constant energy.\nAnd here, especially, looms up the secondary phase of Gallitzin's\ncharacter, which had not escaped his father's more searching eye. In\nfact, and in answer to a letter of his wife, in which she bitterly\ncomplained of the inertness of their son, then sixteen years of age,\nhe wrote to her that \"deep waters run still; that, to his mind, she\nmisconceives the disposition of Demetrius, and that he is ever running\nagainst wind and tide.\" And indeed, to struggle against the torrent of\ntime and of events was the whole work of his life. And against this\ntorrent he heaved up the bulk of {153} his writings that have come\ndown to us. It is easy to conceive that it required no common reason\nto induce a man of his temper of mind to write. We have the motive of\nthis reason in the fact that a Presbyterian preacher of Huntington had\nthought fit to assail and calumniate the Catholic Church as an\ninstitution dangerous to the country and to its liberties. Gallitzin\nimmediately took up the pen in answer, and the necessities of the\ncontroversy turned him into a polemica writer.\n\nThere are in America, no less than in other countries, fanatical\nsectarians who follow their congenial instincts in sounding the\nalarm-cry whenever the Catholic Church marks out new limits of  lawful\nconquest. In this instance, the state was declared to be in peril; but\nGallitzin lost no time in confounding the slanderers of Catholicity by\nthe publication of his \"Defense of Catholic Principles,\" which\nappeared in Pittsburgh in the year 1816. This work, written in\nEnglish--for the author wielded the English with as much facility as\nhe did the German language, his mother tongue--was, on both shores of\nthe ocean, greeted with success. Father Lemcke made a German\ntranslation of the \"Defense of Catholic Principles,\" of which two\neditions were published in Ireland and four in the United States,\nranking \"in popularity with 'Cobbett's History of the Reformation,' to\nwhich it bears a resemblance in putting a probing finger on the\nplague-spot of Protestantism.\"\n\nThe start being once made, Gallitzin followed up his first work with\nother publications of an entirely practical character, directed\nagainst certain prevalent moral diseases of the day, which mark an\nepoch in the monography of American ideas. Gallitzin was perfectly\nfamiliar with the mode of treatment of the feverish exuberance of\nAmerican notions, and he handled them with all the cautious skill of a\nprudent practitioner. Everything which he published on these matters,\nboth in elucidation of his views and as a muniment against the evils\nwhich he denounced, is written in the winning and popular style which\nwas familiar to his pen. Hence his works were crowned with success,\neven amongst the higher classes of society. \"Gallitzin's\npublications,\" says his biographer, \"exerted an immense influence in\nthe period when he lived, but especially so among the humbler members\nof the community, for whom they were destined. They were found, and\nthey may still be found, in the form of unpretending pamphlets, in the\nhotels and steamboats of the West, for he had them printed at his own\nexpense and distributed as the Protestant colporteurs disseminate\ntheir Bibles and tracts. The curiosity of the readers enlarged their\ncirculation everywhere; and I myself have found them as perfectly\nthumbed as any spelling-book in spots where I never dreamed of meeting\nwith them.\"\n\nIn the meantime, Gallitzin, who had hitherto labored under the\nprotecting shadow of his humility, had begun to attract the attention\nof the American world around him. The manner in which he had marked\nhis entrance in social life--not so much by the power of genius as by\nthat integrity of character which commanded the respect of public\nopinion--had carried his reputation far beyond the limits of the\nfrontiers, and secured for him an esteem, the proofs of which came\nback to him in numerous testimonials gathering from all sides. It was\nat this time that he published various pamphlets signed with his real\nname: \"Demetrius Augustin Gallitzin, Catholic curate of Loretto.\"\n\nIt was natural, when the question of creating a new bishopric came up,\nthat all eyes should turn to such a man as Gallitzin. There was a\ndesire, therefore, more than once expressed to see him called to the\nepiscopal chair; but he persistently repelled the intended dignity,\nand exerted his every power to counteract the efforts of {154} those\nwho were anxious to have it conferred upon him. He asked for one favor\nonly--that of remaining at Loretto; and, with this view, he consented\nto accept the functions of vicar-general to the Bishop of\nPhiladelphia, which had been recently raised into a diocese.\n\nSince the earlier period when Gallitzin entered on the discharge of\nthe holy ministry, those regions had witnessed a great development of\nthe Catholic faith. From all sides arose new parishes, while the field\nof labor went on enlarging under the tireless zeal of our missionary.\n\"It may be safely affirmed,\" says his biographer, \"that during the\nprotracted years through which he administered to the district of\ncountry which now constitutes the sees of Pittsburg and Erie, he\nfilled the place and discharged the duties of a bishop.\" In order to\nform a correct judgment as to the importance of his labors, we must go\nback, in imagination, to the exordium of the Catholic Church in those\ncountries, where the pastors were cut off from all sustaining\nadvice--from all diocesan organization--and where elements the most\ndiscrepant, and prejudices the most stubborn, were found in daily\nconflict. How many difficulties, therefore, to be encountered and\novercome in the discrimination, in certain cases, between falsehood\nand truth! What prudence of action was required! How many and delicate\nproblems presented to the decisions of a tender conscience! Gallitzin,\nhowever, was the man for the situation. \"The writings,\" says his\nfriend, \"which his charge as vicar-general had compelled him from time\nto time to publish, bear witness not only to his vigilance and zeal,\nbut also to the great charity which characterized the performance of\nhis duties.\" His was a peculiar solicitude for the persecuted and the\noppressed, because he knew from experience how readily, in America,\nthey may be made the sport of falsehood, of malevolence, and of that\nthirst of revenge which exists everywhere. Hence the not\ninconsiderable number of persons, both ecclesiastics and laymen, who\nlooked up to him for protection, and who might, but for its\ninterpositions, have been for ever lost. His benevolent bearing won\nfor him the confidence of the other priests who, like himself, had\nconsecrated their lives to the salvation of souls. The pastor who from\namong them became at a later period the archbishop of Baltimore,\nhaving been in 1830 appointed coadjutor and administrator to the\ndiocese of Philadelphia, immediately wrote to Gallitzin--whom he\nstyled the propagandist of the faith--to ask the assistance of his\nexperience and of his prayers, and to advise him that he not only\nconfirmed his existing powers, but that he also authorized him to use,\nwithout the necessity of any previous application, those with which,\nas coadjutor, he was himself invested. These two men were bound till\ndeath by the closest ties of friendship.\n\nAll of Gallitzin's actions were stamped with the characteristics of\ncandor and uprightness. Should the honor of the Church, or the dignity\nof her priesthood, be called into question, he knew no such word as\ncompromise. He shrank from familiarity with that species of half\neducation of which presumption is a leading feature; and ever, and\neverywhere, stood unshaken in his love and assertion of truth--a\npersistency which, on more than one occasion, called down upon him the\nimputation of an aristocratic and domineering spirit. Those, however,\nwho, admitted to the closer intimacies of his life, were best\nqualified to judge, soon became convinced of the futility of the\ncharge. If there were any note of distinction about him, it was to be\ntraced in the loftiness of his conceptions; for he had long cast off\nall princely frippery; and the privileged society in which he\nespecially delighted was that of the poor and the lowly, with whom he\nwould kindly converse after possessing himself of their wishes and\nneeds. {155} In the circuit of his missions, it was his pleasure to\npass by the dwellings of opulence and seek the hospitalities of the\nhumble cottage. There would the prince sit down to rest, surrounded by\njoyous children, distributing pictures among them and sharing in their\nhumble fare.\n\nSuch was Gallitzin, shepherd of souls, polemic and vicar-general, at\nLoretto, whence the peaceful work of Christian civilization went on\nquietly progressing and gradually enlarging the circle of its\nbenefits. Years had thus passed on, and the pioneer could already mark\nthe slanting shadows of declining life, when a young missionary came\nover from Europe to share in his toils. This was Father Lemcke, a\nBenedictine, who, after having been his assistant, became his\nsuccessor. Gallitzin was then sixty-four years of age. Father Lemcke\nhas left us a picturesque account of his first meeting with the\nvenerable missionary. He had set out from Philadelphia, and after\nseveral days of rough traveling reached M\u00fcnster, where an Irish family\ngave him hospitality. From that village he procured a guide, and at\nthis point of his narrative we find him with an Irish lad piloting him\nto Loretto. \"As we had gone,\" says he, \"a couple of miles through the\nwoods, I caught sight of a sled, drawn by a pair of vigorous horses;\nand in the sled a half recumbent traveler, on every lineament of whose\nface could be read a character of distinction. He was outwardly\ndressed in a sort of threadbare overcoat; and, on his head, a\npeasant's hat, so worn and dilapidated that no one would have rescued\nit from the garbage of the streets. It occurred to me that some\naccident had happened to the old gentleman, and that he was compelled\nto resort to this singular mode of conveyance Whilst I was taxing my\nbrains for a satisfactory solution of the problem, Tom, my guide, who\nwas trotting ahead, turned round and, pointing to the old man, said:\n\"Here comes the priest\" I immediately coaxed up my nag to the sled.\n\"Are you, really, the pastor of Loretto?\" said I. \"I am, sir.\" \"Prince\nGallitzin?\" \"At your service, sir,\" he said with a laugh. \"You are\nprobably astonished\"--he continued, after I had handed him a letter\nfrom the Bishop of Philadelphia--\"at the strangeness of my equipage?\nBut there's no help for it. You have no doubt already found out that\nin these countries you need not dream of a carriage-road. You could\nnot drive ten yards without danger of an overturn. I am prevented,\nsince a fall which I have had, from riding on horseback, and it would\nbe impossible for me now to travel on foot Beside, I carry along\neverything required for the celebration of holy mass. I am now going\nto a spot where I have a mission, and where the holy sacrifice has\nbeen announced for to-day. Go to Loretto and make yourself at home,\nuntil my return to night; unless, indeed, you should prefer to\naccompany me. You may be interested in the visit.\"\n\nFather Lemcke accordingly followed Gallitzin, and after a ride of\nseveral miles they reached a sort of a hamlet, where there stood a\ngood Pennsylvania farm, in which all the Catholics of the vicarage had\ngathered as on a festive day. The cabin had been transformed into a\nchapel, and the good people were there, crowding; some standing,\nothers kneeling under the projecting shed; and others again, in small\nhuts or under the foliage of the grand old trees, were awaiting the\nappointed hour. All had their prayer-books in their hands. At a sign\nfrom Gallitzin, Father Lemcke proceeded within to receive the\nconfessions of the faithful; after which the prince celebrated mass,\npreached, and administered the sacrament of baptism. For his pious and\ngood people it was a very festive day. The dinner which followed, and\nin which all shared, was a repast marked by the cheerfulness and the\ncharity of the agapae of the primitive Christians.\n\n{156}\n\nBy nightfall both priests had reached Loretto. On The Sunday\nfollowing, Gallitzin introduced his assistant to his German\nparishioners, and then, with a quizzical smile, invited him, without\nany further ceremony, to ascend the pulpit. Father Lemcke had to\nundergo the ordeal, and it proved not to his disfavor. He had\nnaturally supposed that the same roof which sheltered Gallitzin would\nalso protect him. The old priest, however, could not see things in\nthat light; and a few days after, he took him to Ebensburg, the\nprincipal county town, and there installed him as the pastor of the\nparish.\n\nEach of the two missionaries who had thus halved the goodly work still\nhad a respectable circuit to perform. There were stations fifty and\neven seventy miles apart, and over this immense extent of territory,\nwhich now constitutes the Pittsburg and Erie bishoprics, there were,\nwith them, but three or four priests to attend to the work of the\nLord. To Gallitzin was reserved the deep gratification of witnessing\nthe branching off, from Loretto, of various Catholic parishes, which\nwere formed in the very manner in which Loretto had been. Twelve miles\nnorth of the primitive colony, up to the head-waters of the\nSusquehanna, where lay cheap and rich lands, some of the more\nprosperous members of his parish purchased tracts for themselves and\ntheir families, and there laid the grounds of a settlement, to which\nthey gave the name of St. Joseph, borrowed from the invocation of the\nchurch which Gallitzin had consecrated on that spot. It is now known\non the maps as Carrollton. Among the early settlers and the heads of\nfamilies were sturdy John Wakeland, whom the reader may not have\nforgotten, and his six sons, as tall and as stalwart as himself, and\nall, like him, devoted to the Catholic faith. On the very road to\nLoretto, and before the death of the prince, sprang up a rural parish\nunder the name of St. Augustin. Another was formed with the\nappellation of Gallitzin--after the death of the missionary, be it\nunderstood; for his humility during his lifetime never could have\nconsented to this endowment.\n\nIn 1836, Father Lemcke fixed his residence at St Joseph--urged\nsomewhat to this course by Gallitzin, whose favorite idea had, for\nsome time, been to witness on that spot the rise and growth of another\nLoretto. The old priest, growing into closer intimacy with the younger\nmissionary, periodically came in his sled to St. Joseph, rejoicing to\nbehold \"a second edition of what he himself had created thirty years\nbefore.\" So thoroughly had he become linked to this new friend from\nfar-off Europe, that he never but reluctantly parted from him, and\neven shed bitter tears on once hearing that the bishop contemplated\nchanging Father Lemcke's residence.\n\nThus was it given to Gallitzin, in the decline of life, to behold\ntrackless forests converted into fruitful fields. The transient cares\nand annoyances of life had disappeared, and a numerous Catholic\npopulation grew around him in the joys of contented toil. The early\nsettlers who with him had shared the sweat and borne the burden of the\nday, had long bidden farewell to their humbler log-cabins. Well\nappointed farms, substantial barns, commodious dwellings, surrounded\nby beautiful gardens and smiling meadows, wooed the eye as the\nrewarding product of their privations and their toils.\n\nIn 1839 the old missionary's health began to fail. The load of years\nmuch less than the thousand hardships inseparably connected with the\ndevotions of apostolic life, weighed heavily on a frame attenuated\nindeed, but still erect and resisting. Yet the burden went on pressing\nstill--the body gradually bent--the step unsteady--the divine fire\nwhich always kindled still animated him; but the voice would refuse\nthe assistance of its sounds, and the close of his sermons turn into a\nperoration of silent {157} tears a thousand times more eloquent then\nhis spoken words. And yet, with all these warnings, he rejected every\nsuggestion of precaution and care of himself. To this he would answer,\nin his own energetic language, that \"as the days had gone by when, by\nmartyrdom, it was possible for us to testify to God's glory upon\nearth, it was our duty, like the toil-worn ox, to remain hitched to\nthe plough in the field of the Lord.\" And the event harmonized with\nhis wish. On Easter Sunday, 1840, Gallitzin, being then seventy years\nof age, had early in the morning taken his seat in the confessional.\nAfter the discharge of its duties, he had braced up the remnants of\nhis strength to ascend the altar for holy sacrifice. He was, however,\ncompelled to forego the sermon of the day to betake himself to his\nbed, from which he was destined never again to rise. The attentive\ncare of Dr. Rodriguez, his intimate friend, prolonged his existence\nfor a few weeks; but it was soon ascertained that the noble missionary\nwas fast sinking under exhausted energies. With the rapidity of\nlightning, the sad news was carried abroad. From far and near, old and\nyoung gathered around his dwelling, once more to receive the blessing\nof the man whom they revered. So great was the affluence of the\npeople, that in order to secure a few quiet moments for the glorious\nveteran of faith, absorbed in the last meditations and prayers of\nearth, it became necessary to warn away the increasing throng of\nvisitors--and this without his knowledge; for it was his wish to\nreceive every one of them, and to each to speak the last farewell\nwhich welled up from his loving heart. Yet some did come for whom no\nsuch words passed his lips, which on the contrary moved in utterances\nof reproof and blame. Among others came in one of the parishioners, to\nwhom the dying pastor had been particularly kind. He, however, had\nproved ungrateful, and had, indeed, been a cause of much annoyance to\nthe missionary by habits of drunkenness and other excesses of an\nunregulated life. As he entered the room, the venerable pastor turned\nto him with a reproachful look and shook his head. This silent\nsermonizing produced a deeper impression than had any previous\nadmonition of Gallitzin. The self-accusing culprit fell upon his\nknees, melted to tears, confessed his errors, and promised\nthenceforward to amend. The evidence of his sincerity is found in the\nstatement of Gallitzin's successor, who informs us that he stoutly\nheld to his promise.\n\nThe last scene of this eventful life closed on the sixth of May, when\nthe missionary prince left this world, accompanied by the prayers of\nhis parishioners gathered around him; for every apartment of the\nhouse, and every portion of the chapel attached to it, was literally\nthronged by a wailing, weeping, and praying community. This supreme\nhour revealed the depth and the sincerity of the love which dwelt in\nevery heart for this man of God. On the day of his burial, whole\npopulations swarmed from every point--from distances ranging fifty and\nsixty miles--to pay to the good father a last tribute of that\naffectionate respect which had attended him through life.\n\nThe most respectable men of the parish contended for the honor of\nbearing his body to the cemetery. In the body of the church, it was a\nperfect contest among the congregation to look for the last time on\nthe feature of him who was thenceforward for ever lost to earth. Those\nwho were lucky enough, through the pressure of the crowd, to reach the\ncoffin, kissed in tearful love the icy hands of the missionary; while\nthe attendants were compelled to resort to force in order to close the\ncoffin for the final rites of the Church.\n\nIt were no easy task, without reference to the work of his\nbiographer--an ocular witness of Gallitzin's labors--to convey a just\nconception of their bearing and extent \"When,\" he says, \"we come to\nconsider the {158} theatre on which Gallitzin inaugurated his immense\nlabors in so obscure and modest a manner, we realize the amount of\nsubstantial good that can be achieved by an apostolic missionary in\nAmerica when, like Gallitzin, he conceives the practical sense of\nthings and leads them on to their crowning development with the zeal\nand perseverance which marked his course. The small county of Cambria,\nin Pennsylvania, created in 1807, which is indebted to Gallitzin for a\nmajority of its settlers, is everywhere, and with every reason,\ncharacterized as the Catholic county. Indeed, when the traveller on\nbusiness, or the tourist for pleasure, strikes this point from other\ndistricts of Pennsylvania more controlled by Protestant influences, it\nseems to him that he has passed from a comparative desert into a\nsmiling oasis. This may be easily understood. For all their\njourneyings for whole days, over counties twice and thrice more\nopulent than this little Catholic county, there is no indication to\ntell them what religion is there professed. Not till they have pressed\nthe soil of Cambria county do they feel that they are in a _truly_\nChristian land, as they catch sight of ten Catholic churches and three\nmonasteries--all of which cropped out of Loretto under Gallitzin's\ncreative and fostering hands.\"\n\nFrom all these results we can frame an accurate judgment of the\nprince's career, which was but one continuous struggle--a glorious\nstruggle, teeming with usefulness. When Gallitzin opened his mission,\nthe vicar of Christ was persecuted and proscribed. A prisoner, torn\naway from his spiritual family, Pius VI. heard the voices of a\n_philosophic_ world applauding his abduction, as, ten years later, it\napplauded the violence inflicted on the person of Pius VII. It was\njust at that dark period which overshadowed the Holy See that the\nChurch inaugurated her peaceful labors in the United States, and, at\nthe end of ten years, had marked her beneficent influences by a\nprogress so rapid that its result could not escape the eye of even the\nleast observant. While Europe was organizing a settled persecution of\nthe papal power, the Church in America was growing up and expanding in\ninfluence. Her very adversaries were compelled to bear even reluctant\nwitness to her triumphs. In one of the meetings of a Bible society\nsome years ago. Lord Barclay exhibited a summary, in which he lamented\nthe spread of Catholicity in a country in which he said that in the\nyear 1790 there was not even a bishop. \"Strange,\" he said, \"that\nwhile, in Europe, the power of the see of Rome is overthrown, the Pope\nis a prisoner, and Rome is declared to be the second city of the\nFrench empire--strange, I say, that, at this very moment, the power\nof the Pope should be rooted in America in this still stranger\nmanner.\" Ay! strange indeed, my Lord Barclay; but in no way strange\nfor those who know that martyrdom is the life of the Church, and that\nshe woos triumph in persecution. Gallitzin's life is a living,\nconvincing proof of her triumphs and her hopes.\n\n------\n\n{159}\n\n\nFrom The Sixpenny Magazine.\n\n\"DUM SPIRO SPERO.\"\n\n(AN APOLOGUE.)\n\n  My soul was restless, and I sought\n    The elf's wild haunt, and breath'd sweet airs:\n  I track'd the river's devious route:--\n    In vain!--my heart was vext with cares.\n\n  I wandered from the noble park,\n    The trimly gay parterre to view;\n  Thence pluck'd a rose, without one mark\n    To rob it of its faultless hue;\n\n  And, home returning, quaintly placed\n    My trophy in a tiny tray\n  Of antique silver curious traced;\n    Then, charg'd with odor, turn'd away.\n\n* * * * *\n\n  I enter'd yestermorn the room\n    Where, all forgotten, dwelt my flower\n  Unhappy fate! that tender bloom\n    Fell, fainting for the genial shower.\n\n  Vanish'd all vigor had; and now--\n    The perfume fled--the tints grown dull--\n  It had been sin, I did allow,\n    For this so choice a bud to pull.\n\n  Then, with sore heart, I brought a stream\n    Of clearest water to its cup.\n  What wonder if new life 'gan gleam,\n    And care restored what hope gave up?\n\n  Lo! leaf by leaf was slowly raised,\n    Till olden flashes came at length:\n  Each plaintive petal oped, and gazed.\n    And thank'd me with its growing strength.\n\n* * * * *\n\n  Our hearts are like thee, little Rose;\n    They quicken what time love-beams shine;\n  But under dismal clouds of woes\n    How can they choose but droop and pine?\n\n  If sympathy with lute attend\n    To lull with some resistless psalm,\n  Misfortune's darts can never rend:\n    Friends soothe, hope cheers, and heaven anoints with balm!\n\n------\n\n{160}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nCONSTANCE SHERWOOD.\n\n\nAN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY\n\nBY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nThen methought was witnessed (I speak of the time when Sir Hammond\nl'Estrange made the savage speech which caused his lady and me to\nexchange affrighted looks) a rare instance of the true womanly courage\nwhich doth sometimes lie at the core of a timid heart. The meek wife,\nwhich dared not so much as to lift up her eyes to her lord if he did\nonly frown, or to oppose his will in any trifling matter; whose color\nI had seen fly from her cheek if he raised his voice, albeit not in\nanger against herself, now in the presence of those at table, with a\nface as pale as ashes, but a steady voice, and eyes fixed on him, thus\naddressed her husband:\n\n\"Sir, since we married I have never opposed your will, or in anything\nI wot of offended you, or ever would if I could help it. Do not,\ntherefore, displeasure me so much, I beseech you, in this grave\ninstance, as to make me an instrument in the capture. And God knoweth\nwhat should follow of one which came to me for help, and to whom the\nservice I rendered him would prove the means of his ruin if you\npersist therein.\"\n\n\"Go to, madam, go to,\" cries Sir Hammond; \"your business doth lie with\npoor people, mine with criminals. Go your way, and intrude not\nyourself in weightier matters than belong to your sex.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" she answers, braving his frowning looks, albeit her limbs began\nto tremble, \"I humbly crave your patience; but I will not leave you,\nneither desist from my suit, except thereunto compelled by force. I\nwould to God my tongue had been plucked out rather than that it should\nutter words which should betray to prison, yea, perhaps to death, the\npoor man whose wounds I tended.\"\n\nThe cloud on Sir Hammond's brow waxed darker as she spoke. He glanced\nat me, and methinks perceived my countenance to be as much disturbed\nas his lady's. A sudden thought, I ween, then passed through his mind;\nand with a terrible oath he swore that he misliked this strenuous\nurging in favor of a vile popish priest, and yet more the manner of\nthis intercession.\n\n\"Heaven shield, madam,\" he cried, \"you have not companied with\nrecusants so as to become infected with a lack of zeal for the\nProtestant religion!\"\n\nThe color returned for a moment to Lady l'Estrange's cheeks as she\nanswered:\n\n\"Sir, I have never, from the time my mother did teach me my prayers,\nbeen of any other way of thinking than that wherein she then\ninstructed me, or so much as allowed myself one thought contrary to\ntrue Protestant religion; or ever lent an ear, and with God's help\nnever will, to what papists do advance; but nevertheless, if this\npriest do fall into any grievous trouble through my speeches, I shall\nbe a most unhappy woman all my life.\"\n\nAnd then the poor soul, rising from her seat, went round to her\nhusband's side, and, kneeling, sought to take his hands, beseeching\nhim in such moving and piteous terms to change his purpose as I could\nsee did visibly affect some present. But I also noticed in Sir\nHammond's face so resolved an intent as if nothing in earth or heaven\nshould alter it. A drowning wretch {161} would as soon have moved a\nrock to advance toward him as she succeeded in swerving his will by\nher entreaties.\n\nA sudden thought inspired me to approach her where she had sunk down\non her knees at her husband's feet, he seeking angrily to push her\naway. I took her by the hand and said:\n\n\"I pray you, dear lady, come with me. These be indeed matters wherein,\nas Sir Hammond saith, women's words do not avail.\"\n\nBoth looked at me surprised; and she, loosing her hold of him,\nsuffered me to lead her away. We went into the parlor, Mrs. l'Estrange\nfollowing us. But as I did try to whisper in her ear that I desired to\nspeak with her alone, the bell in the dining-room began to ring\nviolently; upon which she shuddered and cried out:\n\n\"Let me go back to him, Mistress Sherwood.  I'll warrant you he is\nabout to send for the constables; but beshrew me if I die not first at\nhis feet; for if this man should be hung, peace will be a stranger to\nme all my life.\"\n\nMistress l'Estrange essayed to comfort her; but failing therein, said\nshe was very foolish to be so discomposed at what was no fault of\nhers, and she should think no more thereon, for in her condition to\nfret should be dangerous; and if people would be priests and papists\nnone could help if they should suffer for it. And then she left the\nparlor somewhat ruffled, like good people sometimes feel when they\nperceive their words to have no effect. When we were alone, \"Lady\nl'Estrange,\" I said, \"where is Master Rugeley's house?\"\n\n\"One mile, or thereabouts, across the heath,\" she answered.\n\n\"And the way to it direct?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yea, by the footpath,\" she replied; \"but much longer by the high\nroad.\"\n\nI went to the window and opened the shutter and the lattice also. The\nmoon was shining very brightly.\n\n\"Is it that cottage near to the wood?\" I inquired, pointing to a\nthatched roof nigh unto the darksome line of trees against the sky.\n\n\"Yea,\" she answered, \"how near it doth seem seen in this light!\nConstance, what think you to do?\" she exclaimed, when I went to her\ncupboard and took out the keys she had showed me that morning opened\nthe doors of the kitchen garden and the orchard.\n\n\"Did you not say,\" I answered, \"that the gentleman now in so great\nperil did lodge with Master Rugeley?\"\n\n\"Would you go there?\" she said, looking aghast. \"Not alone; you durst\nnot do it!\"\n\n\"Twenty times over,\" I answered, \"for to save a man's life, and he--he\na--\" But there I stopped; for it was her fellow-creature she desired\nto save. Her heart bled not like mine for the flock which should be\nleft without a shepherd; and albeit our fears were the same, we felt\nnot alike. I went into the hall, and she pursued me--one-half striving\nto stay me from my purpose, one-half urging me to fulfil it; yet\nretracting her words as soon as uttered.\n\n\"When I issue from the door of the orchard unto the heath,\" I said,\nthe while wrapping round me a cloak with a hood to it, \"and pursue the\npath in front, by what token may I find Master Rugeley's house if the\nmoon should be obscured?\"\n\n\"Where two roads do meet,\" she said, \"at the edge of the heath, a tall\noak doth stand near to a gate; a few steps to the right should then\nlead to it. But verily, Mistress Constance, I be frightened to let you\ngo; and oh, I do fear my husbands's anger.\"\n\n\"Would you, then, have a man die by your means?\" I asked, thinking for\nto cure one terror by another, as indeed it did; for she cried,\n\n\"Nay, I will speed you on your way, good Constance; and show so brave\na face during your absence as God shall help me to do; yea, and open\nthe door for you myself, if my husband should kill me for it!\"\n\n{162}\n\nThen she took the keys in her hand, and glided like unto a pale ghost\nbefore me through the passage into the hall, so noiselessly that I\nshould have doubted if aught of flesh and blood could have moved so\nlightly, and undid the bars of the back door without so much as a\nsound. Then she would fetch some thick shoes for me to wear, which I\ndid entreat her not to stay me for; but nothing else would content the\npoor soul, and, as she had the keys in her hand, I was forced to wait\nher return with so much impatience as may be guessed. I heard the\nvoices of the gentlemen still carousing after supper; and then a\nservant's below in the hall, who said the constables had been sent\nfor, and a warrant issued for the apprehension of a black papist at\nMaster Rugeley's. Then Milicent returned, and whilst I put on the\nshoes she had brought, and she was tying with trembling fingers the\nhood of my cloak, the rustling of Mrs. l'Estrange's silk gown was\nheard on the stair above our heads, from whence we were like to be\nseen; and, fear awakening contrivance, I said aloud,\n\n\"Oh, what a rare pastime it should be to dress as a ghost, and\nfrighten the good lady your sister-in-law! I pray you get me some\nwhite powder to pale my face. Methinks we need some kind of sport to\ndrive away too much thinking on that dismal business in hand.\"\n\nThe steps over our head sounded more hurried, and we heard the door of\nthe parlor close with a bang, and the lattice also violently shut.\n\n\"Now,\" I whispered, \"give me the keys, good Lady l'Estrange, and go to\nyour sister yourself. Say I was ashamed to have been overheard to plan\nso rank a piece of folly (and verily you will be speaking no other\nthan the truth), and that you expect I shall not so much as show my\nface in the parlor this evening; and lock also my chamber-door, that\nnone may for a surety know me for to be absent.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" answered the poor lady, with so deep a sigh as seemed to rend\nher heart; \"but, God forgive me, I never did think to hide anything\nfrom my husband! And who shall tell me if I be doing right or wrong?\"\n\nI could not stay, though I grieved for her; and the sound of her voice\nhaunted me as I went through the garden, and then the orchard, unto\nthe common, locking the doors behind me. When this was done, I did\nbreathe somewhat more freely, and began to run along the straight path\namidst the heath. I wot not if my speed was great--the time seemed\nlong; yet methinks I did not slacken my pace once, but rather\nincreased it, till, perceiving the oak, and near it the gate Lady\nl'Estrange had mentioned, I stopped to consider where to turn; and\nafter I had walked a little to the right I saw a cottage and a light\ngleaming inside. Then my heart beat very fast; and when I knocked at\nthe door I felt scarce able to stand. I did so three times, and no\nanswer came. Then I cried as loudly as I could, \"Master Rugeley, I\nbeseech you open the door.\" I heard some one stirring within, but no\none came. Then I again cried out, \"Oh, for our Blessed Lady's sake,\nsome one come.\" At last the lattice opened, and a man's head appeared.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he said, in a low voice.\n\n\"A friend,\" I answered, in a whisper; \"a Catholic. Are yon Master\nRugeley?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" he answered.\n\n\"Oh, then, if Mr. Tunstall is here, hide him quickly, or send him\naway. I am a friend of Lady l'Estrange's and staying in her house. Sir\nHammond hath received tidings that a priest is in this neighborhood,\nand a warrant is issued for to apprehend him. His lady unwittingly,\nand sorely troubled she is thereat, showed by her speeches touching\nyour guest, that he is like to be Mr. Tunstall; and the constables\nwill soon be here.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" he replied whom I was addressing; \"but Mr. Tunstall is\nnot the name of my friend.\"\n\nThen I feared he did take me for a spy, and I cried out, greatly\nmoved, \"As I do hope to go to heaven one {163} day, and not to hell,\nMaster Rugeley, I speak the truth, and my warning is an urgent one.\"\n\nThen I heard some one within the house, who said, \"Open the door,\nMaster Rugeley. I should know that voice. Let the speaker in.\"\n\nMethought I, too, knew the voice of the person who thus spoke. The\ndoor was opened, and I entered a room dimly lighted by one candle.\n\n\"Oh, for God's sake,\" I cried, \"if a priest is here, hide him\nforthwith.\"\n\n\"Are you a Catholic, my child?\"\n\nI looked up to the person who put this question to me, and gave a\nsudden cry, I know not whether of terror or joy; for great as was the\nchange which the lapse of years, and great inward and outward changes,\nhad wrought in his aspect, I saw it was my father.\n\n\"I am Constance,\" I cried; \"Constance Sherwood! Oh, my dear father!\"\nand then fell at his feet weeping.\n\nAfter an instant's, astonishment and fixed gazing on my face, he\nrecognized me, who was, I doubt not, more changed than himself, and\nreceived me with a great paternal kindness and the tenderest greeting\nimaginable, yet tempered with reserve and so much of restraint as\nshould befit one who, for Christ's sake, had dissevered himself from\nthe joys, albeit not from the affections, of the natural heart.\n\n\"Oh, my good child, my own dear Constance,\" he said; \"hath God in his\nbounty given thy poor father a miraculous sight of thee before his\ndeath, or art thou come verily in flesh and blood to warn him of his\ndanger?\"\n\n\"My dear and honored father,\" I replied, \"time presses; peril is\nindeed at hand, if you and Mr. Tunstall are the same person.\"\n\n\"The wounds in my hands,\" he answered, \"must prove me such, albeit now\nhealed by the care of that good Samaritan, Lady l'Estrange. But\nprithee, my good child, whence comest thou?\"\n\n\"Alas!\" I said; \"and yet not alas, if God should be so good to me as\nby my means to save you, I am Sir Hammond's guest, being a friend of\nhis lady's. I came there yesterday.\"\n\n\"Oh, my good child, I thought not to have seen thee in these thy\ngrown-up years. Master Rugeley,\" he added, turning to his host, \"this\nis the little girl I forsook four years ago, for to obtain the\nhundredfold our Lord doth promise.\"\n\n\"My very dear father,\" I said, \"joy is swallowed up in fear. God help\nme, I came to warn a stranger (if so be any priest in these times\nshould be a stranger to a Catholic), and I find you.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I am mightfully pleased,\" quoth he, \"to see thee, my child,\neven in this wise, and to hear thee speak like a true daughter of Holy\nChurch. And Lady l'Estrange is then thy friend?\"\n\n\"Yea, my dear father; but for God and our lady's sake hide yourself. I\nwarrant yon the constables may soon be here. Master Rugeley, where can\nhe be concealed, or whither fly, and I with him?\"\n\n\"Nay, prithee not so fast,\" quoth he. \"Flight would be useless; and in\nthe matter of hiding, one should be more easily concealed than two;\nbeside that, the hollow of a tree, which Master Rugeley will, I ween,\nappoint me for a bed-chamber to-night, should hardly lodge us both\nwith comfort.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir,\" said Rugeley, \"do not tarry.\"\n\n\"For thy sake, no; not for more than one minute, Thomas; but ere I\npart from this wench, two questions I must needs ask her.\"\n\nThen he drew me aside and inquired what facilities I continued to have\nin London for the exercise of Catholic religion, and if I was punctual\nin the discharge of my spiritual duties. When I had satisfied him\nthereon, he asked if the report was true which he heard from a\nprisoner for recusancy in Wisbeach Castle, concerning my troth-plight\nwith Mr. Rookwood.\n\n\"Yea,\" I said, \"it is true, if so be you now do add your consent to\nit.\"\n\n{164}\n\nHe answered he should do so with all his heart, for he knew him to be\na good Catholic and a virtuous gentleman; and as we might lack the\nopportunity to receive his blessing later, he should now give it unto\nme for both his most dear children. Which he did, laying his hand on\nmy head with many fervent benisons, couched in such words as these,\nthat he prayed for us to be stayed up with the shore of God's grace in\nthis world; and after this transitory life should end, to ascend to\nhim, and appear pure and unspotted before his glorious seat. Then he\nasked me if it was Lady l'Estrange who had detected him; whereupon I\nbriefly related to him what had occurred, and how sore her grief was\ntherein.\n\n\"God bless her,\" he answered; \"and tell her I do thank her and pray\nfor her with all mime heart.\"\n\nAnd more he would have added, but Master Rugeley opened the door\nimpatiently. So, after kissing once more my father's hand, I went\naway, compelled thereunto by fears for his safety, if he should not at\nonce conceal himself.\n\nLooking back, I saw him and his guide disappear in the thicket, and\nthen, as I walked on toward Lynn Court, it did almost seem to me as if\nthe whole of that brief but pregnant interview should have been a\ndream; nor could I verily persuade myself that it was not a half\nhabitant of another world I had seen and spoken with rather than mine\nown father; and in first thinking on it I scarcely did fully apprehend\nthe danger he was in, so as to feel as much pain as I did later, when\nthe joy and astonishment of that unexpected meeting had given way to\nterrifying thoughts. Ever and anon I turned round to gaze on the dark\nwood wherein his hopes of safety did lie, and once I knelt down on the\nroadside to pray that the night should be also dark and shield his\nescape. But still the sense of fear was dulled, and woke not until the\nsound of horses' feet on the road struck on my ear, and I saw a party\nof men riding across the common. The light in the cottage was\nextinguished, but the cruel moon shone out then more brightly than\nheretofore. Now I felt so sick and faint that I feared to sink down on\nthe path, and hurried through the orchard-door and the garden to the\nhouse. When I had unlocked the back door and stood in the hall where a\nlately kindled fire made a ruddy light to glow, I tried again to think\nI had been dreaming, like one in a nightmare strives to shake off an\noppressive fancy. I could not remain alone, and composed my\ncountenance for to enter the parlor, when the door thereof opened and\nMrs. l'Estrange came out, who, when she perceived me standing before\nher, gave a start, but recovering herself, said, good-naturedly:\n\n\"Marry, if this be not the ghost we have been looking for; now\nashamed, I ween, to show itself. I hope, Mistress Sherwood, you do not\nhaunt quiet folks in their beds at night; for I do, I warn you,\nmislike living ghosts, and should be disposed to throw a jug of water\nat the head of such a one.\" And laughing, she took my hand in a kind\nmanner, which when she did, almost a cry broke from her: \"How now,\nMilicent! she is as cold as a stone figure. Where has she been\nchilling herself?\"\n\nMilicent pressed forward and led me to my chamber, wherein a fire had\nbeen lighted, and would make me drink a hot posset. But when I thought\nof the cold hollow of a tree wherein my father was enclosed, if it\npleased God no worse mishap had befallen him, little of it could I\nforce myself to swallow, for now tears had come to my relief, and\nconcealing my face in the pillow of the bed whereon for weariness I\nhad stretched myself, I wept very bitterly.\n\n\"Is that poor man gone from Rugeley's house?\" Milicent whispered.\n\nAlas! she knew not who that poor man was to me, nor with what anguish\nI answered: \"He is not in the {165} cottage, I hope; but God only\nknoweth if his pursuers shall not discover him.\" The thought of what\nwould then follow overcame me, and I hid my face with mine hands.\n\n\"Oh, Constance,\" she exclaimed, \"was this poor man known to thee, that\nthy grief is so great, whose conscience doth not reproach thee as mine\ndoeth?\"\n\nI held out my hand to her without unshading my face with the other,\nand said: \"Dear Milicent! thou shouldst not sorrow so mach for thine\nown part in this sore trial. It was not thy fault. He said so. He\nblest thee, and prays for thee.\"\n\nUncomforted by my words, she cried again, what she had so often\nexclaimed that night, \"If this man should die, my happiness is over.\"\n\nThen once more she asked me if I know this priest, and I was froward\nwith her (God forgive me, for the suspense and fear overthrew better\nfeelings for a moment), and I cried, angrily, \"Who saith he is a\npriest? Who can prove it?\"\n\n\"Think you so?\" she said joyfully; \"then all should be right.\"\n\nAnd once more, with some misdoubting, I ween, that I concealed\nsomewhat from her, she inquired touching my knowledge of this\nstranger. Then I spoke harshly, and bade her leave me, for I had\nsorrow enough without her intermeddling with it; but then grieving for\nher, and also afraid to be left alone, I denied my words, and prayed\nher to stay, which she did, but did not speak much again. The silence\nof the night seemed so deep as if the rustling of a leaf could be\nnoticed; only now and then the voices of the gentlemen below, and some\nloud talking and laughter from some of them was discernible through\nthe closed doors. Once Lady l'Estrange said: \"They be sitting up very\nlate;  I suppose till the constables return. Oh, when will that be?\"\n\nThe great clock in the hall then struck twelve; and soon after,\nstarting up, I cried, \"What should be that noise?\"\n\n\"I do hear nothing,\" she answered, trembling as a leaf.\n\n\"Hush,\" I replied, and going to the window, opened the lattice. The\nsound in the road on the other side of the house was now plain. On\nthat we looked on naught was to be seen save trees and grass, with the\nghastly moonlight shining on them. A loud opening and shutting of\ndoors and much stir now took place within the house, and, moved by the\nsame impulse, we both went out into the passage and half way down the\nstairs. Milicent was first. Suddenly she turned round, and falling\ndown on her knees, with a stifled exclamation, she hid her face\nagainst me, whisperings \"He is taken!\"\n\nWe seemed both turned to stone. O ye which have gone through a like\ntrial, judge ye; and you who have never been in such straits, imagine\nwhat a daughter should feel who, after long years' absence, beholdeth\na beloved father for one instant, and in the next, under the same roof\nwhere she is a guest, sees him brought in a prisoner and in jeopardy\nof his life. Every word which was uttered we could hear where we sat\ncrouching, fearful to advance--she not daring to look on the man she\nhad ruined, and I on the countenance of a dear parent, lest the sight\nof me should distract him from his defence, if that could be called\nsuch which he was called on to make. They asked him touching his name,\nif it was Tunstall. He answered he was known by that name. Then\nfollowed the murtherous question, if he was a Romish priest? To which\nhe at once assented. Then said Sir Hammond:\n\n\"How did you presume, sir, to return into England contrary to the\nlaws?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" he answered, \"as I was lawfully ordained a priest by a Catholic\nbishop, by authority derived from the see of Rome\" (one person here\nexclaimed, \"Oh, audacious papist! his {166} tongue should be cat out;\"\nbut Sir Hammond imposed silence), \"so likewise,\" he continued, \"am I\nlawfully sent to preach the word of God, and to administer the\nsacraments to my Catholic countrymen. As the mission of priests\nlawfully ordained is from Christ, who did send his apostles even as\nhis Father sent him, I do humbly conceive no human laws can justly\nhinder my return to England, or make it criminal; for this should be\nto prefer the ordinances of man to the commands of the supreme\nlegislator, which is Christ himself.\"\n\nLoud murmurs were here raised by some present, which Sir Hammond again\nsilencing, he then inquired if he would take the oath of allegiance to\nthe queen? He answered (my straining ears taking note of every word he\nuttered) that he would gladly pay most willing obedience to her\nmajesty in all civil matters; but the oath of allegiance, as it was\nworded, he could not take, or hold her majesty to possess any\nsupremacy in spiritual matters. He was beginning to state the reasons\nthereof, but was not suffered to proceed, for Sir Hammond,\ninterrupting him, said he was an escaped prisoner, and by his own\nconfession condemned, so he should straightway commit him to the gaol\nin Norwich. Then I lost my senses almost, and seizing Lady\nl'Estrange's arm, I cried, \"Save him! he is mine own father, Mr.\nSherwood!\" She uttered a sort of cry, and said, \"Oh, I have feared\nthis, since I saw his face!\" and running forward, I following her,\naffrighted at what should happen, she called out, \"It shall not be! He\nshall not do it!\" and with a face as white as any smock, runs to her\nhusband, and perceiving the constables to be putting chains on my\nfather's hands and feet, which I likewise beheld with what feelings\nyou who read this may think, she falls on her knees and gasps out\nthese words in such a mournful tone, that I shuddered to hear her,\n\"Oh, sir! if this man leaves this house a chained prisoner, I shall\nnever be the like of my-self again. There shall be no more joy for me\nin life.\" And then faints right away, and Sir Hammond carries her in\nhis arms out of the hall. Mine eyes the while met my father's; who\nsmiled on me with kind cheer, but signed for me to keep away. I\nstretched my arms toward him, and with his chained hand he contrived\nyet once more for to bless me; then was hurried out of my sight. Far\nmore time than I ever did perceive or could remember the length of I\nremained in that now deserted hall, motionless, alone, near to the\ndying embers, the darkness still increasing, too much confused to\nrecall at once the comforts which sacred thoughts do yield in such\nmishaps, only able to clasp my hand and utter broken sentences of\nprayer, such as \"God, ha' mercy on us,\" and the like; till about the\nmiddle of the night, Sir Hammond comes down the stairs, with a lamp in\nhis hand, and a strange look in his face.\n\n\"Mistress Sherwood,\" he says, \"come to my lady. She is very ill, and\nhath been in labor for some time. She doth nothing but call for you,\nand rave about that accursed priest she will have it she hath\nmurthered. Come and feign to her he hath escaped.\"\n\n\"O God!\" I cried, \"my words may fall on her ear, Sir Hammond, but my\nface cannot deceive her.\"\n\nHe looked at me amazed and angry. \"What meaneth this passion of grief?\nWhat is this old man to you, that his misfortune should thus disorder\nyou?\" And as I could not stay my weeping, he asked in a scornful\nmanner, \"Do papists so dote on their priests as to die of sorrow when\nthey get their deserts?\" This insulting speech did so goad me, that,\nunable to restrain myself, I exclaimed, \"Sir Hammond, he whom you have\nsent to a dungeon, and perhaps to death also (God pardon you for it!),\nis my true father!--the best parent and the noblest gentleman that\never breathed, which for many years I had not seen; and here under\nyour roof, myself your guest, I {167} have beheld him loaded with\nchains, and dared not to speak for fear to injure him yet further,\nwhich I pray God I have not now done, moved thereunto by your cruel\nscoffs.\"\n\n\"Your father!\" he said amazed; \"Mr. Sherwood! These cursed feignings\ndo work strange mishaps. But he did own himself a priest.\"\n\nBefore I had time to answer, a serving woman ran into the hall, crying\nout, \"Oh, sir, I pray you come to my lady. She is much worse; and the\nnurse says, if her mind is not eased she is like to die before the\nchild is born.\"\n\n\"Oh, Milicent! sweet Milicent!\" I cried, wringing my hands; and when I\nlooked at that unhappy husband's face, anger vanished and pity took\nits place. He turned to me with an imploring countenance as if he\nshould wish to say, \"None but you can save her.\" I prayed to Our Lady,\nwho stood and fainted not beneath the Rood, to get me strength for to\ndo my part in that sick chamber whither I signed to him to lead the\nway. \"God will help me,\" I whispered in his ear, \"to comfort her.\"\n\n\"God bless you!\" he answered in a hoarse voice, and opened the door of\nthe room in which his sweet lady was sitting in her bed, with a wild\nlook in her pale blue eyes, which seemed to start out of her head.\n\n\"Sir,\" I heard her say, as he approached, \"what hath befallen the poor\nman you would not dismiss?\"\n\nI took a light in my hand, so that she should see my face, and smiled\non her with such good cheer, as God in his mercy gave me strength to\ndo even amidst the two-fold anguish of that moment. Then she threw her\narms convulsively round my neck, and her pale lips gasped the same\nquestion as before. I bent over her, and said, \"Trouble yourself no\nlonger, dear lady, touching this prisoner. He is safe (in God's\nkeeping, I added, internally). He is where he is carefully tended (by\nGod's angels, I mentally subjoined); he hath no occasion to be afraid\n(for God is his strength), and I warrant you is as peaceful as his\nnearest friends should wish him to be.\"\n\n\"Is this the truth?\" she murmured in my ear.\n\n\"Yea,\" I said, \"the truth, the very truth,\" and kissed her flushed\ncheek. Then feeing like to faint, I went away, Sir Hammond leading me\nto my chamber, for I could scarce stand.\n\n\"God bless you!\" he again said, when he left me, and I think he was\nweeping.\n\nI fell into a heavy, albeit troubled, sleep, and when I awoke it was\nbroad daylight. When the waiting-maid came in, she told me Lady\nl'Estrange had been delivered of a dead child and Sir Hammond was\nalmost beside himself with grief. My lady's mind had wandered ever\nsince; but she was more tranquil than in the night. Soon after he sent\nto ask if he could see me, and I went down to him into the parlor. A\nmore changed man, in a few hours, I ween, could not be seen, than this\npoor gentleman. He spoke not of his lady; but briefly told me he had\nsent in the night a messenger on horseback to Norwich, with a letter\nto the governor of the gaol, praying him to show as much\nconsideration, and allow so much liberty as should consist with\nprudence, to the prisoner in his custody, sent by him a few hours\nbefore, for that he had discovered him not to be one of the common\nsort, nor a lewd person, albeit by his own confession amenable to the\nlaws, and escaped from another prison. Then he added, that if I wished\nto go to Norwich, and visit this prisoner, he would give me a letter\nto the governor, and one to a lady, who would conveniently harbor me\nfor a while in that city, and his coach should take me there, or he\nwould lend me a horse and a servant to attend me. I answered, I should\nbe glad to go, and then said somewhat of his lady, hoping she should\nnow do well. He made no reply for a moment, and then only said,\n\n\"God knoweth! she is not like herself at the present.\"\n\nThe words she had so mournfully {168} spoken the day before came into\nmy mind, \"I shall never be like myself again, and there shall be no\nmore joy in this house.\" And, methinks, they did haunt him also.\n\nI sat for some time by her bedside that day. She seemed not ill at\nease, but there was something changed in her aspect, and her words\nwhen she spoke had no sense or connection. And here I will set down,\nbefore I relate the events which followed my brief sojourn under their\nroof, what I have heard touching the sequel of Sir Hammond and his\nwife's lives.\n\nIn that perilous and sorely troubled childbirth understanding was\nalienated, and the art of the best physicians in England could never\nrestore it. She was not frantic; but had such a pretty deliration,\nthat in her ravings there was oftentimes more attractiveness than in\nmany sane persons' conversation. They mostly ran on pious themes, and\nshe was wont to sing psalms, and talk of heaven, and that she hoped to\nsee God there; and in many things she showed her old ability, such as\nfine embroidery and the making of preserves. One day her waiting-woman\nasked her to dress a person's wounds, which did greatly need it, and\nshe set herself to do it in her accustomed manner; but at the sight of\nthe wounds, she was seized with convulsions, and became violently\ndelirious, so that Sir Hammond sharply reprehended the imprudent\nattendant, and forbade the like to be ever proposed to her again. He\ngave himself up to live retired with her, and ceased to be a\nmagistrate, nor ever, that I could hear of, took any part again in the\npersecution of Catholics. The distemper which had estranged her mind\nin all things else, had left her love and obedience entire to her\nhusband; and he entertained a more visible fondness, and evinced a\ngreater respect for her after she was distempered than he had ever\ndone in the early days of their marriage. Methinks, the gentleness of\nher heart, and delicacy of her conscience, which till that misfortune\nhad never, I ween, been burdened by any, even the least,\nself-reproach, and the lack of strength in her mind to endure an\nunusual stress, made the stroke of that accidental harm done to\nanother through her means too heavy for her sufferance, and, as the\npoet saith, unsettled reason on her throne. For mine own part, but let\nothers consider of it as they list, I think that had she been a\nCatholic by early training and distinct belief, as verily I hope she\nwas in rightful intention, albeit unconsciously to herself (as I make\nno doubt many are in these days, wherein persons are growing up with\nno knowledge of religion except what Protestant parents do instill\ninto them), that she would have had a greater courage for to bear this\nsingular trial; which to a feeling natural heart did prove unbearable,\nbut which to one accustomed to look on suffering as not the greatest\nof evils, and to hold such as are borne for conscience sake as great\nand glorious, would not have been so overwhelming. But herein I write,\nmethinks, mine own condemnation, for that in the anguish of filial\ngrief I failed to point out to her during those cruel moments of\nsuspense that which in retrospection I do so clearly see. And so, may\nGod accept the blighting of her young life, and the many sufferings of\nmine which I have still to record, as pawns of his intended mercies to\nboth her and to me in his everlasting kingdom!\n\nWhen I was about to set out for Norwich, late in the afternoon of that\nsame day, Sir Hammond's messenger returned from thence with a letter\nfrom the governor of the gaol; wherein he wrote that the prisoner he\nhad sent the night before was to proceed to London in a few hours with\nsome other priests and recusants which the government had ordered to\nbe conveyed thither and committed to divers prisons. He added, that he\nhad complied with Sir Hammond's request, and shown so much favor to\nMr. Tunstall as to transfer him, as soon as he {169} received his\nletter, from the common dungeon to a private cell, and to allow him to\nspeak with another Catholic prisoner who had desired to see him. Upon\nthis I prayed Sir Hammond to forward me on my journey to London, as\nnow I desired nothing so much as to go there forthwith; which he did\nwith no small alacrity and good disposition. Then, with so much speed\nas was possible, and so much suffering from the lapse of each hour\nthat it seemed to me the journey should never end, I proceeded to what\nwas now the object of my most impatient pinings--the place where I\nshould bear tidings of my father, and, if it should be possible,\nminister assistance to him in his great straits. At last I reached\nHolborn; and, to the no small amazement of my uncle, Mrs. Ward, and\nMuriel, revealed to them who Mr. Tunstall was, whose arrival at the\nprison of Bridewell Mrs. Ward had had notice of that morning, when she\nhad been to visit Mr. Watson, which she had contrived to do for some\ntime past in the manner I will soon relate.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nOne of the first persons I saw in London was Hubert Rookwood, who,\nwhen he heard (for being Basil's brother I would not conceal it from\nhim) that my father was in prison at Bridewell, expressed so much\nconcern therein and resentment of my grief, that I was thereby moved\nto more kindly feelings toward him than I had of late entertained. He\nsaid that in the houses of the law which he frequented he had made\nfriends which he hoped would intercede in his behalf, and therein\nobtain, if not his release, yet so much alleviation of the hardships\nof a common prison as should render his condition more tolerable, and\nthat he would lose no time in seeking to move them thereunto; but that\nour chief hope would lie in Sir Francis Walsingham, who, albeit much\nopposed to papists, had always showed himself willing to assist his\nfriends of that way of thinking, and often procured for them some\nrelief, which indeed none had more experienced than Mr. Congleton\nhimself. Hubert commended the secrecy which had been observed touching\nmy father's real name; for if he should be publicly known to be\npossessed of lands and related to noble families, it should be harder\nfor any one to get him released than an obscure person; but\nnevertheless he craved license to intimate so much of the truth to Sir\nFrancis as should appear convenient, for he had always observed that\ngentlemen are more compassionate to those of their own rank than to\nothers of meaner birth. Mr. Congleton prayed him to use his own\ndiscretion therein, and said he should acquaint no one himself of it\nexcept his very good friend the Portuguese ambassador, who, if all\nother resources failed, might yet obtain of the queen herself some\nmitigation of his sentence. Thereupon followed some days of weary\nwatching and waiting, in which my only comfort was Mistress Ward, who,\nby means of the gaoler's wife, who had obliged her in the like manner\nbefore, did get access from time to time to Mr. Watson, and brought\nhim necessaries. From him she discovered that the prisoner in the\nnearest cell to his own was the so-called Mr. Tunstall, and that by\nknocks against the wall, ingeniously numbered so as to express the\nletters of the alphabet, as one for _a_, two for _b_, and so to the\nend thereof, they did communicate. So she straightway began to\npractice this management; but time allowed not of many speeches to\npass between them. Yet in this way he sent me his blessing, and that\nhe was of very good cheer; but that none should try for to visit him,\nfor he had only one fear, which was to bring others into trouble; and,\nfor himself, he was much beholden to her majesty, which had provided\nhim with a quiet lodging and time to look to his soul's welfare; {170}\nwhich evidence of his cheerful and pious spirit comforted me not a\nlittle. Then that dear friend which had brought me this good comfort\nspoke of Mr. Watson, and said she desired to procure his escape from\nprison more than that of any other person in the same plight, not\nexcepting my father. \"For, good Constance,\" quoth she, \"when a man is\nblest with a stout heart and cheerful mind, except it be for the sake\nof others, I pray you what kind of service do you think we render him\nby delaying the victory he is about to gain, and peradventure\ndepriving him of the long-desired crown of martyrdom? But this good\nMr. Watson, who as you well know was a zealous priest and pious\nmissioner, nevertheless, some time after his apprehension and\nconfinement in Bridewell, by force of torments and other miseries of\nthat place, was prevailed upon to deny his faith so far as to go once\nto the Protestant service--not dragged there by force as some have\nbeen, but compelled thereunto by fear of intolerable sufferings, and\nwas then set at liberty. But the poor man did not thus better his\ncondition; for the torments of his mind, looking on himself as an\napostate and traitor to the Church, he found to be more insupportable\nthan any sufferings his gaolers put upon him. So, after some miserable\nweeks, he went to one of the prisons where some other priests were\nconfined for to seek comfort and counsel from them; and, having\nconfessed his fault with great and sincere sorrow, he received\nabsolution, and straightway repaired to that church in Bridewell\nwherein he had in a manner denied his faith, and before all the people\nat that time therein assembled, declared himself a Catholic, and\nwilling to go to prison and to death sooner than to join again in\nProtestant worship. Whereupon he was laid hold of, dragged to prison,\nand thrown into a dungeon so low and so straight that he could neither\nstand up in it nor lay himself down at his full length to sleep. They\nloaded him with irons, and kept him one whole month on bread and\nwater; nor would suffer any one to come near him to comfort or speak\nwith him.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" I cried, \"and is this, then, the place where my father is\nconfined?'\n\n\"No,\", she answered; \"after the space of a month Mr. Watson was\ntranslated to a lodging at the top of the house, wherein the prisoners\nare leastways able to stretch their limbs and to see the light; but he\nhaving been before prevailed on to yield against his conscience\ntouching that point of going to Protestant worship, no peace is left\nto him by his persecutors, which never cease to urge on him some sort\nof conformity to their religion. And, Constance, when a man hath once\nbeen weak, what security can there be, albeit I deny not hope, that he\nshall always after stand firm?\"\n\n\"But by what means,\" I eagerly asked, '\"do you forecast to procure his\nescape?\"\n\n\"I have permission,\" she answered, \"to bring him necessaries, which I\ndo in a basket, on condition that I be searched at going in and coming\nout, for to make sure I convey not any letter unto him or from him;\nand this was so strictly observed the first month that they must needs\nbreak open the loaves or pies I take to him lest any paper should be\nconveyed inside. But they begin now to weary of this strict search,\nand do not care at ways to hearken when I speak with him; so he could\ntell me the last time I did visit him that he had found a way by which\nif he had but a cord long enough for his purpose, he could let himself\ndown from the top of the house, and so make his escape in the night.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" I cried, \"dear Mistress Ward, but this is a perilous venture, to\naid a prisoner's escape. One which a daughter might run for her\nfather, oh, how willingly, but for a stranger--\"\n\n\"A stranger!\" she answered. \"Is he a stranger for whom Christ died,\nand whose precious soul is in danger. {171} even if not a priest; and\nbeing so, is he not entitled to more than common reverence, chiefly in\nthese days when God's servants minister to us in the midst of such\ngreat straits to both soul and body?'\n\n\"I cry God mercy,\" I said; \"I did term him a stranger who gave ghostly\ncomfort to my dear mother on her death-bed; but oh, dear Mistress\nWard, I thought on your peril, who, he knoweth, hath been as a mother\nto me for these many years. And then-if you are resolved to run this\ndanger, should it not be possible to save my father also by the same\nmeans? Two cords should not be more difficult to convey, methinks,\nthan one, and the peril not greater.\"\n\n\"If I could speak with him,\" she replied, \"it would not be impossible.\nI will tell Muriel to make two instead of one of these cords, which\nshe doth twine in some way she learnt from a Frenchman, so strong as,\nalbeit slight, to have the strength of a cable. But without we do\nprocure two men with a boat for to fetch the prisoners when they\ndescend, 'tis little use to make the attempt. And it be easier, I\nwarrant thee, Constance, to run one's self into a manifest danger than\nto entice others to the like.\"\n\n\"Should it be safe,\" I asked, \"to speak thereon to Hubert Rookwood? He\ndid exhibit this morning much zeal in my father's behalf, and promised\nto move Sir Francis Walsingham to procure his release.\"\n\n\"How is he disposed touching religion? she asked, in a doubtful\nmanner.\n\n\"Alas!\" I answered, \"there is a secrecy in his nature which in more\nways than one doth prove unvestigable, leastways to me; but when he\ncomes this evening I will sound him thereon. Would his brother were in\nLondon! Then we should not lack counsel and aid in this matter.\"\n\n\"We do sorely need both,\" she answered; \"for your good uncle, than\nwhich a better man never lived, wanes feeble in body, and hence easily\novercome by the fears such enterprises involve. Mr. Wells is not in\nLondon at this tune, or he should have been a very palladium of\nstrength in this necessity. Hubert Rookwood hath, I think, a good\nhead.\"\n\n\"What we do want is a brave heart,\" I replied, thinking on Basil.\n\n\"But wits also,\" she said.\n\n\"Basil hath them too,\" I answered, forgetting that only in mine own\nthinking had he been named.\n\n\"Yea,\" she cried, \"who doth doubt it? but, alas! he is not here.\"\n\nThen I prayed her not to be too rash in the prosecution of her design.\n\"Touching my father,\" I said, \"I have yet some hope of his release;\nand as long as any remaineth, flight should be methinks a too\ndesperate attempt to be thought of.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" she answered, \"in most cases it would be so.\" But Mr. Watson's\ndisposition she perceived to be such as would meet a present danger\nand death itself, she thought, with courage, but not of that stamp\nwhich could endure prolonged fears or infliction of torments.\n\nSince my coming to London I had been too much engaged in these weighty\ncares to go abroad; but on that day I resolved, if it were possible,\nto see my Lady Surrey. A report had reached me that the breach between\nher and her husband had so much deepened that a separation had ensued,\nwhich if true, I, which knew her as well almost as mine own self,\ncould judge what her grief must be. I was also moved to this endeavor\nby the hope that if my Lord Arundel was not too sick to be spoken\nwith, she should perhaps obtain some help through his means for that\ndear prisoner whose captivity did weigh so heavily on my heart.\n\nSo, with a servant to attend on me, I went through the city to the\nChapter-house, and with a misgiving mind heard from the porter that\nLady Surrey lodged not there, but at Arundel House, whither she had\nremoved soon after her coming to London. {172} Methought that in the\ntelling of it this man exhibited a sorrowful countenance; but not\nchoosing to question one of his sort on so weighty a matter, I went on\nto Arundel House, where, after some delay, I succeeded in gaining\nadmittance to Lady Surrey's chamber, whose manner, when she first saw\nme, lacked the warmth which I was used to in her greetings. There\nseemed some fear in her lest I should speak unadvisedly that which she\nwould be loth to hear; and her strangeness and reserve methinks arose\nfrom reluctance to have the wound in her heart probed,--too sore a\none, I ween, even for the tender handling of a friend. I inquired of\nher if my Lord Arundel's health had improved. She said he was better,\nand like soon to be as well as could be hoped for now-a-days, when his\ninfirmities had much increased.\n\n\"Then you will return to Kenninghall?\" I said, letting my speech\noutrun discretion.\n\n\"No,\" she replied; \"I purpose never more to leave my Lord Arundel or\nmy Lady Lumley as long as they do live, which I pray God may be many\nyears.\"\n\nAnd then she sat without speaking, biting her lips and wringing the\nkerchief she held in her hands, as if to keep her grief from\noutbursting. I dared not to comment on her resolve, for I foresaw that\nthe least word which should express some partaking of her sorrow, or\nany question relating to it, would let loose a torrent weakly stayed\nby a mightful effort, not like to be of long avail. So I spoke of mine\nown troubles, and the events which had occasioned my sudden departure\nfrom Lynn Court. She had heard of Lady l'Estrange's mishap, and that\nthe following day I had journeyed to London; but naught of the causes\nthereof, or of the apprehension of any priest by Sir Hammond's orders.\nWhich, when she learnt the manner of this misfortune, and the poor\nlady's share therein, and that it was my father she had thus\nunwittingly discovered, her countenance softened, and throwing her\narms round my neck, she bitterly wept, which at that moment methinks\ndid her more good than anything else.\n\n\"Oh, mine own good Constance,\" she said, \"I doubt not nature riseth\nmany passionate workings in your soul at this time; but, my dear\nwench, when good men are in trouble our grief for them should be as\nnoble as their virtues. Bethink thee what a worst sorrow it should be\nto have a vile father, one that thou must needs love,--for who can\ntear out of his heart affection strong as life?--and he should then\nprove unworthy. Believe me, Constance, God gives to each, even in this\nworld, a portion of their deserts. Such griefs as thy present one I\ntake to be rare instances of his favor. Other sorts of trials are meet\nfor cowardly souls which refuse to set their lips to a chalice of\nsuffering, and presently find themselves submerged in a sea of woes.\nBut can I help thee, sweet one? Is there aught I can do to lighten thy\naffliction? Hast thou license for to see thy father?\"\n\n\"No, dear lady,\" I answered; \"and his name being concealed, I may not\npetition as his daughter for this permission; but if my Lord Arundel\nshould be so good a lord to me as to obtain leave for me to visit this\nprisoner, without revealing his name and condition, he should do me\nthe greatest benefit in the world.\"\n\n\"I will move him thereunto,\" my lady said. \"But he who had formerly no\nequal in the queen's favor, and to whom she doth partly owe her crown,\nis now in his sickness and old age of so little account in her eyes,\nthat trifling favors are often denied him to whom she would once have\nsaid: 'Ask of me what thou wilt, and I will give it unto thee.' But\nwhat my poor endeavors can effect through him or others shall not be\nlacking in this thy need. But I am not in that condition I was once\nlike to have enjoyed.\" Then with her eyes cast on the ground she\nseemed for to doubt if she should {173} speak plainly, or still shut\nup her grief in silence. As I sat painfully expecting her next words,\nthe door opened, and two ladies were announced, which she whispered in\nmine ear she would fain not have admitted at that time, but that Lord\nArundel's desire did oblige her to entertain them. One was Mistress\nBellamy, and the other her daughter, Mistress Frances, a young\ngentlewoman of great beauty and very lively parts, which I had once\nbefore seen at Lady Ingoldsby's house. She was her parents' sole\ndaughter, and so idolized by them that they seemed to live only to\nminister to her fancies. Lord Arundel was much bounden to this family\nby ancient ties of friendship, which made him urgent with his\ngranddaughter that she should admit them to her privacy. I admired in\nthis instance how suddenly those which have been used to exercise such\nself-command as high breeding doth teach can school their exterior to\nseem at ease, and even of good cheer, when most ill at ease\ninteriorly, and with hearts very heavy. Lady Surrey greeted these\nvisitors with as much courtesy, and listened to their discourse with\nas much civility and smiles when called for, as if no burthensome\nthoughts did then oppress her.\n\nMany and various themes were touched upon in the random talk which\nensued. First, that wonted one of the queen's marriage, which some\nopined should verily now take place with Monsieur d'Alen\u00e7on; for that\nsince his stealthy visits to England, she did wear in her bosom a\nbrooch of jewels in a frog's shape.\n\n\"Ay,\" quoth Mistress Frances, \"that stolen visit which awoke the ire\nof the poor soul Stubbs, who styled it 'an unmanlike, unprincelike,\nFrench kind of wooing,' and endeth his book of 'The Gaping Gulph' in a\nloyal rage: 'Here is, therefore, an imp of the crown of France, to\nmarry the crowned nymph of England,'--a nymph indeed well stricken in\nyears. My brother was standing by when Stubbs' hand was cut off; for\nnothing else would content that sweet royal nymph, albeit the lawyers\nstoutly contended the statute under which he suffered to be null and\nvoid. As soon as his right hand is off, the man takes his hat off with\nthe left, and cries 'God bless the queen!'\"\n\n\"Here is a wonder,\" I exclaimed; \"I pray you, what is the art this\nqueen doth possess by which she holdeth the hearts of her subjects in\nso great thrall, albeit so cruel to them which do offend her?\"\n\n\"Lady Harrington hath told me her majesty's own opinion thereon,\" said\nMrs. Bellamy; \"for one day she did ask her in a merry sort, 'How she\nkept her husband's good-will and love?' To which she made reply that\nshe persuaded her husband of her affection, and in so doing did\ncommand his. Upon which the queen cries out, 'Go to, go to, Mistress\nMoll! you are wisely bent, I find. After such sort do I keep the good\nwills of all my husbands, my good people; for if they did not rest\nassured of some special love toward them, they would not readily yield\nme such good obedience.'\"\n\n\"Tut, tut!\" cried Mistress Frances; \"all be not such fools as John\nStubbs; and she knoweth how to take rebukes from such as she doth not\ndare to offend. By the same token that Sir Philip Sydney hath written\nto dissuade her from this French match, and likewise Sir Francis\nWalsingham, which last did hint at her advancing years; and her\nhighness never so much as thought of striking off their hands. But I\nwarrant you a rebellion shall arise if this queen doth issue such\nprohibitions as she hath lately done.\"\n\n\"Of what sort?\" asked Lady Surrey.\n\n\"First, to forbid,\" Mrs. Bellamy said, \"any new building to be raised\nwithin three thousand paces of the gates of London on pain of\nimprisonment, and sundry other penalties; or for more than one family\nto inhabit in one house. For her majesty holds it {174} should be an\nimpossible thing to govern or maintain order in a city larger than\nthis London at the present time.\"\n\nMistress Frances declared this law to be more tolerable than the one\nagainst the size of ladies' ruffs, which were forsooth not to exceed a\ncertain measure; and officers appointed for to stand at the comers of\nstreets and to clip such as overpassed the permitted dimensions, which\nsooner than submit to she should die.\n\nLady Surrey smiled, and said she should have judged so from the size\nof her fine ruff.\n\n\"But her majesty is impartial,\" quoth Mrs. Bellamy; \"for the\ngentlemen's rapiers are served in the same manner. And verily this law\nhath nearly procured a war with France; for in Smithfield Lane some\nclownish constables stayed M. de Castelnau, and laid hands on his\nsword for to shorten it to the required length. I leave you to judge.\nLady Surrey, of this ambassador's fury. Sir Henry Seymour, who was\ntidying the air in Smithfield at the time, perceived him standing with\nthe drawn weapon in his hand, threatening to kill whosoever should\napproach him, and destruction on this realm of England if the officers\nshould dare to touch his sword again; and this with such frenzy of\nspeech in French mixed with English none could understand, that God\nknoweth what should have ensued if Sir Henry had not interfered. Her\nmajesty was forced to make an apology to this mounseer for that her\nofficers had ignorantly attempted to clip the sword of her good\nbrother's envoy.\"\n\n\"Why doth she not clip,\" Mistress Frances said, \"if such be her\npresent humor, the orange manes of her gray Dutch horses, which are\nthe frightfullest things in the world?\"\n\n\"Tis said,\" quoth Mrs. Bellamy, \"that a new French embassy is soon\nexpected, with the dauphin of Auvergne at its head.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" cried her daughter, \"and four handsome English noblemen to meet\nthem at the Tower stairs, and conduct them to the new banqueting-house\nat Westminster,--my Lord Surrey, Lord Windsor, Sir Philip Sydney, and\nSir Fulke Greville. Methinks this should be a very fine sight, if rain\ndoth not fall to spoil it.\"\n\nI saw my Lady Surrey's countenance change when her husband was\nmentioned; and Mrs. Bellamy looked at her daughter forasmuch as to\ncheck her thoughtless speeches, which caused this young lady to glance\nround the room, seeking, as it seemed, for some other topic of\nconversation.\n\nMethinks I should not have preserved so lively a recollection of the\ncircumstances of this visit if some dismal tidings which reached me\nafterward touching this gentlewoman, then so thoughtless and innocent,\nhad not revived in me the memory of her gay prattle, bright unabashed\neyes, and audacious dealing with subjects so weighty and dangerous,\nthat any one less bold should have feared to handle them. After the\npause which ensued on the mention of Lord Surrey's name, she took for\nher text what had been said touching the prohibitions lately issued\nconcerning ruffs and rapiers, and began to mock at her majesty's\nfavorites; yea, and to mimic her majesty herself with so much humor\nthat her well-acted satire must have needs constrained any one to\nlaugh. Then, not contented with these dangerous jests, she talked such\ndirect treason against her highness as to say she hoped to see her\ndethroned, and a fair Catholic sovereign to reign in her stead, who\nwould be less shrewish to young and handsome ladies. Then her mother\ncried her, for mercy's sake, to restrain her mad speech, which would\nserve one day to bring them all into trouble, for all she meant it in\njest.\n\n\"Marry, good mother,\" she answered, \"not in jest at all; for I do\nverily hold myself bound to no allegiance to this queen, and would\ngladly see her get her deserts.\"\n\nThen Lady Surrey prayed her not to speak so rashly; but methought in\n{175} her heart, and somewhat I could perceive of this in her eyes,\nshe misliked not wholly this young lady's words, who then spoke of\nreligion; and oh, how zealous therein she did appear, how boldly\naffirmed (craving Lady Surrey's pardon, albeit she would warrant, she\nsaid, there was no need to do so, her ladyship she had heard being\nhalf a papist herself) that she had as lief be racked twenty times\nover and die also, or her face to be so disfigured that none should\ncall her ever after anything but a fright--which martyrdom she held\nwould exceed any yet thought of--than so much as hold her tongue\nconcerning her faith, or stay from telling her majesty to her face, if\nshe should have the chance to get speech with her, that she was a foul\nheretic, and some other truths beside, which but once to utter in her\npresence, come of it what would, should be a delicious pleasure. Then\nshe railed at the Catholics which blessed the queen before they\nsuffered for their religion, proving them wrong with ingenious reasons\nand fallacious arguments mixed with pleasantries not wholly becoming\nsuch grave themes. But it should have seemed as reasonable to be angry\nwith a child babbling at random of life and death in the midst of its\nplay, as with this creature, the lightest of heart, the fairest in\nface, the most winsome in manner, and most careless of danger, that\never did set sail on life's stream.\n\nOh, how all this rose before me again, when I heard, two years\nafterward, that for her bold recusancy--alas! more bold, as the\nsequel proved, than deep, more passionate than fervent--this only\ncherished daughter, this innocent maiden, the mirror of whose fame no\nbreath had sullied, and on whose name no shadow had rested, was torn\nby the pursuivants from her parents' home, and cast into a prison with\ncompanions at the very aspect of which virtue did shudder. And the\nunvaliant courage, the weak bravery, of this indulged and wayward\nyoung lady had no strength wherewith to resist the surging tides of\nadversity. No voice of parent, friend, or ghostly father reached her\nin that abode of despair. No visible angel visited her, but a fiend in\nhuman form haunted her dungeon. Liberty and pleasure he offered in\nexchange for virtue, honor, and faith. She fell; sudden and great was\nthat fall.\n\nThere is a man the name of which hath blenched the cheeks and riven\nthe hearts of Catholics, one who hath caused many amongst them to lose\ntheir lands and to part from their homes, to die on gibbets and their\nlimbs to be torn asunder--one Richard Topcliffe. But, methinks, of all\nthe voices which shall be raised for to accuse him at Christ's\njudgment-seat, the loudest will be Frances Bellamy's. Her ruin was his\nwork; one of those works which, when a man is dead, do follow him;\nwhither, God knoweth!\n\nOh, you who saw her, as I did, in her young and innocent years, can\nyou read this without shuddering? Can you think on it without weeping?\nAs her fall was sudden, so was the change it wrought. With it vanished\naffections, hopes, womanly feelings, memory of the past; nay, methinks\ntherein I err. Memory did yet abide, but linked with hatred; Satan's\nmemory of heaven. From depths to depths she hath sunk, and is now\nwedded to a mean wretch, the gaoler of her old prison. So rank a\nhatred hath grown in her against recusants and mostly priests, that it\nrages like a madness in her soul, which thirsts for their blood. Some\nmonths back, about the time I did begin to write this history, news\nreached me that she had sold the life of that meek saint, that sweet\npoet, Father Southwell, of which even an enemy, Lord Mountjoy, did\nsay, when he had seen him suffer, \"I pray God, where that man's soul\nnow is, mine may one day be.\" Her father had concealed him in that\nhouse where she had dwelt in her innocent days. None but the family\nknew the secret of its hiding-place. {176}so will be ready in Ireland\nShe did reveal it, and took gold for her wages! What shall be that\nwoman's death-bed? What trace doth remain on her soul of what was once\na share in the divine nature? May one of God's ministers be nigh unto\nher in that hour for to bid her not despair! If Judas had repented,\nJesus would have pardoned him. Peradventure, misery without hope of\nrelief overthrew her brain. I do pray for her always. 'Tis a vain\nthought perhaps, but I sometimes wish I might, though I see not how to\ncompass it, yet once speak with her before she or I die. Methinks I\ncould say such words as should touch some old chord in her dead heart.\nGod knoweth! That day I write of, little did I ween what her end would\nbe. But yet it feared me to hear one so young and of so frail an\naspect speak so boastfully; and it seemed even then to my\ninexperienced mind, that my Lady Surrey, who had so humbly erewhile\naccused herself of cowardice and lamented her weakness, should be in a\nsafer plight, albeit as yet unreconciled.\n\nThe visit I have described had lasted some time, when a servant came\nwith a message to her ladyship from Mr. Hubert Rookwood, who craved to\nbe admitted on an urgent matter. She glanced at me somewhat surprised,\nupon which I made her a sign that she should condescend to his\nrequest; for I supposed he had seen Sir Francis Walsingham, and was in\nhaste to confer with me touching that interview; and she ordered him\nto be admitted. Mrs. Bellamy and her daughter rose to go soon after\nhis entrance; and whilst Lady Surrey conducted them to the door he\nasked me if her ladyship was privy to the matter in hand. When I had\nsatisfied him thereof, he related what had passed in an interview he\nhad with Sir Francis, whom he found ill-disposed at first to stir in\nthe matter, for he said his frequent remonstrances in favor of\nrecusants had been like to bring him into odium with some of the more\nzealous Protestants, and that he must needs, in every case of that\nsort, prove it to be his sole object to bring such persons more\nsurely, albeit slowly, by means of toleration, to a rightful\nconformity; and that with regard to priests he was very loth to\ninterfere.\n\n\"I was compelled,\" quoth Hubert, \"to use such arguments as fell in\nwith the scope of his discourse, and to flatter him with the hope of\ngood results in that which he most desired, if he would procure Mr.\nSherwood's release, which I doubt not he hath power to effect. And in\nthe end he consented to lend his aid therein, on condition he should\nprove on his side so far conformable as to suffer a minister to visit\nand confer with him touching religion, which would then be a pretext\nfor his release, as if it were supposed he was well disposed toward\nProtestant religion, and a man more like to embrace the truth when at\nliberty than if driven to it by stress of confinement. Then he would\nprocure,\" he added, \"an order for his passage to France, if he\npromised not to return, except he should be willing to obey the laws.\"\n\n\"I fear me much,\" I answered, \"my father will not accept these terms\nwhich Sir Francis doth offer. Methinks he will consider they do\ninvolve some lack of the open profession of his faith.\"\n\n\"It would be madness for one in his plight to refuse them,\" Hubert\nexclaimed, and appealed thereon to Lady Surrey, who said she did\nindeed think as he did, for it was not like any better could be\nobtained.\n\nIt pained me he should refer to her, who from conformity to the times\ncould not well conceive how tender a Catholic conscience should feel\nat the least approach to dissembling on this point.\n\n\"Wherein,\" he continued, \"is the harm for to confer with a minister,\nor how can it be construed into a denial of a man's faith to listen to\nhis arguments, unless, indeed, he feels himself to be in danger of\nbeing shaken by them?\"\n\n\"You very well know,\" I exclaimed {177} with some warmth, \"that not to\nbe my meaning, or what I suppose his should be. Our priests do\nconstantly crave for public disputations touching religion, albeit\nthey eschew secret ones, which their adversaries make a pretext of to\nspread reports of their inability to defend their faith, or\nwillingness to abandon it. But heaven forbid I should anyways prejudge\nthis question; and if with a safe conscience--and with no other I am\nassured will he do it--my father doth subscribe to this condition,\nthen God be praised for it!\"\n\n\"But you will move him to it, Mistress Constance?\" he said.\n\n\"If I am so happy,\" I answered, \"as to get speech with him, verily I\nwill entreat him not to throw away his life, so precious to others, if\nso be he can save it without detriment to his conscience.\"\n\n\"Conscience!\" Hubert exclaimed, \"methinks that word is often\nmisapplied in these days.\"\n\n\"How so?\" I asked, investigating his countenance, for I misdoubted his\nmeaning. Lady Surrey likewise seemed desirous to hear what he should\nsay on that matter.\n\n\"Conscience,\" he answered, \"should make persons, and mostly women,\ncareful how they injure others, and cause heedless suffering, by a too\ngreat stiffness in refusing conformity to the outward practices which\nthe laws of the country enforce, when it affects not the weightier\npoints of faith, which God forbid any Catholic should deny. There is\noften as much of pride as of virtue in such rash obstinacy touching\nsmall yieldings as doth involve the ruin of a family, separation of\nparents and children, and more evils than can be thought of.\"\n\n\"Hubert,\" I said, fixing mine eyes on him with a searching look he\ncared not, I ween, to meet, for he cast his on a paper he had in his\nhand, and raised them not while I spoke, \"'sit is by such reasonings\nfirst, and then by such small yieldings as you commend, that some have\nbeen led two or three times in their lives, yea, oftener perhaps, to\nprofess different religions, and to take such contradictory oaths as\nhave been by turns prescribed to them under different sovereigns, and\nGod each time called on to witness their perjuries, whereby truth and\nfalsehood in matters of faith shall come in time to be words without\nany meaning.\"\n\nThen he: \"You do misapprehend me, Mistress Constance, if you think I\nwould counsel a man to utter a falsehood, or feign to believe that\nwhich in his heart he thinketh to be false. But, in heaven's name, I\npray you, what harm will your father do if he listens to a minister's\ndiscourse, and suffers it to be set forth he doth ponder thereon, and\nin the meantime escapes to France? whereas, if he refuses the loophole\nnow offered to him, he causeth not to himself alone, but to you and\nhis other friends, more pain and sorrow than can be thought of, and\ndeprives the Church of one of her servants, when her need of them is\ngreatest.\"\n\nI made no reply to this last speech; for albeit I thought my father\nwould not accede to these terms, I did not so far trust mine own\njudgment thereon as to predict with certainty what his answer should\nbe. And then Hubert said he had an order from Sir Francis that would\nadmit me on the morrow to see my father; and he offered to go with me,\nand Mistress Ward too, if I listed, to present it, albeit I alone\nshould enter his cell. I thanked him, and fixed the time of our going.\n\nWhen he had left  us,  Lady Surrey commended his zeal, and also his\nmoderate spirit, which did charitably allow, she said, for such as\nconformed to the times for the sake of others which their\nreconcilement would very much injure.\n\nBefore I could reply she changed this discourse, and, putting her\nhands on my shoulders and kissing my forehead, said,\n\n\"My Lady Lumley hath heard so much from her poor niece of one {178}\nMistress Constance Sherwood, that she doth greatly wish to see this\nyoung gentlewoman and very resolved papist.\" And then taking me by the\narm she led me to that lady's chamber, where I had as kind a welcome\nas ever I received from any one from her ladyship, who said \"her dear\nNan's friends should be always as dear to her as her own,\" and added\nmany fine commendations greatly exceeding my deserts.\n\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED.]\n\n------\n\nFrom The London Quarterly Review.\n\nGLEANINGS FROM THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE TROPICS.\n\n\nART. VI.--1. _A Narrative Of Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro,\netc._By Alfred R. Wallace. London: 1853.\n\n2. _Himalayan Journals; or, Notes of a Naturalist in Bengal, the\nSikkim, and Nepal Himalayas_. By Joseph D. Hooker, M.D., R.N., F.R.S.\nLondon: 1854.\n\n3. _Three Visits to Madagascar during the Years_1853, 1854, 1856,\n_with Notices of the Natural History of the Country, etc._ By the Rev.\nW. Ellis, F.H.S. London: 1859.\n\n4. _The Tropical World: A Popular Scientific Account of the Natural\nHistory of the Animal and Vegetable Kingdoms._By Dr. G. Hartwig.\nLondon: 1863.\n\n5. _The Naturalist on the River Amazons: A Record of Adventures,\nHabits of Animals, etc., during eleven Years of Travel._ By Henry\nWalter Bates. London: 1863.\n\n\nThe naturalist will never have to complain, with Alexander, that he\nhas no more worlds to conquer, so inexhaustible is the wide field of\nnature, and so numerous are the vast areas which as yet have never at\nall, or only partially, been explored by travellers. What may not be\nin store for some future adventurer in little known regions; what new\nand wonderful forms of animals and plants may not reward the zealous\ntraveller, when no less than eight thousand species of animals new to\nscience have been discovered by Mr. Bates during his eleven years'\nresidence on the Amazons? Nor is it alone new forms of animated nature\nthat await the enterprise of the naturalist; a whole mine of valuable\nmaterial, the working of which is attended with the greatest pleasure,\nlies before him in the discovery of new facts with regard to the\nhabits, structure, and local distribution of animals and plants. It is\nalmost impossible to exaggerate the importance to the philosophic\nnaturalist of such studies in these days of thought and progress. The\ncollector of natural curiosities may be content with the possession of\na miscellaneous lot of objects, but the man of science pursues his\ninvestigations with a view of discovering, if possible, some of those\nwonderful laws which govern the organic world, some of the footprints\nof the Creator in the production of the countless forms of animal and\nvegetable life with which this beautiful world abounds.\n\nWe purpose in this article to bring before the reader's notice a few\ngleanings from the natural history of the tropics, merely surmising\nthat we shall linger with more than ordinary pleasure over the\nproductions of tropical {179} South America, of which Mr. Bates has\ncharmingly and most instructively written in his recently published\nwork, whose title is given at the head of this article; we shall pause\nto admire, with Dr. Hooker, some of the productions of the mighty\nHimalayan mountains; and we may also visit Madagascar in company with\nso trustworthy a traveller as Mr. Ellis.\n\nThe ancients, before the time of Alexander's Indian expedition, were\nunacquainted with any tropical forms of plants, and great was their\nastonishment when they first beheld them:\n\n\"Gigantic forms of plants and animals,\" as Humboldt says, \"filled the\nimagination with exciting imagery. Writers from whose severe and\nscientific style any degree of inspiration is elsewhere entirely\nabsent, become poetical when describing the habits of the\nelephant,--the height of the trees, 'to the summit of which an arrow\ncannot reach, and whose leaves are broader then the shields of\ninfantry,'--the bamboo, a light, feathery, arborescent grass, of which\nsingle joints (_internodia_) served as four-oared boats,--and the\nIndian fig-tree, whose pendant branches take root around the parent\nstem, which attains a diameter of twenty-eight feet, 'forming,' as\nOnesicritus expresses himself with great truth to nature, 'a leafy\ncanopy similar to a many-pillared tent.'\"   [Footnote 24]\n\n  [Footnote 24: \"Cosmos,\" vol. ii., p. 155. Sabine's translation ]\n\nIt is not possible for language to describe the glory of the forests\nof the Amazon, and yet the silence and gloom of the Brazilian forests,\nso often mentioned by travellers, are striking realities. Let us read\nMr. Bates's impressions of the interior of a primeval forest:\n\n\"The silence and gloom,\" he says, \"are realities, and the impression\ndeepens on a longer acquaintance. The few sounds of birds are of that\npensive and mysterious character which intensifies the feeling of\nsolitude rather than imparts a sense of life and cheerfulness.\nSometimes in the midst of the stillness a sudden yell or scream will\nstartle one; this comes from some defenceless fruit-eating animal\nwhich is pounced upon by a tiger-cat or stealthy boa-constrictor.\nMorning and evening the howling monkeys make a most fearful and\nharrowing noise, under which it is difficult to keep up one's buoyancy\nof spirit. The feeling of inhospitable wildness which the forest is\ncalculated to inspire is increased tenfold under this fearful uproar.\nOften even in the still hours of mid-day a sudden crash will be heard\nresounding afar through the wilderness, as some great bough or entire\ntree falls to the ground. There are beside many sounds which it is\nimpossible to account for. I found the natives generally as much at a\nloss in this respect as myself. Sometimes a sound is heard like the\nclang of an iron bar against a hard hollow tree, or a piercing cry\nrends the air; these are not repeated, and the succeeding silence\ntends to heighten the unpleasant impression which they make on the\nmind. With the natives it is always the curupira, the wild man, or\nspirit of the forest, which produces all noises they are unable to\nexplain.\"\n\nMr. Bates has some exceedingly interesting observations on the\ntendency of animals and plants of the Brazilian forests to become\nclimbers. Speaking of a swampy forest of Par\u00e1 he says:\n\n  \"The leafy crowns of the trees, scarcely two of which could be seen\n  together of the same kind, were now far away above us, in another\n  world as it were. We could only see at times, where there was a\n  break above, the tracery of the foliage against the clear blue sky.\n  Sometimes the leaves were palmate, at others finely cut or feathery\n  like the leaves of mimosae. Below, the tree trunks were everywhere\n  linked together by sipos; the woody, flexible stems of climbing and\n  creeping trees, whose foliage is far away above, mingled with that\n  of the latter {180} independent trees. Some were twisted in strands\n  like cables, others had thick stems contorted in every variety of\n  shape, entwining snake-like round the tree-trunks, or forming\n  gigantic loops and coils among the larger branches; others again\n  were of zigzag shape or indented like the steps of a staircase,\n  sweeping from the ground to a giddy height.\"\n\nOf these climbing plants he adds:\n\n  \"It interested me much afterward to find these climbing trees do not\n  form any particular family or genus. There is no order of plants\n  whose especial habit is to climb, but species of many of the most\n  diverse families, the bulk of whose members are not climbers, seem\n  to have been driven by circumstances to adopt this habit. The orders\n  Leguminosae, Guttifenae, Bignoniaceae, Moraceae, and others, furnish\n  the greater number. There is even a climbing genus of palms\n  (_Desmoncus_), the species of which are called in the Tup\u00ed language\n  Jacit\u00e1ra. These have slender, thickly-spined, and flexuous stems,\n  which twine about the latter trees from one to the other, and grow\n  to an incredible length. The leaves, which have the ordinary pinnate\n  shape characteristic of the family, are emitted from the stems at\n  long intervals, instead of being collected into a dense crown, and\n  have at their tips a number of long recurved spines. These\n  structures are excellent contrivances to enable the trees to secure\n  themselves by in climbing, but they are a great nuisance to the\n  traveller, for they sometimes hang over the pathway and catch the\n  hat or clothes, dragging off the one or tearing the other as he\n  passes. The number and variety of climbing trees in the Amazon\n  forests are interesting, taken in connection with the fact of the\n  very general tendency of the animals also to become climbers.\"\n\nOf this tendency amongst animals Mr. Bates thus writes:\n\n  \"All the Amazonian, and in fact all South American monkeys, are\n  climbers. There is no group answering to the baboons of the old\n  world, which live on the ground. The gallinaceous birds of the\n  country, the representatives of the fowls and pheasants of Asia and\n  Africa, are all adapted by the position of the toes to perch on\n  trees, and it is only on trees, at a great height, that they are to\n  be seen. A genus of Plantigrade Carnivora, allied to the bears\n  (_Cercoleptes_), found only in the Amazonian forests, is entirely\n  arboreal, and has a long flexible tail like that of certain monkeys.\n  Many other similar instances could be enumerated, but I will mention\n  only the Geodephaga, or carnivorous ground beetles, a great\n  proportion of whose genera and species in these forest regions are,\n  by the structure of their feet, fitted to live exclusively on the\n  branches and leaves of trees.\"\n\n  Strange to the European must be the appearance of the numerous woody\n  lianas, or air-roots of the parasitic plants of the family _Araceae_\n  of which the well-known cuckoo-pint, or _Arum maculatum_, of this\n  country is a non-epiphytous member, which sit on the branches of the\n  trees above, and \"hang down straight as plumb-lines,\" some singly,\n  others in leashes; some reaching half-way to the ground, others\n  touching it, and taking root in the ground. Here, too, in these\n  forests of Par\u00e1, beside palms of various species, \"some twenty to\n  thirty feet high, others small and delicate, with stems no thicker\n  than a finger,\" of the genus _Bactris_, producing bunches of fruit\n  with grape-like juice, masses of a species of banana (_Urania\n  Amizonica_), a beautiful plant with leaves \"like broad\n  sword-blades,\" eight feet long, and one foot broad, add fresh\n  interest to the scene. These leaves rise straight upward alternately\n  from the top of a stem five or six feet high. Various kinds of\n  Marants, a family of plants rich in amylaceous qualities (of which\n  the _Maranta arundinacea_, though not an American plant, yields the\n  best arrowroot of commerce), clothe the ground, conspicuous for\n  their {181} broad glossy leaves. Ferns of beautiful and varied forms\n  decorate the tree-trunks, together with the large fleshy\n  heart-shaped leaves of the Pothos plant. Gigantic grasses, such as\n  bamboos, form arches over the pathways. \"The appearance of this part\n  of the forest was strange in the extreme, description can convey no\n  adequate idea of it. The reader who has visited Kew, may form some\n  notion by conceiving a vegetation like that in the great palm-house\n  spread over a large tract of swampy ground, but he must fancy it\n  mingled with large exogenous trees, similar to our oaks and elms,\n  covered with creepers and parasites, and figure to himself the\n  ground encumbered with fallen and rotting trunks, branches, and\n  leaves, the whole illuminated by a glowing vertical sun, and reeking\n  with moisture!\" Amid these \"swampy shades\" numerous butterflies\n  delight to flit. An entomologist in England is proud, indeed, when\n  he succeeds in capturing the beautiful and scarce Camberwell beauty\n  (_Vanessa antiopa_) or the splendid purple emperor (_Apatura iris_),\n  but these fine species do not exceed three inches in expanse of\n  wing, while the glossy blue-and-black _Morpho Achilles_ measure six\n  inches or more. The velvety black _Papiloio Sesostris_, with a large\n  silky green patch on its wings, and other species of this genus, are\n  almost exclusively inhabitants of the moist shades of the forest.\n  The beautiful _Epicalea ancea_, \"one of the most richly colored of\n  the whole tribe of butterflies, being black, decorated with broad\n  stripes of pale blue and orange, delights to settle on the broad\n  leaves of the Uraniae and other similar plants.\" But like many other\n  natural beauties, it is difficult to gain possession of, darting off\n  with lightning speed when approached. Mr. Bates tells us that it is\n  the males only of the different species which are brilliantly\n  colored, the females being plainer and often so utterly unlike their\n  partners that they are generally held to be different species until\n  proved to be the same. The observations of this admirable naturalist\n  on other points in the history of the butterflies of the Amazons,\n  are highly important and deeply interesting. We must recur to this\n  subject by-and-by.\n\nWe cannot yet tear ourselves away from these forests of Par\u00e1. We can\nwell understand the intense interest with which Mr. Bates visited\nthese different scenes month after month, in different seasons, so as\nto obtain something like a fair notion of their animal and vegetable\nproductions. It is enough to make a naturalist's mouth water for a\nweek together to think of the many successful strolls which Mr. Bates\ntook amid the shades of these forests. For several months, he tells\nus, he used to visit this district two or three days every week, and\nnever failed to obtain some species new to him of bird, reptile, or\ninsect:\n\n  \"This district,\" he says, \"seemed to be an epitome of all that the\n  humid portions of the Par\u00e1 forest could produce. This endless\n  diversity, the coolness of the air, the varied and strange forms of\n  vegetation, the entire freedom from mosquitoes and other pests, and\n  even the solemn gloom and silence, combined to make my rambles\n  through it always pleasant as well as profitable. Such places are\n  paradises to a naturalist, and if he be of a contemplative turn\n  there is no situation more favorable for his indulging the tendency.\n  There is something in a tropical forest akin to the ocean in its\n  effects on the mind--man feels so completely his insignificance\n  there and the vastness of nature. A naturalist cannot help\n  reflecting on the vegetable forces manifested on so grand a scale\n  around him.\"\n\nMr. Wallace and Mr. Bates are well-known advocates of Mr. Darwin's\ntheory of natural selection. The former gentleman was Mr. Bates's\ncompanion in travel for four years, and he has published a very\ninteresting account of his voyage on his return to England. Whatever\ndifferences of opinion there may be with respect to {182} the\ncelebrated work which Mr. Darwin gave to the world four or five years\nago, unbiassed and thoughtful naturalists must recognize the force\nwith which the author supports many of his arguments, and the fairness\nwith which he encounters every difficulty. The competition displayed\nby organized beings is strikingly manifested in the Brazilian forests.\nSo unmistakable is this fact, that Burmeister, a German traveller, was\npainfully impressed with the contemplation of the emulation and\n\"spirit of restless selfishness\" which the vegetation of a tropical\nforest displayed. \"He thought the softness, earnestness, and repose of\nEuropean woodland scenery were far more pleasing, and that these\nformed one of the causes of the superior moral character of European\nnations;\" a curious question, which we leave to the consideration of\nmoral philosophers. The emulation displayed by the plants and trees of\nthe forests of Par\u00e1 is thus spoken of by Mr. Bates:\n\n  \"In these tropical forests each plant and tree seems to be striving\n  to outvie its fellow, struggling upward toward light and\n  air--branch, and leaf, and stem--regardless of its neighbors.\n  Parasitic plants are seen fastening with firm grip on others, making\n  use of them with reckless indifference as instruments for their own\n  advancement. Live and let live is clearly not the maxim taught in\n  these wildernesses. There is one kind of parasitic tree very common\n  near Par\u00e1 which exhibits this feature in a very prominent manner. It\n  is called the Sip\u00f3 Matador, or the Murderer Liana. It belongs to the\n  fig order, and has been described by Von Martins in the 'Atlas to\n  Spix and Martius's Travels.' I observed many specimens. The base of\n  its stem would be unable to bear the weight of the upper growth; it\n  is obliged, therefore, to support itself on a tree of another\n  species. In this it is not essentially different from other climbing\n  trees and plants, but the way the matador sets about it is peculiar,\n  and produces certainly a disagreeable impression. It springs up\n  close to the tree on which it intends to fix itself, and the wood of\n  its stem grows by spreading itself like a plastic mould over one\n  side of the trunk of its supporter. It then puts forth from each\n  side an arm-like branch, which grows rapidly, and looks as though a\n  stream of sap were flowing and hardening as it went. This adheres\n  closely to the trunk of the victim, and the two arms meet on the\n  opposite side and blend together. These arms are put forth at\n  somewhat regular intervals in mounting upward, and the victim when\n  its strangler is full grown becomes tightly clasped by a number of\n  inflexible rings. These rings gradually grow larger as the murderer\n  flourishes, rearing its crown of foliage to the sky mingled with\n  that of its neighbor, and in course of time they kill it by stopping\n  the flow of its sap. The strange spectacle then remains of the\n  selfish parasite clasping in its arms the lifeless and decaying body\n  of its victim, which had been a help to its own growth. Its ends\n  have been served--it has flowered and fruited, reproduced and\n  disseminated its kind; and now when the dead trunk moulders away,\n  its own end approaches; its support is gone, and itself also falls.\"\n\nThe strangling properties of some of the fig-tree family are indeed\nvery remarkable, and may be witnessed not only in South America, but\nin India, Ceylon, and Australia. Frazer observed several kinds of\n_Ficus_, more than 150 feet high, embracing huge ironbark trees in the\nforests at Moreton Bay. The _Ficus repens_, according to Sir Emerson\nTennent, is often to be seen clambering over rocks, like ivy, turning\nthrough heaps of stones, or ascending some tall tree to the height of\nthirty or forty feet, while the thickness of its own stem does not\nexceed a quarter of an inch. The small plants of this family, of which\nthe Murdering Liana is one species, grow and reproduce their kind from\nseeds {183} deposited in the ground; but the huge representatives of\nthe family, such as the banyan-tree, whose\n\n  \"Bended twigs take root, and daughters grow\n    About the mother tree;\"\n\nand the Peepul, or sacred Bo-tree of the Buddhists (_Ficus\nreligiosa_), originate from seeds carried by birds to upper portions\nof some palm or other tree. Fig-trees, as Sir E. Tennent has remarked,\nare \"the Thugs of the vegetable world; for, though not necessarily\nepiphytic, it may be said that, in point of fact, no single plant\ncomes to perfection or acquires even partial development without the\ndestruction of some other on which to fix itself as its supporter.\"\nThe mode of growth of these trees is well described by the excellent\nwriter just mentioned, and we shall make use of his own language:\n\n  \"The family generally make their first appearance as slender roots\n  hanging from the crown or trunk of some other tree, generally a\n  palm, among the moist bases of whose leaves the seed carried thither\n  by some bird which had fed upon the fig begins to germinate. This\n  root, branching as it descends, envelops the trunk of the supporting\n  tree with a net-work of wood, and at length, penetrating the ground,\n  attains the dimensions of a stem. But, unlike a _stem_, it throws\n  out no buds or flowers; the true stem, with its branches, its\n  foliage, and fruit, springs upward from the crown of the tree whence\n  the root is seen descending; and from it issue the pendulous\n  rootlets, which on reaching the earth fix themselves firmly, and\n  form the marvellous growth for which the banyan is so celebrated. In\n  the depth of this grove the original tree is incarcerated till,\n  literally strangled by the folds and weight of its resistless\n  companion, it dies and leaves the fig in undisturbed possession of\n  its place.\"  [Footnote 25]\n\n  [Footnote 25: \"Ceylon,\" i., p. 95]\n\nBut not trees alone do these vegetable garrotters embrace in their\nfatal grasp, ancient monuments are also destroyed by these formidable\nassailants. Sir E. Tennent has given an engraving of a fig-tree on the\nruins at Pollanarrua, in Ceylon, which had fixed itself on the\nwalls---a curious sight, indeed--\"its roots streaming downward over\nthe ruins as if they had once been fluid, following every sinuosity of\nthe building and terraces till they reach the earth.\" An extremely\ninteresting series of drawings is now to be seen in the Linnean\nSociety's room at Burlington House, illustrating the mode of growth of\nanother strangling or murdering tree, of New Zealand, belonging to an\nentirely different order from that to which the figs belong\n(_Urticaceae_), namely, to one of the _Myrtaceae_. The association of\ngarrotting habits with those of the stinging nettle family is apt\nenough, we may be inclined to think; but it is rather disappointing to\nmeet with these disagreeable peculiarities in the case of the myrtle\ngroup; but such is the fact: the Rata, or _Metrosideros robusta_--as\nwe believe is the species---climbs to the summits of mighty trees of\nthe forest of Wangaroa, and kills them in its iron grasp. But,\nnotwithstanding these unpleasant impressions which \"the reckless\nenergy of the vegetation might produce\" in the traveller's mind, there\nis plenty in tropical nature to counteract them:\n\n  \"There is the incomparable beauty and variety of the foliage, the\n  vivid color, the richness and exuberance everywhere displayed, which\n  make the richest woodland scenery in northern Europe a sterile\n  desert in comparison. But it is especially the enjoyment of life\n  manifested by individual existences which compensates for the\n  destruction and pain caused by the inevitable competition. Although\n  this competition is nowhere more active, and the dangers to which\n  each individual is exposed nowhere more numerous, yet nowhere is\n  this enjoyment more vividly displayed.\"\n\nMr. Bates mentions a peculiar feature in some of the colossal trees\nwhich here and there monopolize a large {184} space in the forests.\nThe height of some of these giants he estimates at from 180 to 200\nfeet, whose \"vast dome of foliage rises above the other forest trees\nas a domed cathedral does above the other buildings in a city.\" In\nmost of the large trees of different species is to be seen \"a growth\nof buttress-shaped projections around the lower part of their stems.\nThe spaces between these buttresses--which are generally thin walls of\nwood--form spacious chambers, and may be compared to stalls in a\nstable; some of them are large enough to hold half-a-dozen persons.\"\nWhat are these buttresses, how do they originate, and what is their\nuse? We have already seen how great is the competition amongst the\ntrees of a primeval forest, and how every square inch is eagerly\nbattled for by the number of competitors. In consequence of this it is\nobvious that lateral growth of roots in the earth is a difficult\nmatter. \"Necessity being the mother of invention,\" the roots, unable\nto expand laterally, \"raise themselves ridge-like out of the earth,\ngrowing gradually upward as the increasing height of the tree required\naugmented support.\" A beautiful compensation, truly, and full of deep\ninterest! As Londoners add upper stories to their houses where\ncompetition has rendered lateral additions impossible, so these\ngigantic trees, in order to sustain the massive crown and trunk,\nstrengthen their roots by upper additions.\n\nOne of the most striking features in tropical scenery is the\nsuddenness with which the leaves and blossoms spring into full beauty.\n\"Some mornings a single tree would appear in flower amidst what was\nthe preceding evening a uniform green mass of forest,--a dome of\nblossom suddenly created as if by magic.\" In the early mornings, soon\nafter dawn, the sky is always without a cloud, the thermometer marking\n72\u00b0 or 73\u00b0 Fahr. Now all nature is fresh, and the birds in the full\nenjoyment of their existence, the \"shrill yelping\" of the toucans\nbeing frequently heard from their abode amongst the wild fruit-trees\nof the forest; flocks of parrots appear in distinct relief against the\nblue sky, always two by two, chattering to each other, the pairs being\nseparated by regular intervals, too high, however, to reveal the\nbright colors of their plumage. The greatest heat of the day is about\ntwo o'clock, by which time, the thermometer being 92\u00b0 or 93\u00b0 Fahr.,\n\"every voice of bird or mammal is hushed; only in the trees is heard\nat intervals the harsh whirr of a cicada. The leaves, which were so\nfresh and moist in early morning, now become lax and drooping, and the\nflowers shed their petals. The Indian and mulatto inhabitants sleep in\ntheir hammocks, or sit on mats in the shade, too languid even to\ntalk.\"\n\nMr. Bates has given a graphic picture of tropical nature at the\napproach of rain:\n\n  \"First, the cool sea-breeze which commenced to blow about ten\n  o'clock, and which had increased in force with the increasing power\n  of the sun, would flag and finally die away. The heat and electric\n  tension of the atmosphere would then become almost insupportable.\n  Languor and uneasiness would seize on every one; even the denizens\n  of the forest betraying it by their motions. White clouds would\n  appear in the east and gather into cumuli, with an increasing\n  blackness along their lower portions. The whole eastern horizon\n  would become almost suddenly black, and this would spread upward,\n  the sun at length becoming obscured. Then the rush of a mighty wind\n  is heard through the forest, swaying the tree-tops; a vivid flash of\n  lightning bursts forth, then a crash of thunder, and down streams\n  the deluging rain. Such storms soon cease, leaving bluish-black\n  motionless clouds in the sky until night. Meanwhile all nature is\n  refreshed; but heaps of flower petals and fallen leaves are seen\n  under the trees. Toward evening life revives again, and the ringing\n  uproar is resumed from bush and tree. {185} The following morning\n  the son again rises in a cloudless sky, and so the cycle is\n  completed; spring, summer, and autumn, as it were, in one tropical\n  day.\"\n\nWith regard to animal life in the Amazonian forests, it appears that\nthere is a great variety of mammals, birds, and reptiles, but they are\nvery shy, and widely scattered. Brazil is poor in terrestrial animals,\nand the species are of small size. \"The huntsman would be disappointed\nwho expected to find here flocks of animals similar to the buffalo\nherds of North America, or the swarms of antelopes and herds of\nponderous pachyderms of southern Africa.\"\n\nIt has already been observed that the mammals of Brazil are, for the\nmost part, arboreal in their habits; this is especially the case with\nthe monkeys, or _Cebidae_, a family of quadrumamous animals peculiar\nto the new world. The reader may observe the habits of some species of\nthis group in the monkey-house of the Zoological Society's Gardens in\nRegent's Park. The strong muscular tail, with its naked palm under the\ntip, which many of the Cebidae possess, renders them peculiarly well\nadapted to a forest life. Mr. Bates states that thirty-eight species\nof this family of monkey inhabit the Amazon region, and considers the\nCoait\u00e1s, or spider-monkeys, \"as the extreme development of the\nAmerican type of apes.\" The flesh of one species of Coait\u00e1s is much\nesteemed as an article of food by the natives in some parts of the\ncountry. The Indians, we are told, are very fund of Coait\u00e1s as pets.\n\nSome of our readers are doubtless acquainted with the name of Madame\nMaria Sibylla Merian, a German lady who was born about the middle of\nthe seventeenth century. She was much devoted to the study of natural\nhistory, and travelled to Surinam for the purpose of making drawings\nof its animal productions; many of these drawings are now in the\nBritish Museum. This estimable lady, amongst other curiosities of\nnatural history, affirmed the two following ones:--1. The lantern-fly\n(_Fulgora lanternaria_) emits so strong a light from its body as to\nenable a person in the night-time to read a newspaper by it. 2. The\nlarge spider (_Mygale_) enters the nests of the little humming-birds,\nand destroys the inmates. It would occupy too much time to tell of the\nmass of evidence which was adduced in denial of these recorded facts,\nbut, suffice it to say that Madame Merian was set down as an\narch-heretic and inventor, and that no credit was attached to her\nstatements. With regard to the first-named heresy, the opinion of\nmodern zoologists is, that there is nothing at all improbable in the\ncircumstance of the Fulgora emitting a strong light, as luminous\nproperties are known to exist in other insects, but that the fact has\nbeen rather over-colored by the imagination of the worthy lady. As to\nthe second question, about the bird-destroying propensities of the\nMygale, let us hear the testimony of so thoroughly trustworthy a\nwitness as Mr. Bates:\n\n  \"In the course of our walk\" (between the Tocantins and Cameta) \"I\n  chanced to verify a fact relating to the habits of a large hairy\n  spider of the genus Mygale, in a manner worth recording. The species\n  was _M. avicularia_, or one very closely allied to it; the\n  individual was nearly two inches in length of body, but the legs\n  expanded seven inches, and the entire body and legs were covered\n  with coarse grey and reddish hairs. I was attracted by a movement of\n  the monster on a tree-trunk; it was close beneath a deep crevice in\n  the tree, across which was stretched a dense white web. The lower\n  part of the web was broken, and two small birds, finches, were\n  entangled in the pieces; they were about the size of the English\n  siskin, and I judged the two to be male and female. One of them was\n  quite dead, the other lay under the body of the spider not quite\n  dead, and was smeared with the filthy liquor or {186} saliva exuded\n  by the monster. I drove away the spider and took the birds, but the\n  second one soon died. The fact of species of Mygale sallying forth\n  at night, mounting trees, and sucking the eggs and young of\n  humming-birds, has been recorded long ago by Madame Merian and\n  Palisot de Beauvois; but, in the absence of any confirmation, it has\n  come to be discredited. From the way the fact has been related it\n  would appear that it had been merely derived from the report of\n  natives, and had not been witnessed by the narrators. Count\n  Langsdorff, in his 'Expedition into the Interior of Brazil,' states\n  that he totally disbelieved the story. I found the circumstances to\n  be quite a novelty to the residents here about. The Mygales are\n  quite common insects; some species make their cells under stones,\n  others form artistical tunnels in the earth, and some build their\n  dens in the thatch of houses. The natives call them _Aranhas\n  carangueijeiras_, or crab spiders. The hairs with which they are\n  clothed come off when touched, and cause a peculiar and almost\n  maddening irritation. The first specimen that I killed and prepared\n  was handled incautiously, and I suffered terribly for three days\n  afterward. I think this is not owing to any poisonous quality\n  residing in the hairs, but to their being short and hard, and thus\n  getting into the fine creases of the skin. Some Mygales are of\n  immense size. One day I saw the children belonging to an Indian who\n  collected for me with one of these monsters secured by a cord round\n  its waist, by which they were leading it about the house as they\n  would a dog.\"\n\nThe name of \"ant\" has only to be mentioned, and the strange habits of\nthe various species immediately suggest themselves to the mind of the\nnaturalist, who is always interested in, and amply repaid by, watching\nthese insects with the closest scrutiny. Brazil abounds in ants, one\nspecies of which, the _Dinoponera grandis_, is an inch and a quarter\nin length; but by far the most interesting to the naturalist, as well\nas one of the most destructive to the cultivated trees of the country,\nis the leaf-carrying ant (_AEcodoma cephalotes_). In some districts,\nwe are told, it is so abundant that agriculture is almost impossible,\nand everywhere complaints are heard of the terrible pest. This insect\nderives its specific name of _cephalotes_ from the extraordinary size\nof the heads belonging to two of the orders, which, with a third kind,\nconstitute the colony. The formicarian establishment consists of: 1.\nWorker minors; 2. Worker majors; 3. Subterranean workers. The\nfirst-named kind alone does the real active work. The two last contain\nthe individuals with the enormous heads; their functions are not\nclearly ascertained. In color they are a pale reddish-brown, and the\nthorax of the true worker, which is the smallest of the orders, is\narmed with three pairs of sharp spines; the head is provided with a\npair of similar spines proceeding from the cheeks behind. This ant,\nknown by the native name of Sa\u00fcba, has long been celebrated for its\nhabit of clipping off and carrying away, large quantities of leaves:\n\n  \"When employed in this work,\" Mr. Bates says, \"their processions\n  look like a multitude of animated leaves on the march. In some\n  places I found an accumulation of such leaves, all circular pieces,\n  about the size of a sixpence, lying on the pathway, unattended by\n  the ants, and at some distance from any colony. Such heaps are\n  always found to be removed when the place is revisited next day. In\n  course of time I had plenty of opportunities of seeing them at work.\n  They mount the tree in multitudes, the individuals being all worker\n  minors. Each one places itself on the surface of a leaf, and cuts\n  with its sharp scissor-like jaws, and by a sharp jerk detaches the\n  piece. Sometimes they let the leaf drop to the ground, where a\n  little heap accumulates until carried off by another relay of\n  workers; but generally each marches off {187} with the piece it has\n  operated upon and as all take the same road to their colony, the\n  path they follow becomes in a short time smooth and bare, looking\n  like the impression of a cart-wheel through the herbage.\"\n\nThe Sa\u00fcba ant is peculiar to tropical America, and, though it is\ninjurious to the wild native trees of the country, it seems to have a\npreference to the coffee and orange trees and other imported plants.\nThe leaves which the Sa\u00fcba cuts and carries away are used to \"thatch\nthe domes which cover the entrances to their subterranean dwellings,\nthereby protecting from the deluging rains the young broods in the\nnests beneath.\" The insects proceed according to a most orderly\nmethod, \"the heavily-laden workers, each carrying its segment of leaf\nvertically, the lower edge secured in its mandibles, troop up, and\ncast their burdens on the hillock; another body of laborers place the\nleaves in position, covering them with a layer of earthy granules,\nwhich are brought one by one from the soil beneath.\" The labors of\nthis curious insect are immense, and no obstacles stop their\nexcavations. An allied species of Rio de Janeiro worked a tunnel under\nthe bed of the river Parabyba, at a place where it is as broad as the\nThames at London Bridge. These ants are sad rogues, being household\nplunderers and robbers of the farinha, or mandioca meal, of the poor\ninhabitants of Brazil; and Mr. Bates was obliged to lay trains of\ngunpowder along their line of march to blow them up, which in the end\nresulted in scaring the burglars away. We have already alluded to the\nmassive heads possessed by the major and subterranean kinds of\nneuters, and stated that the work is done by the worker minor or\nsmall-headed kind. With regard to the function of the large-headed\nworker major, Mr. Bates was unable to satisfy himself:\n\n  \"They are not the soldiers or defenders of the working portion of\n  the community, like the armed class in the termites, or white ants,\n  for they never fight. The species has no sting, and does not display\n  active resistance when interfered with. I once imagined they\n  exercised a sort of superintendence over the others; but this\n  function is entirely unnecessary in a community where all work with\n  a precision and regularity resembling the subordinate parts of a\n  piece of machinery. I came to the conclusion, at last, that they\n  have no very precisely defined function. They cannot, however, be\n  entirely useless to the community, for the sustenance of an idle\n  class of such bulky individuals would be too heavy a charge for the\n  species to sustain. I think they serve in some sort as passive\n  instruments of protection to the real workers. Their enormously\n  large, hard, and indestructible heads may be of use in protecting\n  them against the attacks of insectivorous animals. They would be, on\n  this view, a kind of _pi\u00e8ces de r\u00e9sistance_ serving as a foil\n  against onslaughts made on the main body of workers.\"\n\nBut the third order, the subterranean kind, we are told, is the most\ncurious of all:\n\n  \"If the top of a small, fresh hillock, one in which the thatching\n  process is going on, be taken off, a broad cylindrical shaft is\n  disclosed, at a depth about two feet from the surface. If this be\n  probed with a stick, which may be done to the extent of three or\n  four feet without touching bottom, a small number of colossal\n  fellows will slowly begin to make their way up the smooth sides of\n  the mine. Their heads are of the same size as those of the other\n  class (worker major); but the front is clothed with hairs instead of\n  being polished, and they have in the middle of the forehead a twin\n  ocellus, or simple eye, of quite different structure from the\n  ordinary compound eyes on the side of the head. This frontal eye is\n  totally wanting in the other workers, and is not known in any other\n  kind of ant. The apparition of these strange creatures from {188}\n  the cavernous depths of the mine reminded one, when I first observed\n  them, of the Cyclopes of Homeric fable. They were not very\n  pugnacious, as I feared they would be, and I had no difficulty in\n  securing a few with my fingers. I never saw them under any\n  circumstances than those here related, and what their special\n  functions may be I cannot divine.\"\n\nThe naturalist traveller, in the midst of much that interests and\ndelights him, has to put up with a great deal that is annoying, and\nMr. Bates proved no exception to the rule. The first few nights when\nat Carip\u00ed, he was much troubled with bats; the room where he slept had\nnot been occupied for several months, and the roof was open to the\ntiles and rafters:\n\n  \"On one night,\" he says, \"I was aroused about midnight by the\n  rushing noise made by vast hosts of bats sweeping about the room.\n  The air was alive with them; they had put out the lamp, and when I\n  relighted it, the place appeared blackened with the impish\n  multitudes that were whirling round and round. After I had lain\n  about well with a stick for a few minutes they disappeared amongst\n  the tiles, but when all was still again they returned, and once more\n  extinguished the light. I took no further notice of them and went to\n  sleep. The next night several got into my hammock; I seized them as\n  they were crawling over me, and dashed them against the wall. The\n  next morning I found a wound, evidently caused by a bat, on my hip.\"\n\nBats remind us of the vampire, a native of South America, concerning\nwhose blood-sucking properties so much discussion has been from time\nto time raised. The vampire bat was very common at Ega; it is the\nlargest of the South American species. Of this bat Mr. Bates writes:\n\n  \"Nothing in animal physiognomy can be more hideous than the\n  countenance of this creature when viewed from the front; the large\n  leathery ears standing out from the sides and top of the head, the\n  erect, spear-shaped appendage on the tip of the nose, the grin, and\n  glistening black eyes, all combining to make up a figure that\n  reminds one of some mocking imp of fable. No wonder that imaginative\n  people have inferred diabolical instincts on the part of so ugly an\n  animal. The vampire, however, is the most harmless of all bats, and\n  its inoffensive character is well known to residents on the banks of\n  the Amazon.\"\n\nThat much fable has attached itself to the history of this curious\ncreature we are perfectly convinced, and that its blood-sucking\npeculiarities have been grossly exaggerated we must allow. When this\nbat has been said to perform the operation of drawing blood \"by\ninserting its aculeated tongue  [Footnote 26] into the vein of a\nsleeping person with so much dexterity as not to be felt, at the same\ntime fanning the air with its large wings, and thus producing a\nsensation so delightfully cool that the sleep is rendered still more\nprofound,\" it is clear that the mythical element exists to a great\nextent in the narrative; but our author's assertion that \"the vampire\nis the most harmless of all bats\" does not tally with the statements\nof other naturalists of considerable note. Mr. Wallace says he saw the\neffects of the vampire's operations on a young horse, and that the\nfirst morning after its arrival the poor animal presented a most\npitiable appearance, large streams of clotted blood running down from\nseveral wounds on its back and sides:\n\n    [Footnote 26: An Expression used by Mr. Wood in his \"Zo\u00f6graphy.'\n    It is enough to remark that no known bat has an aculeated.]\n\n  \"The appearance,\" Mr. Wallace adds, \"was, however, I dare say, worse\n  than reality, as the bats have the skill to bleed without giving\n  pain, and it is quite possible the horse, like a patient under the\n  influence of chloroform, may have known nothing of the matter. The\n  danger is in the attacks being repeated every night till the loss of\n  blood becomes serious. To prevent this, red peppers are usually\n  rubbed {189} on the parts wounded and on all likely places; and this\n  will partly check the sanguinivorous appetite of the bats, but not\n  entirely, as in spite of this application the poor animal was again\n  bitten the next night in fresh places.\"  [Footnote 27]\n\n    [Footnote 27: \"Travels on the Amazon,\" p. 44.]\n\nBoth Mr. Darwin and Mr. Waterton, if we remember rightly, have borne\nsimilar testimony in favor of the opinion that the vampire does suck\nblood. A servant of the former gentleman, when near Coquimbo, in\nChili, observed something attached to the withers of one of his\nhorses, which was restless, and on putting his hand upon the place he\nsecured a vampire bat. Mr. Waterton, however, could not induce the\nvampires to bite him, notwithstanding the now veteran naturalist\n[Footnote 28] slept many months in an open loft which the vampires\nfrequented; but an Indian boy who slept near him had his toes often\n\"tapped,\" while fowls were destroyed, and even an unfortunate donkey\nwas much persecuted, looking, as Mr. Waterton says, \"like misery\nsteeped in vinegar.\"\n\n  [Footnote 28: Since this article was in type this excellent\n  naturalist and kind-hearted gentleman has passed away from amongst\n  us.]\n\nWhile at Villa Nova, on the lower Amazons, our naturalist was\nsubjected to another annoyance, in the shape of ticks. The tracts\nthereabouts \"swarmed with carap\u00e1tos, ugly ticks, belonging to the\ngenus _Ixodes_, which mount to the tops of the blades of grass, and\nattach themselves to the clothes of passers-by. They are a great\nannoyance. It occupied me a full hour to pick them off my flesh after\nmy diurnal ramble.\"\n\nMr. Bates's stay at Ega, on the upper Amazons, and his expeditions in\nsearch of scarlet-faced monkeys, owl-faced night-apes, marmosets,\ncurl-crested toucans, blind ants, and hundreds of other interesting\nanimals, must have been particularly enjoyable, if we except the\npresence of an abominable gad-fly, which fixes on the flesh of man as\nbreeding-places for its grub, and causes painful tumors. \"Ega was a\nfine field for a natural history collector,\" and Mr. Bates ticketed\nwith the name of this town more than 3,000 new species of animals.\n\nIt is an old and a true saying that you \"can have too much of a good\nthing.\" A London alderman would soon grumble had he to dine every day\non turtle only. \"The great fresh-water turtle of the Amazons grows in\nthe upper river to an immense size, a full-grown one measuring nearly\nthree feet in length by two in breadth, and is a load for the\nstrongest Indian. . . . . The flesh is very tender, palatable, and\nwholesome; but it is very cloying. Every one ends sooner or later by\nbecoming thoroughly surfeited.\" Our traveller adds that he became so\nsick of turtle in the course of two years that he could not bear the\nsmell of it, although at the same time nothing else was to be had, and\nhe was suffering actual hunger. The pools about Ega abound in turtles\nand alligators, and the Indians capture a great number of the former\nanimals by means of sharp steel-pointed arrows, fitted into a peg\nwhich enters the tip of the shaft. This peg is fastened to the\narrow-shaft by means of a piece of twine; and when the missile--which\nthe people hurl with astonishing skill--pierces the carapace, the peg\ndrops out and the struck turtle dives to the bottom, the detached\nshaft floating on the surface serving to guide the sportsman to his\ngame. So clever are the natives in the use of the bow and arrow, that\nthey do not wait till the turtle comes to the surface to breathe, but\nshoot at the back of the animal as it moves under the water, and\nhardly ever fail to pierce the submerged shell.\n\nOne of the most curious and interesting facts in natural history is\nthe assimilation in many animals of form and color to other objects,\nanimate or inanimate. Thus the caterpillars termed, from their mode of\nprogression, \"geometric\" bear so close a resemblance to the twigs of\nthe trees or bushes upon which they rest that it is no easy thing to\ndistinguish them at a {190} glance; the buff-tip moth, when at rest,\nlooks just like a broken bit of lichen-covered branch, the colored\ntips of the wings resembling a section of the wood. The beautiful\nAustralian parakeets, known as the Batcherrygar parrots, look so much\nlike the leaves of _Eucalpyti_, or gum-trees, on which they repose,\nthat, though numbers may be perched upon a branch, they are hardly to\nbe seen so long as they keep quiet. Some South American beetles (of\nthe family _Cassidae_) closely resemble glittering drops of dew; some\nkinds of spiders mimic flower-buds, \"and station themselves motionless\nin the axils of leaves and other parts of plants to wait for their\nvictims.\" Insects belonging to the genera of _Mantis, Locusta_, and\n_Phasma_, often show a wonderful resemblance to leaves or sticks.\nExamples of \"mimetic analogy\" may also be found amongst birds; but\nperhaps the most remarkable cases of imitation are to be found among\nthe butterflies of the valley of the Amazon recently made known to us\nby Mr. Bates. There is a family of butterflies named _Heliconidae_, of\na slow flight and feeble structure, very numerous in this South\nAmerican region, notwithstanding that the districts Abound with\ninsectivorous birds. Now, Mr. Bates has observed that where large\nnumbers of this family are found they are always accompanied by\nspecies of a totally distinct family which closely resemble them in\nsize, form, color, and markings. So close is the resemblance that Mr.\nBates often found it impossible to distinguish members of one family\nfrom those of the other when the insects were on the wing; and he\nobserved, moreover, that when a local variety of a species of the\n_Heliconidae_ occurred, there was found also a butterfly of another\nfamily imitating that local variety. There is no difficulty at all in\ndistinguishing the imitators from the imitated, for the latter have\nall a family likeness, while the former depart from the normal form\nand likeness of the families to which they respectively belong. What\nis the meaning of this curious fact? It is this: the _Heliconidae_, or\nimitated butterflies, are not persecuted by birds, dragon-flies,\nlizards, or other insectivorous enemies, while the members of the\nimitating families are subject to much persecution. The butterflies\nimitated are said to owe their immunity from persecution to their\noffensive odor, while no such fortunate character belongs to the\nimitating insects. But how, we naturally ask, has this change of color\nand form been effected? Mr. Darwin and Mr. Bates explain it on the\nprinciple of natural selection. Let us suppose that a member of the\npersecuted family gave birth to a variety--and there is a tendency in\nall animals to produce varieties--exhibiting a very slight resemblance\nto some species of  _Heliconidae_. This individual, in consequence of\nthis slight resemblance, would have a better chance of living and\nproducing young than those of its relatives which bear no resemblance\nwhatever to the unmolested family. Some of the offspring of this\nslightly favored variety would very probably show more marked\nresemblance to the unpersecuted butterflies; and thus the likeness\nbetween insects of totally distinct groups would in course of time be,\naccording to the law of inheritance, quite complete. This is the\nexplanation which Mr. Bates gives of this natural phenomenon. The\nphenomenon itself is an undoubted one; whether it is or is not\nsatisfactorily accounted for, cannot at present be determined; we must\nwait for further investigation.\n\nWe had intended to speak of some of the South American palms, those\nwondrous and valuable productions of tropical countries, the\nIndia-rubber trees, and other vegetable productions of the Amazons,\nbut we must linger no longer with the excellent naturalist from whose\nvolumes we have derived so much pleasure. Mr. Bates has written a book\nfull of interest, with the spirit of a real lover of nature and with\nthe pen of a philosopher.\n\n{191}\n\nLeaving, then, the new world, let us cast a glance, in company with\none of the greatest botanists of the day, at what we may call the\ntropical features of the Sikkim Himalayas. Though this region is not\nstrictly speaking within the tropics, yet the vegetation at the base\nis of a tropical character. In this wonderful district the naturalist\nis able to wander through every zone of vegetation, from the \"dense\ndeep-green dripping forests\" at the base of the Himalaya, formed of\ngiant trees, as the _Duabanga_ and _Terminalia_, with _Cedrela_ and\n_Gordonia Wallichii_, mingled with innumerable shrubs and herbs, to\nthe lichens and mosses of the regions of perpetual snow. The tropical\nvegetation of the Sikkim extends from Siligoree, a station on the\nverge of the Terai, \"that low malarious belt which skirts the base of\nthe Himalaya from the Sutlej to Brahma-Koond, in Upper Assam.\"\n\n\"Every feature,\" writes Dr. Hooker, \"botanical, geological, and\nzoological, is new on entering this district. The change is sudden and\nimmediate: sea and shore are hardly more conspicuously different; nor\nfrom the edge of the Terai to the limit of perpetual snow is any\nbotanical region more clearly marked than this which is the\ncommencement of Himalayan vegetation.\" The banks of the numerous\ntortuous streams are richly clothed with vines and climbing\nconvolvuluses, with various kinds of _Cucurbitaceae_ and\n_Bignoniaceae_. The district of the Terai is very pestilential, and,\nthough fatal to Europeans, is inhabited by a race called the Mechis\nwith impunity. As our traveller proceeded to the little bungalow of\nPunkabaree, about 1,800 feet in elevation, the bushy timber of the\nTerai was found to be replaced by giant forests, with large bamboos\ncresting the hills, numerous epiphytical orchids and ferns, with\n_Hoya, Seitamineae_, and similar types of the hottest and dampest\nclimates. All around Punkabaree the hills rise steeply 5,000 or 6,000\nfeet; from the road at and a little above the bungalow the view is\ndescribed by Dr. Hooker as superb and very instructive:\n\n  \"Behind (or north) the Himalaya rise in steep confused masses.\n  Below, the hill on which I stood, and the ranges as far as the eye\n  can reach east and west, throw spurs on the plains of India. These\n  are very thickly wooded, and enclose broad, dead-flat, hot, or damp\n  valleys, apparently covered with a dense forest. Secondary spurs of\n  clay and gravel, like that immediately below Punkabaree, rest on the\n  bases of the mountains and seem to form an intermediate neutral\n  ground between flat and mountainous India. The Terai district forms\n  a very irregular belt, scantily clothed, and intersected by\n  innumerable rivulets from the hills, which unite and divide again on\n  the flat, till, emerging from the region of many trees, they enter\n  the plains, following devious courses, which glisten like silver\n  threads. The whole horizon is bounded by the sea-like expanse of the\n  plains, which stretch away into the region of sunshine and fine\n  weather, as one boundless flat. In the distance the courses of the\n  Teesta and Cosi, the great drainers of the snowy Himalayas, and the\n  recipients of innumerable smaller rills, are with difficulty traced\n  at this the dry season. The ocean-like appearance of this southern\n  view is even more conspicuous in the heavens than on the land, the\n  clouds arranging themselves after a singularly sea-scape fashion.\n  Endless strata run in parallel ribbons over the extreme horizon;\n  above these scattered cumuli, also in horizontal lines, are dotted\n  against a clear grey sky, which gradually, as the eye is lifted,\n  passes into a deep cloudless blue vault, continuously clear to the\n  zenith; there the cumuli, in white fleecy masses, again appear;\n  till, in the northern celestial hemisphere, they thicken and assume\n  the leaden hue of nimbi, discharging their moisture on the dark\n  forest-clad hills around. The breezes are south-easterly, bringing\n  that {192} vapor from the Indian ocean which is rarefied and\n  suspended aloft over the heated plains, but condensed into a drizzle\n  when it strikes the cooler flanks of the hills, and into heavy rain\n  when it meets their still colder summits. Upon what a gigantic scale\n  does nature here operate! Vapors raised from an ocean whose nearest\n  shore is more than 400 miles distant are safely transported without\n  the loss of one drop of water, to support the rank luxuriance of\n  this far distant region. This and other offices fulfilled, the waste\n  waters are returned by the Cosi and Teesta to the ocean, and again\n  exhaled, exported, expended, recollected, and returned.\"\n\nMany travellers complain of the annoyance caused to them by leeches.\nLegions of these pests abound in the water-courses and dense jungles\nof the Sikkim, and though their bite is painless, it is followed by\nconsiderable effusion of blood. \"They puncture through thick worsted\nstockings, and even trousers; and when full roll in the form of a\nlittle soft ball into the bottom of the shoe, where their presence is\nhardly felt in walking.\"\n\nA thousand feet higher, above the bungalow of Punkabaree, the\nvegetation is very rich, the prevalent timber being of enormous size,\n\"and scaled by climbing _Leguminosae_, as _Bauhinias_ and _Robinias_,\nwhich sometimes sheathe the trunks or span the forest with huge\ncables, joining tree to tree.\" Their trunks are also clothed with\norchids; and still more beautifully with pothos, peppers, vines, and\nconvolvuli.\n\n\"The beauty of the drapery of the pothos leaves (_Scindapsus_) is\npre-eminent, whether for the graceful folds the foliage assumes or for\nthe liveliness of its color. Of the more conspicuous smaller trees the\nwild banana is the most abundant; its crown of very beautiful foliage\ncontrasting with the smaller-leaved plants amongst which it nestles;\nnext comes a screwpine (_Pandanus_) with a straight stem and a tuft of\nleaves, each eight or ten feet long, waving on all sides.\n_Araliaceae_, with smooth or armed slender trunks, and _Mappa_-like\n_Euphorbiaceae_ spread their long petioles horizontally forth, each\nterminated with an ample leaf some feet in diameter. Bamboo abounds\neverywhere; its dense tufts of culms, 100 feet and upward high, are as\nthick as a man's thigh at the base. Twenty or thirty species of ferns\n(including a tree fern) were luxuriant and handsome. Foliaceous\nlichens and a few mosses appeared at 2,000 feet. Such is the\nvegetation of the roads through the tropical forests of Outer\nHimalaya.\"\n\nAs we ascend about 2,000 feet higher, we find many plants of the\ntemperate zone mingling with the tropical vegetation, amongst which \"a\nvery English-looking bramble,\" bearing a good yellow fruit, is the\nfirst to mark the change; next, mighty oaks with large lamellated cups\nand magnificent foliage succeed, till along the ridge of the mountain\nto Kursiong, at an elevation of about 4,800 feet, the change in the\nflora is complete. Here the vegetation recalls to mind home\nimpressions: \"the oak flowering, the birch bursting into leaf, the\nviolet, _Chrysosplenium, Stellaria and Arum, Vaccinium_, wild\nstrawberry, maple, geranium, bramble. A colder wind blew here; mosses\nand lichens carpeted the banks and roadsides; the birds and insects\nwere very different from those below, and everything proclaimed the\nmarked change in the vegetation.\" And yet even at this elevation we\nmeet with forms of tropical plants, \"pothos, bananas, palms, figs,\npepper, numbers of epiphytal orchids, and similar genuine tropical\ngenera.\"\n\nThe hill-station of Darjiling, the well-known sanitarium, where the\nhealth of Europeans is recruited by a temperate climate, is about 370\nmiles to the north of Calcutta. The ridge \"varies in height from 6,500\nto 7,500 feet above the level of the sea, 8,000 feet being the\nelevation at which the mean temperature most nearly coincides with\nthat of London, viz., 50\u00b0.\" {193} The forests around Darjiling are\ncomposed principally of magnolias, oaks, laurels, with birch, alder,\nmaple, holly. Dr. Hooker draws especial attention to the absence of\n_Leguminosae_, \"the most prominent botanical feature in the vegetation\nof the region,\" which, he says, is too high for the tropical tribes of\nthe warmer elevation, too low for the Alpines, and probably too moist\nfor those of temperate regions; cool, equable, humid climates being\ngenerally unfavorable to the above-named order. \"The supremacy of this\ntemperate region consists in the infinite number of forest trees, in\nthe absence (in the usual proportion, at any rate) of such common\norders as _Compositae, Leguminosae, Cruciferae_ and _Ranunculaceae_,\nand of grasses amongst Monocotyledons, and in the predominance of the\nrarer and more local families, as those of rhododendron, camellia,\nmagnolia, ivy, cornel, honeysuckle, hydrangea, begonia, and epiphytic\norchids.\"\n\nWe regret that want of space prevents us dwelling longer on the scenes\nof tropical Himalaya, so graphically described by Dr. Hooker. We will\nconclude this imperfect sketch with our traveller's description of the\nscenery along the banks of the great Rungeet, 6,000 feet below\nDarjiling:\n\n  \"Leaving the forest, the path led along the river bank and over the\n  great masses of rock which strewed its course. The beautiful\n  India-rubber fig was common. . . . On the forest skirts, _Hoya_,\n  parasitical _Orchidiae_, and ferns abounded; the Chaulmoogra, whose\n  fruit is used to intoxicate fish, was very common, as was an immense\n  mulberry-tree, that yields a milky juice and produces a long, green,\n  sweet fruit. Large fish, chiefly cyprinoid, were abundant in the\n  beautifully clear water of the river. But by far the most striking\n  feature consisted in the amazing quantity of superb butterflies,\n  large tropical swallow-tails, black, with scarlet or yellow eyes on\n  their wings. They were seen everywhere, sailing majestically through\n  the still, hot air, or fluttering from one scorching rock to\n  another, and especially loving to settle on the damp sand of the\n  river; where they sat by thousands, with erect wings, balancing\n  themselves with a rocking motion, as their heavy sails inclined them\n  to one side or the other, resembling a crowded fleet of yachts on a\n  calm day. Such an entomological display cannot be surpassed.\n  _Cicindelae_ and the great _Cicadeae_ were everywhere lighting on\n  the ground, when they uttered a short sharp creaking sound, and anon\n  disappeared as if by magic. Beautiful whip-snakes were gleaming in\n  the sun; they hold on by a few coils of the tall round a twig, the\n  greater part of their body stretched out horizontally, occasionally\n  retracting and darting an unerring aim at some insect. The\n  narrowness of the gorge, and the excessive steepness of the bounding\n  hills, prevented any view except of the opposite mountain-face,\n  which was one dense forest, in which the wild banana was\n  conspicuous.\"\n\nOne of the most remarkable botanical discoveries of modern days is\nthat of a very curious and anomalous genus of plants, named by Dr.\nHooker _Welwitschia_ in honor of its discoverer. Dr. Frederic\nWelwitsch, who first noticed this singular plant in a letter to Sir\nWilliam Hooker, dated August, 1860. \"I have been assured,\" says Dr.\nHooker in his valuable memoir of this plant, \"by those who remember\nit, that since the discovery of the _Rafflesia Arnoldii_, no vegetable\nproduction has excited so great an interest as the subject of the\npresent memoir.\" We well remember this singular plant, having seen a\nspecimen in the Kew Herbarium soon after its arrival in this country.\nThe following is Dr. Hooker's account of its appearance and prominent\ncharacters:\n\n  \"The _Welwitschia_ is a woody plant, said to attain a century in\n  duration, with an obconic trunk about two feet long, of which a few\n  inches rise {194} above the soil, presenting the appearance of a\n  flat, two-lobed depressed mass, sometimes (according to Dr.\n  Welwitsch) attaining fourteen feet in circumference (!) and looking\n  like a round table. When full grown, it is dark brown, hard, and\n  cracked over the whole surface (much like the burnt crust of a loaf\n  of bread); the lower portion forms a stout tap-root, buried in the\n  soil and branching downward at the end. From deep grooves in the\n  circumference of the depressed mass two enormous leaves are given\n  off, each six feet long when full grown, one corresponding to each\n  lobe. These are quite flat, linear, very leathery, and split to the\n  base into innumerable thongs that lie curling upon the surface of\n  the soil. Its discoverer describes these same two leaves as being\n  present from the earliest condition of the plant, and assures me\n  that they are in fact developed from the two cotyledons of the seed,\n  and are persistent, being replaced by no others. From the\n  circumference of the tabular mass, above but close to the insertion\n  of the leaves, spring stout dichotomously branched cymes, nearly a\n  foot high, bearing small erect scarlet cones, which eventually\n  become oblong and attain the size of those of the common spruce fir.\n  The scales of the cones are very closely imbricated, and contain\n  when young and still very small solitary flowers, which in some\n  cases are hermaphrodite (structurally but not functionally), in\n  others female.\"\n\nAfter describing these flowers in botanical terms. Dr. Hooker adds,\n\"The mature cone is tetragonous, and contains a broadly winged scale.\nIts discoverer observes that the whole plant exudes a resin, and that\nit is called 'tumbo' by the natives. It inhabits the elevated sandy\nplateau near Cape Negro (lat 14\u00b0 40' S. to 23\u00b0 S.) on the south-west\ncoast of Africa.\" Dr. Hooker regards the _Welwitschia_ as \"the only\nperennial flowering-plant which at no period has other vegetative\norgans than those proper to the embryo itself,--the main axis being\nrepresented by the radicle, which becomes a gigantic caulicle and\ndevelops a root from its base, and inflorescences from its plumulary\nend, and the leaves being the two cotyledons in a very highly\ndeveloped and specialized condition.\"   [Footnote 29]\n\n  [Footnote 29: \"Transactions of the Linnean Society,\" vol. xxiv.,\n  part i.]\n\nFew countries present more objects of interest to the naturalist than\nthe island of Madagascar, amongst the botanical treasures of which\nisland the water yam or lace-leaf (_Ouviranidra fenestralis_) claims\nespecial notice. This beautiful and singular plant, which belongs to\nthe natural order _Naiadaceae_, was first made known to the scientific\nworld by du Petit Thouars in 1822. Horticulturists are indebted to Mr.\nEllis, the well-known author of \"Polynesian Researches,\" for the\nintroduction of this singular plant into England, specimens of which\nmay be seen in the Royal Gardens at Kew and elsewhere:\n\n  \"This plant,\" says Mr. Ellis, \"is not only extremely curious, but\n  also very valuable to the natives, who, at certain seasons of the\n  year, gather it as an article of food--the fleshy root when cooked\n  yielding a farinaceous substance resembling the yam. Hence its\n  native name, _ouvirandrano_, literally, yam of the water;--_ouvi_ in\n  the Malagasy and Polynesian languages signifying yam, and _rano_ in\n  the former and some of the latter signifying water. The ouvirandra\n  is not only a rare and curious, but a singularly beautiful plant,\n  both in structure and color. From the several crowns of the\n  branching root, growing often a foot or more deep in the water, a\n  number of graceful leaves, nine or ten inches long and two or three\n  inches wide, spread out horizontally just beneath the surface of the\n  water. The flower-stalks rise from the centre of the leaves, and the\n  branching or forked flower is curious; but the structure of the leaf\n  is peculiarly so, and seems like a living fibrous skeleton rather\n  than an entire leaf. The {195} longitudinal fibres extend in curved\n  lined along its entire length, and are united by thread-like fibres\n  or veins, crossing them at right angles from side to side, at a\n  short distance from each other. The whole leaf looks as if composed\n  of fine tendrils, wrought after a most regular pattern, so as to\n  resemble a piece of bright-green lace or open needlework. Each leaf\n  rises from the crown on the root like a short delicate-looking pale\n  green or yellow fibre; gradually unfolding its feathery-looking\n  sides and increasing its size as it spreads beneath the water. The\n  leaves in their several stages of growth pass through almost every\n  gradation of color, from a pale yellow to a dark olive-green,\n  becoming brown or even black before they finally decay; air-bubbles\n  of considerable size frequently appearing under the full-formed and\n  healthy leaves. It is scarcely possible to imagine any object of the\n  kind more attractive and beautiful than a full-grown specimen of\n  this plant, with its dark green leaves forming the limit of a circle\n  two or three feet in diameter, and in the transparent water within\n  that circle presenting leaves in every stage of development, both as\n  to color and size. Nor is it the least curious to notice that these\n  slender and fragile structures, apparently not more substantial than\n  the gossamer and flexible as a feather, still possess a tenacity and\n  wiriness which allow the delicate leaf to be raised by the hand to\n  the surface of the water without injury.\"\n\nNo natural order of plants has created or continues to create a\ngreater degree of interest amongst travellers and botanists than the\n_Orchidaceae_, of which more than three thousand species have been\ndescribed; the anomalous structure of their reproductory parts, the\nsingularity in form of the floral envelopes, the grotesque resemblance\nwhich many kinds bear to some object or other of the animal world, the\nrarity, beauty, and delicious fragrance of some forms--all combine to\nrender these plants of great value and interest. As inhabitants of hot\nand damp localities, orchids are in general epiphytes, as in the\nBrazilian forests, in the lower portions of the Himalayan mountains,\nand in the islands of the Indian archipelago; when they occur in\ntemperate regions they are terrestrial in their mode of growth; in\nextremely dry or cold climates, orchidaceous plants are unknown. Two\nrare and beautiful epiphytal orchids, the _Angraecum sesquipedale_ and\n_A. superbum_, were obtained by Mr. Ellis in Madagascar and Mauritius,\nand introduced into this country. Of the former, the largest flowered\nof all the orchids, Dr. Lindley has given the following description:\n\n  \"The plant forms a stem about eighteen inches high, covered with\n  long leathery leaves in two ranks, like _Venda tricolor_ and its\n  allies; but they have a much more beautiful appearance, owing to a\n  drooping habit, and a delicate bloom which clothes their surface.\n  From the axils of the uppermost of these leaves appear short stiff\n  flower-stalks, each bearing three and sometimes five flowers,\n  extending seven inches in breadth and the same in height. They are\n  furnished with a firm, curved, tapering, tail-like spur, about\n  fourteen inches long. When first open, the flower is slightly tinged\n  with green except the tip, which is almost pure white; after a short\n  time the green disappears, and the whole surface acquires the\n  softest waxy texture and perfect whiteness. In this condition they\n  remain, preserving all their delicate beauty, for more than five\n  weeks. Even before they expand, the greenish buds, which are three\n  inches long, have a very noble appearance.\"\n\nTo the scientific naturalist few subjects are more full of deep\ninterest than the question of the geographical distribution of\nanimals. Dr. Sclater, the active secretary of the Zoological Society\nof London, has contributed an instructive paper, \"On the Mammals of\nMadagascar,\" to the second, number {196} of the \"Quarterly Journal of\nScience,\" from which we gather the following facts: As a general rule,\nit is found that the faunae and florae of such countries as are most\nnearly contiguous do most nearly resemble one another, while, on the\nother hand, those tracts of land which are furthest asunder are\ninhabited by most different forms of animal and vegetable life. Now,\nMadagascar, with the Mascarene islands, is a strange exception to the\nrule; for the forms of mammalia which are found in these islands are\nvery different from the forms which occur in the contiguous coast of\nAfrica, although the channel between Madagascar and the continent is\nin one place not more than 200 miles: \"The numerous mammals of the\norders Ruminantia, Pachydermata, and Proboscidea, so characteristic of\nthe Ethiopian fauna, are entirely absent from Madagascar. The same is\nthe case with the larger species of carnivora which are found\nthroughout the African continent, but do not extend into Madagascar.\nAgain, the highly organized types of Quadrumana which prevail in the\nforests of the mainland are utterly wanting in the neighboring island;\ntheir place being there occupied by several genera of the inferior\nfamily of _Lemurs_,\" Dr. Sclater shows that this anomaly is not\nconfined to the orders already enumerated, but that similar\nirregularities prevail to a greater or lesser extent in every part of\nthe mammalian series, and that, in short, the anomalies presented to\nus of the forms of life prevalent in the island of Madagascar \"are so\nstriking that claims have been put forward in its favor to be\nconsidered as a distinct primary geographical region of the earth.\"\nDr. Sclater also draws attention to the very curious fact, \"quite\nunparalleled, as far as is hitherto known, in any other fauna, that\nnearly two-thirds of the whole number of known species of the mammals\nof this island are members of one peculiar group of Quadrumana.\" The\nfamily of _Lemuridae_ contains no less than eight generic types, all\ndifferent from those found in Africa and India, although this group is\nalso represented in Africa by the abnormal form _Perodicticus_, and in\nIndia by _Nycticebus_ and _Loris_, two allied genera. The celebrated\nAye Aye (_Chiromys Madagascariensis_), a specimen of which anomalous\nanimal is at present in the new monkey-house in the Zoological\nSociety's Gardens, Regent's Park, is considered by Prof. Owen to be\nmore nearly allied to some of the African Galagos than to any other\nform of animal. Of insectivora, the genera _Centetes, Ericulus_, and\n_Echinogale_, small animals resembling hedge-hogs in outward\nappearance, are thought to be most nearly allied to an American genus.\nFrom the anomalies in the mammalian fauna of this island. Dr. Sclater\narrives at the following deductions, which, however, as they are based\nupon the hypothesis of the derivative origin of species, cannot at\npresent be deemed altogether conclusive:\n\n  \"1. Madagascar has never been connected with Africa, _as it at\n  present exists_. This would seem probable from the absence of\n  certain all-pervading Ethiopian types in Madagascar, such as\n  _Antelope, Hippopotamus Felis_, etc. But, on the other hand, the\n  presence of _Lemurs_ in Africa renders it certain that Africa as it\n  at present exists, contains land that once formed part of\n  Madagascar.\n\n  \"2. Madagascar and the Mascarene islands (which are universally\n  acknowledged to belong to the same category) must have remained for\n  a long epoch separated from every other part of the globe, in order\n  to have acquired the many peculiarities now exhibited in their\n  mammal fauna--_e.g._, _Lemur, Chiromys, Eupleres, Centetes,_\n  etc.--to be elaborated by the gradual modification of pre-existing\n  forms.\n\n  \"3. Some land-connection must have existed in former ages between\n  Madagascar and India, whereon the original stock, whence the present\n  Lemuridae of Africa, Madagascar, and India, are descended,\n  flourished.\n\n{197}\n\n  \"4. It must be likewise allowed that some sort of connection must\n  also have existed between Madagascar and land which now forms part\n  of the new world--in order to permit the derivation of the\n  _Centetinae_ from a common stock with the _Solenodon_, and to\n  account for the fact that the Lemuridae, as a body, are certainly\n  more nearly allied to the weaker forms of American monkeys than to\n  any of the Simiidae of the old world.\n\n  \"The anomalies of the mammal fauna of Madagascar can best be\n  explained by supposing that, anterior to the existence of Africa in\n  its present shape, a large continent occupied parts of the Atlantic\n  and Indian oceans, stretching out toward (what is now) America on\n  the west, and to India and its islands on the east; that this\n  continent was broken up into islands, of which some became\n  amalgamated with the present continent of Africa, and some possibly\n  with what is now Asia--and that in Madagascar and the Mascarene\n  islands we have existing relics of this great continent.\"\n\nWe fain would have lingered on the natural products of this\ninteresting island, to drink of the refreshing liquid furnished by the\ntraveller-tree, and to admire the sago palms and other vegetable\nforms, but space forbids our dwelling longer on the natural\nproductions of the tropics.  [Footnote 30] We could have spoken of the\naspects of tropical nature as it appears in Borneo, Java, Sumatra, and\nother islands of the Pacific ocean, but we must stop. We ought not,\nhowever, to conclude these gleanings without a brief notice of Dr.\nHartwig's popular book, whose title we have placed at the head of this\narticle. There are those who look with contempt on popular science of\nall kinds, and regard with undisguised aversion such compilations as\nthe one before us. We do not share these feelings in the least degree;\non the contrary, we welcome most heartily such introductions to the\nstudy of natural history. True, they may be sometimes of little\nscientific value, but they are very useful stepping-stones to\nsomething more solid. They are more especially intended for the young,\nbut those of mature years may derive much profit by a perusal of many\nof these works, and even the naturalist may read them with pleasure\nand instruction. The numerous beautifully illustrated and carefully\ncompiled works on natural history, such as the book before us,\ntogether with \"The Sea and its Living Wonders,\" by the same writer,\nwith Routledge's admirable \"Natural History,\" and several of the\nChristian Knowledge Society's publications, which have appeared within\nthe last few years, are an encouraging sign of the growing interest\nwhich the rising generation takes in the study of the great Creator's\nworks, and we heartily wish them \"God-speed.\"\n\n  [Footnote 30: In our own territory of the Seychelles Islands, 4\u00b0 to\n  5\u00b0 S., 300 miles N. E. of the great island Just alluded to, we see\n  one of the strangest of vegetable productions, the double cocoa-nut,\n  or Lodoicea, which was fully described by Mr. Ward in the \"Journal\n  of the Linnean Society, 1864:\" \"The shortest period before the tree\n  puts forth its buds is 30 years, and 100 years must elapse before it\n  attains its full growth. One plant in the garden at Government\n  House, planted 15 years ago, is quite in its infancy, about 16 feet\n  in height, but with no stem yet visible, the long leaves shooting\n  from, the earth like the Traveler's Palm (_Urania specioea_), and\n  much resembling it in shape, but much larger. Unlike the cocoa-nut\n  trees, which bend to every gale and are never quite straight, the\n  coco-de-mer trees are as upright as iron pillars. At the ago of 30\n  the trees first put forth blossoms. The female tree alone produces\n  the nut, and is 6 feet shorter than the male, which attains a height\n  of 100 feet. From fructification to full maturity a period of nearly\n  10 years elapses.\" But the remarkable point is the arrangement of\n  the roots, unlike any other tree. \"The base of the trunk is of a\n  bulbous form, and this bulb fits into a natural bowl or socket about\n  2-1/2 feet in diameter and 1-1/2 foot in depth, narrowing to the\n  bottom. This bowl is pierced with hundreds of small oval holes about\n  the size of thimbles, with hollow tubes corresponding on the\n  outside, through which the roots penetrate the ground on all sides,\n  never, however, becoming attached to the bowl, their partial\n  elasticity affording an almost imperceptible, but very necessary\n  _play_ to the parent stem when struggling against the force of\n  violent gales. This bowl is of the same substance as the shell of\n  the nut, only much thicker. As far as can be ascertained, it never\n  rots or wears out. It has been found quite perfect and entire in\n  every respect 60 years after the tree has been cut down. At Curiense\n  many sockets are still remaining which are known to have belonged to\n  trees cut down by the first settlers in the Island (1742).\" One of\n  these sockets is to be seen in the Museum of woods at Kew.]\n\n--------\n\n{198}\n\nFrom Chamber's Journal.\n\nWINTER SIGNS.\n\n  Links upon the forehead come--\n    Strokes alike of time and grief,\n  Branches from the heart beneath\n    That will never bear a leaf.\n\n  Come the summer, come the spring,\n    Still they keep their wintry hue;\n  Deepening, stretching o'er the brow.\n    Shadows lift them into view.\n\n  Straight and crooked, right and left.\n    On the strong and on the weak--\n  Upward to the hoary head.\n    Downward to the hollow cheek.\n\n  Shadows from the life within,\n    Tarrying ere they pass away,\n  Plant these stems of sorrow there,\n    Growing in the night and day.\n\n  Light that fills the eye afresh\n    From some inward moving grace,\n  Casting from it, as a sun.\n    Quiet rays upon the face--\n\n  Makes these ruts of time appear\n    Winding, widening in their space,\n  Drawing loving eyes and thoughts\n    All their history to trace.\n\n  Whilst upheaved by a smile,\n    Radiant in the breast of light,\n  These eternal scores of grief\n    Tell of many an inner night.\n\n  Stories come up from their roots.\n    Half unfolded in their course,\n  Showing how a hundred pangs\n    Long ago became their source.\n\n--------\n\n{199}\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.\n\nBY ROBERT CURTIS.\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nAny help which old Murdock was in the habit of getting from his son\nupon the farm, and it was at no time of much value, either in labor or\nadvice, had latterly dwindled down to a mere careless questioning as\nto how matters were going on, and his father began to fear that he was\n\"beginning to go to the bad.\" Poor old man, how little of the truth he\nknew!\n\nThere was now always something cranky and unpleasant in Tom's manner.\nHe was often from home for days together, and, when at home, often out\nat night until very late; and if questioned in the kindest manner by\nhis father upon the subject, his answers were snappish and\nunsatisfactory. Poor old Mick--deluded Mick--laid down both his\nwanderings and his crankiness to the score of his love for Winny\nCavana, and the uncertainty of his suit.\n\nFrom one or two encouraging and cheery expressions his father had\naddressed to him, Tom knew this to be the view his father had taken of\nhis case, and he was quite willing to indulge the delusion. Now that\nmatters had come to an open rupture between him and Winny--for\nnotwithstanding his father's hopes, he had none--it was convenient for\nhim that his father should continue of the same mind--nay, more, his\nfather himself had suggested a step, which, if he could manage with\nhis usual ability, might turn to his profit, and relieve to a certain\nextent some of the perplexities by which he was beset.\n\nOld Mick had spent a long and fatiguing day, not merely in his\nperegrinations through the farm, but from anxiety and watching, having\nobserved Winny go out earlier than usual, and seeing that Tom soon\nafter had followed her down the road. He was rather surprised in about\nan hour afterward to see Winny return alone, and at not having seen\nTom for nearly two hours later in the day, when he returned cross and\ndisappointed, as we have seen. The \"untoward circumstances,\" detailed\nin the conversation after dinner with his son, had not the same\ndepressing effects upon the old man as upon Tom; for he really\nbelieved that they were not only not past cure, but according to his\nnotions of how such matters generally went on, that they were on a\nfair road to success. He therefore enjoyed a night's sound sleep,\nwhile Tom lay tossing and tumbling, and planning and scheming,--and\noccasionally cursing Edward Lennon, whom he could not persuade himself\nwas not, as his father said, at the bottom of all this. It was near\nmorning, therefore, before he had fretted himself to sleep.\n\nEarly the next day old Mick determined to ascertain the actual state\nof facts. He was up betimes, and having seen what was necessary to be\ndone for the day upon the farm, he set the operations going, and\nreturned to breakfast. Tom had not yet stirred; and as Nancy had told\nthe old masther that she \"heered him struggling with the bed-clothes,\nan' talkin' to himself until nearly morning,\" he would not allow her\nto call him, but went to breakfast by himself, telling her to have a\nfresh pot of tay, an' a dacent breakfast for him when he got up. \"Poor\nfellow,\" he said to himself, \"I did not think that girl had so firm a\nhoult of him.\"\n\n{200}\n\nOld Mick's anticipations of how matters really stood, and his\nconfidence in Ned Cavana's firmness, were doomed to be shaken, if not\naltogether disappointed. Old Ned saw him hanging \"about the borders\"\nwith a watchful look directed toward his house. He took it for granted\nthat Tom had mentioned something of what had occurred to him, and he\nknew at once what he was lingering about for.\n\nNed had undoubtedly led old Murdock to suppose that he would be \"as\nstout as a bull\" with Winny about marrying his son; but when Ned had\nspoken thus sternly upon the subject, he had not anticipated any\nopposition upon Winny's part to the match. He did not see how she\ncould object, nor did he see why. Mick had imbibed some slight idea of\nthe kind from what Tom had told him; but Ned had combated this idea\nwith great decision, and some sternness; more by way of showing his\nneighbor how he could exercise his parental authority, than from any\ngreat dread that he would ever be called on to assert it.\n\nBut Ned Cavana knew not the nature Class his own heart. He had\nmiscalculated the extent of his love for Winny, or the influence her\naffectionate and devoted life could exercise over that love, in a case\nwhere such a dispute might come between them. Thus we have seen him\nyield to that influence almost without argument, and certainly without\na harsh or angry word. When it came to the point that he had to\nconfront her tears, where was the fury with which he met old Murdock's\ninsinuations and suggestions?--where the threats of cutting her off,\nnot _with_ but _without_ a shilling, and leaving it all to the\nChurch?--where the steady determination with which he had resolved to\n\"bring her to her senses?\"--all, all lost in the affectionate smile\nwhich beamed upon her pleading love.\n\nNed Cavana knew now that old Murdock was on the watch for him. He\nbelieved that Tom had told him what had taken place between him and\nWinny; and although he did not dread any alteration in his promise to\nhis daughter, he felt that he could deal more stoutly with old Murdock\nwith the recollection of Winny's tears fresh on her cheeks, than if\nthe matter were to lie over for any time. He therefore strolled\nthrough the farmyard, and out on the lane we have already spoken of,\nand turned down toward the fields at the back of his garden. This\nmovement was not, of course, unnoticed by the man who was on the watch\nfor some such, and accordingly he sloped down toward the gate, at\nwhich he and his son had held the conversation--a conversation which\nhad confirmed Winny in her preconceived opinion of Tom Murdock's\ncharacter and motives.\n\nThe two old men thus met once again at the same spot at which the\nreader first saw them together.\n\n\"I'm glad you cum out, Ned,\" said Murdock, \"for I was watin to see\nyou, to tell you about Tom. He done his part yesterda' illegant, an'\nyou may spake to the little girl now as soon as you plaise.\"\n\n\"I have spoken to her, Mick. She tould me all about it herself, last\nnight.\"\n\n\"Well, she didn't resave Tom at all the way he thought she would, nor\nthe way she led him to think she would, aidher. I hope she tould the\nthruth to you, Ned, and didn't make b'lief to be shy an' resarved, as\nshe did to Tom. Poor boy, he's greatly down about it.\"\n\n\"She did; she tould me the whole thruth, Mick avic, and it's all no\nuse; she won't marry Tom--that's the long an' the short of it.\"\n\n\"Why, then, she mightn't be cosherin wid him the way she was, Ned, and\nladin the poor young boy asthray as to her intintions when she brought\nhim to the point.\"\n\n\"My little girl never done anything of the kind, Mick; she'd scorn to\ndo it.\"\n\n\"Well, no matther; she done it now, Ned; and as for Tom, he's the\n{201} very boy that i'd nather humbug a little girl, nor allow her to\nhumbug him. Did you spake stout to her, Ned?\"\n\n\"I said all that was necessary, Mick awochal: but I seen it was no\nuse, an' I wouldn't disthress the crathur.\"\n\n\"Disthress the crathur, _aniow!_ Athen may be it's what you don't much\ncare how that poor boy 'ithin there is disthressed through her mains.\"\n\n\"As for that, Mick, it needn't, nor it won't, disthress Tom a bit.\nThere's many a fine girl in the parish that i'd answer Tom betther nor\nmy little girl; and when I find that she's not for him, Mick awochal,\nI tell you I won't disthress the colleen by harsh mains, so say no\nmore about it.\"\n\n\"Athen, Ned, I think you tuck it aisy enugh afther all you tould me\nd'other day; you'd do this, an' you'd do that, an' you'd cut her off\nwid a shillin', an' you'd bring her to her senses, an' what wouldn't\nyou do, Ned? I tould you to be studdy, or she'd cum over you wid her\npillaver; and I tell you now what I tould you then, that it is all\nthrough the mains of that pauper Lennon she has done this--a purty\n_scauhawn_ for her to be wastin' your mains an' your hard earnin's\nupon. Arrah, Ned, I wondher you haven't more sense than to be\ndeludhered by that beggarman out of your little girl an' your money.\"\n\n\"No, Mick, young Lennon has nothing to say to it; if he never was\nborn, Winny wouldn't marry Tom. I would not misbelieve Winny on her\nword, let alone her oath; an' she tould me she tuck her oath to Tom\nthat she'd never marry him. He taxed her wid young Lennon, an' so did\nI; an' she declared, an' I believe her there too, Mick, that there\nnever was a word between them on such a subject; an' let there be no\nmore now between us. It can't be helped. But I will not disthress my\nlittle girl by spakin' to her any more about Tom.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well, Ned; that'll do. But, be the book, Tom's not the boy\nthat'll let himself be med a fool of by any one; an' I'm the very\nfellow that is able an' willin' to back him up in it.\"\n\n\"Athen what do you mane, Mick?--for the devil a wan of me can\nundherstan' that threat, af it beant the law you mane, an' sure the\ngandher in the yard beyant id have more sense than to think iv that.\nMy little girl never held out the smallest cumhither upon Tom; but,\ninstead iv that, she tells me that she always med scarse iv herself\nwheen he was to the fore. So af it be law you mane, Mick, you may do\nyour worst.\"\n\n\"No, it isn't the law I mane, Ned. Law is dear at best, an' twiste as\ndear at worst; but I mane to say that I'll back up poor Tom 'ithin\nthere, that's brakin' his heart about Winny; an' if you have any\nregard for her, you'll do the same thing; an' you'll see we'll bring\nthe thing round, as we ought; that's what I mane. The girl can't deny\nbut what she med much iv Tom, until that other spalpeen cum across\nher. Tom's no fool, an' knows what a girl mains very well.\"\n\n\"She does deny it, Mick, an' so she can. But there's no use, I tell\nyou, in sayin' any more about it. I can see plane an' aisy enough that\nWinny isn't for him. I tould her I wouldn't strive to force her likin'\nor dislikin', an' I won't; so just tell Tom that the girl is in\nearnest. She tould him so herself, an' you may tell him the same\nthing. He can't think so much about her, Mick, as you let on, for\nthere never was any courting betune them from first to last. I'll\nspake to you no more about it, Mick, an' you needn't spake to me.\"\n\nWith this final resolve, Ned turned his back completely round upon his\nneighbor, and walked with a hasty but firm step into the house.\n\n{202}\n\nOld Mick stood for some moments looking after him in a state of\nperplexed surprise. He had some fears, though they were not very\ngreat, that Winny's influence over her father was sufficiently strong\nto determine him according to her wishes, if she was really averse to\na match with his son; but this latter was a point upon which he had\nscarcely any fears at all; except such as were suggested by the hints\nhis son himself had thrown out about young Lennon. Upon this part of\nthe case he had spoken to Ned in such a way as to make him determined\nto be very strict and decided in his opposition to any leaning on his\ndaughter's part in that quarter.\n\nOld Mick, as he stood and looked, was perplexed on both these parts of\nthe case. If he believed that Winny Cavana had really and decidedly\nrefused to marry his son, he could only do so upon the supposition\nthat young Lennon was the mainspring of the whole movement. And,\nagain, to suppose she had preferred a \"secret colloguing with that\npauper,\" behind her father's back, to an open and straight-forward\nmatch with a rich young man, and what he called a handsomer man than\never Lennon was, or ever would be, and with her father's full consent,\nwas what he could not bring himself to believe of any sensible girl.\nBut this he did believe, that if \"that young whelp\" was really not at\nthe bottom of Winny's refusal, a marriage with his son, be it brought\nabout _by what means it could_, would end in a reconciliation, not\nonly of Winny to so great a match, but of old Ned, as a necessary\nconsequence, to his daughter's acquiescence.\n\nWith these thoughts, and counter-thoughts, he too turned toward his\nhouse, where he found Tom just going to his breakfast, in no very good\nhumor with the past, the present, or the future.\n\nHis father \"bid him the time of day,\" and said \"he had to look after a\ncow that was on for cavin',\" an' that he'd be back by the time he had\ndone his breakfast. This was a mere piece of consideration upon old\nMick's part.\n\nLoss of appetite and uneasiness of manner in a handsome young man of\ntwo-and-twenty is unhesitatingly set down by the old crones of a\nparish to his being \"in love,\" and they are seldom at a loss to supply\nthe _colleen dhass_ to whom these symptoms are attributable. In Tom's\ncase, however, there were other matters than love which were\naccountable for the miserable attempt at breakfast he had made,\nnotwithstanding the elaborate preparations Nancy Feehily had made to\ntempt him. His father was surprised to find him so soon following him\nto the fields. But Tom, knowing his father's energy of action when a\nmatter was on his mind, suspected he had not been to that hour of the\nday without managing an interview with old Cavana, and was on the\nfidgets to know what passed. But love--as love--had nothing whatever\nto say to his want of relish for so good a breakfast as had been set\nbefore him.\n\nHe met his father returning toward the house, not far from the\ncelebrated gate already so often mentioned in this story. The spot\nwhere they now met was a little more favorable for a conference than\nthe gate in question, for, unlike it, there was no private bower for\neavesdroppers to secrete themselves in.\n\n\"Well, father,\" said Tom, breaking into the subject at once, \"have you\nseen the old fogie about Winny?\"\n\n\"I have, Tom, an' matthers is worse nor I thought. She has cum round\nhim most complately; for the present anyhow.\"\n\n\"I told you how it would be, father, and be d--!\"\n\n\"Whist, Tom, don't be talking that way; there's wan thing I'm afther\nbeing purty sure of, an' that is, that that spalpeen has nothin' to\nsay to it. It's all perverseness just for a while, an' she'll cum\nround afther a bit.\"\n\n\"Well, father. I'll cut my stick for that bit, be it long or short; so\ntell me, what can you do for me about money? You know if she was never\nin the place, it's nothing to keep me here stravaging about the road.\"\n\n\"Thrue for you, Tom avic. It isn't easy, however, layin' a man's {203}\nhand upon what you'd want wid you for a start; but sure my credit is\ngood in the bank, an' sure I'll put my name upon a bill-stamp for you\nfor twenty or thirty pounds. Take my advice an' don't go past your\naunt's in Armagh. Tom, she's an illigant fine woman, an' will resave\nyou wid a _ceade mille a faltha_, an' revive you out an' out afore you\nput a month over you. There's not a man in Armagh has a betther thrade\nthan her husband, Bill Wilson the carpenter--cabinet-maker, I b'lieve\nthey call him--an' b'lieve my words, she'll make the most of her\nbrother's son. Who knows, Tom avic? Arrah, maybe you'd do betther down\nthere nor at home. Any way Winny won't be gone afore you come back,\nan' if we can't manage wan thing maybe we would another--_thig um,\nthee?_\"\n\n\"Well, I hope so; but, father, I'll be off before Sunday, and this is\nWednesday.\"\n\n\"You'll have lashins of time, Tom; but the sorra wan but I'll be very\nlonely; for although, Tom, you do be wandhering from home by day, and\nstopping out late sometimes by night, sure I know you're not far off,\nan' I always hear you lettin' yourself in betune night an' mornin'.\nThough Caesar doesn't bark at you, I hear him whinin' an' shufflin'\nwhen you're coming to the back doore?\"\n\n\"No matter about that now, father; I suppose I can get the money\ntomorrow or after, and start for my aunt's?\"\n\n\"Any minute, Tom. I'm never without a bill-stamp in the house in\nregard of the fairs. Come in, and I'll dhraw it out at wanst, an' I'll\nengage they'll give you the money on it at the bank; don't be the\nlaste taste aleared of that, Tom.\"\n\nWhether Tom then intended to be guided by his father's advice, and not\ngo past his aunt's in Armagh, it is not easy to say; but at all events\nhe \"let on\" that he would not do so. When he got his heels loose, with\na trifle of cash in his pocket, he could turn his steps in any\ndirection he wished.\n\nThey then returned to the house, and old Mick, putting on his\nspectacles, opened a table-drawer in the parlor, where he kept his\nwriting materials, accounts, receipts, etc. After some discussion,\nwhich had well-nigh ended in an argument, as to whether the amount\nshould be twenty or thirty pounds, a bill was ultimately drawn by the\nson upon the father for the former sum, at three months. Tom had,\nother reasons than the mere increase of ten pounds in the amount, for\nwishing to have the word thirty instead of twenty written in the bill;\nhowever, he could not screw more than the latter sum out of the old\nman, which he said was ample to take him to his aunt's in Armagh,\nwhere he'd get lashins an' lavins of the best of everything. Tom knew\nthat for this purpose it would be ample, and therefore failed to bring\nforward any arguments to sustain his view as to the necessity of\nmaking it thirty; but as it was he himself who wrote it out, he patted\nthe blotting-paper over it in great haste--a matter which was not, of\ncourse, observed by the old man, nor if it had been would he have\nsupposed there was anything unusual, much less for a purpose, in the\nact. The father having read it carefully over, and seeing that it was\nall correct, wrote his name with some dignity of manner across the\nbill. This portion of the writing Tom took care to let dry without any\nblotting at all, for he held it to the fire instead. Neither did the\nold man observe this unusual course, the manifest mode being to have\nused the blotting-paper, as in the first instance.\n\nThe matter being now thus far perfected, Tom asked his father if he\ncould have Blackberry--one of the farm horses--to go into C. O. S.\nearly next morning.\n\n\"An' welcome, Tom, if he was worth a hundred pounds,\" said the old\nman, locking the drawer.\n\n{204}\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nTom spent the remainder of that day very quietly, most of it in his\nown room. His first employment, whatever it may have been, was over an\nold portfolio, where he kept his own writing materials. What were the\nchief subjects of his caligraphy is not known. Perhaps love-letters to\nsuch of his numerous _enamoratas_ as could read may have formed a\nportion, nor is it impossible but the police might have given a trifle\nto have laid their hands upon some others. Neither were likely to see\nthe light, however, as Tom Murdock kept that old portfolio carefully\nlocked up in his box.\n\nThe next morning at an unusually early hour for him Tom proceeded upon\nBlackberry, fully caparisoned with the best saddle and bridle in the\nplace, to C. O. S.; where, after ten o'clock, he found no difficulty\nin procuring cash upon his father's acceptance.\n\nNow, although in the first instance Tom had no notion of stopping at\nhis aunt's in Armagh, or perhaps of going there at all, upon\nreflection he changed his mind altogether upon the subject. He had\nsome congenial spirits there beside his aunt--spirits with whom he\noccasionally had had personal communication as well as more frequent\nepistolary correspondence. Beyond Armagh, therefore, upon second\nthoughts, he resolved not to go upon this occasion. As to any\ndepression of spirits on account of Winny Cavana, he had none, except\nthe loss of her fortune, which would have stood to him so well in his\npresent circumstances. And here he remembered that his father had told\nhim the interest of \"that same\" was all he could have touched, and\neven that at only three per cent.; so that for the mere present he had\ndone as well, if not better. What he had drawn out of the bank upon\nhis father's credit, would settle the two harassing and intricate\ncases, which two different attorneys, on the part of those whom he had\nmost grievously wronged, had threatened to expose in a court of law.\nHe would have some over--he took care of that--to take him to Armagh\nand back, where he could not manage _this time_ to go at the expense\nof \"the fund.\" He did not purpose, however, to stop very long at his\naunt's. He would tell Winny when he came back that her refusal of him\nhad driven him away--he knew nor cared not whither; but that he found\nit impossible to live without sometimes seeing her, if it was only\nfrom his own door to hers: yes, he would follow that business up the\nmoment he returned. In the meantime it might not be without some good\neffect his being absent for a short time.\n\nSuch were the thoughts and plans with which Tom, after he had settled\nwith the attorneys, left his poor old father, we may say completely\nalone; for after the rather sharp words which had taken place between\nthe two old men, he could hardly continue his customary visits, or\nhalf-casual, half-projected meetings with Ned Cavana, by their\nrespective mearings. Hitherto in this respect, more than in actual\nvisits, the intercourse between these two old men had been habitual,\nindeed it may be said of daily occurrence, mutually watched for. If\none saw the other overlooking his men, either sowing or reaping, or\nplanting or digging, according to the time of the year, the habit\nalmost amounted to a rule, that, whichever saw the other first, quit\nhis own men, and sloped over toward his neighbor to have a look at\nwhat was going on, and having there exhausted the pros and cons of\nwhatever the work might be, a general chat was kept up and the visit\nreturned on the spot.\n\nNow, however, matters were to a great extent changed. This \"untoward\ncircumstance\" between Tom Murdock and Winny Cavana, together with the\nsubsequent conversation upon the subject between the fathers, rendered\nthis friendly {205} intercourse impossible. From all his son had told\nhim, old Mick thought Winny Cavana had treated him badly, and he\nconsidered that old Ned had \"gone back of his word\" to himself. He was\na plucky, proud old cock, and his advice to Tom would be \"to see it\nout with the pair of them, without any _pillaver_.\"\n\nWhat he meant by \"seeing it out\" he hardly knew himself, for he had\nrepudiated the law in a most decided manner when taxed with it by Ned.\nWhat, then, could he mean by \"seeing it out?\" Perhaps Tom would not\nrequire his advice upon the subject.\n\nFrom this day forth, however, old Mick was not the man he used to be.\nA man at his age, however well he may have worn--ay, even to have\nobtained the name of an evergreen--generally does so having his mind\nat ease as well as his body in health--the one begets the other; and\nso an old man thrives, and often looks as well at seventy as he did at\nsixty. But these old evergreens sometimes begin to fail suddenly if\nthe cold wind of disappointment blows roughly upon their hitherto\nhappy hearts; and Tom Murdock was not three weeks away, when the\nremarks of the people returning from the chapel, respecting old Mick,\nwere that \"they never saw a man so gone in the time.\" And the fact was\nso.\n\nOld Mick Murdock had been all his life a cheerful, chatty man, one\nwith whom it was a comfort to \"be a piece of the road home.\" Moreover,\nhe had always been erect in person, with a pair of cheeks like a\nscarlet Crofton apple--not the occasional smooth flush of delicacy,\nbut the constant hard rough tint of health. There were many young men\nin the parish whom a walk alongside of old Mick Murdock for a couple\nof miles would put out of breath, while you would not see a heave,\nhowever slight, out of old Mick's chest.\n\nLook on him now: \"he has not a word to throw to a dog,\" as the saying\nhas it; he is beginning to stoop in his gait, and more than once\nalready he has struck his heel against the ground in walking. As yet\nit is not a drag, and those indications of a break-up in his\nconstitution are comparatively slight. Ere long, however, you will see\nhim with a stick, and you will be hardly able to recognize him as the\nMick Murdock of a few months before.\n\nTom, as we have seen, having settled with the attorneys, started for\nhis aunt's; where, as his father had predicted, he was received with\nopen arms, and a joyful clapping of hands and a _ceade mille a\nfaltha_. \"Oh, then, Tom, avic macree, but it's you that's welcome; an'\nshure I needn't ax you how you are. Oh, but it's you that's grown the\nfine young man since I seen you last. An' let me see--how long ago is\nthat now, Tom agra? It'll be four years coming Easthre Sunda' next\nsince I was down in Rathcashmore. An' how is Mick a wochal? an' how's\n_herself_, Tom, the 'colleen dhass' you know?\" And she gave him a poke\nwith her finger between the ribs. \"Ah, Tom avic, yon needn't look so\nshy; shure I know all about it, an' why wouldn't I? It'll be an\nilligant match for the pair iv ye; as good for the wan as for the\nother--coming Shraft, Tom, eh? In troth Winny will be a comfort to\nyou, as well as a creedit; that's what she will, won't she, Tom?\"\n\n\"Let me alone now, aunt; I'm tired after the journey; and it's not of\nher I'm thinking.\"\n\n\"See that now--arra _na bocklish_, Tom, don't be afther telling me\nthat; shure didn't Mick himself write to me two or three times to let\nme know how matthers was going on, and the grand party he gev on\nHallow-Eve, and the fun ye all had, and how you danced wid her a'most\nthe whole night.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, aunt! Did he tell you how anybody else danced?\"\n\n\"No, the sorra word he said about any wan that was there, barrin'\nyourself an' herself.\"\n\n\"Well, never heed her now. I'll {206} tell you more about her\nto-morrow or next day, and maybe ask your advice upon the subject at\nthe same time.\"\n\nTheir conversation was here interrupted, as Tom thought very\nopportunely, by the entrance of Bill Wilson, whose welcome for his\nwife's nephew was as hearty, in a manner, as that which he had\nreceived from herself. The conversation, of course, now \"became\ngeneral;\" and Bill Wilron, although he had never been out of Armagh,\nseemed to have everybody down about Tom's country pat by heart, for he\nasked for them all by name, not forgetting, although he left her to\nthe last, to ask for Winny Cavana. It was evident to Tom, from his\nmanner, that he was up to the project in that quarter; and as evident\nthat, like his aunt, he knew nothing of how matters up to this had\nturned out, or how they were likely to end. He answered his uncle's\nquestions, however, with reasonable self-possession; and his aunt,\nhaving perceived from his last observation to herself that there was\n\"a screw loose,\" turned the conversation very naturally to the subject\nof Tom's physical probabilities, saying,\n\n\"Athen, Tom jewel, maybe it's what you're hungry, an' would like to\ntake something to eat afore dinner; shure an' shure it's the first\nquestion I ought to have asked you.\"\n\n\"No, aunt, I thank you kindly, I'll take nothing until your dinner;\nthere's a friend of mine lives in the skirts of the town; I want to\nsee him, and I'll be back in less than an hour.\"\n\n\"A friend of yours, Tom? athen shure if he is, he ought to be a friend\nof ours; who is he, Tom a wochal?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, aunt, you never heard of him. He's a boy I have a message to\nfrom, a friend in the country.\"\n\n\"Why, then, Tom, you'll be wanting to know the way in this strange\nplace, an' shure I'll send the girl wid you to show you. Shure how\ncould you know, an' you never in Armagh afore?\"\n\n\"No, aunt, I say, I have a tongue in my head, and I'm not an\n_onshiough_. I'll find him out without taking your girl from her\nbusiness.\"\n\n\"Athen, Tom jewel, whoever bought you for an _onshiough_ would lay out\nhis money badly, I'm thinking; an' although you were never in this big\ncity afore, the devil a bit afeared I am but you'll find your way, an'\nwell have lashins iv everything that's good for you, and a _ceade\nmille a faltha_ when you come back.\"\n\nTom then left them, bidding them a temporary good-bye. He he did not\nthink it at all necessary to enlighten his aunt to the fact that he\nhad paid periodical visits to Armagh from time to time, and had on\nthese occasions passed her very door. But these visits were of short\nduration, and have been only hinted at. They were sufficient, however,\nto familiarize him with the portions of the city to which he now\ndirected his steps. But as we are not aware of the precise spot to\nwhich he went, nor acquainted with those whose society he sought, we\nshall not follow him.\n\nHis aunt, after he had left, was in no degree sparing in her praise of\nhim to her husband, who had never seen him before, but who indorsed\nevery word she said with the greatest promptitude and good-humor, \"as\nfar as he could see.\"\n\nBill Wilson was no fool. He gave his wife's nephew a hearty and a\nsincere welcome, and he knew it would be an ungracious thing not to\nacquiesce in all that she said to his advantage; but it was an\nindiscreet slip to add the words \"as far as he could see.\" It implied\na caution on his part which did not say much for the confidence he\nought to have felt in his wife's opinion, and went merely to\ncorroborate her praises of his personal appearance.\n\n\"As far as you can see,' Bill! Well, indeed, that far you can find no\nfault at all, at all; that's shure an' sartin. Where would you find\nthe likes iv him, as far as that same goes, William Wilson?--not in\nArmagh, let me tell you. I ax you did you {207} ever see a finer head\niv hair, or a finer pair iv ejes in a man's head, or a handsomer nose,\nor a purtier mouth? An' the whiskers, Bill!--ah, them's the dark\nwhiskers from Slieve-dhu; none of your moss-colored whiskers that you\nsee about here, Bill. Look at the hoith iv him!  He's no leprahaun,\nBill Wilson; an' I say if you go out an' walk the town for three\nhours, you'll not meet the likes iv him till you come back again to\nwhere he is himself'.\"\n\n\"Faix, an' I won't try that, Mary, for I believe every word you're\nafther sayin'. But, shure, I didn't mane to make Little of the young\nman at all.\"\n\n\"You said 'as far as you could see,' Bill; an' shure we all know how\nfar that is. But amn't I tellin' you what is beyant your sight,--what\nhe is to the backbone, for larnin', an' everythin' that's good, manly,\nan' honest? There now, Bill, I hope you don't misdoubt me,--'as far as\nyou can see,' indeed!\"\n\n\"Well, Mary, I meant nothing against him by that; indeed I believe,\nand I am shure, he's as good as he's handsome. But I must go out now\nto the workshop to look after the men. Let me know when he comes\nback.\"\n\nTom was not so long away as he had intended. The person whom he went\nto look for was not at home, and he returned to his aunt at once. He\nhad not many acquaintances in Armagh, and they were such as might be\nbetter pleased with a visit _after dark_ than so early in the day.\n\nBefore \"the dinner\" was prepared, Tom had another chat with his aunt,\nand, as a matter of course, she could not altogether avoid the subject\nof Winny Cavana. She had been given to understand by her brother that\na successful courtship was carrying on between Tom and her. But the\nhumor in which Tom had received her first quizzing upon the subject at\nonce told that intelligent lady of the \"loose screw\" on some side of\nthe question. Upon so important a matter, a married woman, and own\naunt to such a fine young man, one of the parties concerned, Mrs.\nWilson could not permit herself to remain ignorant. Her direct\nquestions in the first instance, and her dexterous cross-examination\nafterward, showed Tom the folly of hoping to evade a full confession\nof his having been refused; and it may be believed that he set forth\nin no small degree how ill-treated he had been by the said Winny\nCavana _and_ her father.\n\nHis aunt consoled him, so far as she could, with hopes that matters\nmight not be so bad as he apprehended; reminding him at the same time\nof the extent of the sea, and the number of good fishes which must\nstill be in it uncaught. That shrewd woman could also perceive, from\nTom's manner, under his confession, as well as his first ill-humor,\nthat the loss of Winny Cavana's fortune, and the reversion of her fat\nfarm, were more matters of regret to him than the loss of herself.\n\n\"And why not?\" she thought, under the impression of Winny's\nill-treatment of such a fine han'som' young fellow as her nephew.\n\"Shure, couldn't he have his pick an' choice of any girl in that, or\nin any other parish; ay, or among her acquaintances in Armagh, for\nthat matter? But as for young Lennon! she was sartin shure Winny\ncouldn't be such a born idgiot as to make much of the likes of him\nwhere Tom was to the fore.\"\n\nShe thus encouraged her nephew, taking much the same view of his case\nas old Mick had done, and giving him pretty much the same advice--\n\"not to dhraw back at all, but to persavare an' get a hoult in her by\nhook or by crook, an' thrust to a reconciliation aftherwards. He might\ntake her word for it, it was more make b'lief than anything else.\nDon't give it up, Tom; them sort of girls like persavarince; I know I\ndid, a wochal, in my time. What's on her mind is, {208} that it's\nafther her money you are, an' Not hersel'.\"\n\n\"The devil a much she's out there, aunt; but I wish I could make her\nthink otherwise.\"\n\n\"Lissen here, Tom; 'a council's no command,' they say, an' my advice\nis this. Let on when you go back that you could get an illigant fine\ngirl in Armagh wid twiste her fortune; but that nothing would tempt\nyou to forsake your own little girl at home, that was a piece iv your\nheart since ye were both the hoith of a creepeen; do you see? an' I'll\nback you up in it. Tell her she may bestow her fortune upon Kate\nMulvey or any one she likes; that herself is all you want. You know\nshe won't do that when it comes to the point.\"\n\n\"Not a bad plan, aunt. But sure I should let on to my father, and to\nevery one in the neighborhood; and they'll be asking me who she is,\nand about her father and her mother, and all about her; and I should\nhave answers ready, if I mean the thing to look like the truth.\"\n\n\"An' won't I give you all that as pat as A, B, C? Don't I know the\nvery girl that'll answer to a T, Tom?\"\n\n\"Why then, aunt dear, mightn't you bring me across her in earnest?\"\n\n\"Faix, an' I could not, Tom, for a very good reason--that I'm not\nacquainted wid her, except to see her sometimes; an' I know her name,\nan' who she is, an' her father's name, an' how he med his money.\nThey're as proud as paycocks, I can tell you; an nayther the wan nor\nthe other would look the same side iv the street wid the likes iv us,\nTom; but they don't know that at Rathcash; an' shure, if Winny thries\nto find out about them, she'll find that you're tellin' the truth as\nfar as the names an' money goes, an  I'll let on to be as thick as two\npickpockets wid them.\"\n\nTom was silent. The closing words of his aunt's speech made him wish\nthat he could pick some of their pockets of about a hundred pounds.\n\nThe plan, however, seemed a good one, and had the effect of putting\nTom Murdock into good humor; and when Bill Wilson joined them at\ndinner Tom was so agreeable and chatty, that Bill thought his wife,\nalthough she was Tom's aunt, had not said a word too much for him; and\nhe regretted more than ever that he had used the words \"so far as he\ncould see.\" He anticipated--nay, he dreaded--that they would be\nbrought up to him again that night with greater force than ever.\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nThe most part of ready cash, whatever the sum may have been, which Tom\nhad received at the bank, having been, as he called it, \"swallowed up\nby them cormorants, the attorneys,\" he had, after all, but a trifling\nbalance in his pocket. He was determined, therefore, to live quietly\nfor some time at his aunt's upon \"the lashins and lavins,\" taking her\nadvice, and arranging with her his plan of operations upon his return\nto Rathcashmore. And his aunt's advice, in a prudent and worldly point\nof view, was not to be controverted, if anything could tend toward the\nattainment of his object; that was the question.\n\nIt was impossible, however, that Tom could rest altogether satisfied\nwith the company of his aunt and her husband, and three or four\nchildren between ten and seventeen years of age;  particularly as the\neldest of his cousins was a long-necked boy with big, stuck-out ears,\nwho worked in his father's shop, instead of a graceful girl with dark\nhair and fine eyes, whose domestic duties must keep her in the house\nas her mother's assistant, or perhaps enable her, when she could be\nspared, to guide him through the principal parts of the town, of which\nhe would have feigned the most profound ignorance. But the eldest\nchild just past seventeen, as we have seen. {209} happened to be a\nboy, not a girl, and Tom did not consider this the best arrangement\nthat could be wished. In consequence, he sometimes spent an evening\nfrom home, with one or other, or perhaps with all the congenial\nspirits with whom, as a _delegate_--for the truth may be\nconfessed--from another county, he could claim brotherhood. On this\noccasion, however, he was not on official business in Armagh; and\nwhatever intercourse took place between them was of a purely social\nnature.\n\nTom was not altogether such a _mauvais sujet_ as perhaps the reader\nhas set him down in his own mind to be, from the inuendos which have\nbeen thrown out respecting him, as well as the actual portions of his\ncharacter which have made themselves manifest. It must be\nconfessed--nay, I believe it has been admitted not many lines\nabove--that he was a Ribbonman; and although that includes all that is\nmurderous and wicked, when a necessity arises, yet in the absence of\nsuch necessity a Ribbonman may not be altogether void of certain good\npoints in his character. It is the frightful _obligation_ which he\n_labors_ under that makes a villain of him, should circumstances\nrequire the aid of his iniquity. Apart from this, and from what is\ntermed an agrarian grievance, a Ribbonman may not be a bad family-man,\nalthough the training he undergoes in \"The Lodge\" is ill calculated to\nnourish his domestic sympathies.\n\nTom had now been upward of a month enjoying the hospitality of his\naunt; and notwithstanding that she had done all in her power to\nentertain him, and \"make much\" of him, he was beginning to tire of the\neternal smoke and flags, and stacks of chimneys, which were always the\nsame to the eye: no bright \"blast of sun,\" no sudden dark cloud, made\nany difference in them; there they were, always the same dark color,\nno matter what light shone upon them. No wonder, then, Tom Murdock\nbegan once more to long for the fresh breeze that blew about the wild\nhills of Rathcashmore, the green fields of his father's farm, and the\npurple heather of Slieve-dhu, with the white rocks of Slieve-bawn by\nher side.\n\nAbsence too had done more really to touch Tom's heart with respect to\nWinny Cavana than to wean him from the \"saucy slut,\" as he had called\nher in pique on his departure. He had \"come across,\"--this is the\nIrish mode of expressing, \"had been introduced,\"--through his aunt's\nassistance, several of what she called illigant fine girls, nieces of\nher husband's and others, and his heart confessed that none of them\n\"were a patch\" upon Winny Cavana, after all. He thus became fidgety,\nand began to speak of returning home. Of course the aunt opposed her\nhospitality to such a step, for the present at least: \"Just as we were\nbeginning to enjoy you, Tom avic,\" said she; and of course her husband\nmade a show of joining her, although he knew there had been more beer\ndrunk in the house in the last month than in the six preceding ones;\nneither did the cold meat turn out to half the account. He knew this\nby his pocket, not by his knowledge of the cookery. Tom, however, made\nno promise of further sojourn than \"to put the following Sunday over\nhim,\" and it was now Thursday. But the next morning's post hurried\nmatters. It brought him a letter from his father, which prevented his\naunt from pressing his stay beyond the following day, when it was\nfinally settled by Tom that he would start for home. \"It ran thus,\" as\nis the common mode of introducing a letter in a novel or story:\n\n\"DEAR TOM,--This comes to you hoppin' to find you in good health,\nwhich I am sorry to say it does not lave me at present; but thank God\nfor all his mercies. I was very lonesum entirely afther you left me;\nan the more, dear Tom, as I had not my ould neighbor Ned Cavana to\nspake to, as used to be the case afore that {210} young chisel of a\ndaughter of his cam round him to brake wid us. She's there still,\nseemingly as proud as ever; but she'll be taken down a peg wan of\nthese days, mark my words. I have wan piece of good news for you, Tom\navic; an' that is, that young Lennon never darkened their doore since\nyou went; and more be token, she never spoke a word to him on Sunda's\nafter mass, but went straight home with her father from the chapel.\nThis I seen myself; for although I have been very daunny since you\nleft me, I med bowld wid myself not to lose prayers any Sunda' wet or\ndhry, for no other purpose but to watch herself an' that chap. So,\ndear Tom, you needn't be afeared of him. I think, indeed; I seen him\ngoing down the road the three Sunda's wid Kate Mulvey; so I think\nWinny tould the truth to her father about him. Dear Tom, I have not\nbeen well at all at all for the last three weeks, an' I am not able to\nbe out all day as I used to be, an' I hardly know how matthers are\ngoin' on upon the farm. I see old Ned a'most every day from the doore\nor the garden, where I sometimes go out when it's fine; I see him\nwandherin' about his farm as brisk an' as hard as ever. I think\nnothin' would give that man a brash. Dear Tom, I did not like writin'\nto you to say I was lonesum or unwell until you had taken a turn out\nof yourself at your aunt's; but I am not gettin' betther, an' I think\nthe sight iv you would do me good. Tell your aunt to let you cum home\nto me now. Indeed, dear Tom, I'm too long alone; an' havin' no wan to\nspake to makes me fret, though I wouldn't interfere wid you for a\nwhile afther you went. If ould Ned Cavana was the man I tuck him to\nbe, he wouldn't let the few words that cum betune us keep him away\nfrom me all this time, an' I not well; but he never put to me, nor\nfrom me, since you left, nor I to him. Dear Tom, cum back to me as\nsoon as you can, an' maybe we'll get the betther of him an' Winny,\nafther all. Hopin' your aunt, an' the childer, an' Bill himself, is\nall in good health, I remain your father till death,\n     \"Michael Murdock.\"\n\nTom, as I have hinted, was not without his good points, and, as he\nread over the above letter from his poor lonely father, his heart\nsmote him for having been so long away, and where, to tell the truth\nto himself, he had no great fun or pleasure. His conscience, moreover,\naccused him of one glaring act of ingratitude and villany, he might\ncall it, toward the poor old man. There was something tender and\nself-sacrificing in the letter, yet it was not without a complaining\ntone all through, that brought all Tom's better feelings uppermost in\nhis heart; and he resolved to start for home early the next morning.\nHe now felt that he had business at home, which at one time he had\nnever contemplated taking the smallest trouble about, beside keeping\nhis poor old father better company than he had hitherto done. Yet,\nwith all this softening of his disposition, he was never more\ndetermined to carry out his object with respect to Winny Cavana, by\nfair means---or by _foul!_\n\nWhat his father had said about young Lennon gave him hopes that, in\nthe end, a scheme which he had planned for the latter might not be\n_necessary_.\n\nTom knew there could be no use in writing to his father to say he\nwould so soon be home with him. The nearest post-town was seven miles\nfrom Rathcashmore; and although any person \"going in had orders\" to\ncall at the post-office, and bring out all letters for the neighbors\nof both the Rathcashes, yet were he to write now, his letter was sure\nto lie there for some days, and he would undoubtedly be home before\nits receipt. Thus he argued, and therefore endeavored to content\nhimself with the resolution he had formed to make no delay; and\nwhatever \"his traps\" may have been, they were got together and locked\nin his box at once.\n\n{211}\n\nHe had engaged to meet a _particular friend_ on the following evening,\nFriday, partly on _business_ previous to returning to _his own part_\nthe country. But he would now anticipate this visit by going there at\nonce, so as to enable him to leave for home early next morning. He\nhoped to find his father better than his letter might lead him to\nsuppose; and he had no doubt his presence and society, which he was\ndetermined should be more constant and sympathizing than heretofore,\nwould serve to cheer him.\n\nNothing, then, which his aunt could say, and certainly nothing which\nher husband had added to what she did say, had any effect toward\naltering Tom's resolution to start for home on the following morning.\nBy this means he hoped to reach his father on the evening of the\nsecond day,--railways had not been then established in any part of\nIreland, not even the Dublin and Kingstown line,--and he would save\nthe poor old man from the lonesome necessity of going to church on\nSunday, \"be it wet or dry.\"\n\nHe carried out his determination without check or hindrance, and\narrived at the end of the lane leading up to Rathcashmore house soon\nafter dusk in the evening of Saturday. He travelled by car from C--k;\nand the horse being neither too spirited, nor too _fresh_, after his\njourney, stood quietly on the road, with his head down, and his off\nfore-leg in the \"first position,\" until the driver returned, having\nleft Tom Murdock's box above at the house.\n\nThe meeting between old Mick and his son was as tender and\naffectionate on the old man's part as could well be, and as much so on\nTom's as could well be expected. Old Mick had some secret\nanticipations--presentiment, perhaps, I should have called it--that\nthey would never part again in this world, until they parted for the\nlast time. Daily he felt an increasing weakness of limb, weariness of\nmind, which whispered to his heart that that parting was not far\ndistant. His son's arrival, however, had the effect which he had\npromised to himself. He seemed to improve both in spirits and in\nhealth. If he had not thrown away the stick,--which the reader was\nforewarned he would adopt,--he made more use of it cutting at the\n_kippeens_, and whatever else came in his way, than as a help to his\nprogress.\n\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED.]\n\n------\n\nFrom The St. James' Magazine.\n\nTHE INVENTOR OF THE STEAM-ENGINE.\n\n\nIn 1828 the learned Arago, a Frenchman, published a remarkable work on\nthe history of the steam-engine. It contains much information that had\nhitherto been little known on the scientific labor and discoveries of\nSalomon de Caus. He cites the work of the latter, entitled \"_Les\nRaisons des Forces Mouvantes_,\" which was first published at Frankfort\nin 1615, and reprinted at Paris in 1624; and M. Arago draws from it\nthe conclusion that Salomon de Caus was the original inventor of the\nsteam-engine.\n\nSix years after this notice of the life and labor of the French\nengineer, there appeared in \"_Le Mus\u00e9e des Familles_\" a letter from\nMarion Delorme, supposed to have been written on the 3d of February,\n1641, to her lover Cinq-Mars, in which she tells him that she is doing\nthe honors of Paris to an English lord, the Marquis of Worcester, and\nshowing him all {212} the curiosities of that city. She goes on to say\nthat among other institutions she had taken milord to Bic\u00eatre, where a\nmadman was confined for insisting on a wonderful discovery he had made\non the application of steam from boiling water; that the\nsuperintendent of the asylum had shown a book to the marquis written\non the subject by this lunatic; and that after reading a few pages the\nEnglish nobleman begged for an interview with Salomon de Caus, from\nwhich he returned in a grave and pensive mood, declaring that this man\nwas one of the greatest geniuses of his age.\n\nSuch is the substance of the letter of Marion Delorme; and the editor\nof \"_Le Mus\u00e9e des Familles_\" adds that the Marquis of Worcester\nappropriated the discovery to himself, and recorded it in his work\nentitled \"Century of Inventions,\" thus causing himself to be looked\nupon by his countrymen as the inventor of the steam-engine.\n\nThe anecdote became very popular, and was copied into standard works,\nrepresented in engravings, etc., etc. At length some incredulous\nauthors examined more closely into the matter, and found that not only\nhad Salomon de Caus never been confined in a lunatic asylum, but that\nhe had held the appointment of engineer and architect to Louis XIII.\nup to his death in 1630, while Marion Delorme is asserted to have\nvisited Bic\u00eatre in 1641!\n\nOn tracing this mystification to its source, we find that M. Henri\nBerthoud, a literary man of some repute, and a constant contributor to\n\"_Le Mus\u00e9e des Familles_,\" confesses that the letter imputed to Marion\nDelorme was in fact written by himself!\n\nBut the most curious part of the story is that the world refused to\nbelieve in M. Berthoud's confession, so great a hold had the anecdote\ntaken on the public mind; and a Paris newspaper went so far even as to\ndeclare that the original autograph of this letter was to be seen in a\nlibrary in Normandy, in which province Salomon de Caus was born. M.\nBerthoud wrote again denying its existence, and offered a million to\nany one who would produce the letter. From that time the affair was no\nmore spoken of, and Salomon de Caus was allowed to remain in\nundisputed possession of his fame, as having been the first to point\nout the use of steam in his work, \"_Les Raisons des Forces\nMouvantes_.\" He had previously been employed as engineer to Henry,\nPrince of Wales, son of James I., and he published a volume in folio,\nin London, \"_La perspective avec les Raisons des Ombres et Miroirs_.\"\n\nIn his dedication of another work to the queen of England, 15th of\nSeptember, 1614, we find some allusion made to the construction of\nhydraulic machines. On his return to France he, as before said, was\nappointed engineer to Louis XIII., and was doubtless patronized by\nCardinal Richelieu, that great promoter of the arts and letters.\n\nThe writings of Salomon de Caus were held in much estimation among\nlearned men during the whole of the seventeenth century. He had,\nhowever, been anticipated in the discovery of steam for the propelling\nof large bodies, for on the 17th of April, 1543, the Spaniard, Don\nBlasco de Garay, launched a steam-vessel at Barcelona, in presence of\nthe Emperor Charles V. It was an old ship of 200 tons, called the\n_Santissima Trinidad_, which had been fitted up for the experiment,\nand which moved at the rate of ten miles an hour.\n\nThe inventor of this first steamer was merely looked upon as an\nenthusiast, whose imagination had run mad; and his only encouragement\nwas a donation of 200,000 maravedis from his sovereign, but the\nemperor no more dreamt of using the discovery than did Napoleon I.,\nthree centuries later, when the ingenious Fulton suggested to him the\napplication of steam to navigation. It is well known that Fulton was\nnot even permitted to make an essay of this new {213} propelling force\nbefore the French emperor. So then, we must date the fact of the\nintroduction of steam navigation as far back as 1543; anterior to the\ndiscovery of Salomon de Caus in 1615; to the Marquis of Worcester in\n1663; to Captain Savary in 1693; to Dr. Papin in 1696; and to Fulton\nand others, who all lay claim to the original idea.\n\nBut perhaps we may be wrong in denying originality to these men, for\nwe have no proof that either of them had any knowledge of the\ndiscoveries of his predecessor.\n\nIt was only on the 18th of March, 1816, that the first steam-vessel\nappeared in France, making her entrance into the seaport of Havre; she\nwas the _Eliza_, which had left Newhaven, in England, on the previous\nday.\n\n------\nFrom The Fortnightly Review.\n\nTHE CLOUDS AND THE POOR.\n\n\nNo one can write upon the clouds without some reference to Mr.\nRuskin's labors. Few will forget the four chapters in the first volume\nof \"Modern Painters,\" dealing first with men's apathy for those forms\nof beauty which daily flit around us, and ending with the magnificent\ncontrast between Turner and Claude, showing with what difference they\nhad rendered the calm of the mist and the shock of the tempest, the\ncrimson of the dawn and the fire of sunset We are, indeed, all of us\ntoo apathetic, and the summer and the winter clouds are alike unheeded\nby us. And yet our grey English clouds have impressed themselves upon\neven our language and our daily speech. Our word \"sky\" has nothing in\ncommon with the _ciel_ of the French and the _cielo_ of the Italians,\nwhich through the Latin _coelum_ refer to the clear blue chasm of the\nair. Our \"sky\" is connected with the Old-English _seua_, and literally\nmeans \"the place of shadows.\" Our \"welkin\" is connected with _wolcen_,\n\"a cloud,\" and is derived from a root which points to the incessant,\nrolling, billowy motion of the clouds.\n\nBut if we have failed to notice the clouds and their beauty, others\nhave not failed. Men, seeing their power, feeling their blessings,\nhave worshipped them. Upon them our Scandinavian ancestors built their\ncreeds, and from them created their gods and goddesses. The beauty and\nthe delicacy of the early Aryan mythology is interwoven with the\nstorm-cloud, which alike inspires the story of the Odyssey and solves\nthe mystery of OEdipus. Mr. Ruskin has already quoted from\nAristophanes. We could wish that he had supplemented the Athenian\npoet, who gives merely the latter sensuous mythological view of the\nclouds, with passages from the fathers, who so deeply penetrated into\nboth their beauty and their moral aspect. With them the clouds appear\nno longer puissant goddesses, daughters of Father Ocean, thronging in\ntroops from Maeotis and Mimas, their golden pitchers filled with the\nwaters of the Nile. Their fleecy forms told them of him who \"giveth\nsnow like wool, and scattereth the hoar frost like ashes,\" of him who\n\"maketh the clouds his chariots, and rideth on the wings of the wind.\"\nThey could not feel the whirlwind's blast without remembering that it\nhad borne Elijah heavenward, nor hear the thunder without remembering\nthe thunder and lightning which clothed God on Sinai, {214} nor watch\nthe evening rack without remembering that the clouds, such perhaps as\nthey were gazing at, had received their Master out of his disciples'\nsight, and that again from them he should descend at his second\ncoming. In these days of atmospheric laws, of measurements of\nrainfalls, and weather forecasts, we cannot by the utmost effort of\nthe imagination place ourselves in their position. To them, as to the\nfirst Christians, heaven was directly above their heads, divided from\nthe earth only by the screen of clouds. They must have regarded those\nwhite ethereal shadows, those dark rolling masses, in much the same\nway as the early sacred painters,--peopled each flake with cherubs and\nangels, and heard the air rustle with wings.\n\nBe this as it may. Even if religion inspired them with such thoughts,\nthey certainly were not insensible to the beauty which daily blossoms\nin the sky. \"There is,\" cries St. Chrysostom, \"a meadow on the earth\nand a meadow, too, in the sky. There are the various flowers of the\nstars, the rose below, the rainbow above.\"  [Footnote 31] \"Look up to\nheaven,\" he says, \"and see how much more beautiful it is than the roof\nof palaces. The pavement of the palace above is much more grand than\nthe roof below.\"  [Footnote 32] His writings are full of metaphors\ndrawn from the sky and the clouds. He speaks of \"snow-storms of\nmiracles,\" and \"thick-falling showers of cares,\" and cries, \"When God\ndoth comfort, though sorrows come upon thee by thousands like\nsnow-flakes, thou shalt be above them all.\" He reproaches men for\nlooking down like swine to the earth, and not up to the sky,\n[Footnote 33] which he declares is the fairest of roofs, guiding them\nby its beauty to their Maker.  [Footnote 34] And filled with that\ndemocratic spirit which so burns in all his writings, he cries to the\npoor man, \"Seest thou this heaven here, how beautiful, how vast it is,\nhow it is placed on high? This beauty the rich man enjoyeth not more\nthan thou, nor is it in his power to thrust thee aside, and make it\nall his own; for as it was made for him, so it was, too, for thee. . .\n. . . Do not all enjoy it equally--rich and poor? . . . . . Yea,\nrather, if I must speak somewhat marvellously, we poor enjoy it more\nthan they. . . . . The poor more than any enjoy the luxury of the\nelements.\"   [Footnote 35]\n\n  [Footnote 31: \"Homilies on the Statues.\" The Oxford Translation.]\n\n  [Footnote 32: \"Homilies on 1 Thessalonians iv. 12.\" ]\n\n  [Footnote 33:  \"Homilles on St. Matthew.\" Part II. ]\n\n  [Footnote 34: \"Homilles on St. John.\" Part II.]\n\n  [Footnote 35: \"Homilles on 2 Corinthians.\" ]\n\nThe passage is full of the deepest interest. Mr. Ruskin has shown us\nwith what mixed feelings the Greeks loved the clouds, and how the\nmediaevalist feared them. It would be well to know how they have been\nand are still viewed in England by the lower classes. For, as we\nbefore said, the upper classes care little about the clouds. The\n[Greek text] (changeful days) of England pass by unnoticed, except to\nfill up a gap in a conversation. St. Swithin is our national saint,\nbut we are not enthusiastic devotees. Only when a picnic or a cricket\nmatch is involved do we trouble ourselves about the clouds. Then the\nbarometer is studied, and the weathercock becomes an object of\ninterest. In short, only when our pleasures are at stake do we care\nwhether the day is wet or fine. On the other hand, life with the poor,\nman depends on the weather. Three continuous wet days in London throw\nno less than twenty thousand people out of employment. Fine weather is\nthe poor man's bread-winner, his comforter, his physician. He may\ntherefore be pardoned if, with Ulysses, he in the first place regards\nit from an economical point of view. Thus the laborers in the north\nmidland counties speak of showery weather as \"rich weather,\"--that\nis, not only enriching the crops, but themselves. On the contrary, as\nproducing a different effect on their calling, the sailors on the\nnorth-east {215} coast speak of such weather as \"shabby weather,\" and\ncall rain--useless to them--\"dirt.\" This indeed must be the case. In\nthe lowest as in the earliest stages of society, this utilitarian\nspirit--not necessarily base, but co-existent with even a passionate\nlove of beauty--must prevail. The laborer whose day's wage depends on\nthe clouds, and the fisherman whose meal rests with the winds, will\nnaturally first think of them as subservient to the needs of life.\nBadly clothed, and ill-fed, they cannot possibly appreciate Mr.\nKingsley's admiration of the east wind. The fisherman only knows it as\nproducing a dearth of fish. To the midland peasant it is his \"red\nwind,\"--just as Virgil spoke of _nigerrimus Auster_, and as the Greeks\ncalled the north wind \"the black wind,\" still the _bise_ of the\nMediterranean. In the east of England the nightingale is not the bird\nof song, not Ben Jonson's \"dear good angel of the spring,\" but the\n\"barley-bird,\" because it arrives when the barley is sown. For, on the\nwhole, barley is more important to the peasant than song, and\ntherefore the bird is thus called. Nevertheless the song may be highly\nprized, but it is still secondary. Thus we stumble upon a curious\nexplanation of the utilitarian spirit observed in Homer and the\nearliest painters. And the terms of our country-people throw a plain\nlight upon the Homeric epithets \"fruitful\" ([Greek text]), and \"loamy\"\n([Greek text]), applied to the earth; and the phrases of our fishermen\ncuriously illustrate the terms \"barren\" ([Greek text]), and \"teeming\nwith fish\" ([Greek text]), as applied to the sea. Society in the same\nor parallel stage ever gives the same utterance.\n\nThe reality, too, of the elements, as Lear and Jacques would say,\ntouches the poor to the quick. Hence in the north they simply call\nrain \"waters,\" just in the same way as the Greeks used [Greek text]\nwhilst in the midland counties they nearly as often say \"it is\nwetting\" as \"it is raining.\" Their proverbs, too, smack of the\nfierceness of men who have struggled with the storm. So the Anglian\ncountryman sings of the first three days of March,\n\n  \"First comes David, then comes Chad.\n  Then comes Winnol blowing like mad.\"\n\nTheir vocabulary, too, teems with words expressive of every shade and\nvariety of weather. Our skies and clouds have entered far more into\nthe composition of popular phrases than we are commonly aware. Such\ntrivial expressions as \"being under a cloud,\" \"laying up for a rainy\nday,\" unconsciously reflect the character of our weather. Its power\novershadows even the altar and the grave in the common rhyme:\n\n  \"Happy the bride whom the sun shines on.\n  Happy the dead whom the rain rains on.\"\n\nAnd the rhyme at one time really exercised a spell. You find it used\nby lovers amongst our Elizabethan dramatists, who so faithfully\nreflected the spirit of the day. Thus, in Webster's _Duchess of\nMalfy_, Ferdinand cries to the duchess about her lover:\n\n                \"Let not the sun\n  Shine on him till he's dead.\"\n            _Act iii. Sc._ 2\n\nBut the poor possess an abundance of such expressions. And as life is\nreal to them, so their sayings are quickened with reality. Thus, \"to\nbe born in a frost\" is in Yorkshire an euphemism for being foolish. In\nthe same county, \"to obtain anything under the wind\" means to obtain\nit secretly. In Norfolk the ploughman says \"there is a good steward\nwhen the wind-frost blows.\" Just consider, too, the richness of their\nvocabulary of weather-terms, and the observation which it implies.\nTake Yorkshire alone, and there we shall find \"dag,\" \"douk,\" \"pell,\"\n\"pelse,\" \"rouk,\" \"rag,\" \"sops,\" all standing for different kinds and\ndegrees of rain and showers. There the white winter-mist is the \"hag\"\nthe hoar-frost the \"rind,\" the snow-flakes \"clarts of snow,\" and the\nsummer heat-mist the \"gossamer,\" as Wedgwood {216} notices, the\n_Marien f\u00e4den_ of Germany. Go into the eastern counties, and the\ndialect is as rich. The sea-mist is the \"sea-fret\" and the \"sea-roke.\"\nThe heavy rain, which soaks into the earth, is the \"ground-rain.\" The\nlight rain is the \"smur\" in Suffolk, the \"brange\" in Essex, and the\n\"dag\" in Norfolk, from which last word the various corruptions\n\"water-dogs\" and \"sun-dogs\" are formed.\n\nPassing, however, from words, let us note a few of the weather-rhymes\nand weather-proverbs which show what accurate observers necessity has\nmade our peasants. There is not a village where the local phenomena of\nmists and clouds are not preserved in some rhyme. From Cumberland to\nDevonshire the land echoes with these weather-saws. In the former\ncounty we have--\n\n  \"If Skiddaw hath a cap,\n  Criffel wots full well of that.\"\n\nIn the latter, the rhyme--this time really a rhyme--runs:\n\n  \"When Haldon wears a hat,\n  Let Kenton beware of a skat.\"\n\nThe Warwickshire and Worcestershire peasants in the Vale of Evesham\nrepeat a similar couplet about their own Bredon, and the\nLeicestershire and Lincolnshire churls about their Belvoir.\nWeather-rhymes lie treasured up throughout the midland counties about\n\n  \"The green-blue mackerel sky,\n  Never holds three days dry;\"\n\nin the northern counties about \"mony haws, mony snaws,\" and in the\neastern of the \"near bur, rain fur.\"' In England we, too, can rhyme\nabout _la journ\u00e9e du p\u00e8lerin_. For centuries the village poet has sung\nof \"mare's tails\" and \"hen-scrattins,\" and the great \"Noah's Ark\ncloud,\" and the \"weather-head,\" of the changes of the moon, how\n\n  \"Saturday change, and Sunday full,\n  Never did good, nor never wull.\"\n\nFor the peasant in his rude fashion is a meteorologist and has studied\nthe ways of the clouds, \"water wagons,\" as in some counties he calls\nthem. From him Aratus might have filled another _Diosemeia_, and\nVirgil improved his first Greorgic. Our Elizabethan dramatists have\nborrowed some of their most life-like touches from the peasant's\nweather-lore. Thus Cunningham, in Beaumont and Fletcher's _Wit at\nSeveral Weapons_, says of wrangling:\n\n  \"It never comes but, like a storm of hail,\n   'Tis sure to bring fine weather in the tail on't.\"\n                  _Act. iii., Sc._ 1.\n\nAnd Webster, borrowing from the sailor, makes Silvio say of the\ncardinal that he\n\n  \"Lifts up hit nose like a fool porpoise before storm.\"\n    _Duchess of Malfy, Act, iii., Sc. 3._\n\nShakespeare borrows from both peasant and sailor. His finest\ndescriptions of cloud scenery, as we shall show, are based upon\npopular phrases. Two of his most beautiful similes illustrate the\nvillager's weather lore. Thus Lucrece is described:\n\n  \"And round about her tear-distrained eye.\n  Blue circles streamed like rainbows in the sky.\n  Those water-galls in her dim element,\n  Foretell new storms to those already spent.\"\n\nAnd again, in _All's Well that Ends Well_, the countess says to\nHelena:\n\n        \"What's the matter\n  That this distempered messenger of wet,\n  The many-colored Iris, rounds thine eye?\"\n        _Act. i., Sc. 3._\n\nAnd the peasant's rhymes and sayings undoubtedly contain some germs of\ntruth, or they could never have so long held their ground. Admiral\nFitzroy, in his \"Weather Book,\" has rightly given a collection of such\nsaws, though it might with advantage be greatly enlarged. Science has\nbefore now been forestalled by some bold guess of the vulgar. And\noften has some happy intuition outstripped the slow labor of the\ninductive process.\n\nBut with the English peasant a sense of the beautiful accompanies that\nof the useful. Living ever out of doors, he names his clouds after\nnatural objects. He thus gives a {217} reality to them which is\nunknown to scientific nomenclature. The \"lamb storms\" of Derbyshire,\nand the \"pewit storms\" in Yorkskire, significantly mark the time of\nyear when the lambs are yeaned in the cloughs, and the pewits return\nto the moors to breed. His symbolism is always true. The peasant in\nthe eastern counties talks of \"bulfinch skies\" to express the lovely\nwarm vermilion tints of sunset clouds. Tennyson's \"daffodil sky\" is\nnot truer, nor Homer's [Greek text] more poetical. In Devonshire the\npeasan has his \"lamb's-wool sky\" the _tenuia lanae vellera_ of Virgil.\nIn parts of the midland counties he has his \"sheep clouds\" the\n_sch\u00e4ffchen am himmel_ of the German, the same clouds which the\nNorfolk peasant boy has described with so perfect a touch:\n\n       \"Detached in ranges through the air,\n  Spotless as snow, and countless as they're fair.\n  Scattered immensely wide from east to west,\n  The beauteous semblance of a flock at rest.\"\n\nThe Derbyshire countryman knows the hard stratified masses of cloud\n(_cumulo-strati_) by the happy name of \"rock clouds\" and the great\nwhite rolling avalanches (_cumuli_) as \"snow packs\" and \"wool packs\"\nthe former being rounder than the latter, which lie in folds pressed\nand packed upon one another. Further living amongst hills and\nmountains, watching them, as Wordsworth says, \"grow\" at night,\nenlarging with the darkness, he finely calls the great hill at the\nentrance to Dovedale, Thorpe Cloud. He had seen it apparently shift\nand move with the changes of light and atmosphere, and he could only\nliken it to a cloud. Perhaps, even at times, some faint glimmering\nmight flit across his mind of the instability of the hills, and the\nrack to him thus became a symbol of the world's unsubstantial pageant.\n\nThe midland counties peasant, too, employs such old-world phrases as\nthe sun is \"wading\" when it is straggling through a heavy scud, and\nthe sun is \"sitting\" when her dark side is turned toward the earth.\nThe poets themselves may be in vain searched for a finer expression\nthan the first. The beginning of Sidney's sonnet, which Wordsworth has\nadopted,\n\n  \"With how sad steps,\n    O moon, thou climb'st the sky,\"\n\nand Milton's description,\n\n      \"As if her head she bow'd\n  Stooping through a fleecy cloud,\"\n\nare somewhat parallel. But the peasant's expression is equally fine.\nMost readers of \"Modern Painters\" will remember Mr. Ruskin's vivid\ndescription of what he so well calls the \"helmet cloud,\" which rests\non the peaks of mountains. But long before Mr. Ruskin wrote, the\nWestmoreland and Cumberland dalesman named the cloud that at times\nfloats round the tor of Cross Fell by the still better names \"helm\ncloud\" and \"helm bar.\"\n\nWe could indeed wish that Mr. Ruskin had more deeply studied peasant\nlife and peasant habits. The meaning of the clouds in Turner^s\n\"Salisbury\" and \"Stonehenge\" would have then been more thoroughly\nappreciated. Fine and poetical as is Mr. Ruskin's interpretation, yet\nwe venture to think that he misses the truth when, in this case, he\nrefers Turner's inspiration to Greek sources. To those who have lived\nnear the Plain, and have mixed with the shepherds, the meaning and the\nsymbolism come far nearer home, and more closely touch the heart.\nTurner was here no Greek, except as all men who love beauty are\nGreeks. Here he was, at all events, intensely English. Sprung like so\nmany great poets and painters from the lower class, he could\nsympathize with the shepherds of the Plain. To them, as to the\nshepherd in the \"Iliad,\" standing on the hill-top facing the sea,\nshepherding their flocks, far away from any village, on the vast\ntreeless down, the clouds become a constant source of fear or joy.\nTheir hearts gladden as the light white clouds roll up from the\nEnglish Channel, and then, as they say, \"purl round\" and retreat.\n{218} In spring and summer they joyfully hail the \"water dogs,\" the\n\"gossamer\" of the Yorkshire peasant, which herald the fine weather.\nThey, above all other English peasants, solitary on that wide plain,\nwatch with fear the \"sun-galls,\" Shakespeare's \"water-galls,\" as the\nbroken bits and patches of rainbows are called, hanging glorious, but\nwrathful, in the far horizon. They mark with dread \"the messengers\"\nand \"water streamers,\" and at night, too, anxiously note the amber\n\"wheel-cloud\" round the moon.\n\nWith all this, like a true poet, Turner sympathized. He entered into\nthe reality of shepherd life upon the Plain; its joys and its dangers.\nIn one picture, therefore, he has given us the rain-clouds showering\ntheir blessings upon man, and in the other revealed the dread\nfatalistic power that ever darkens the background of life.\n\nBut we must leave the peasant, and turn to the fisherman. More even\nthan the peasant, he naturally regards the weather in its effects upon\nhis calling. The rain with him--we are speaking more especially now of\nthe North Country fisherman--is \"dirt,\" and a rainy sky a \"dirty sky.\"\nThe \"water-galls\" of the Salisbury shepherd, from which Shakespeare\ntook those most exquisite similes, have with him lost their beauty,\nand are changed into \"sea-devils,\" evil prophets of tempest. The\nflying clouds, that herald the storm, are with him \"the flying devil\nand his imps.\" He realizes the danger, and therefore christens the\nclouds with rough names.\n\nHe too, like the peasant, is learned in weather-lore, and keeps an\nalmanac of weather-rhymes in his memory. In such fishing villages as\nStaithes and Runswick, on the north-east Yorkshire coast, a large\ncollection might easily be formed. They partake of the roughness and\nthe truthfulness of the inhabitants. Such jingles as:\n\n  \"When wind comes before rain\n  Then let your topsails remain:\n  But if the wind follows rain.\n  Then you may close reef again,\"\n\nare certainly more accurate in sense than rhythm. Again, the couplet:\n\n  \"When the sun crosses line, and wind's in the east.\n  It will hand (hold) that way meast, first quarter at least,\"\n\ncontains a warning not always to be despised. The riddle of the\n\"brough,\" that amber halo of clouds seen sometimes round the moon,\nwhich the shepherds of Salisbury Plain call \"the wheel,\" and the\nmidland peasants \"the burr,\" is solved by the rhyming adage:\n\n  \"A far off brough\n  Means a near hand rough.\"\n\nBut we must not be too critical, and demand both sense and rhythm. It\nis something if in poetry we obtain truth. At all events, the\nYorkshire fishermen's rhymes are quite as good as a great many of\nthose in which Apollo formerly conveyed his prophecies to mankind. And\nwe think that Admiral Fitzroy might have profitably added some of them\nto his collection.\n\nMany a time have we seen at some little fishing village the fishermen\nall detained by some \"breeder,\" or \"flyer,\" whose meaning their eyes\nalone could read. If the threatened storm has not visited the coast,\nyet the heavy sea tumbling in without a breath of air has shown that\nthe gale has broken not far distant. Still mistakes arise. Life is\nconstantly sacrificed. But the glory and the pride of science is,\nthat, whilst serving the sublimest ends, it still helps the humblest.\nWe may be unable to control the elements. But we shall triumph over\nthe law by obeying the law. The day will come when the notion of\nchance will be altogether eliminated, and the law by which the clouds\nare governed recognized. And in the blessings of science all men are\npartakers. Alike shall the fisherman steer his craft with a firmer\nfaith in the essential goodness of all things, and the hand of the\nartist gain strength and his eye see a {219} deeper beauty when each\nknows that the clouds are as regular in their movements as the stars.\n\nOf course men living by the sea, daily watching the clouds, life\nitself hanging upon a knowledge, however uncertain, of the meaning of\ntheir color and their shapes, have naturally named them in a rude\nfashion. Landsmen, who only now and then gaze at the clouds, are apt\nto regard them as ever changing. But not \"a wisp\" flies in the highest\nair, not \"a creeper\" rises out of the sea, whose shapes are not\nmoulded by a definite law. Day by day the same forms repeat themselves\nwith unceasing regularity. The clouds might be mapped out like the\nland and sea over which they fly. More than half a century has passed\nsince Howard first gave them names. After him Forster wrote, and like\nhim illustrated his theory with diagrams of the principal cloud-forms.\nAnd now Admiral Fitzroy has so improved upon their nomenclature, that\nthere is not a cloud that cannot be scientifically named and defined.\nBut our sailors and fishermen have long ago known these facts. Not a\nstray waif of film flecks the heavens which they have not christened.\nThey know all kinds and shapes, from the \"crow-nests,\" those tiny\nwhite spots (_cirriti_) dotting the sky, up to the glorious \"Queen\nAnne's feather,\" waving far away into the horizon its soft downy\nplume, rippled and barred by the wind.\n\nThus to take a few examples. The North Yorkshire fisherman has his\n\"dyer's neif,\" a small dark purple cloud, so called from its supposed\nresemblance to the black grained fist (neif) of a dyer. Some three\nthousand years ago, Elijah's servant, on Mount Carmel, cried that he\nsaw a little cloud rising out of the sea like a man's hand. And still\non the Yorkshire coast the fisherman utters the same language, and\nknows that cloud still as the forerunner of storm and rain. Quite as\nstriking, too, is the way in which his names of clouds throw a light\nupon Shakespeare. All readers will remember the passage between Hamlet\nand Polonins, ending with \"Very like a whale;\" a phrase which has\npassed into a proverb for anything very improbable. And no actor can\nutter it on the stage without producing a peal of laughter. Yet the\nproverb and the laughter are equally inappropriate. The names of the\nclouds in the passage are all real names. The \"dromedary cloud,\" or,\nas Shakespeare calls it, \"the camel cloud,\" is well known to sailors.\nIt is a species of cumulus, a white, packed, humped cloud, and when\nseen in the southern hemisphere is said to foretell heat; but, in the\nnorthern, cold. It is also called the \"hunchback cloud.\" \"See, there's\nthe hunchback; look at its pads,\" North Country fishermen will say.\nThe \"weasel-cloud\" also is known, though not so well, and is more\noften called \"the hog-cloud\" and the \"wind-bog,\" from its being the\nforerunner of wind. But the \"whale-cloud\" is as well known to sailors,\nespecially those employed in the Greenland trade, as the\n\"bridge-cloud,\" or \"feather-cloud,\" or any other well recognized form.\n\"We shall hae a bit o' a puff, lads. See that sea-devil; and yonder's\na regular finner to the norrard,\" have we heard North Sea captains\nsay. A \"finner,\" it should be explained, is a small whale. If ever\nthere was a realist, Shakespeare was. He drew direct from nature. But,\nlike a true artist, he knew how to mould and shape mere barren\nnaturalism by the vitalizing power of the imagination. In its white\nheat he fused all things. And so, noting the common names of clouds as\ndaily used in conversation by sailors and fishermen and seafaring\nfolk, he could rise from the satire of Hamlet to the high pathetic\npitch of Antony's speech:\n\n  \"Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish;\n  A vapor, sometime, like a bear or lion,\n  A towered citadel, a pendent rock,\n  A forked mountain, or blue promontory.\n  With trees upon't, that nod into the world,\n  And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast these signs;\n  They are black vesper's pageants.\n\n  _Eros._  Ay, my lord.\n\n  _Antony_.\n    That which is now a horse, even with a thought\n    The rack dislimns; and makes it indistinct\n    As water is in water.\n\n _Eros._  It does, my lord.\n\n  _Antony_.\n     My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is\n     Even such a body.\"\n\n  _Anthony and Cleopatra, Act iv, Sc._ 12.\n\n{220}\n\nHere the whole scene is colored by the imagination and ennobled by\nhuman pathos, such as no other man ever possessed. But the basis of\nthe thought is the simplest naturalism, such as other men had seen and\nobserved a thousand times before. The Flying Dragon is mentioned as\nfar back as the latter part of the sixteenth century by Hyll in his\n\"Contemplation of Mysteries,\" where the first rude ideas of weather\nforecasts may be found. The \"pendent rock\" and \"forked mountain\" are\nnothing more than the \"rock-clouds\" of the Derbyshire peasant,\nconcerning which a local rhyme runs:\n\n  \"When clouds appear like rocks and towers,\n  The earth's refreshed by fragrant showers.\"\n\nWe must not, however, lose sight of our North Country fisherman. If to\nhim the sky is at times black with terror, yet it is also splendid\nwith beauty. In fine weather it is his garden, the heavenly \"meadow,\"\nas St. Chrysostom would say, blossomed over with flakes and garlands\nof cloud-bloom, white and peach-colored. He has his names for them,\nhis \"crow buds,\" and his \"cherry flowers,\" and the great \"tree cloud\"\nwith its purple branches. It is, too, his fairyland full of loveliest\nshapes flying and wandering here and there, \"pigeons,\" as he calls\nthose white detached winged \"flyers,\" \"flying fish,\" \"streamers,\" and\npencilled \"plumes.\"\n\nThus far of the peasant and the sailor. They certainly more than any\none else recognize the terror and the beauty of cloud scenery. The\nwell-to-do man knows the clouds only as they affect his pleasures.\nLife is not dependent upon them, and he therefore misses that true\nenjoyment which springs from reality. On the whole, he thinks with the\nEpicurean that rain ought to fall by night, whilst his wife sighs for\nItaly and blue skies. But let us, on the contrary, love the grey\ncloud, and rather hold with that fine old skipper, who, after enduring\nsix months of unbroken weather in the Bay of Naples, cried out on\nseeing a cloud, \"Turn out, boys, turn out; here's weather as is\nweather; none of your everlasting blue sky.\" Let us rather love the\nstorm-rack that beats against our island. This it is that gives the\ncolor to the cheeks of our maidens; this that has moulded our\nfeatures, and deepened the lines of our faces, and hardened the\nnational character.\n\nLet us be thankful, with Mr. Raskin, that nowhere can the swiftness of\nthe rain-cloud be seen as in England, nowhere in such perfection as\namong the Derbyshire hills; nowhere the keenness of the storm be felt\nas on a Yorkshire wold.  [Footnote 36] But in these days even the\npower of the elements is threatened. We have seen in Derbyshire, when\nthe west wind blows, the cloughs filled, not with troops of clouds\ndashing slantwise up the valleys, but choked with dull rolling\nLancashire smoke; seen, under this canopy of fog, the snow on the\nEdges turn yellow and brown. One by one, too, the blast furnaces are\nburning up the Yorkshire moors. And instead of white wreaths of clouds\ncrowning the wolds, a pillar of fire lights them up by night, and a\ncloud of smoke darkens them by day.\n\n  [Footnote 36: \"Modern Painter,\" vol v., part vii., chap. iv., \u00a7 14.]\n\nLuckily the sea-coast still remains unpolluted. And if any one really\nwishes to study the clouds, let him go to the North Yorkshire and\nNorthumberland coasts in winter. Then will he understand something of\ntheir majesty and power; then will he see the true purple wind-tints,\nsee the sky a wilderness full of strange weird creatures--\"wild hogs,\"\nthose purple hump-backed clouds running one after another in a line,\nand the \"Flying Devil and his imps\" marshalling the storm, which is\nbanking up out of the German ocean; see, too, the \"Norway bishop\"\nrise--a man's figure clothed {221} in white, with outstretched arms,\nunder whose ban many a fisherman from Staithes and Runswick has sunk;\nsee the figure melt and disappear in a mist of sleet and snow and\nhail; and then, last of all, see \"the weather-gleam,\" when all objects\nloom against the one pale rift of sky, as ships loom in an east wind.\n\nThese sights have never been painted, and never can. Even Turner\ncannot give them. For who can give that which is the greatest pleasure\nin watching the clouds, the feeling of change? Yon cannot paint the\nmovement of the rack, as the vapor shifts from form to form, now a\nmountain, now a dragon, now a fish, each change answering to the\nchanges of the spirit. Only the poets can paint the clouds and their\nlessons--only Shelley and Shakespeare. But put away even Shakespeare\nhimself. Love them, study them from nature. And, as St. Chrysostom\nsays, the poor man, more than any one else, enjoys \"the luxury of the\nelements.\" The lawyer may hold _cujus solum ejus ad coelum_; but he\nwho most enjoys the clouds, as with all things else, is their real\npossessor. And the artist and the poor man, though they may not have a\nrood of ground to call their own, here reign over an empire.\n\n------\n\nTranslated from the German.\n\nMALINES AND W\u00dcRZBURG.\n\nA SKETCH OF THE CATHOLIC CONGRESSES HELD AT MALINES AND W\u00dcRZBURG.\n\nBY ANDREW NIEDERMASSER.\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nART.\n\nThe Catholic reunions, both in Belgium and in Germany, have taken a\nspecial interest in Christian art; for religion is at once the source\nand the end of true art. \"Religion,\" says Lasaulx, \"is the soul of\nevery useful measure, the vivifying principle in the life of nations,\nthe permanent basis of true philanthropy. In its infancy, as well as\nduring its most flourishing periods, at all times and among all\nnations, art has ever been the handmaid of religion. What is the last\nand highest aim of architecture? The erection of churches. How has\nsculpture won its noblest triumphs? In pagan antiquity, by\nrepresentations of the heathen deities; since the dawn of\nChristianity, by presenting to the admiration of the world statues of\nour Saviour and his saints. In like manner the noblest subjects of\npainting have been furnished by religion, and by history, both sacred\nand profane. And do we not meet with the same phenomenon in music and\nreligions poetry? Hence we may safely conclude that art is the\nbarometer of a nation's civilization, and above all of its religious\nstatus. A people animated with a lively faith will not hesitate to\nmanifest it outwardly, sparing neither trouble nor expense, and art\naffords the most suitable means of giving expression to its feelings.\nIf, on the other hand, art is neglected by a nation, it is a certain\nsign that its mental and spiritual condition is abnormal; that it must\nbe under the influence of some disturbing agency.\n\nArt, in its relations to religion and the Church, is one of the\nsubjects that have claimed the attention of the Catholic congresses;\nthey discussed the principles of religious architecture, painting,\nsculpture, and of church music; they considered the subject of\ndecorating the sanctuaries of religion in all its branches, and\nexamined the highest and most important problems of art.\n\nArt, as cultivated during the first {222} ages of Christianity and\nduring the middle ages, is a subject complete in itself, for we can\ntrace its use, its progress, and decay, as well as the development of\nthe ideas which gave it life. Between Christian and pagan art there is\nno doubt a connecting link; in fact, we may safely assert that in this\nrespect, no less than in all others, there is a great unbroken chain\nthat unites the present age with antiquity. Still, no one can deny\nthat there is a great and immense difference between Christian nations\nand those of antiquity. For, since the birth of Christianity, we may\ntrace in history a new, active, and all-pervading principle. What the\ngreatest minds of the pagan world scarcely suspected, has become the\ncommon property of all nations and of all men. Christianity is built\non foundations very different from those on which rested the cumbrous\nfabric of paganism. It has impressed an original character on art, in\nevery branch of which it has produced results of undoubted excellence,\nworthy of our admiration. Christian art suffers not by comparison with\nthe masterpieces of antiquity. Narrow-minded and prejudiced persons\nonly will maintain that the Greeks alone excelled in the arts. The\nindependence and excellence of Christian art, compared with that of\nclassic Greece and Rome, is by no means generally admitted; for many\nare unwilling to allow to the Church the credit, which it may justly\nclaim, of promoting and patronizing the arts. During the last century\nart has lacked its proper basis--truth, for art is founded on truth.\nBut since nations have been led astray by the erroneous idea that art\nwas revived at Florence, and thence spread over all Europe, it has\nlost its independence, confined itself to mere imitations of the\nGreeks and Romans, and gradually decayed more and more. In the history\nof art no period appears darker than the so-called age of renaissance,\nand since then Christian art has been either misunderstood or entirely\ndespised. Not long ago the masterpieces of Gothic architecture were\nlooked upon as barbarous; paintings on wood which had for ages graced\nthe European temples were removed, broken to pieces, and burnt, and\nalters of the most elaborate workmanship were treated as mere rubbish.\nTo level to the ground the noble cathedrals of the thirteenth and\nfourteenth centuries was considered a service to art. And this was\ndone, not by the ignorant, but by the protectors of learning; nay, by\nartists themselves, who were foremost in the work of destruction. A\nFrench architect published an essay to prove that it would advance the\ninterests of art to turn the cathedral of Spires into a warehouse. On\nthe cathedrals of Cologne and Strasbourg, also, French architects,\nliving at the beginning of the nineteenth century, had pronounced\nsentence of condemnation. No later than 1825, when Charles X. was\ncrowned in the cathedral of Rheims, the heads of two hundred statues\nwere struck off, through fear that the statues might be thrown down on\noccasion of the royal salute. No one seems to have thought of\nfastening the images; in fact, why should they trouble themselves\nabout the workmanship of barbarians? During the revolution of 1789,\nthe French had unfortunately acquired too much skill in smashing the\nstatues that crowned their grandest cathedrals.\n\nDuring the period of which we speak, how false was the appreciation of\nwhat is beautiful in art! To man's proud spirit it is humiliating,\nindeed, to know his own weakness; to know that for years he may remain\nin the darkness of error, without having the strength to burst the\nchains that fetter him.\n\nAt the beginning of the present century more correct ideas on this\nsubject were entertained and spread by several eminent German artists,\nand for the last thirty years justice has been done to the claims of\nthe middle ages. Actively co-operating with this {223} movement, the\nCatholic conventions of Germany and Belgium have achieved many\ndesirable results.\n\nAt Malines, in 1864, the section for Christian art was very numerously\nattended; more than a hundred archaeologists and artists from every\ncountry in Europe had there met to take part in lively and interesting\ndebates on Christian art, whilst seventy musicians, professionals, and\namateurs held their sessions in another part of the building. Several\nyears ago, I was present at the general meeting of the German\narchitects at Frankfort, but I own that in interest their discussions\nfell far below those to which I listened at Malines. In 1857, at the\ngeneral reunion of the Christian art associations in Germany, which\nmet at Regensburg, several hundred commissioners were present, and on\nthat occasion were displayed the same enthusiasm, the same freshness\nand interest, which distinguished the discussions at Malines. But this\nzeal has long died out; the Christian art associations of Germany\nnever met again; and at W\u00fcrzburg, Frankfort, and Aix-la-Chapelle, the\nCatholic conventions scarcely deigned to notice Christian art.\n\nThe chairman of the section for Christian art at Malines was Viscount\ndu Bus de Ghisignies. The viscount's appearance is noble and striking;\nhe seems to have been born to command. In the heat of the combat du\nBus never loses his self-possession; his clear and steady eye watches\nthe battle; not a word escapes his notice; fair and unprejudiced, he\ndeals out equal justice to all. If the opinions of a speaker clash\nwith his own, he twirls his martial moustache with more than ordinary\nvigor; but he allows to every one the rights he may justly claim. As\nchairman, his duties are not unattended with difficulty. Romans and\nTeutons, Frenchman and Britons, Dutchmen and Belgians, meet\nalternately in friendly strife; many a blow is exchanged, principle\nclashes with principle, and deeply-seated prejudices are uprooted.\nConvinced that the harmony of mind, as that of sounds, is the product\nof contrast, du Bus acted in accordance with his convictions and nobly\nfulfilled the task assigned him. The debates of his section were more\nanimated and more instructive than those of any other.\n\nAt the right of du Bus sat the vice-president of the section.\nProfessor Cartuyvels, of Louvain, a man well-versed in parliamentary\nusage, in which he was excelled by no one except, perhaps, by A.\nReichensperger. A young clergyman from Brabant, Cartuyvels displays a\nmaster mind; equally skilled in aesthetics and in the philosophy and\nhistory of art, the value of these acquirements is enhanced by his\nknowledge of the liturgy, of canon law, and of holy writ. He is\nthoroughly acquainted with the works of the great masters of Germany\nand Italy. His words proclaim the enthusiasm with which he devotes all\nthe faculties of his soul to the service of Christian art.\n\nAlways prepared to speak, he boldly upholds the principles which he\ndeems correct. He defends them with ardor and confidence of success,\nand he seldom fails to carry his point; few are able to cope with him.\nIt was a glorious sight to see A. Reichensperger and Cartuyvels\nengaged in discussion; for\n\n  \"Sublimest beauty comes to light\n  When powerful extremes unite!\"\n\nJames Weale was a representative of England and English art at\nMalines. For many years Weale has made Bruges his home, and exerted\nconsiderable influence on Belgian art; nevertheless, he is a thorough\nEnglishman. He is a convert and a disciple of Canon Oakley. By\nbecoming a Catholic, as is often the case in England, Weale incurred\npecuniary losses; but this sacrifice has only purified and\nstrengthened his love for the Church. The trials he has undergone have\nunveiled the heroic qualities of his heart The greater number of\nEnglish converts (and this no one who has had {224} the happiness of\npersonal acquaintance with them will dispute) are men distinguished\nfor their great learning and affable manners, and Weale is no\nexception to this rule. His principles of art are rigorous, I had\nalmost said exclusive, but he is convinced of their correctness. In\nhis views he is unique and definite; he propounds them with uncommon\nclearness and precision. When opposing false principles, he is not\nvery choice in his expressions, generally preferring the strongest.\nWeale is the uncompromising enemy of all sham and equivocation. In the\ndomain of art fails attainments are immense. He knows England, the\nNetherlands, Germany, France, and Italy. His quick eye instantly\ndiscovers the merits of a painting. That the clergy may become\nfamiliar with every branch of Christian art, is his most ardent\ndesire. At Bruges Weale publishes \"_Le Beffroi_,\" an archaeological\njournal; he would have been the most suitable candidate for the newly\nfounded chair of archaeology at Louvain.\n\nHaving spoken of Weale, we are now led to notice his friend Bethune,\nof Ghent. He is a painter, but confines himself chiefly to painting on\nglass. Brought up in the school of the celebrated English architect,\nWelby Pugin, who, though only forty years of age when he died, in\n1852, had already built more than two hundred churches and chapels,\nhis figures are distinguished by purity of style; he carries out in\npractice the theories of Weale. However, he does not by any means\nreject everything modern, but judiciously seeks to combine the\nbeauties of the modern with those of the ancient style of art. Bethune\nis remarkable both for his piety and his learning, and this accounts\nfor the charm and instructiveness of his conversation. He admires\nGermany and German art, without being blind to its defects; on the\ncontrary, his criticisms on the best productions of modern German\npainting are severe, not to say harsh. His paintings on glass are in\nmarked contrast to the productions of the Munich school. He does not\ndelight in great historical paintings on glass, which tend to make us\nforget that we are looking at a window, but seeks to attain unity of\ndesign by subordinating his picture to the plan of the architect. In\nthe debates at Malines, Bethune did not take so prominent a part as\nWeale. Another active member of the section of Christian art was\nBethune's brother, Canon F. A. L. Bethune, professor of archaeology in\nthe seminary at Bruges. Among the French members, Lavedan deserves to\nbe mentioned in the first instance. He is a well-known French\njournalist, who seems to have a great taste for the fine arts. With\nuntiring ardor he spoke on every question discussed, and, in spite of\nbeing somewhat prolix, his remarks were always listened to with\npleasure. Although noted rather for wit and polite literature than for\ndepth of learning, he was master of the situation, and to unhorse him\nwas not an easy task. He pleaded eloquently for the establishment of a\npermanent art exhibition. Whilst Lavedan, like Weale, applies himself\nto the theory of art, Jaumot, like Bethune, is a practical artist. Of\nthe few artists that France can boast of, Jaumot is one of the best;\nbut he was not permitted to exhibit his cartoons, and has not met with\nthe encouragement so indispensable to the artist Jaumot complainant of\nthis at Malines, and maintained that the Belgian clergy are much\nbetter acquainted with the principles of Christian art than the clergy\nof France. The Abbe Carion attracted attention by his profound\nknowledge of archaeology; all his remarks proved that he understands\nthoroughly the subject he treated, though he does not present his\nideas in so pleasing a manner as others. Any seminary may justly be\nproud of such professors as Messrs. Carion, Bethune, and Cartuyvels.\nNo one contributed more to the merriment of the assembly than Van\nSchendel, of Antwerp, {225} an old painter, who delights in sketches\nof Dutch family life. He railed at everything, and at times he became\nquite sarcastic. To find fault seemed to be his sole purpose; whether\njustly or not, was of little consequence. He succeeded most admirably\nin boring the chairman. Van Schendel seems to dislike the French\nlanguage, for he always preferred to speak Dutch. I might speak of\nmany more, but I shall only mention Delbig, a German painter, residing\nat Liege; Alfred Geelhand, Leon de Monge, Martin, Isard, Mommaerts, of\nBrussels; Bordeau; de Fleury, an enthusiastic admirer of Flandrin, the\ngreat French painter; Van de Necker, the Abb\u00e9 Huguet, and the Abb\u00e9 Van\nDrival.\n\nI cannot forbear speaking of A. Reichensperger, of Cologne. For almost\na quarter of a century Reichensperger has been the champion of\nChristian art, not only in Germany, where he is looked upon as the\nforemost defender of German art during the middle ages, but also in\nFrance and England. In Cologne he had been at the head of the society\nfor completing the cathedral. In the Prussian chambers at Berlin he\nhas always exerted himself in favor of true art. He was president of\nthe general meeting of the Christian art unions, held at Regensburg in\n1857, and distinguished himself as an orator at the congress of\nartists that assembled at Antwerp some years ago. He was also present\nat Malines, and his presence was of great advantage to the Romanic\ndelegates. Reichensperger is delighted to meet with opposition; nay,\nhe calls it forth, for without it he appears dissatisfied. In fact, a\ndebate is impossible without opposition. At Malines, it is true,\nopponents were not wanting, but he vanquished them all. Manfully\nupholding his German principles, he convinced many of their\ncorrectness. Reichensperger has often earned applause, he has been the\nhero of many a parliamentary triumph, during the twelve years that he\nhas been considered one of the five best speakers in the Prussian\nparliament, but in the Petit Seminaire at Malines he gained his most\nbrilliant successes. His French may not at all times be classical; but\nhis pointed expressions charmed his French audience. His style is not\nflorid, but his speeches sparkle with wit, humor, and sarcasm. His\nready logic completely astounded his adversaries. All his remarks\ncalled forth thundering applause, which finally grew so noisy that the\nchairman of the first section, \"_Les OEuvres Religieuses_\" deemed it\nnecessary to interfere and request a little more moderation.\n\nBut what was the subject of all these learned deliberations? Many\nquestions were discussed, and variety constituted one of the principal\ncharms of the proceedings, AEthetics were treated in the first place;\nthe learned speakers philosophized concerning the ideas of truth, of\ngoodness, and of beauty. One hundred and two years have rolled by\nsince Baumgarten, the father of aesthetics, died. In 1750 and 1758 he\npublished the two volumes of his celebrated work entitled\n\"_AEsthetica_.\" For more than a hundred years, therefore, aesthetics\nhave been cultivated with more or less zeal, but with very little\nsuccess; the science seems to stagnate because the principles on which\nit is based are unsound. Hence most books on aesthetics are loathed.\nThe best among the recent works on this subject was written by\nLasaulx; but a philosophy of art, from a Catholic point of view, we do\nnot yet possess, for Dursch's \"AEsthetics\" has many defects. Jacobs'\n\"Art and the Church\" might, if completed, have supplied a want long\nfelt.\n\nThe discussions on the beautiful led to no important results. Of more\npractical consequence was the resolution condemning French pictures.\nMommaerts made an attempt to establish in Brussels a society whose\nobject was to be the diffusion of pictures artistically\nunobjectionable. At Paris Meniolle, assisted by German artists, {226}\nintends to do the same for France, where hitherto Schulgen, of\nD\u00fcsseldorf, has, so to say, held a monopoly. I hope that both projects\nmay be successful, and escape the fate of many similar enterprises,\nwhich are nipped in the bud. In all likelihood no similar society will\ndo so much good, and extend its influence so far, as the D\u00fcsseldorf\nassociation for the diffusion of good pictures.\n\nMuch time was spent in discussing the establishment of museums like\nthose of Sydenham and Kensington, near London, and in listening to\nspeeches on fresco paintings, on the stations of the cross, on\nexhibitions of works of art, and on the encouragement of artists. On\nmotion of Weale, a resolution was adopted to found a Belgian national\nmuseum at Louvain, and Reichensperger prevailed on the assembly to\npledge itself to further the completion of St. Rombaut's cathedral at\nMalines.\n\nLet this suffice. The musicians would complain, perhaps, were we to\npass them unnoticed. At the request of the general committee at\nBrussels, Canon Devroye and Chevalier H. Van Elewyk had prepared eight\ntheses for discussion. These propositions treat of choral music, of\nthe education of organists, of the influence of religious music, of\nthe establishment of societies for the promotion of church music, and\nthe like. It was proposed to found a musical academy, in which a\nspecial department for religious music is to be established.\n\nCanon Devroye presided; his interesting remarks were always listened\nto with pleasure. Dr. Paul Alberdingk-Thijm, of Amsterdam, formerly of\nLouvain, was vice-president. He is well acquainted with Gregorian\nmusic and church music in general--of German music also; even of our\nmost common popular songs he has a thorough practical knowledge; many\nof our German songs he renders with exquisite taste. We shall see more\nof him hereafter. Verooitte, of Paris, was chosen to be honorary\nvice-president. He is well known in France. He founded the academy for\nreligious music in Paris, which has been in successful operation for\nsome time, and has contributed materially to raise the character of\nreligious music in that country. Chevalier Van Elewyk has done all in\nhis power to establish in Louvain a society for the promotion of\nchurch music, and his exertions were not in vain. A society having the\nsame object in view was formed at Amsterdam. At Malines there were\nalso several organ-builders, whose practical advice was of great\nadvantage to the musical section; the foremost among them were\nCavaill\u00e9-Coll, of Paris; Mercklin, of Brussels; and Loret, of Malines.\n\nOne of the most remarkable personages at the congress was F. Hermann,\nprior of the Carmelites in London. F. Hermann Cohen, the pianist is a\nnative of Hamburg, and greatly esteemed by the Catholics of Germany.\nThe manner of his conversion was most wonderful and in many of its\nfeatures resembled that of Alphonsus Ratisbonne. Whenever I saw F.\nHermann, in his fine Carmelite habit, I thought of another great\nmusician, Liszt, whom I had seen and admired at Rome, and of the\nFranciscan, F. Singer, who invented the wonderful instrument to the\ntones of which I had the pleasure of listening at the general\nconvention held at Salzburg in 1857. True, F. Hermann is not only an\neminent musician--God has gifted him with many other endowments; as an\norator, especially, he is overpowering, able to move the most\nunfeeling. Another monk, a fine and imposing figure and a master of\nreligious music, the Franciscan friar Egidius, of Jerusalem, offered\nvery valuable advice. Friar Julian, of Brussels, who has supplied\nthree nations with organists, took an active part in the debates.\nBeside these I shall mention, Arthur de la Croix, of Tournay, who has\nwritten several works on religious music; the Abb\u00e9 Loth, of Rouen, who\ndeserves honorable mention as one of {227} the most zealous promoters\nof church music; Lemmens, editor of \"_L'Organiste Catholique_;\" Emile\nLaminne, of Tongres, who most eloquently insists on the cultivation of\nmusic in seminaries, and on the appointment of a special committee for\nmusic in every diocese. F. Faa di Bruno, of St. Peter's, in London,\nspoke on oratorios; the Abb\u00e9 Deschutter, of Antwerp, on sacred music\nat concerts, Edmund Duval presented a paper on the accompaniment of\nplain chant. L'Abb\u00e9 de Mayer, Prof. Deyoght, and Hafkenscheid, of\nAmsterdam, also made important suggestions. On motion of Dr. Paul\nAlberdingk-Thijm, the most eminent authorities on sacred music were\nappointed corresponding members. The following were elected: Meluzzi,\nmusical director at St. Peter's, Rome; Dandini, secretary of the\nacademy of St. Cecilia at Rome; Don Hilarion Eslava, of Madrid; the\nDuke de San Clemente, of Florence; John Lambert, of London; Tornan,\narchaeologist at Paris; Charles Verooitte, of Paris; the Abb\u00e9 Loth, of\nRome; Friar Egidius, of Jerusalem; F. Hermann, of London; T. J.\nAlberdingk-Thijm, publisher at Amsterdam; and F. Stein, pastor of St.\nUrsula's, Cologne.\n\nHitherto very little has been done for the reformation of church\nmusic; in Germany, as elsewhere, there still exist many reasons for\ncomplaining. Nevertheless, the Gregorian chant is no more antiquated\nthan the ceremonies of the Church, her liturgy, her liturgical\nlanguage, or the vestments used at her offices. Who is there that does\nnot admire the melody of the sacred hymns, their perfect form, their\nsolemnity, and their dignity? Moreover, the plain chant demands no\nviolent exertion on the part of the singer. The voice is strained\nneither by difficult figures nor by unnatural intervals, nor does it\nrequire the same compass as the modern music. Unlike instrumental\nmusic, choral music does not stun the hearer by its noisy effect, so\nunbecoming divine service.\n\nNor has sufficient attention been paid to several other points; to the\nmore thorough study of the liturgy, and of the sacred hymns of the\nChurch, and to the cultivation of popular music.\n\nLastly, we must briefly notice the exhibition connected with the\ncongress of Malines. It was very interesting, and formed a pleasing\nfeature of the first and particularly of the second congress. Those\nwho contributed most towards its success were, James Weale, of Bruges,\nBethune, of Ghent, Canon de Bleser, and Abb\u00e9 Deloigne. Many weeks of\npatient research, under the most favorable circumstances, would not\nenable us to meet with so many specimens of mediaeval art; in fact,\nthe collection was of great importance to the student of archaeology.\n\nThe works of living masters, too, were on exhibition, and many of them\ncalled forth our especial interest and admiration. They proved\nconclusively that the attempts recently made to restore Christian art\nto its pristine purity have not been altogether fruitless. In many\nplaces our artisans have again begun to study the medieval art, and\nmany of them rival in the excellence of their productions the masters\nof the middle ages. How beautiful were many pieces of bronze statuary,\nof jewelry, and of embroidery, that we found at Malines! The bronze\nchandeliers, candelabra, and desks sent by Hart, of London, surpassed\nin purity of style and beauty the best works of the old Belgian\nmasters. The Romanic and Gothic ciboria, chalices, remonstrances,\nchandeliers, reliquaries, censers, crosses, croziers, and the like,\ncontributed by such artists as Bourdon de Bruyne, of Ghent, Martin\nVogeno, of Aix-la-Chapelle, Hellner, of Kempen-on-the-Rhine, rivalled\nthe most admired productions of the middle ages; the three artists\nabove-mentioned fully deserved the prizes awarded them by the\ncongress. Among the sculptors whose statuary graced the exhibition,\nwell-merited praise was bestowed on de Broeck and Van Wint, of\nAntwerp, and {228} Pieckerey, of Bruges. The paintings on glass, also,\nexhibited by Westlake, of London, met with general approbation. The\ncommittee which awarded the premiums consisted of Voisin, of Tournay;\nvon Bock, of Aix-la-Chapelle; Van Drival, of Arras; Felix Bethune and\nJohn Bethune, of Ghent; Cartuyvels, of Liege; Weale, of Bruges; and\nHelbeig, of Liege.\n\nLambotte, of Liege, Reinhold Aasters, of Aix-la-Chapelle, John Goyers,\nof Malines, and several others had sent samples of workmanship in\ngold. The silk embroideries of Von Lambrechts-Martin, of Louvain,\nattracted considerable attention, as did also the sculptures of\nChampigneulle, of Metz, and of Phyffers, a Belgian sculptor living in\nLondon. Many other names I have forgotten; but on the whole the\nEnglish and Germans excelled the French and Belgians. J.F. Casaretto,\nof Crefeld, had brought to Malines a number of vestments, banners,\nchasubles, copes, etc, and displayed them to advantage at the Hotel\nLiederkercke. They attracted the notice of the Belgian bishops no less\nthan of the foreign clergy, and their excellence was acknowledged by\nall, especially by Bishop Dupanloup, of Orleans. In Germany, for the\nlast twelve years, Casaretto has enjoyed the patronage of the bishops\nand clergy. Though there were at Malines many excellent samples of\nworkmanship, there was also much that did not soar above mediocrity,\nand much that fell beneath it. Even many experienced artisans are\nguilty of gross mistakes; some goldsmiths, for instance, manufacture\npatens entirely unfit for use. The paten should be perfectly smooth\nand even, without any ornament. In Malines there were many chalices\nwhose feet were so made that it would be next to impossible to hold\nthem firmly without injuring the hand of the celebrant. In many of the\nremonstrances and other sacred vessels, also, serious defects were\nnoticeable, a proof that there is still room for improvement. To\nattain a proper degree of perfection, there should be a closer union\nof the mechanical and the fine arts and of both with science. Let our\nartisans be acquainted with the principles of art, let them be\nthoroughly instructed in the rules laid down by the Church for the\nguidance of the artist, let them come into closer contact with men of\nscience; in fine, let them, thus instructed, be penetrated by the\nspirit of faith, purified and ennobled thereby, and they will\ncertainly produce workmanship worthy of our admiration. On this\nsubject many useful suggestions were made by Cardinal Wiseman in 1863,\nin his well-known lecture on the \"Connection between Science and Art.\"\n\nThe results of the debates of the section on art were, as we stated\nabove, the establishment of a professorship of ecclesiastical\narchaeology at Louvain and the foundation of a national museum at the\nsame place. Considering the many reasons as eloquently urged in its\nfavor, we doubt not that active and immediate measures will be taken\nfor the completion of the cathedral of Malines. On the success of the\nGerman artists at the Malines exhibition we lay the more stress\nbecause, at the same time, Ittenbach, of D\u00fcsseldorf, surpassed all his\ncompetitors at the Antwerp exhibition of paintings, and the historical\npainter, Edward Steinle, of Frankfort-on-the-Main, by his cartoons,\nexhibited at Brussels, gained new triumphs for true Christian art. To\nthe latter fact, G\u00fcffers and Swerts, the best Belgian painters,\ncheerfully bore witness. In the debates at Malines the superiority of\nGerman art was repeatedly acknowledged by representatives of all\nnations.\n\n\nTo return to our fatherland. At the head of the movement for the\nregeneration of art in Germany, which distinguished the first half of\nthe nineteenth century was a Catholic prince, King Louis I. of\nBavaria. It was he, also, who, partly by renovating the cathedrals of\nRegensburg, Bamberg, and Spires, and partly by erecting so {229} many\nbeautiful temples at Munich, rescued Christian art from the disrepute\ninto which it had fallen. Rarely has so much been done for art in so\nshort a time as in Bavaria under Louis I.; few monarchs have been more\nliberal patrons of every department of art. Many are of opinion that\nKing Louis' protection should have been confined to German art, but\nhis great soul scorned such narrow-minded ideas, and he extended his\ncare to ancient classical art. Foremost among those who, since 1842,\nstrove to regenerate Christian art in its purely German form was King\nLouis' friend, Cardinal Geissel, of Cologne. The association for\ncompleting the cathedral of Cologne called forth great artistic\nactivity; in that famous edifice was seen the symbol of the Catholic\nChurch in Germany, and of the final return of all Germany to the one\ntrue faith.\n\nTo their exertions we must ascribe the advancement of Christian art\nprevious to the meeting of the first Catholic general convention.\nThese conventions have always upheld the claims of Christian art. At\nLinz, in 1850, was founded the \"Christian Art Union of Germany.\" In a\nfew years this society spread over every part of our country. The\nRhenish art unions were the most active, and exercised considerable\ninfluence on those of southwestern Germany; the latter, however, have\nproved more lasting and have accomplished more important results.\n\nWhen once fairly established, the Christian art union held several\ngeneral meetings, the first of which took place at Cologne in\nSeptember, 1856. The beginning was insignificant, for scarcely a\nhundred delegates assembled, and many of these hailed from the Rhenish\nprovinces. In spite of this drawback, the transactions were far more\ninteresting than those of many so-called \"historical associations,\"\nthat busied themselves with Celtic, Roman, and German antiquities.\nNay, considering the merit of the speeches delivered, they compare\nfavorably with those of the German architectural society. A still more\nbrilliant future, however, was in store for the Christian art union.\nIn 1857, the second general meeting was held at Regensburg, at which\nthe number of archaeologists and artists amounted to several hundred.\nFor three days they assembled in the splendid church of St. Ulric,\ndiscussed some most important questions, and listened to several\nbrilliant speeches. The treasures of mediaeval art, sent from every\npart of the diocese of Regensburg, formed a magnificent collection,\nfor, among all the cities of Germany, Regensburg is one of the richest\nin monuments of mediaeval times, whilst its cathedral is one of the\nfinest in the world. A. Reichensperger, the chairman, enforced strict\norder in debate; next to him sat Dr. F. Streber, professor at Munich.\nAs a successful student of numismatics, his fame was European; in fact\nhe was a man of superior learning. His best work is his \"History of\nChristian Art,\" which was not published previous to his death, but\nwhose excellence no one will undervalue. If an illustrated edition\nwere published, it would supplant all other class-books on the same\nsubject, and be a sure guide and basis of all future researches. And\nno wonder, for no man had a clearer and more general knowledge of\neverything relating to the history of art than Streber. We hope soon\nto see this history grace every collection of the Catholic classics of\nGermany.\n\nAnother eminent member of the assembly was Dr. Zarbl, canon of the\ncathedral at Munich. An eloquent speaker, a writer who recounted his\ntravels in an interesting manner, and a zealous pastor of souls, the\ncanon was a patron of Christian art, and intimately acquainted with\nits literature. His residence resembled a museum of mediaeval\ncuriosities. He was president of the Regensburg art union, and well\nwas he fitted to fulfil his duties. When he walked up the aisles of\nhis cathedral, his appearance was majestic {230} His words were\nimpressive and his actions cautious and well considered. Overtopping\nmost men, and inspiring all with respect, strangers looked up to him\nwith a feeling akin to awe, whilst to those who knew him he was a kind\nand esteemed friend. Canon Zarbl departed this life long ago, to\nreceive the reward of his virtues. A Benedictine of the abbey at\nMetten, on the Danube, a man whose memory is cherished by thousands of\nhis pupils, F. Ildephonsus Lehner, was the soul of the Regensburg art\nunion in 1857. As director of the seminary he labored successfully to\nimbue his students with an ardent love of Christian art, the\nprinciples of which he had mastered at an early age. This he effected\nnot so much by aesthetic: theories as by practical instruction. At\nMetten he founded a museum of mediaeval art, he formed a school which\nwas frequented by many talented young men, and assisted by several\nfriends he founded the Regensburg diocesan art union, and encouraged\nartistic literature. Foremost among his disciples is George Dengler,\nof Regensburg, who bids fair to attain considerable eminence in\narchitecture. At the W\u00fcrzburg general convention, in 1864, F.\nIldephonsus was chosen chairman of the section of Christian art, and\nin an eloquent address he urged the German clergy to study the\nCatholic liturgy and the regulations of the Church regarding Christian\nart.\n\nWe must not forget to mention G. Jacob. He was associated for a long\ntime with Dr. Amberger, one of the first theologians of the present\nage, and Grillmaier, the most pious priest that I have ever met with,\nin the direction of the seminary at Regensburg, where he was professor\nof the history of art. At the suggestion of the Regent Dirschedl, of\nRegensburg, and of F. Ildephonsus, Jacob wrote his work on art in the\nservice of the Church, which was published at the time of the\nRegensburg congress. It is a truly admirable work, especially as a\nmanual for theologians and priests.\n\nIn a few weeks it spread all over Germany, and during the last seven\nyears nothing has been written equal to it in its kind. The\npublication of Streber's \"History of Art\" and a new edition of Jacob's\n\"Handbook\" would be of great service to the German clergy, and would\ngreatly promote the study of Christian art.\n\nSighart, of Freising, who had just published his \"Albertus Magnus,\"\nalso spoke at Regensburg. He is the most distinguished of the many\nwriters on the history of art of whom Bavaria justly boasts; twelve\nyears have elapsed since he began the long series of his valuable\nworks by his history of the cathedral of Freising. His \"History of\nPlastic Art in Bavaria,\" published in 1863, was the crowning effort of\nhis genius and labors. No other German country can boast of so\ncomplete and perfect a history. He also called into existence a museum\nof mediaeval art, and brought to the notice of the learned all the\nartistic treasures of the archdiocese. His example has been imitated\nin several Bavarian dioceses.\n\nHimioben, of Mayence, was the representative of the art union founded\nby him in that diocese. In fact Himioben was one of the firmest stays\nof the Catholic association in Mayence, and a prominent orator at all\nthe general conventions. His appearance was striking, and predisposed\nall in his favor. His sparkling eyes, his fine flowing hair, his noble\nfigure, his sonorous voice, and his youthful ardor and enthusiasm,\nmade him the favorite of all who had the pleasure of listening to him.\n\"I have seen the seed germinate, and the flowers bud; you will see\nthem in full bloom, and reap the fruit.\" Such were his words to a\nyounger friend in the fall of 1860, and well do they express his ideas\nconcerning the regeneration of religious life in the nineteenth\ncentury. Himioben used all his influence in favor of renovating the\ncathedral of Mayence, though he did not live to see the repairs\ncompleted. Would that he had witnessed {231} the twentieth of\nNovember, 1864, when the Catholic cause acquired new strength by the\nconfederation of the Rhenish cities!\n\nStein, of Cologne, spoke on church music; Professor Reischl, of\nRegensburg, on hymnology; Dr. Durch, of Rottweil, on aesthetics;\nwhilst Wiest urged the renovation of the cathedral at Ulm. But I\ncannot mention all who addressed the assembly at Regensburg. But\nthough there were many and distinguished orators at Regensburg, the\npalm of superior success belongs to a musician, J. Mettenleiter, who\nedited the \"_Musica Divina_\" in connection with Canon Proske, and who\nat Regensburg gave a practical proof of what true church music is. All\nwere transported by the magical power of harmony. Regensburg possesses\nthe best school of church music in Germany, and the choir of its\ncathedral rivals that of the Sistine chapel. Besides Mettenleiter and\nProske, we must mention Schrems, Wesselack, and Witt.\n\nThe zeal displayed at Regensburg was short-lived; the German art union\nnever met again in general convention. Since 1858 it has again become\na mere section of the general conventions of the Catholic societies in\nGermany. At the Munich convention, in 1861, considerable interest was\ntaken in Christian art; but at Aix-la-Chapelle, Frankfort, and\nW\u00fcrzburg it had few any friends. At Aix-la-Chapelle, Professor\nHutmacher was chairman of the section of art, at Frankfort Prof.\nSteinle, whilst at W\u00fcrzburg the most active members were F.\nIldephonsus and Dean Schwarz, of B\u00f6hmenkirch, in Wirtemberg.\n\nBut though much has been done for Christian art by the establishment\nof art unions and their general meetings, it has likewise been\npromoted in many other ways. The members of the Catholic art unions\nnot only devoted themselves to the study of art, but also encouraged\nothers to make researches on this subject, and it is but just to add\nthat during the past twelve years much has been accomplished that\ndeserves unqualified praise. To the Bozen art union we owe the\n\"History of the Development of Religious Architecture in the Tyrol,\"\nthe second part of which was published a year ago by Karl Atz. The\nLinz art union, after commissioning Florian Wiener to write directions\nfor researches on religious monuments, is now preparing a history of\nart in the diocese of Linz. Many years ago Giefers rendered a similar\nservice to Paderborn, Schwarz and Laib to Rottenburg, and\nReichensperger to the Rhenish dioceses. Besides establishing the\nDiocesan museum, the richest collection of this kind in Germany, the\nCologne art union founded the \"Journal of Christian Art.\" The\nRegensburg union published the work of Jacob mentioned above, and\ndistributed it among its members. Sighart made researches in the\narchdiocese of Munich; whilst Adalbert Grimm, of Augsburg, wrote a\nhistory of his native diocese. Great services were rendered to\nEichst\u00e4dt by Maitzl, to Bamberg by Kotschenreuter, to W\u00fcrzburg by\nWieland, to Limburg on the Lahn by Ibach, to Spires by Remling and\nMolitor, and to M\u00fcnster by Zeke. By the advice of Prof. Alzog, the\nFreiburg union commenced in 1862 the publication of an art journal. To\nthe Rottenburg art union we are indebted for an important work on\naltars, by Dean Schwarz and Pastor Laib. One of the most active\nsocieties is that of Luxemburg, which has published an art journal\nsince 1861. These researches were based on those of the historical\nassociations and on some valuable essays, some of which had been\nwritten long before. Almost every cathedral in Germany can boast of\nits historian. Thus Geissel wrote the history of the Imperial\ncathedral (1826-8); Wetter and Werner that of the cathedral at Mayence\n(1835); Boisser\u00e9e that of the Cologne cathedral (1821-3); and Giefers\nthat of the cathedral at Paderborn. To Perger we owe a sketch of St.\nStephen's at {232} Vienna; to Himmelstein, one of the Cathedral at\nW\u00fcrzburg; whilst Grimm and Allioli published an incomplete sketch of\nthe cathedral at Augsburg, and the histories of the Hildesheim,\nXanten, and Freising cathedrals were written by Kratz, Zehe, and\nSighart. One of the most instructive works lately published is\nSchreegraf's history of the cathedral at Regensburg, in three volumes.\nEvery diocese in Germany has not yet done its duty, and much can and\nshould still be done by the German clergy. Let us not think lightly of\nthese laborious researches; their usefulness and importance to science\nwill one day be made evident to all. Catholics and Protestants must\naid alike in gathering the voluminous materials, which must be placed\nat the disposition of him whom God will call to write a national\nhistory of German art. The labors of these societies have already\nenabled several prominent men to undertake more extensive works, among\nwhich I will mention Sighart's \"History of Art in Bavaria,\" L\u00fcbke's\n\"History of Art in Westphalia,\" Heideloff-Lorenz' \"Suabian Art during\nthe Middle Ages,\" Heider-Eitelberger's \"Mediaeval Monuments of the\nAustrian Empire,\" Haas' \"History of Styrian Art,\" Ernst aus dem\n'Werth's \"Monuments of the Lower Rhine,\" and Hassler's \"Ancient\nMonuments of Wirtemberg.\" A year ago, Lotz published an excellent\nwork, in two volumes, entitled, \"Art-Topography of Germany,\" whilst\nOtte's \"History of German Architecture\" is on the point of appearing.\nSchnaase, too, in his \"History of Art\" has profited by the labors of\nthe Catholic art unions, and the same may be said of M\u00fcller-Klunzinger\nand Nagler, of Munich, in their cyclopedias of art.\n\nLet us not grow languid in our investigations concerning German art\nduring the middle ages, until the last monument has been discovered\nand the last inscription deciphered. Many years must elapse before we\nshall arrive at this point. When, in his wanderings throughout Europe,\nB\u00f6hmer, the author of the great work on imperial decrees, found an\nundiscovered document, his joy was indescribable. Equally great was\nthe delight of the editors of the \"_Monumenta Germaniae_\" when they\nbrought to light some annals that were supposed to have perished. The\nsame pleasure awaits any one who has the good fortune of discovering a\nRoman basilica, a remarkable arch, or any other important monument;\nwho deciphers and explains an old inscription, and adds to the stock\nof our knowledge.\n\nAs appears from what has been said above, the religions art unions\nalso established journals and museums. The chief of the periodicals is\nthe \"Journal of Christian Art,\" edited, since 1851, by Baudri. Among\nthe contributors to this publication, which does not meet with the\npatronage it deserves, are A. Reichensperger, Ernst Weyden, of\nCologne, the learned Dr. van Endert, Canon von Bock, of\nAix-la-Chapelle, and, occasionally, M\u00fcnzenberger, of D\u00fcsseldorf.\nBaudri's journal is to Germany what J.N. Alberdingk-Thijm's \"_De\ndietsche Warande_\" is to Holland, what James Weale's \"_Le Beffroi_\" is\nto Belgium, and what Didron's \"_Annales_\" are to France. The claims of\nchurch music are put forth by the \"Caecilia,\" published in Luxemburg\nby Oberhoffer. Pastor Ortlieb, whose premature death we mourn, made a\nsimilar attempt, but failed. In fine, the organ of the altar societies\nis \"Der Kirchenschmuck,\" a monthly publication, published in Stuttgart\nby Schwarz and Laib. These altar societies may now be found in every\npart of Germany, and their silent influence is great. Some societies,\nthose of Vienna and Pesth, for instance, number thousands of members.\nThe Brussels and Paris societies, beside attending to their own wants,\nwork for foreign missions. The most recent of these societies is the\none founded in November, 1864, at Frankfort-on-the-Main, as the\nDiocesan society of Limburg. The ladies of Germany have furnished\nsplendid {233} pieces of embroidery in the form of sacred vestments.\n\nI cannot speak of altar societies without mentioning Kreuser, of\nCologne. Kreuser, with his hoary hair and his mighty snuff-box--a man\nfull of sparkling wit and endless humor--is known to all of us, for up\nto 1861 we never missed him at the general conventions. Since the\nMunich convention, however, we have not seen him; he was absent at\nAix-la-Chapelle, at Frankfort, and at W\u00fcrzburg, and we know not the\nreason of his absence. To speak concisely is very difficult, and few\nspeakers from the Rhenish provinces can boast of this virtue; still,\nmost Germans, and especially the German ladies, listened with pleasure\nto old Kreuser; and no wonder, for Kreuser never failed to do justice\nto the ladies of Germany. When Kreuser spoke in a city, his speech was\nfollowed immediately by the establishment of an altar society. He\ncarried everything by storm, and the impression made by his speeches\nwas not merely transient, but produced lasting fruits. Kreuser is a\npoet, also, a happy improvisatore, able to cope with the most daring\nrhymster. He is one of the best read men in Germany, and deserves our\ngratitude for his exertions in the cause of Christian art. Twenty\nyears have rolled by since he published his \"Letters on the Cologne\nCathedral,\" and during the last twelve years his work on architecture\nhas been studied again and again. That Kreuser's style is deficient in\ngrace and harmony we will not dispute, still much benefit may be\nderived from the perusal of his works.\n\nFrancis von Bock, also, deserves our notice. He is the author of a\n\"History of the Liturgic Vestments,\" in two vols., illustrated with\ntwo hundred colored engravings. Boldly he demands the use of\nappropriate workmanship; fearlessly measures swords with every\nopponent, and often his impetuosity is crowned with success. To him\nCasaretto, of Crefeld, is indebted for valuable suggestions. He was\nalso one of the founders of the school of art under the direction of\nthe Sisters of the Infant Jesus, at Aix-la-Chapelle. Dr. von Bock has\nvisited every country in Europe, Turkey excepted, which he intends\nshortly to visit for the purpose of continuing his researches. Where\ncan be found an ancient vestment whose texture he did not scrutinize,\nand a piece of which he has not begged for still closer examination?\nAt Gran, at Malines, in Bohemia, in Sicily, at Rome, at Paris, at\nVienna--everywhere Dr. von Bock has left traces of his unwearying\nactivity. The Rhenish goldsmiths owe him a debt of gratitude. He has\nwritten papers on the church at Kaiserswerth, on the Benedictine\nchurch at Munchen-Gladbach, on Cologne, and on the relics at Gran and\nAix-la-Chapelle. His principal work is on the \"Insignia of the Holy\nRoman Empire.\" It is a magnificently illustrated specimen of\ntypography, equal in every respect to any similar work published in\nEngland or France. At Malines every one spoke loudly in its praise,\nand in 1864 the author received from the Emperor Francis Joseph the\nCross of the Iron Crown. Von Bock's style reminds me of the chimes I\nhave heard in Holland; it consists in a constant repetition of the\nsame pleasing melody.\n\nVon Bock stands in odd contrast to Dean Schwarz, of B\u00f6hmenkirch, the\nable editor of the \"_Kirchenschmuck._\" He is the personification of\nrepose and dignity, a deep thinker, and a first-class archaeologist.\nFor many years he has wielded great influence with the clergy.\n\nWhilst the altar societies are displaying greater activity every day,\nthe Christian art unions, it is said, are daily becoming less zealous.\nIn some places, no doubt, this is true; but in many dioceses they have\nbeen changing into associations for furthering the completion of the\ndiocesan cathedral. To mention but a few instances, this was the case\nin Regensburg. Since his accession to the episcopal see {234} Bishop\nIgnatius von Senestrey applied himself with energy to the completion\nof his cathedral. King Louis I. having furnished the means, we have no\ndoubt that in a few years architect Denzinger will finish the two\ntowers. At Mayence, likewise, everything is being done for the\ncompletion and decoration of the cathedral. The work has been\nintrusted to the skill of Metternich, and Director Veit, assisted by\nLasinsky Settegast and Hermann, is frescoing the walls and the vaults.\nSince the fall of the partition between the sanctuary and the nave in\nthe Cologne cathedral, and since the great festival of October 15th,\n1868, the building has been steadily progressing, and the cathedral\nlottery promises to furnish the means for completing the towers within\nseven years. Schmidt has added a new pyramid to St. Stephen's\ncathedral in Vienna, which has now the highest spire in the world.\nAfter rivalling the English architect Welby Pugin by planning almost\ntwo hundred churches and chapels, Statz is now building a cathedral at\nLinz. Archbishop Gregory von Scheer has given a new appearance to the\nmetropolitan Church of Our Lady at Munich, whilst the bishop of\nPassau, Henry von Hofst\u00e4tter, has proved his devotion to the interests\nof art by renovating many churches in his diocese. Among all the\nGerman prelates none have built more churches than Cardinal Geissel,\nof Cologne, and Bishop M\u00fcller, of M\u00fcnster.\n\nIs it not an encouraging sign that we are completing the immense\nedifices of the middle ages? Is it not a proof of vital energy that\nthe Catholics of all countries are building the grandest churches in\nthe most correct style? As architectural science progresses, a like\nadvance must take place in mechanics, and, notwithstanding many\nblunders, every branch of art is daily more and more perfected. Not\nmany years hence all our temples will be completed and adorned with\nthe splendor becoming the divine service. Let every one do his duty,\nfulfilling the task allotted him by divine Providence.\n\nLet us conclude our rapid survey by calling to mind the men who have\nbegun and directed this movement. Among the Germans, Joseph von\nG\u00f6rres, F. von Schlegel, and Sulpitius Boisser\u00e9e will head our list.\nFrance justly boasts of de Caumont, Didron, Montalembert, Viollet le\nDuc, Cahier, and the Abb\u00e9 Martin. Oudin must not be forgotten, nor\nBossi, the historian of the catacombs. The merits of Seroux\nd'Agincourt, Waagen, Guilhabaud, Schnaase, Kugler, Passavant,\nStieglitz, Geyer, Kallenbach, Forster, Moller, Heideloff, Otte,\nSpringer, Hefner-Alteneck, Krieg von Hochfelden, von Quast, Jacob\nSchmitt, and many others known to every votary of art. To us is\nassigned the task of reaping the fruits of their labors.\n\n--------\n{235}\n\nFrom The St. James Magazine.\n\nPROPERZIA ROSSI.\n\n\nProperzia Rossi, a female artist, celebrated for her misfortunes,\nthough more for her proficiency in sculpture, painting, and music,\ndied of a broken heart, just as Pope Clement VII. had invited her to\nRome, to show his admiration for her masterpiece in the church of San\nPetronio at Bologna.\n\n  Too late--oh, far too late! Praise comes in vain\n  To lull the fever'd agonies of pain.\n  I am no more the artist idly proud,\n  But the gaunt mortal waiting for a shroud.\n  No more the songstress, whose impassioned lay\n  O'er taste and feeling held unrivalled sway;\n  But a weak woman, desolate and worn,\n  Her pulses throbbing, and her heart-strings torn,\n  Looking above--sad, humbled, and alone--\n  Where mercy dwells with Jesus on his throne--\n  Ay, fondly hoping for one smile of light\n  From the meek Man of sorrows and of might,\n  Who from sin's thrall is powerful to save,\n  Died on the cross, and triumphed o'er the grave!\n\n  What though the light of genius fired mine eye,\n  That radiant meteor leaves us when we die,\n  And conscience whispers that the gifts of heaven\n  Were of misused. I thirst to be forgiven.\n  Panting I turn from streams once deeply quaff'd.\n  And crave the Rock's sole vivifying draught!\n  Ay, as I kneel and supplicate for grace,\n  I veil in lowliness my tear-bathed face;\n  Implore for pardon with intense distress,\n  And spurn the gauds of earthly happiness!\n  Oh, what avails it that aerial forms.\n  And colors vivid as the bow of storms.\n  Hang o'er my fancy with bewitching spell?\n  Say, have I used these varied talents well?\n  Oh, what avails it that my hands would mould\n  Beautiful models from the marble cold?\n  Have the rich sculptures in the hallow'd fane\n  Brought one soil'd spirit to her God again?--\n  Recall'd a virtuous feeling to the heart,\n  And by religion consecrated art?\n  Have the fair features and bright hues I wove'\n  In one dark breast illumed the spark of love?\n  Or lured the soul from sin's deceptious toys\n  To pure devotion's memorable joys?\n  Oh, have the gifts of music and of song\n  Soothed one sad being of the human throng?--\n  Angelic thoughts--submissive, hopeful, kind--\n  Breathed o'er a mournful or a shattered mind?\n  And has my genius, with a potent sway,\n  Gilded the road to heaven--that straight and narrow way?\n\n{236}\n\n  God has been very bounteous; he has given\n  Much to enhance the blessedness of heaven.\n  The _threefold cords_  [Footnote 37] of talismanic power\n  Were meant to yield employment for the hour--\n  Life's potent hour of labor, want, and pain--\n  Brief as the April drops of sunny rain;\n  And yet by mercy recompensed above,\n  If well improved in hope, and faith, and love.\n  But conscience whispers, and in these dark days\n  That voice grows louder as my strength decays,--\n  Of wasted talents, of forgotten crime,\n  And of a judgment awfully sublime!\n  Of duties unfulfill'd, of gifts misspent.\n  Of future pangs, of fitting punishment!\n\n  [Footnote 37: Music, painting, and  sculpture.]\n\n  I muse no longer on the _present_--no--\n    My life is with the _future_ or the _past_,\n  And both are mingling in a magic flow,\n    Like turbid waters in a fountain cast.\n  The _past_---oh, whether fair, or dark, or both,\n    Is but a picture mirror'd on the wave.\n  The moral sicknesses--guile, anger, sloth--\n    Arise as spectres from a yawning grave;\n  What boots it that misfortune paled my cheek.\n    That penury and pain obscured my way?\n  _Sorrow is voiceless_; 'tis remorse that speaks\n    In awful tones of merited decay,\n  And of the worm that dieth not--the vale\n    Of never-ending, still-beginning death.\n  Methinks I hear the harsh, continuous wail,\n    The sobs and catchings of convulsive breath.\n  Guilt unatoned for--thoughts and words of sin--\n    How do they rise up, burning as on glass!\n  The evil pent the wishful heart within\n    Asking for vengeance! O the hideous mass\n  Of wickedness heap'd up, long, long conceal'd!\n  But now as by a lightning flash reveal'd.\n\n  Woe! woe! the Eternal Judge's fiery dart\n    Hath pierced the labyrinthine cells within,\n  Where underneath the pulses of my heart\n    Dwells the mysterious form of crouching sin.\n  Thoughts, baneful wishes,--ay, as well as deeds,\n    Against me in strong phalanx are array'd.\n  In vain these tears--in vain this bosom bleeds:\n    I look upon myself, and am dismay'd,\n  Powerless, and weak, and agonized I cry,--\n  And hear the words, \"Lost sinner, thou must die!\"\n\n  Clouds roll around me, and from an abyss,\n    Drear, dark, profound, behold a hideous form!\n  Closer and closer serpents coiling hiss,\n    And thunders boom along a sky of storm.\n\n{237}\n\n  There is no deed to offer thee of good,\n    Thou mocking fiend! laugh on without restraint!\n  I seem as borne along a sulphurous flood,\n    Too meteorically wild to paint.\n  The couch heaves under me, my sight is gone,--\n    I am with the accuser, and alone!\n\n  Alone! alone! O tell me not 'tis so.\n  That I must grapple powerless with the foe.\n  Jesus, thou Lamb of God, arise! arise!\n  Arrest these doubts, these daring blasphemies.\n  It was for sinners thou didst shed thy blood,\n  For guilty mortals, not for angels' good.\n  Listen! attend! a sinner asks for aid,--\n  For _me_ that blood was spilt, for _me_ thou wast betrayed.\n\n  As when a night of storms has sped away.\n  And robed in florid hues appears the day,\n  Stealingly, gently lighting up the skies\n  With gleams, as from a seraph's smiling eyes,\n  Thus o'er my spirit breeds a gracious calm,\n  O'er my deep wounds is poured a healing balm.\n  Methinks the mild Redeemer stands above,\n  And pleads _his_ righteousness, _his_ cross, _his_ love;\n  While angels' voices wafted straight from heaven\n  Proclaim, \"Thy Savior calls! thou art forgiven!\"\n\n------\n\nFrom The Hibernian Magazine.\n\nTHE CAPUCHIN OF BRUGES.\n\n  \"Three monks sat by a bogwood fire--\n    Bare were their crowns, and their garments grey,\n  Close sat they by that bogwood fire.\n    Watching the wicket till break of day.\"\n                                            Ballad Poetry.\n\nSaving the color of their garments, which, instead of grey, were of a\ndark brown, and the omission of any allusion to their long flowing\nbeards, the above lines convey as accurate an idea as any words could\nof the parties that occupied the spacious guest-chamber of the\nCapuchin convent of Bruges on the last night of October, 1708.\n\nSeated round the capacious hearth, on which, without aid of grate,\ncheerfully blazed a pile of dark gnarled logs dug up from the fens,\nwhich, in the days of Caesar, were shaded by the dense forests of\nFlanders, three lay-brothers of the order kept watch for any wayfarer\nthat might require hospitality or information on the evening in\nquestion. Their convent stood--and a portion of it still stands--at\nthe southern extremity of the town, close beside the present railway\nstation. But Bruges was not, a century and a half ago, what it is\ntoday. War, and the recent decline of its ancient commerce, rendered\nit, at {238} the period of which we write, anything but a safe or\nattractive locality for either tourist or commercial traveller to\nvisit. There was no \"Hotel de Flandre,\" or \"Fleur de Bl\u00e9,\" or even\n\"Singe d'Or,'\" for the weary itinerant to seek refreshment or lodging.\nNeither were there gens-d'armes in the streets, nor affable\nshopkeepers in their gas-lit _magasins_, as at present, to whom the\nbenighted stranger might apply for information regarding the locality\nin which his friends resided. The convents and monasteries, however,\nwith which Belgium was then, as now, studded, were ever open to the\ntraveller, be his rank or condition what it might, and pre-eminent for\ntheir hospitality were the Capuchin fathers.\n\nThe night was a wild one; and the dying blasts of October seemed bent\non a vigorous struggle ere they expired.\n\n\"What an awful storm!\" exclaimed Brother Anselm, rising to secure the\nhuge oak window shutters that seemed, as if in terror, every moment\nready to start from their strong iron fastenings.\n\n\"God preserve us I but 'tis fearful,\" replied one of his companions.\nBrother Bonaventure, \"and what dreadful lightning!\"\n\nPeal after peal of thunder resounded through the spacious hall and\nadjoining corridors; and then, again, came the wind beating the rain,\nin torrents, against door and casement, and completely drowning the\nchimes of the Carillon, though the market-place, where the belfry\nstood, was close beside them. Still not a word escaped their third\ncompanion, Brother Francis, a venerable old man who sat nearer than\nhis younger brethren to the ample fireplace. He continued silently\nreciting \"Ave\" after \"Ave\" on the beads of the large rosary attached\nto his girdle, and seemed, in the excess of his devotion, utterly\nunconscious of the storm that howled without.\n\nA loud knocking at the outer gate followed quickly by the ringing of\nthe stranger's bell, at length announced the arrival of some guest. In\nan instant, the old man let his beads fall to their accustomed place\nby his side--for the rule of St. Francis gave charity toward the\nneighbor a first place among its spiritual observances--and hastened,\nas eagerly as his younger brothers, to admit the poor traveller, who\nmust be sore distrait, on such an awful night.\n\nLighting a lantern, they proceeded through the court to the outer\nporch, and drawing back the slide that covered a small grated aperture\nin the wicket, demanded who the wayfarer might be. The gleam of the\nlamp fell upon the uniforms of two military men, who seemed engaged in\nsupporting a third between them, while their horses stood neighing in\nterror, and pawing the ground beside them. In a second the gate was\nunbarred, and three of Vend\u00f4me's troopers entered the court-yard; two\nof them still supporting their comrade, who had been badly wounded in\na skirmish with Marlborough's troops, near Audenarde, that morning.\nLeaving Anselm with the two other soldiers to look after the horses,\nbrothers Francis and Bonaventure led the wounded man into the convent.\nHe seemed weak and faint; but the cheerful blase of the fire, and the\nrefreshment speedily administered by the good brothers, soon restored\nhim somewhat, though he still suffered acutely from his wound, and was\nutterly unable to stand without the aid of support.\n\nFor the first time Brother Francis broke silence. From the moment he\ncaught a distinct view of the stranger's face, as he sat in the light\nof the fire, his gaze seemed riveted upon him; and an observer might\nhave noticed the old man's lip quiver and his face grow paler, might\nhave even observed a tear steal down his cheek, as he continued for a\nwhile to gaze in silence on the pallid features of the young soldier.\nAt length he addressed him, not in French or {239} Flemish, but in a\nlanguage which to Brother Bonaventure was foreign.\n\nThe stranger's face brightened at the sound of his own tongue, and he\nreadily made answer to the few hurried questions put him by the old\nmonk. Their conversation was of very brief duration; but its result\nseemed astounding. For when Anselm returned with the soldiers, he\nfound Bonaventure and the stranger chafing the old man's temples as he\nlay in a swoon on the bench before them.\n\nTo their inquiries as to the cause of this strange occurrence, Anselm\ncould give no definite answer. All he knew was, that although he could\nnot understand what passed between Brother Francis and their comrade,\nthe conversation seemed to produce a wonderful effect on the former.\nHe trembled from head to foot, and then smiled, and seemed about to\ngrasp the stranger in his arms, when he suddenly fell back on the\nbench as they now saw him. The young soldier--he was almost a boy,\nand strikingly handsome--was equally puzzled. Brother Francis had\nmerely asked him if he were Irish; and when he answered \"Yes;\"--if his\nname was Herbert, and if it was Gerald Herbert, and if his father and\ngrandfather were Irish;--and when he replied that his name was Gerald\nWalter Herbert, and that his grandfather was not Irish, but English,\nthe old man muttered something which he could not catch, and fainted.\nThat was all he could tell them; but what that had to do with Brother\nFrancis's fit still remained a mystery.\n\nFor a considerable time the aged monk lay senseless and almost\nmotionless, the only symptoms of animation he presented being those\nafforded by the convulsive throbbing of his heart, and an occasional\ndeep-drawn sigh. His brothers seemed deeply afflicted, and sought by\nevery means in their power to restore him; for Francis, though few\nknew anything of his history, was, notwithstanding, the favorite of\nthe whole community.\n\nToward midnight the old man revived, and his first inquiry was for the\nyoung soldier. He now embraced him, and, as he pressed him again and\nagain to his heart, with tears and blessings called him \"his son,\"\n\"his dear child.\" Brothers Anselm and Bonaventure looked at each other\nin mute astonishment. They feared that their dear old friend, the\npatriarch of the lay-brothers, was losing his reason. They knew that,\nfor thirty years at least, he had been an inmate of the cloister,\nwhile the party whom he thus lovingly called his son could at furthest\nnumber twenty birthdays, if indeed he could count so many. Still\ngreater, however, was their surprise, when, on a closer scrutiny, they\ncould not fail to observe a market family likeness between their aged\nbrother and the individual on whom all his affections seemed now\ncentred.\n\nBut this was no time for the indulgence of curiosity. The two\ntroopers, drenched and travel-stained, must be attended to, and the\nwound of their comrade looked after. Fortunately their convent\nnumbered among its inmates one of the best leeches in all West\nFlanders. He had been already summoned to the aid of Brother Francis,\nand now that he no longer required his services, he directed his\nattention to the other invalid, whose case seemed the less urgent of\nthe two. In a short time his skilful hand extracted a spent ball from\nthe sufferer's knee, and, by the application of a soothing poultice,\nrestored him to comparative ease. Nor were Brothers Anselm and\nBonaventure idle meanwhile. Piles of well-buttered _tartines_ made of\nwholemeal bread baked in the convent, with plentiful dishes of rashers\nand omelets, and a flagon or two of foaming Louvain beer, soon covered\nthe table. Cold meats, too, of various kinds, were served up in\nabundance; and the two dragoons were soon busily engaged in satisfying\nappetites good at all times, but now considerably sharpened by a hard\nride and a long fast. {240} It was the first peaceful meal they\nenjoyed since the Duke of Burgundy got command; and they blessed their\nstars for having been selected to escort young Herbert to the rear.\nHaving completed the bandaging of his wound, and administered such\nmedicine as he deemed best calculated to make up for his patient's\nloss of blood, the infirmarian led him to the chamber prepared for his\nreception; and Brother Francis begged to be allowed to take charge of\nhim. His request was granted, but on the sole condition that no\nconversation of an exciting nature should take place between him and\nthe invalid till such time as all feverish and inflammatory symptoms\nhad subsided. Day after day, and night after night, the old man\nwatched, in strict silence, beside the stranger's couch; and all were\nin amazement at such assiduity and attention on the part of one who,\nas long as any remembered him, seemed utterly detached from all\nearthly affections. They even saw him mingle tears with his prayers,\nas he knelt beside the pillow of the sleeper. It was whispered that\nthe guardian knew something about the matter; for he, too, now came\nfrequently, and looked with evident interest on the invalid. No one\nelse ventured to speak to Brother Francis on the subject, for though\ngenerally kind and gentle, and communicative as a child, there were\ntimes when he became sad and reserved--and this seemed one of them.\n\nTen days passed on, and the invalid made such rapid progress that the\ninfirmarian and his staff pronounced him quite out of danger, in no\nfurther need of medical treatment, and only requiring the aid of the\ncook to recover completely his wonted vigor. The interdict was now\nremoved, and Brother Francis seemed happy. He could, henceforth, speak\nas he pleased to his young prot\u00e9g\u00e9. The latter felt equally delighted;\nfor he felt, he knew not why, a sort of unaccountable attachment--it\nwas certainly more than mere gratitude--toward the old man growing\ndaily stronger and stronger within him. And then Brother Francis\ncalled him \"my son\"--but perhaps, as an old man, that was the name by\nwhich he addressed all youngsters. At all events, he loved the old\nmonk as a child loves a father, and always felt sad when the duties of\nhis rule obliged his venerable friend to leave him for a time.\n\n\"And so you tell me you have no recollection of your father?\" said\nBrother Francis, with a sigh, as they sat together one evening--it was\nthe eve of St. Martin--in the same apartment where we first introduced\nthem to our readers.\n\n\"None whatever,\" replied his companion; \"he left France as a volunteer\nwith d'Usson's division, and was killed at Limerick when I was but\nthree years old. So I often heard my mother say.\"\n\nThe speaker did not remark the shudder that ran through the old man's\nframe at mention of Limerick; but only paid attention to his next\nquestion, which rapidly followed.\n\n\"And your father's father?\"\n\n\"Was, as I have already said, an Englishman--but he, too, died in the\nwars long ago. They say he fell in Spain.\"\n\nThe old man could no longer restrain his feelings. Bursting into\ntears, and clasping his young companion to his bosom, as he had done\non the night of their first meeting, he said:\n\n\"No, my child--your grandfather, Walter Herbert, is not dead, but yet\nsurvives to give you that blessing which your own poor father could\nnot bestow on you with his parting breath--he stands before you.\"\n\nIt was a touching scene to witness--that old Capuchin monk, with his\nlong white beard, and coarse dark gown, and leathern cincture, and\nbare sandalled feet, locked in the fond embrace of the young soldier\nof \"the Brigade,\" on that eve of St. Martin, in the old convent of\nBruges! We do not mean to intrude on the sacred {241} privacy of\ndomestic feeling, but leaving parent and child to commune with each\nother in the fulness of their hearts, will, with our readers' kind\npermission, assume, for the nonce, the province of the Senachie, and\nbriefly relate as much of their history as we have ourselves learned,\nOutre Mer--and is still oftentimes related on long winter evenings by\nthe brothers who have succeeded--literally stepped into the sandals\nof--Brother Francis and his comrades.\n\n\nTHE CAPUCHIN'S STORY.\n\nWalter Herbert, or, as he was called in religion, Brother Francis, was\nthe only child of an ancient family in Nottinghamshire. Entering the\narmy at an early age, he found himself stationed with his regiment in\nLimerick, when the army of the \"Confederates\" sat down before that\ncity in the summer of sixteen hundred and forty-two. He was then in\nhis twentieth year. Forming part of Courtenay's company, when the city\nopened its gates to Garret Barry and Lord Muskerry, he retired with\nhis commander to King John's castle, where, though closely besieged,\nthey resolutely held out till St. John's eve, when Conrtenay was\nobliged to capitulate. In the course of the attack on the castle, a\nmine was sprung by the besieging party, and a turret, in which Herbert\nwas stationed, fell to the ground with a terrific crash. For weeks he\nlay delirious; and when at length he awoke to consciousness, he found\nhimself the occupant of a handsomely-fitted chamber looking out on the\nchurch of St. Nicholas. His host was a middle-aged,\ngentlemanly-looking person, of grave yet affable manners. He was a\nwidower, and his household consisted of himself, an aged housekeeper,\ntwo sons, and an only daughter. The latter--Eily O'Brien--was the sick\nman's principal nurse, and no Sister of Mercy could have bestowed more\ncare on a suffering invalid than she did on Walter Herbert--stranger\nthough he was to her creed and her country. From lengthened and almost\ncontinual intercourse, a feeling of mutual affection sprang up between\nthe young people. Gratitude on the one hand, and sympathy for the\nsufferings of the handsome young officer on the other, heightened this\nfeelings till it grew into deep and lasting love. Like Desdemona, she\nloved him \"for the dangers he had passed;\" and he loved her \"that she\ndid pity them.\" But an insurmountable obstacle to their union lay in\ntheir difference of religion. Herbert was a Protestant; and old Connor\nO'Brien would never hear of any child of his being united to one of\nthat creed which, in its struggle for ascendency, he believed to be\nthe cause of so much suffering to his country, even though no other\nimpediment whatever existed. A private marriage was thus their only\nalternative, and to this, in an evil hour, poor Eily consented.\n\nMonths rolled on--months of bliss to Walter and Eily--but their\nseparation was at hand. Important letters called Herbert away, almost\nat a moment's notice. He hoped, however, that his absence would be of\nno lengthened duration, and that he would soon return to publicly\nclaim his own Eily as his wife. But alas! his hopes were doomed to sad\nand bitter disappointment. On his arrival in England, he found the\nentire country in arms; and as it became impossible to remain neutral,\nor return to Ireland, he was forced to join the newly-formed corps\njust raised in his native county by Henry Ireton, his father's\nlandlord. Once under military discipline there was no retreating; and\nthough all his thoughts were turned to Ireland, he was doomed to\nmaddening suspense regarding her who alone made Ireland dear to him.\nAll communication between the two countries was now suspended. At\nEdgehill and Newbury he retreated before the king's troops--and at\nMarston Moor and Naseby had a share in defeating them. But victory or\ndefeat was alike void of {242} interest to him. It was even with\nindifference he heard of his promotion for having saved his general's\nlife at Naseby. The sole engrossing thought of his existence was how\nto get back to Limerick. That long-sought for opportunity at last\narrived; but when it did, it scarcely brought joy to Herbert. He was\nordered to join in the invading Parliamentary force; and, when he\ncalled to mind the fierce fanatics who were to be his fellow-soldiers,\nlove made him tremble for the Irishry.\n\nThe fourteenth of June saw him on the battle-field of Naseby--the\nfollowing autumn found him sailing up the Shannon--and, ere the close\nof the year, he was gazing on the steeple of St. Mary's and the towers\nof Limerick from the battlements of Bunratty, which had fallen into\nthe hands of the Parliamentarians. He fancied he could even see the\nvery house in which he had spent so many happy days. But beyond fancy\nhe could not go. To reach the city was utterly impossible. All he\ncould learn, from an Abbey fisherman whom they had taken prisoner, was\nthat Connor O'Brien was still alive, and that his daughter was married\nand had a beautiful little boy. Who her husband was his informant\ncould not say; but he thought he was an officer in Earl Glamorgan's\narmy. Herbert, however, well knew who he was, and he would have risked\nworlds to have sent back his prisoner in safety, with even one line to\nLimerick. But Lord Inchiquin's troops were too vigilant to allow of\nany communication with the city. Even this intelligence, scanty though\nit was, afforded him some consolation. He knew his wife was safe, and\nunable any longer to endure the Tantalus-like position in which he was\nplaced, he found means of returning again to England.\n\nHis next and last visit to Ireland was in the summer of sixteen\nhundred and fifty. He was then pretty high in command, and had hopes,\nas he sat down with Waller's army of investment before Limerick, in\nthe July of that year, that should he be only able to effect an\nentrance into the town, his authority would be sufficient to protect\nwhomsoever he pleased. But the year passed away, and still the city\nheld out. And, had he but his wife and child without its walls, he\nwould have counselled its burghers to hold out even still more\nmanfully, for he well knew the iron heart and bloody hand of the\nexecrable Hardress Waller.\n\nThe spring of the next year found him still before Limerick; and could\nhe but communicate with any of its gallant defenders, his hatred of\ntreachery would have urged him to expose to them the perfidy of one of\ntheir own whom they had raised to the rank of colonel. This wretch was\nnamed Fennell; and, for his treason in selling the passes of the\nShannon at Killaloe, their commander-in-chief Cromwell had promised\nhim and his descendants many a fair acre in Tipperary. By this pass\nIreton and his myrmidons crossed the river into Clare; and with them\npassed Walter Herbert. Still his heart was full of hope of saving all\nhe held dear in the leaguered city. Spring passed away, and summer\nagain came; and still the assailing host made no progress toward the\ncapture of the town which Ireton and his father-in-law regarded as the\nkey of all the Munster territories. In the burning heat of July, while\npestilence daily thinned the ranks of the besieged, an assault was\nordered on the almost defenceless keep that guarded the northern\nextremity of the salmon weir, and Herbert was reluctantly obliged to\nform one of the storming party. His immediate senior in command was a\nperson named Tuthill--one of those heartless hypocrites who could\npreach and pray while his brutal soldiery were massacring the wives\nand children of the brave men whom the chances of war made his\nvictims. The fort was carried by overwhelming numbers; and Herbert was\ndoomed to witness, with horror, the butchery of the surviving\ndefenders, mercilessly {243} ordered by Tuthill--an order which he\nunhappily had no power of countermanding, but in the execution of\nwhich he took no part. Still the city held out, though the \"leaguer\nsickness\" was rapidly decimating its brave garrison. The north\nfortress of Thomond bridge was next carried by assault--but to no\npurpose. The townsmen succeeded in breaking down two of its arches,\nand thus cutting off all approach to the city in that quarter, and in\nresisting the sortie three hundred of their assailants perished.\nWinter was now fast approaching, and the plague extending from the\ncity, in which fifty of its victims were now daily interred, commenced\nto thin the ranks of the besiegers themselves. Ireton had serious\nthoughts of raising the siege, and he would, beyond all question, have\ndone so, were it not for treachery. Fennell, the traitor of Killaloe,\nwas again at work--this time, unfortunately, within the very walls of\nthe city itself.\n\nA truce of some days was agreed on; and Herbert was one of those\nappointed to treat with the townsmen. The deputies met on neutral\nground, midway between the city and camp, and within range of the\nrival batteries. His heart was now full of greater hopes than ever.\nCould he but meet with any member of Eily's family, he hoped that his\nlove for her would induce them to listen to his counsels. But fate, it\nwould seem, had leagued all chances against him. Had he met them, he\nmeant to put them on their guard against Fennell's treachery, and,\nwithout absolutely breaking trust, give them such a key to Ireton's\nfears and readiness to make concessions as would, he hoped, lead to an\nhonorable capitulation, and prevent the bloodshed which, from the\nshattered state of the town walls, and the additional element of\ntreachery within those walls, he now judged to be inevitable, unless\nthey came to terms with Ireton. But not one of them appeared; for the\ntraitor had laid his plans deeply, and succeeded in diverting them and\nthe clerical party, to which they faithfully adhered, from anything\nlike a compromise. He wished that the sole merit and reward of\nsurrendering the city should be his own. And he succeeded. The\nconference ended fruitlessly; and Herbert returned to the camp\nwell-nigh broken-hearted.\n\nThe plague continued its ravages meanwhile; and, day after day, within\nthe city, the dying were brought by their relatives to the tomb of\nCornelius O'Dea, where many, it was believed, were restored to health\nthrough the intercession of that saintly prelate, who lay buried in\nthe cathedral. Its effects were visibly traced in the ranks of the\nbesieging Army. Still Ireton, relying on treason within, pressed on\nthe siege. By a bridge of pontoons he succeeded in connecting the\nThomond side of the river with the King's Island, where he now planted\na formidable battery, to play on the eastern side of the city.\nHerbert had fortunately escaped witnessing the horrors of Drogheda and\nWexford; but a sight almost as appalling now met his eyes. In the\nsmoke of the cannonade crowds of plague-stricken victims--principally\nwomen and children--ventured outside the city walls to catch one pure\nbreath of air from the Shannon, on \"the Island\" bank,--and there lie\ndown and die. But when this was discovered, the heartless Waller\nforbade even this short respite from suffering. By his orders, those\nunhappy beings, who could have no share in protracting the siege, were\nmercilessly dogged back by the soldiery into the plague-reeking city--\nand such as refused to return were, by the same pitiless mandate,\n_hanged_   [Footnote 38] within sight of their fellow-townsmen!\n\n  [Footnote 38: Historical]\n\nThe daily sight of this revolting butchery was sickening to the noble\nheart and refined feelings of Herbert. But suffering for him had not\nyet reached its climax. As he was seated in his tent, one evening\ntoward the {244} close of October, fatigued after a long foraging\nexcursion to the Meelick mountains, and musing sadly on the fate of\nher who was almost within sight of him, and yet whom, by what seemed\nto him an almost supernatural combination of adverse circumstances, he\nhad not seen for years, his attention was arrested by the cries of a\nfemale who seemed struggling with her captors. His manhood was aroused\nby such an outrage--committed almost in his very presence--and he rose\nat once to rescue the victim from her assailants. But, horror of\nhorrors! at the very door of his tent, and in the grasp of an armed\nruffian, lay the fainting and all but inanimate form of his wife! To\nfell the wretch, and clasp the beloved object to his bosom, was but\nthe work of a second. But, oh! how sorrow and sickness had changed\nthat once beautiful face, and wasted that once symmetrical form. Death\nhad already clutched her in his bony gripe, and selected her for his\nown. His kiss was upon her lips, for they were livid and\nplague-stained. And her beautiful blue eyes! how they now wandered\nwith the wild look of a maniac. All that remained of the beautiful\nEily he once knew were the long fair ringlets that now fell down in\ndishevelled masses on her heaving bosom. The sight almost drove him\nmad. In vain he clasped her to his heart, and called her by the dear\nfond name of wife. She knew him not, yet, when she spoke, her ravings\nwere all about him; and he often wondered afterward how his brain\nstood the shock, when, without knowing him, she still called on him,\n\"her own dear, dear Walter, to save her, to take her away from those\nterrible men--at least to come to her--for, to come to him, she had\nleft her poor old father and little Gerald behind.\"\n\nWholly occupied with his wife, Herbert paid no attention to the\nsergeant's guard that stood at the tent door under arms. When at\nlength he perceived them, he flew into a phrenzy of passion, asking\nthem how they dared stand thus in his presence?--and ended by\nordering \"the catiffs who could thus treat a woman to get out of his\nsight presently.\"\n\nBut the orderly remained unmoved. Were his hands free at the moment,\nHerbert would have unquestionably run him through for presuming to\ndisobey his orders, such was the irritated state of his feelings. But\nhe could not leave the shrinking, still unconscious being that clung\nto him for support. Stamping his foot in a rage, he demanded what he\nwanted, or why he regained there?\n\n\"Pris'ner, sir,\" was the sergeant's laconic reply, as he mechanically\ntouched his hat.\n\n\"What prisoner?\"\n\n\"The woman, sir.\"\n\n\"Heavens and earth! do you mean to drive me mad, man?\" and the soldier\nrecoiled for an instant at the voice and look of his officer.\n\n\"Can't help it, sir--gen'ral's orders. Woman came to the camp three\ntimes, sir--supposed to be a spy, and ordered to be hanged.\"\n\n\"Hanged!\" In a second his burthen was laid on the camp-bed, and the\nsergeant laid prostrate by a blow that would have almost felled an ox.\n\nThe guard now interposed; and from them he learned that the party in\nquestion had been several times seen to leave the city, in defiance of\nSir Hardress Waller's orders. Twice already she had been flogged back,\nbut she came out again, that day, at noon, and was by the general's\norders sentenced to execution. The soldier added that an old rebel\n[Footnote 39] calling himself her father, when he heard of the\nsentence, offered himself in her stead; but Sir Hardress ordered him\nto be instantly flogged back. \"She was to have been hanged,\" he\ncontinued, \"at sunset, but she broke loose from them and ran toward\nhis tent as he had seen.\"\n\n  [Footnote 39: A Fact. _Vide_ \"Ferrar's History of Limerick,\" page 64. ]\n\n\"Touch not a hair of her head, on your peril,\" exclaimed Herbert as\nthe {245} corporal concluded, and kissing the pallid lips of his wife,\nhe rushed out of the tent to seek the general, just as returning\nconsciousness revealed to Eily the name of her deliverer.\n\n\"Walter, my own dear husband. Oh! come back, don't leave me,\" were the\nlast words he heard as he flew toward the tent of the\ncommander-in-chief, more like a maniac than anything else.\n\n\"By the bones of St. Pancras, he's either mad, or she is,\" said a tall\nweaver from Lambeth, who wore the badge of a lance-corporal.\n\n\"Ay is he, and sore wrathful to boot,\" replied his rear-rank man, with\na grin--he was a butcher from Newgate. \"But we are the sufferers, and\nshall, I fear, be late for supper. The gallows, however, is ready to\nhand, thank God, and we shall make short work of it when the captain\nreturns.\"\n\nThe name of God on the lips of such a miscreant, and on such an\noccasion, makes us almost shudder. But, reader, these were Cromwellian\ntimes, and such were Cromwellian customs.\n\nHerbert found Ireton and his second in command seated at the supper\ntable--and hell could not have unchained two such incarnate demons on\nthat same evening. The object of his visit was soon explained. But it\nseemed only to supply subject of mirth to his superior officers.\n\n\"Pooh, pooh! man,\" said the commander-in-chief, \"you are, I fear,\ngrown quite a papist, too soft-hearted entirely. I wonder how you\nwould act had you been at the _battue_ in Drogheda or Wexford?\" and\nIreton sipped his hock with a devilish leer.\n\n\"But, general, she is my wife,\" gasped Herbert.\n\n\"Folly, man!\" rejoined Waller; \"no faith to be kept with heretics, you\nknow, and all these Irish are such. You will easily find another, I\ntrow you, when we sack the city one of these fine days.\"\n\nHerbert heeded not the coarse jest of the speaker, but, turning to the\ngeneral, implored him to torn a serious ear to a matter on which the\nhappiness of his life depended. But Ireton seemed inclined to laugh it\noff as an excellent joke.\n\nDriven to desperation, the brave soldier, who never before feared or\nsupplicated any man, sank on his knees, and with tears of agony\nbesought him to cancel Waller's iniquitous sentence. He even asked him\nto do so in memory of the act by which, at the risk of his own life,\nhe saved his at Naseby. And Ireton seemed almost inclined to relent,\nand hope began to brighten in the heart of the suppliant, when a\nwhisper from Waller to the general blasted them for ever. He had\nhimself in person given the order for execution, and his callous heart\nwas too obdurate to feel compunction even for a bad act. Summoning an\norderly, he gave him some instructions in an undertone; and Herbert\nwas directed by his commander-in-chief to make his report of the\nprogress of the trenches under his command in the King's Island. This\nwas but a feint to turn his attention from the main object of his\nvisit. His report was, however, quickly made, and as there was no\nother pretext for detaining him he arose to depart. There was\nsomething more then fiendish in the laugh of Hardress Waller as he\nwished him safe home, and a good night's rest.\n\nThat night, a heart-broken man knelt beneath the gibbet erected on the\ngreen sward in front of King John's castle. For him all earthly\nhappiness was now over; and there, in the presence of the pale moon\nthat looked silently on his sorrow, that cold October night, he vowed\neternal fealty to his wife in heaven, eternal hatred to her murderers.\nThere was a strange admixture of reverence and irreligion, of love and\nhatred, in his feelings and sentiments, no doubt; but the camp of\nCromwell was but an indifferent school for the culture of Christian\nethics. Beside, his brain was, for the time, astray from sorrow and\noutraged feeling; he followed but {246} the dictates of human passion\nunrestrained by either reason or religion. His heart and his hopes\nwere already buried in the grade that was soon to close over the\nremains of his first and only love; and, from that night out, though\nhis life was a long and a chequered one, he was never known to smile,\ntill he became an inmate of the monastery where we found him at the\ncommencement of our narrative.\n\nThe remainder of the siege was a blank chapter in his life. By nature\na soldier, he got through his duties fearlessly but mechanically,\nwithout the slightest feeling of interest in any enterprise in which\nhe had a share. To him defeat or victory was a matter of utter\nindifference; and it was in this mood he entered the fallen city, as\nthe sun was sinking, on the 27th of October, 1651, and took up his\nquarters with Ireton, in the old Dutch-gabled house which is still\nstanding, and adjoins the Tholsel in Mary street. It is more than\nprobable that his reason would have altogether succumbed beneath the\nterrible shock it had sustained, were it not for some new incidents\nthat now occurred to awaken it for a time to activity.\n\nBy sunrise on the 29th, the Cromwellian garrison beat to arms. It was\nthe signal for the assemblage of the Irish troops in the old cathedral\nof St. Mary's, where, in accordance with the third article of\ncapitulation, they were to lay down their arms. It was not Fennell's\nfault that they escaped the fate of the soldiers and women of Drogheda\nand Wexford. He had done his work of treachery well; and we cannot\nventure to say what his feelings were when he beheld his brave but\nill-fated countrymen assembled round the altar to deposit at its rails\nthe weapons they had so long and so gallantly wielded in the cause of\none who was afterward to despoil their children of their lawful\nheritage, and sanction its appropriation by the murderers of his\nfather. Ah! no Irishman can ever forget the ingratitude of the second\nCharles. But Walter Herbert thought little of the ceremony gone\nthrough that morning in the old church of the O'Briens till all was\nover. As the disarmed garrison marched down the long aisle of the\ncathedral many of them dropped dead--it might have been of the\nplague, or it might have been of a broken heart. Among the dead were\ntwo whose faces he had not looked on for years--Terence and Donat\nO'Brien, his wife's brothers. The sight awakened a new thought within\nhim--that of his child whom he had not yet seen--and but few moments\nelapsed ere he was standing in front of the old corner house opposite\nthe church of St. Nicholas. But its appearance was sadly changed since\nlast he saw it. Gable and chimney bore evident marks of the enemy's\ncannon, while all around wore an air of desolation and sorrow. He\nlooked up into one well-remembered window, but no fragrant geraniums\nwere now there, as of old; no lark carolled the cheering song he so\noften listened to, with pleasure, some nine years before; balcony, and\nshutter, and curtain had disappeared. The whole house seemed in\nmourning. Even his knock rang through the house as through a\nsepulchre--so he thought. Twice he repeated it; and, at length, an\naged head peered cautiously through a dormer window, and asked who was\nthere. His answer quickly brought down the old domestic; but a flood\nof tears was her only welcome, as she opened the door and admitted him\nShe had been the nurse of Eily and her brothers in childhood, and\npartly his own in sickness; and was now the survivor of all her old\nheart loved; of all, save one, a blue-eyed, curly-headed boy, who now\nhid behind her, evidently scared at the presence of a visitor in that\ndesolate dwelling. A few words of greeting on the part of old Winny or\nWinifred assured him that he was known and welcome; and a few words of\nfondness addressed to the child soon restored his confidence. He was\neven, ere long, seated {247} contentedly on his father's knee, playing\nwith sword-buckle--for that fair-headed, blue-eyed boy was the only\nchild of Eily O'Brien and Walter Herbert. And as he gazed with pride\non his beautiful boy, new hope and a new sense of duty sprang up\nwithin him. He felt that there was even yet something to live for. To\nprotect that half-orphan child and his sorrowing grandsire would from\nthat moment be the sole duty of his life, the sole solace of\nexistence; and to this he pledged himself in Eily's little room, to\nwhich he ascended with his youthful companion, who, at his nurse's\nbidding, now called him father, and twined his little hands round his\nneck as he kissed him. The sudden roll of drums at length announced to\nhim that it was time to depart, and fondly embracing his child once\nmore, he hurried out of the house. He would never have left it did he\nthen but know that in so doing he was bidding his boy farewell for\never.\n\nThe beating to arms announced the commencement of the mock trial of\ntwo dozen individuals, whom Ireton had already virtually sentenced to\ndeath, by excluding them from the protection guaranteed to the\nremaining citizens in the terms of capitulation. How readily would\nHerbert have saved every one of them, but his vote was only effective\nin one case, that of the gallant Hugh O'Neil, the city governor. The\nrest were condemned, by a majority, to die; and it was not without a\ntear he beheld that long file of brave and resolute men led forth to\nthe scaffold. Priest and layman, soldier and citizen, were alike\nsacrificed, and for no crime save that of loving and defending their\nnative land. And what Englishman, thought he, would not readily be\nguilty of the same offence? All passed silently from the\ndeath-chamber; all, save one, a venerable man, who, with Father\nWoulfe, was arrested in the lazar-house while administering the last\nsacraments of the Church to its plague-stricken inmates, soon to be\ndeprived of all spiritual ministry. Herbert thought he recognized him,\nas he stood erect and fearless in the council-hall, and with hand\npointed toward heaven, summoning Ireton to meet him, ere a month, at\nits judgment bar. He had certainly seen him before, but dressed in\nwhite serge, and not, as now, in purple. Nay, if he remembered\nrightly, he had been Eily's confessor, and, with the parish\nclergyman's permission, had married them privately in the church of\nSt. Saviour, having first obtained a promise, freely granted by\nHerbert, that the children of that union, if such there were, should\nbe brought up in the religion of the mother. What would he not have\ndone to preserve the live [life?] of that venerable, heavenly-looking man! The\nlast of Ireton's victims was one whose presence among the condemned he\nwitnessed with astonishment. He had seen him closeted for hours with\nthat same Ireton; and knew him to have been promised lands and money\nfor certain services to be rendered to the general. But treachery was\nmet with treachery; and Fennell, the traitor, ended his days on the\nsame scaffold with Terence O'Brien, the bishop and martyr.\n\n* * * * * *\n\nThe last guard was relieved on the day of execution--it was the eve of\nAll-Hallows--and the clock of the town-hall was just chiming midnight\nas Herbert, who was the officer of the night, commenced his rounds. As\nhe passed along, in silence and alone, by the Dean's Close, on his way\nto the castle barracks, he was suddenly stopped, at the head of an\narched passage, over which an oil lamp feebly flickered, by an\nindividual closely wrapped up in a large, dark frieze over-coat. To\ndraw his sword was his first impulse; but a single glance at that wan\nface, whose gaze was sadly fixed upon him, changed his purpose in an\ninstant. And, though armed to the teeth, he trembled in presence of\nthat defenceless old man, and stood in silence before him.\n\n{248}\n\n\"Don't you know me, Walter?\" said the stranger.\n\n\"Alas! too well,\" was his reply. \"But can I hope that you will ever\nforgive me?\"\n\n\"My creed tells tells me to forgive even my--but I believe you never\nmeant to be such\"--and the old man extended his hand to Herbert.\n\nThey stood alone--with no eye upon them save that of the all-seeing\nOne, and, in his presence, Walter fell on his knees, protesting his\npurity of intention, and asking the old man's blessing. And Conner\nO'Brien, for it was he, with head uncovered, blessed the stranger for\nthe first time, and, raising him up, clasped him to his bosom as his\nson--the husband of his darling Eily, now sleeping with her mother in\nKillely.\n\nHerbert was about to respond, with a fervent assurance of his undying\nlove and devotion to her, when the old man stopped him short, and,\ndrawing him into the recess of the bow way, asked him if he might now\nrely on his friendship and protection.\n\n\"Henceforth, as God is my witness,\" earnestly replied Herbert, \"your\ninterest and mine are but one.\"\n\n\"Good!\" returned his companion. \"Then, when occasion presents itself,\nyou will procure a pass for myself and a friend in whose safety I feel\nthe deepest interest. For my own life I care not, as I have no one\nsave you and my grandson now remaining to care for.\" Then the old man,\ndespite his resolution, sobbed aloud. \"But my friend,\" he continued,\nafter a few moments, \"cannot yet be spared. We cannot afford to lose\nhim, and it is solely on his account--though he knows nothing of my\nproject--that I have waited here to meet you.\"\n\nAfter some further brief conversation, they parted with a fond embrace\n--the old man to his friend, and Walter to the barracks. When his\nwatch was ended, he lay down to enjoy, for the first time during many\nmonths, a peaceful slumber of several hours.\n\nThe 1st of November, 1651, dawned brightly on the old city of\nLuimneach, and its now shattered fortifications--brightly on the\nbrown heath of the Meelick mountains--brightly on the waving woods of\nCratloe--brightly on the rapids at the salmon weir, and on the snowy\nsails of the English transports at anchor in \"the pool\"--brightly on\nthe gory head of Terence O'Brien, Bishop of Emly, impaled on the\ncenter tower of the city--brightly, too, on his murderer, Henry\nIreton, as he reviewed the body of troops destined for the siege of\nCarrigaholt Castle; for God \"maketh his sun to rise upon the good and\nbad.\" Ere the sun set the vanguard of that body had left the Cratloe\nhills far behind them, on their march westward; and Herbert was second\nin command of the first division. He was well mounted, and with him\nrode two peasants thoroughly acquainted with the country, and destined\nto serve him as guides. Of late his soldiers remarked that he had\ngrown unusually silent and morose, and few of them cared to intrude on\nhim uninvited. Thus it happened that, during the march, he rode\nconsiderably in advance, though always within sight of his detachment,\nwith no other companions than the two guides.\n\nWith one of them he seemed well acquainted, and the soldiers remarked\nthat he conversed freely with him on the road. The other seemed to\nspeak but seldom, and then only to his brother guide. This, however,\nwas no matter of surprise, as it was supposed he spoke in Irish, a\nlanguage almost utterly unknown to the English commander. And such, in\nreality, was the fact. Whether he understood English or not, he spoke\nin his native tongue to O'Brien, who, as the reader may have guessed,\nwas Herbert's other guide on the evening in question. As they\napproached Ennis the old man seemed much excited, alleging, as his\nreason, that he feared being recognized; but it was not difficult to\nperceive that his {249} anxiety was more for his companion than\nhimself. They succeeded, however, in reaching their destination, and\nencamped near Kilfiehera to await the arrival of the main body from\nKilrush. Under pretext of exploring the wild coast of Kilkee and\nFarahee, Herbert left the camp at sunrise, attended solely by the two\nindividuals who had been his companions on the march from Limerick. He\nreturned alone, however, in the evening, and rumor went abroad that he\nhad been deserted by his guides amid the wild recesses of the coast.\nThis new piece of treachery on the part of the Irishry, after being\nwarmly denounced round the Cromwellian camp-fires that night, was\nforwarded next morning to Limerick, to be faithfully chronicled, with\nmany other facts of like authenticity, in \"Ludlow's Memoirs.\" Herbert\nwas too much overjoyed at the escape of his father-in-law and the\nfriend in whom he seemed so deeply interested, to give himself any\nconcern about the camp-fire gossip, or Ludlow's version of the matter.\n\nThe next week found him again in Limerick. Sudden news of the alarming\nillness of the general had reached the camp, and the expedition to the\nwest was, for the time, abandoned. Herbert found his new post a trying\none--to keep watch and ward with Hardress Waller, one of his wife's\nmurderers, beside the dying bed of another. Waller was Ireton's\nconfidant, the ready instrument of all his infamy; and Herbert was\nselected by the general to attend him as the only surviving officer\nattached to his own regiment since it was first raised in Nottingham,\nthe native county of both. To escape from his post was impossible.\nNothing short of suicide could free him from it; and the thought of\nhis little son, if no higher motive, prevented him from putting an end\nto his existence. Night after night was he doomed to sit by the\nbed-side of the dying man and listen to the wild ravings of remorse\nand blasphemy that, almost every moment escaped his plague-stained\nlips. He would start up betimes, and, with the frantic look of a\nmaniac, call for his sword to ward off the fiends that seemed to mock\nhis tortures; and then he would sink back exhausted, still wildly\nraving of Charles Stuart, and Terence O'Brien, the \"Lord's anointed,\"\nas he now called them, whom he had murdered. Nay, he would clutch\nHerbert's hand, and, with tears, implore his forgiveness. But Hardress\nWaller stood there too, and a look from him would again rouse the\nmurder-fiend within him. All feeling of compunction would then pass\naway; and grim despair again lay hold of him. Oh! it was a fearful\nsight--that death-bed of despairing remorse. It never left Herbert's\nmemory, and was the commencement of that change that ultimately\nconverted the Puritan soldier into a Christian monk.\n\nIreton died in his house in Mary street on the 26th of November, 1651,\nstill \"raging and raving,\" says the chronicler,  [Footnote 40] of the\nunfortunate prelate, whose unjust condemnation he imagined hurried on\nhis death. Herbert was of the party appointed to guard the remains to\nEngland, and, before setting out, hastened to his father-in-law's\nhouse to bring his child with him. But, alas! he found it empty, and\nnot the slightest trace of Winny or the boy. Nor could any one tell\nhim what had become of either. With a bursting heart, he set out with\nthe funeral cortege to Cork, and thence to Bristol, resolved never\nmore to draw sword in Cromwell's cause. Arrived in London, he\ndelivered up his charge, and at once quitted the kingdom, without\nwaiting for the lying in state at Somerset House, or final interment\nin Westminster Abbey, of Ireton's plague-stricken corpse. Though\npledged never again to serve in the ranks of the monsters whose\natrocities in Ireland made him so often blush for his native country,\nhe could not yet entirely wean {250} himself away from his old\nprofession. After a few months passed in idleness and _ennui_ on the\ncontinent, during which he vainly tried to forget the loss of his wife\nand child, he entered the Earl of Bristol's regiment as a volunteer,\nand faithfully maintained the cause of King Charles till his\nrestoration. It was when forming part of his body-guard at Lord Tara's\nresidence in Bruges, where the exiled monarch occasionally resided,\nthat he first met with the Capuchin fathers, and was by them received\ninto the Catholic Church. With the king he returned to England, but\nonly to have all his sad recollections awakened by meeting once more\nwith his old enemies, Waller and Ireton.\n\n  [Footnote 40: Burke, \"_Hibernia Dominicana_.\"]\n\nIreton! some astonished reader will exclaim. Why, surely, we buried\nhim years ago, and are not expected, we presume, to believe in ghosts\nin this enlightened nineteenth century of ours.\n\nAnd yet we must repeat what we have written. On his return to London,\nWalter Herbert again stood face to  with Waller and Ireton--the\nformer, with a smile of hypocritical adulation, welcoming the return\nof him whose father he had aided in murdering--the latter, a hideous\nspectacle, first dangling on a gallows at Tyburn, and then grimly\nstaring at the by-passers--if those sightless sockets could be said to\nstare--from the highest spike on Westminster Hall. It was a shocking\nsight to Herbert--that ghastly skeleton and that ghastly head--and\nrecalled to his memory, with sadness and horror, another but far\ndifferent head which, ten years before, he saw set up, pallid and\nblood-stained, on the castled tower of Limerick. God is very just,\nthought he, as he passed on, with a shudder.\n\nOn his return to England Herbert found himself friendless. All his\nrelatives had died, or perished on the battle-field, during the civil\nwars, and of his child there was still no trace. All he could learn\nwas that he had been sent to his grandfather, then resident on the\ncontinent; but where the grandfather resided, there was no means of\nascertaining. Tired of England, and the cruelties and perfidies he\ndaily saw endorsed by the sign-manual of one who, he imagined, should\nhave learned toleration and honor in the school of affliction--in\nhopes also of meeting with his child--he quitted his native land for\never, and joined the ranks of the Duke of Lorraine, the old ally and\nfriend of his former commander, the Earl of Bristol. With him and Sir\nGeorge Hamilton he fought the battles of Spain for nigh fifteen years;\nand his last achievement in her service was one of the brightest on\nrecord. With a few resolute companions he held his ground for two\nentire days in the shattered citadel of Cambrai, though the battery to\nwhich they returned shot for shot was under the personal inspection of\nLouis XIV. and the renowned hunchback Luxemburg. The bursting of a\nshell laid him senseless, and when, after a long and painful illness,\nhe was again restored to health, he resolved, in thanksgiving, to\ndevote the remainder of his days to the exclusive service of God, in\nthe convent where he first learned to know him.\n\nDuring the recital of the foregoing narrative, which, for brevity's\nsake, we have given consecutively, and in our own words, Brother\nFrancis was frequently interrupted by his youthful auditor, as new\nlight was thrown by him on events in his family history which, till\nthen, he had never heard satisfactorily cleared up. He had already\nlearned from his mother that his grandfather had been an English\nofficer, supposed to have fallen in Cromwell's wars, though a vague\nreport reached the family that he was seen in Spain after Cromwell's\ndeath. Of his grandmother, he only heard that she died young, and that\nher father resided for a considerable time in Brussels, with his\ngrandson, whom, at his death, he confided to the care of none guardian\nof St. Antoine's at Louvain, who was his brother-in-law, and who had\nbrought the boy, when a mere child, from Ireland. {251} He further\nlearned that, after the completion of his studies, and contrary to the\nwish of his uncle, who intended him for the ecclesiastical state, his\nfather embraced the profession of arms, and, shortly after his\nmarriage, embarked with the French troops sent by King Louis to\nIreland. He fell at the siege of Limerick, and his widow died of a\nbroken heart soon after the intelligence of her husband's death\nreached her. He was himself then but a boy, and was placed by his\nmother's relatives at the Benedictine college of Douai, whence he\npassed, in due time, like his father, to the ranks, and was then\nserving, as we have already seen, in the Duke of Vend\u00f4me's anny.\n\n\"But you did not say who the other person was that accompanied you on\nthe march from Limerick to Carrigaholt, or what became of him or his\ncompanion,\" resumed the young soldier, when he had concluded.\n\n\"That remains to this day a mystery to me,\" replied his grandfather,\n\"for I never saw either after we parted that evening. I left them on a\nlofty isolated rock off the coast of Clare, to which they were\nconveyed, as the surest place of safety, by a few poor fishermen, then\ndwelling in a ruined keep on the verge of the cliff's, which, if I\nremember rightly, they called Dunlicky. Had I much curiosity I might\nhave possibly learned the stranger's name, but I never inquired, and\nprobably, as I did not, my father-in-law never told me. Certain it is\nthat he must have been a person of high distinction, as all addressed\nhim with marked respect, I might almost say reverence, and seemed most\ndevoted to him, though, as far as I could see, he possessed no earthly\nmeans of remunerating them--nothing, in fact, save the half-military,\nhalf-rustic garments in which he was clad. And as they left him and\nhis companion in one of the two small huts that served as a shelter in\nstormy weather for the few wild-looking sheep that browsed on the\nisland, they promised soon to return with such necessaries as he might\nrequire during his stay among them. On returning to the canoe that\nbrought us from the mainland, I remembered that I heard something fall\nfrom the stranger as he stepped ashore on a ledge of the island. In my\nhurry at the moment I paid no attention to the circumstance; and it\nwas only on our arrival at the foot of the cliff on which the old\ncastle stood, that I found the object which he had dropped lying in\nthe bottom of the boat. Hoping soon to be able to restore it to its\nowner, I took it with me, and ever since it has remained in my\npossession; for I need scarcely say, after all you have heard, that an\nopportunity of restoring it never since presented itself. I still\nretain it, with the father guardian's permission, in hopes of one day\ndiscovering its lawful claimant.\"\n\nHere Brother Francis drew from the folds of his garment a small ebony\ncrucifix, inlaid with pearl, and richly set in gold, and, reverently\nkissing it, handed it to his companion. The latter, after carefully\nexamining it, read the following inscription, beautifully engraved in\ntext characters round the rim--\n\n  \"J. B. RINUC. LEG. AP. R.R.D.D.\n  EDM DO. O'DWYER EP O.\n  LUIM I. M.DCXLVI.\"\n\nStill the history and after fate of the owner of the crucifix remained\na mystery to them. Perhaps some reader of the foregoing pages may be\nable to throw some light on the subject, if not for their benefit, at\nleast for ours.\n\nLittle more remains to be told of Brother Francis. In his ninetieth\nyear he died peacefully in the midst of the brotherhood with whom so\nmany years of his life had been happily spent--and his eyes were\nclosed in death by the hands of Eily O'Brien's grandchild, young\nGerald Herbert, who had likewise joined the order, and given up the\ncamp and its turmoil, and the world and its deceit, to don the cowl of\nSt. Francis, and spend the rest of his days with the humble,\nhospitable Capuchins of Bruges.\n\n----\n\n{252}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nTHE DAUGHTERS OF THE DUC D'AYEN.\n\n\nThe stirring events, political and military, which followed on the\noutbreak of the great French revolution, giving a shock to every\ninstitution, secular and religious, and leaving their mark on the\nhistory of every civilized country, affected also, to an unexampled\ndegree, the fortunes of families and individuals throughout Europe.\nThe troubles that overwhelmed the thrones of kings, and seemed to\nthreaten the Church herself with destruction, penetrated even to the\nvery lowest classes of society. The great were ruined as well as their\nprinces; the wealthy and noble were proscribed and exiled; new\nfamilies arose as well as new dynasties; and if the cottage was spared\npersecution, it did not escape the conscription, while in many cases\nits inmates died on the guillotine by the side of the tenants of the\nneighboring palace. By this great and universal convulsion hearts and\ncharacters were tried to the utmost; and if many in every class sank\nunder the ordeal which called for courage, patience, and prudence, and\nother virtues in the heroic degree, it is no less true that many\nothers, who seemed to have been born for a life of quiet and ordinary\nduty, for unbroken and uneventful happiness, displayed unexpected\nstrength of character, great qualities of heart and mind, and revealed\ngraces of the highest order under the blows of affliction. We are in\nsome respects fortunate in living just at the distance we do from a\nperiod like this; for it has not yet passed into the region of pure\nhistory, in which we can feel no practical concern; and yet time\nenough has elapsed since its close for us to reap a part at least of\nthe rich inheritance that it has left behind it of memoirs and\ncorrespondence relating to those who played an actual part in its\nscenes. It was crowded with lives that deserve to be written, full of\ninterest and instruction.\n\nLet us confine ourselves to France alone. That country produced a\nnumber of most remarkable men, brought to the surface, as it were, by\nthe breaking up of the great fountains of her national life, who, for\nbad or for good, played the chief part in the political changes which\nso powerfully affect Europe to the present day, or, as the soldiers of\na new era of military glory, bore her flag in triumph into every\ncapital on the continent. These men figured in events which write\nthemselves sooner than any other on the pages of history; and every\none, therefore, has heard of the names and exploits of the emperor and\nhis marshal. More noble and heroic, more beneficial, and more truly\nglorious to their country, were the lives of hundreds--men and women--\nwho took a part in the great outburst of fresh religious activity\nwhich followed upon the restoration of freedom to Catholicism, of\nwhose piety, charity, and devotion the present Church of France is the\nfruit and the monument. A great deal remains to be done as to the\nbiography and history of this great religious restoration, in many\nrespects already equalling, in others even outshining, the earlier\nglories of the French Church, for a moment submerged by the\nrevolution. Lastly, there is another department also in which literary\nlabor will be well repaid--the history of the sufferers in the\nrevolution, whether ecclesiastics or secular, whether they perished on\nthe guillotine, were transported to Cayenne, or claimed as emigrants\nthe hospitality of England and other European countries.\n\n{253}\n\nMany of these emigrants were persons who had never known what it was\nto have a whim ungratified; who had lived all their lives amidst the\nfrivolous dissipation of the highest society in Paris, infected as it\nwas with the withering influences of Voltairianism; and who had shared\nin the illusive enthusiasm with which the earlier steps of the\nrevolution had been welcomed. Exile, poverty, forced inaction,\nobscurity, and the utter want of all that had before been the\noccupation of their lives, came upon them as a far more severe,\nbecause more wearing and protracted, trial than if they had had to\nbear the short agony of the massacres or the revolutionary tribunal.\nYet, under an ordeal such as this, great and wonderful virtues often\nunfolded themselves, which bore witness to the sound religious\ntraining that so many of them had received, of which their patience\nand courage were the natural fruits. In this way their history\nfurnishes us with many characters of wonderful interest; and the\neffect of it is not only to enlist our sympathies for individuals, but\nto give us also a higher idea of the upper classes in France than is\ngenerally derived from the annals of that dreadful period.\n\nI have been led to these remarks by reading a little volume lately\npublished in Paris, under the title \"_Anne Paule Dominique de\nNoailles, Marquise de Montagu_,\" There may, perhaps, be many more such\nmemoirs: this, at all events, though written without pretension or\nambition, certainly gives the history of a very beautiful character,\ndrawn out by continual misfortune, and it contains incident enough to\nfurnish the plots of three or four romances. Although it deals chiefly\nwith the history of Madame de Montagu, it gives us incidentally the\noutline both of the lives and characters of her sisters. There are\nalso, of course, other subordinate figures in the picture; and the\nauthor has shown great skill in giving us a very graphic account of\neach in a few words or lines. I shall proceed, without further\nprologue or apology, to use the materials furnished by this volume for\na short sketch of Madame de Montagu and her sisters.\n\nThese ladles were the daughters of the Duc and Duchesse d'Ayen. The\nduke was the eldest son of the last Mar\u00e9chal de Noailles; his wife was\nthe daughter of M. d'Aguesseau, son of the chancellor of that name.\nThey had five daughters, called, as the custom was, Mdlle. de\nNoailles, Mdlle. d'Ayen, Mdlle. d'Epernon, Mdlle. de Maintenon, and\nMdlle. de Monclar. The eldest married her cousin, the Viscount de\nNoailles; the second became Madame de la Fayette, wife of the\ncelebrated marquis; Mdlle. d'Epernon was twice married, but died\nyoung, and we shall have no occasion to mention her name again; Mdlle.\nde Maintenon is the principal subject of the volume we have before us,\nhaving married the Marquis de Montagu; Mdlle. de Monclar became Madame\nde Grammont. The sisters probably owed more to their mother than to\nany one else in the world, and were formed by her; a short notice of\nher is, therefore, the natural introduction to their history.\n\nMany who have been acquainted with the effects of the influence of the\nFrench emigrants who came to England at the time of the revolution\nhave remarked that some of the most devout and religious among them\nmust have had a certain tinge of strictness and rigor about them which\nbetrayed the distant influence of Jansenism, even over those who were\nin no sort of way its disciples. This may be seen even in some of\ntheir ascetical works. The Duchesse d'Ayen seems either to have been\nbrought up in this school, or to have taken up its teaching from\nsomething in her own character congenial to it. As was natural in a\ngranddaughter of d'Aguesseau, she loved order and prudence with\nhereditary instinct, and was, moreover, acquainted with suffering; her\npiety was most genuine, and as wife and mother none could surpass her.\nThe {254} due was a man of the world, a thorough gentleman, with all\nthe dilettante learning that befitted his high station. He had passed\nthrough several brilliant campaigns, was a member of the Academy of\nSciences, and shone even in Paris in the art of conversation. His time\nwas mostly spent at court, or in gay circles away from home; but when\nhe did return the most delicate attentions were lavished on his wife;\nand she, on her side, had taught their five children to greet his\nvisits with love equal to their respect. And in truth, though their\nfather's quick temper inspired the girls with some natural fear, his\nmany amiable qualities could not fail to call forth their deepest\naffection.\n\nMadame d'Ayen they dearly loved. The free unbroken intercourse which\nis natural to English homes was not in accordance with the rules of\nthose stately Parisian families, but the first act of the day was to\ngo and salute their mother; next, they were sure to meet her going to\nor returning from mass, when they were taking their morning walk;\nafterward, they all dined together at three, and then came the\npleasant hours spent in her bedroom, while she instructed and amused\nthem by turns in gentle maternal converse. They had other instructors\nI but she really formed their minds.\n\nA bright worldly future opened before these young girls, with their\ngood birth, high connections, and splendid fortune. Who would have\ndreamed of coming storms? But the pious mother did not wait for\nmisfortune to teach them companionship with sorrow; they began when\nchildren to visit the suffering, and two poor people of the parish\nstood sponsors for Mdlle. de Maintenon at the baptismal font. She was\nborn in 1766, and the parish church was St. Roch; opposite stood the\nfamily hotel, with its spacious gardens reaching up to the Tuileries.\n\nAfter their marriages the sisters became brilliant stars in Parisian\nsociety, and the tenderest union ever reigned between them. The\neldest, Madame de Noailles, was admired by every one for her sweetness\nand grace, being commonly called either \"that angel,\" or the \"heavenly\nviscountess.\" Even the family confessor, the saintly Abb\u00e9 Edgworth,\nwriting of her after her death to Madame de Montagu, says, \"The fate\nof that angelic soul, which I knew so intimately on earth, can inspire\nno uneasiness. For my part, I acknowledge in all simplicity that she\nseems now to return me ten-fold all the good I formerly wished her.\nThe mere remembrance of her strengthens me, and would keep me from\nloving earth, could it still offer any enjoyment.\"\n\nThe sisters vied with each other in love and veneration for their\nmother and Madame de Noailles especially had the happiness of being\nscarcely ever separated from her. The young wife, however, espoused\nwith ardor her husband's political opinions; and he was much more\nliberal in his views than the Duchesse d'Ayen. Like many other nobles\nof the time, both about court and in the provinces, M. de Noailles\nhailed with enthusiasm the first dawn of the revolution, believing it\nwould bring about a new era for France, a grand national reform.\nMadame d'Ayen, on the contrary, looked on events with some mistrust;\nher experience, her natural prudence and cautious character, made her\nmore anxious, more inclined to circumspection.\n\nEven after the Bastille had been taken, and when so many families\nbegan to emigrate, M. de Noailles, like his brother-in-law M. de la\nFayette, continued to hope. The events of 1792, however, induced him\nto seek refuge in England. The Duc d'Ayen had taken refuge in\nSwitzerland; but when he heard of the attack on the Tuileries in June,\n1792, he flew to the aid of the king and the royal family, considering\nthat though his post of captain of the royal guard had been abolished,\nthe danger of Louis had created it anew. He was with that {255} small\nband of devoted adherents who would have defended the king on the\nfatal 10th of August--the last day of the real monarchy--when Louis'\nheart failed him, and he took refuge in the assembly. The Duc d'Ayen\nmanaged again to get away into Switzerland; the other members of his\nfamily, quitting their splendid hotel, hid themselves in a wretched\ndwelling of the nearest feubourg. Madame de Noailles was to have\njoined her husband in London, where they intended shortly to embark\nfor America; but she lingered with her mother, first to assist her\ngrandfather, the Marshal de Noailles, in his dying moments, and next\nto console his aged widow, now well-nigh reduced to second childhood.\nThe result was captivity and death for all time. Madame de Noailles'\nvirtue shone forth with lustre throughout these trying hours, and it\nis as a meek victim of the revolution that she especially deserves\nremembrance.\n\nAt first the three ladies were simply detained as \"suspected\" in their\nown hotel, during the winter of '93; but in April following they were\ntransferred as prisoners to the Luxembourg. There they found in a room\nbelow them their relatives, the Mar\u00e9chal de Mouchy and his wife, who\nhad already suffered a detention of five months. Not far off was a\ncousin, the Duchesse d'Orl\u00e9ans, widow of Philippe Egalit\u00e9, lately\nexecuted. These were sad recognitions, few or no prisoners being ever\nset at liberty, though many went through the mockery of a trial. Soon\nafter Madame d'Ayen's arrival, M. and Madame de Mouchy were\nguillotined. From the first she and her daughter prepared for death.\nBoth did all they could to alleviate the suffering around them. Madame\nd'Ayen gave up her bed to the Duchesse d'Orl\u00e9ans, who was very ill,\nand treated with even exceptional cruelty. Madame de Noailles shared\nher mother's attendance on this lady, and on several others. She made\nthe beds for all their relatives, helped them to dress, and washed up\nthe dishes; in short, waited upon the whole party as if she had been\naccustomed all her life to servile occupations. With true virtue, she\neven showed no repugnance at anything, but preserved throughout her\nusual sweet serenity of temper. Her consolation was to mount up twice\na week to an upper story, under pretence of breathing the fresh air,\nbut in reality to obtain a view from the window of her children in the\ngarden beneath. She had contrived to keep up some correspondence\noutside, and they came at the stated hour, under the care of their\ntutor. Occasionally she managed to receive notes from him, or to send\nhim one. An extract from the last she wrote, and when she _felt_ an\neternal separation impending, shows the strength of her piety:\n\n  \"God sustains me, and will, I am convinced, to the end. Farewell! Be\n  assured that my gratitude toward you will accompany me above. But\n  for you, what would have been my children's fate? Farewell, Alexis,\n  Alfred, Euphemia! Bear God in your hearts every day of your lives;\n  attach yourselves steadfastly to him; pray for your father, and for\n  his true happiness; remember your mother also, and that her sole\n  desire has been for your eternal welfare. I hope to be re-united\n  with you in the bosom of God, and in that hope give my last blessing\n  to you all.\"\n\nThese words show a soul which could not be ill prepared for death.\nWhen hastily summoned one day to leave the Luxembourg for the\nConciergerie, a certain road to execution, both Madame de Noailles and\nher mother were quite ready. Madame d'Ayen had the \"Imitation\" open at\nthat beautiful chapter on the cross. Hastily writing on a scrap of\npaper--\"Courage, my children, and pray\"--she put it in as a mark,\nand begged the Duchesse d'Orl\u00e9ans, if her life were spared, to give it\nto them. This commission was faithfully executed, and the little book\nstill exists, showing {256} traces of Madame d'Ayen's last tears as\nshe named her daughters.\n\nThe poor old mar\u00e9chale scarcely knew what was going on, but followed\nmechanically. The Conciergerie was crowded, and afforded small\naccommodation for new-comers. Madame de Noailles thought it useless to\nsleep that night. When her mother pressed her to lie down a little,\nshe said, \"Why seek repose on the brink of eternity?\" Early next\nmorning all three were astir, and persuaded each other to break their\nfast, for no dinner had been provided on the previous evening. Madame\nde Noailles insisted on dressing both her mother and grandmother,\nwhispering, \"Have good courage, mamma; there is only one hour more!\"\n\nBut nearly the whole day passed in terrible expectation. Not till five\nin the afternoon came the open carts that were to carry forty\ncondemned prisoners to the Barri\u00e8re du Tr\u00f4ne for execution. Long\nprevious to detention, Madame de Noailles had secured, in case of\ndanger, the services of a good priest--P\u00e8re Carrichon, of the Oratory.\nNews of their coming fate reached him, and, faithful to his promise,\ndespite the personal risk, he arrived at the prison door in time. The\nfirst cart filled and passed out. It contained eight ladies, of whom\nthe last was the old mar\u00e9chale. In the second were Madame d'Ayen and\nher daughter; after whom six men took their places.\n\nThe account given by P\u00e8re Carrichon of this closing scene is our last\nview of Madame de Noailles, and tallies with what has gone before.\nSerene and gentle, her thoughts appeared wrapt in God. P\u00e8re Carrichon\ntried to make himself seen as the cart came out. Evidently Madame de\nNoailles was looking for some one; but her glance did not rest on him.\nHaving made a great circuit, he posted himself in a conspicuous place\nat the opening of a bridge. Again Madame de Noailles anxiously scanned\nthe crowd around, and again without discerning the face she sought.\nP\u00e8re Carrichon was tempted to give up the effort in despair. Priestly\ncharity prevailed, however, and he hastened forward to the Rue St.\nAntoine. A violent storm had come on; thunder and lightning raged, the\nwind blew furiously. The poor victims were drenched; the ladies' hair\nstreamed about their faces, and their hands, closely tied behind each,\ncould give no relief. What with the jolting and wind, they could\nhardly keep their seats on those narrow planks. The savage curiosity\nof the populace yielded to the violence of the storm; the crowd\ndispersed; windows and doors closed. P\u00e8re Carrichon ventured nearer\nthe cart, amid the very escort of soldiers intent on guarding\nthemselves from the storm. Suddenly Madame de Noailles' countenance\nlighted up with her own sweet smile; her eyes were thankfully raised\nto heaven, and then she leaned forward, whispering to her mother. She\nhad seen him, P\u00e8re Carrichon felt sure of it. A grateful smile stole\nover the duchess's face also.\n\nP\u00e8re Carrichon continued walking beside the cart; his heart raised in\nprayer; the mute confession was made, the silent absolution given.\nSolemn, touching scene!--those two heads, one so fair, reverentially\nbent down with looks of mingled contrition and hope; the priest\nfulfilling his errand of mercy; and the storm raging on.\n\nAt length the carts stopped. The executioner and his assistants came\nforward, one carelessly twirling a rose between his lips. The\nguillotine fell on the mar\u00e9chale; afterward on Madame d'Ayen; and\nMadame de Noailles suffered next. Up to the last moment both mother\nand daughter employed themselves in exhorting their companions to\nChristian repentance. The vicomtesse devoted herself especially to a\nyoung man whom she had overheard blaspheming. One foot was already on\nthe bloody ladder, when, turning round a last time, she {257}\nmurmured, with imploring accents, \"I conjure you, say--Forgive me!\"\nTheir own sweet countenances spoke only of heaven. So beautiful were\nthese deaths, that, despite the horrors of the scene, P\u00e8re Carrichon\ncould but raise his full heart in praise and thanksgiving to God. Thus\nlived and died the eldest of these five sisters.\n\nThe second, Madame de la Fayette, is a beautiful character; so\nenthusiastic in spirit, so warm and generous in heart. Endowed with\ngood natural powers, her mind had been highly cultivated, she could\nreason well, and possessed a ripe judgment. Prompt and decided on\ngreat occasions, she was then energetic enough in carrying out her\nresolutions; but by a strange contradiction of nature, doubts often\nassailed her in little matters, and she would hang back, uncertain\nwhat course to pursue. Ardent in her piety, she was yet tormented with\nscruples; and unfortunately Madame d'Ayen had so far condescended to\nthese as to allow her daughter not to make her first communion till\nafter marriage. Naturally enough, at that late period the great act\nwas accomplished with much mental suffering. Madame de Montagu said\nwith truth that this beloved sister was not sufficiently interior, and\nthirsted too eagerly after the consolations of human affections; but\nfor sincerity, faith, zeal, and submission to the divine will Madame\nde la Fayette was most admirable. Her greatest quality was\nself-sacrifice, unshrinking devotion to those she loved--the virtue of\na wife and a mother. M. de la Fayette attests that he owed to her\nunalloyed happiness during a wedded union of thirty-four years.\n\"Gentle, tender, virtuous, and high-souled, this incomparable woman\nhas been the charm and pride of my existence.\"\n\nShe too was imprisoned, but was afterward released. Her first thought\nwas to join her husband, a captive at Olmutz. Other duties detained\nher for a while; but the ultimate object was kept steadily, though\nsilently, in view. Madame de la Fayette sent her young son out of\nFrance across the Atlantic, confiding him to Washington's protection;\nthen she hastened to look after her daughters in Auvergne, and settle\nmoney accounts there. Happily, she was able to buy back Chavaniac, the\nproperty of an old aunt who had brought up her husband. Business\nconcluded, she sought for Madame de Grammont; the two sisters had not\nmet since the tragic death of their relatives. Madame de Noailles'\norphan children were living with their aunt. Tearing herself from\nthem, Madame de la Fayette--who could only obtain a passport for\nAmerica--then went round by sea to Altona, in Denmark, where her other\nsister, Madame de Montagu, and many French exiles, had fixed their\nresidence for a while. This also was a meeting in which bitter pain\nwas mingled with joy. \"Did you see them?\" were the only words Madame\nde Montagu could sob forth, after a long, mute caress. \"Alas! I had\nnot that happiness,\" replied Madame de la Fayette, whose filial heart\nwas choking with the same remembrances.\n\nProper measures having been taken for obtaining an audience of the\nemperor, Madame de la Fayette announced her intention of proceeding to\nVienna forthwith, that she might solicit permission to share her\nhusband's captivity. The simple words in which she mentioned her\ngenerous purpose thrilled through the little circle; vain attempts\nwere made to dissuade her from it; she gently, but firmly, persisted.\nHer sister could best understand the feelings that guided her, and\nthat she did so was expressed by silent repeated pressures of her\nhand.\n\nMadame de la Fayette--accompanied by her two girls, aged thirteen and\nfifteen--reached Vienna under an assumed name. The emperor granted her\nrequest, and she hastened joyfully to Olmutz. Such was her enthusiasm\nat sight of the gloomy fortress in which her husband was confined,\nthat she began repeating Tobias' beautiful canticle (c. xiii.), and\nentered with it on her lips.\n\n{258}\n\nIt was the 15th of October, 1795. M. de la Fayette had already been a\nclose prisoner for three years; during the last eighteen months\nespecially he had received no tidings of what was going on in the\nworld without. A vague rumor of excesses committed in France had\nindeed reached his unbroken solitude, but not the name of one victim;\nhe knew nothing of the fate of his wife and children. Now, without one\nword of preparation, the door of his cell was unlocked; figures\ndarkened the threshold. Could it be? His heroic wife and their two\nchildren! Yes; they had come to share the hardships of his prison\nlife.\n\nThe emperor of Austria had spoken to Madame de la Fayette of her\nhusband's place of confinement in a manner which showed her afterward\nthat he was quite ignorant of the rigorous treatment to which the\nprisoner was subjected. Two little cells, with a wretched bed and a\ntable and chair in each, formed the sole accommodation. As for eating,\nthere was one pewter spoon, no such luxury as knife or fork being\nallowed. Pens, paper, and ink were only forthcoming on rare occasions,\nand then the open letter had to be written under the eye of an\nofficial. Madame de la Fayette endured all these annoyances for two\nyears; and truly the abnegation of her young daughters during this\nlong period is nearly as admirable as her own. The girls employed\nthemselves very usefully in concocting new articles of clothing out of\nold materials. Madame de la Fayette, like her husband, soon began to\nsuffer from such close confinement; but when, after eleven months'\nillness, she applied for leave to go and consult a physician at Vienna\nfor a few days only, the answer was that, once outside the fortress,\nshe would never be re-admitted. The prison doctor could only exchange\nconversation in Latin with her husband, and neither of them appear to\nhave been adepts in that language; moreover, his hurried visit was\nobliged to take place in the presence of an officer.\n\nFriends wearied both France and foreign powers with solicitations for\nthe release of General de la Fayette. Fox painted the miseries endured\nat Olmutz in eloquent terms before a British House of Commons; but it\nwas not until October, 1797, that the prison gates opened at length,\nthrough Bonaparte's intervention.\n\nThe name she bore often proved detrimental to her, but Madame de la\nFayette gloried in it. With Robespierre's fall all prisoners in France\nwere set at liberty. General de la Fayette, however, was accused of\nhaving betrayed the revolution because he had refused to become privy\nto its crimes, and his wife was therefore detained. Interrogated by\nLegendre, who told her how much he detested the very name of la\nFayette, she boldly expressed her readiness to defend him and it\nagainst whatsoever accuser. Legendre remanded her to prison \"for\ninsolence.\"\n\nThis devoted love for husband and children did not suffice to fill her\nheart. It was burning also with other affections. To Madame de la\nFayette we owe a touching life of the Duchesse d'Ayen, written while\nat Olmutz, on the margin of a stray volume of Buffon, with a broken\ntoothpick for her pen and a piece of Chinese ink. When told of the\ntragic fate that had overtaken her relatives, she could not believe it\nat first; especially it seemed impossible that men could have been so\nbarbarous to her \"angelic sister.\" On recovering a little from this\noverwhelming sorrow, she wrote to her children:\n\n  \"I thank God for having preserved to me life and reason, and do not\n  regret your absence at such a moment. He kept me from revolt against\n  him; but I could not long have borne the semblance of any human\n  consolation. To follow in the track of such dear footsteps would\n  have sweetened the last pangs for me.\"\n\n{259}\n\nIn the prisons of the revolution her sole thought was how to relieve\nthe wants and sufferings of those around. With her cousin, the\nDuchesse de Duras, at Plessis, she was constantly interceding for the\nsick and poor among their fellow captives, and this at a time when a\nchance word sufficed for death, as sixty victims chosen by caprice or\nat hazard were regularly dragged forth each day for execution. Her\nspirit never forsook her under trying circumstances, and she often\nshowed wonderful presence of mind. Once she pleaded her own cause\nbefore the tribunal of Puy, and on several occasions harangued the\npeople. Her language at these times was always nobly firm, and\nsometimes proud even to haughtiness. In a letter addressed to Brissot,\nafter asking for liberty, or at least the favor of remaining a\nprisoner on parole, which the whole village of Chavaniac volunteered\nto guarantee, she concludes by saying, \"I consent to owe you this\nservice.\" Her letters to the two ministers, Roland and Servan, or to\nforeign princes on behalf of her husband, are no less elevated in\ntone. She never stoops to flatter. No wonder that she exercised a\nspecies of fascination over all those who approached her; with\nwhatever feelings the acquaintance began, it was impossible to know\nand not to love her.\n\nIn all her sorrows, ardent faith sustained her. When danger again\nthreatened at Paris, she writes to Madame de Montagu: \"We mast abandon\nourselves wholly to God in this critical hour. Let us live like\nAbraham, ready to start whenever God calls, and to go wheresoever he\nappoints.\" When she felt her end approaching, once more she repeated\naloud that canticle of Tobias, singing which she had, years before,\nentered the fortress of Olmutz. True in death to her character through\nlife, her heart was inflamed with celestial desires, and still\noverflowing with human affection. Drawing all her loved ones round\nher, she gave them a last blessing, and gently expired, holding her\nhusband's hands within her own.\n\nOf four daughters of the Duc d'Ayen, Madame de Grammont was the least\nattractive. Her person was small, her appearance stiff, her features\nmarked; there was nothing soft about her look or manner. Her virtue\nwas of a stern kind; she had schooled herself into a certain absence\nof feeling, neither right nor lovable; but fortunately her actions\noften contradicted her professions. Thus her kindness never failed,\nand her charity to the poor was boundless. There was a contradiction\ntoo between what she said and what she wrote--her speeches are always\nmore or less stern, while her letters frequently betray deep\naffection; like a person who speaks from principle, but dares to let\nherself out on paper, sure of restraining emotion when necessary.\nSacrifice was the prominent feature of her piety; duty dictated her\nevery sentiment.\n\nEight out of her nine children she saw carried to their graves in\nyouth, and each time she could say with composure, \"The Lord hath\ngiven and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.\"\nWriting to Madame de Montagu about a daughter whose end was\napproaching, she uses these words: \"As life ebbs away, her peace and\nself-possession are perfect. . . . . . I do not despair of helping her\npassage into the bosom of God after having erst borne her in my own;\nand it is sweet to make her repeat, 'I was cast into thy arms, O Lord,\nfrom the beginning: thou art my God, even from my mother's womb.'\" It\nwas not in her character to disclose the struggle of natural feeling\nthat was going on in her heart at the time that she was writing words\nlike these.\n\nOnce Madame de Grammont writes to her sister: \"The expectation,\nexperience, and long continuance of misfortune have at length made me\n_impassible_.\" \"And I,\" adds Madame de Montagu, commenting on the word\nin {260} her journal, \"am still a reed shaken by every breath.\" The\ntwo phrases aptly characterize each sister.\n\nIn 1848, Madame de Grammont, who had been an eye-witness of the two\npreceding revolutions, was quite surprised at the fears entertained by\nthose around her. \"But, grandmamma,\" said a member of her family, \"if\nthe guillotine were set up again as in the reign of terror, surely you\nwould feel some uneasiness?\" \"Poor child!\" replied the old lady, \"that\nhas nothing to do with the question. Must we not all die? The\nimportant thing is to be well prepared; the mode of death is a mere\ndetail.\" And thus unmoved she lived on to the age of eighty-five--that\nis, till the year 1853--having survived all her sisters. Though her\nhusband had been banished for some time, she never emigrated; and\nsixty-seven years of her life were passed in retirement at their\nch\u00e2teau of Villersexel. There she was much beloved, being a true\nmother to all the poor.\n\nHer sisters also were warmly attached to her. Madame de Montagu held\nher in such veneration, that though a little the older of the two, she\nalways kept a journal for Madame de Grammont to read, that she might\npoint out her faults and help her to amend. She called Madame de\nGrammont her _second conscience_ and the province in which she resided\nthe kingdom of Virtue, with Peace (Villersexel) for its capital.\n\nMadame de Grammont felt their mother's loss, in her way, as deeply as\nthe rest. Perhaps, too, this heavy trial laid the foundation of her\nremarkable firmness; for there are some strong natures that cannot\nbend through fear of breaking. When able afterward to communicate with\nMadame de Montagu, she writes:\n\n\"Since the immolation of those dear victims, the cross is my sole\nplace of refuge. With you, and all those we love in this world and the\nother, I cast myself into Gods's arms. There let all disquietude\ncease; there let our minds and hearts rest for ever; thence let us\nderive strength to perform our allotted task here below.\"\n\nHer father had entreated Madame de Grammont to consult her personal\nsafety in those perilous times by joining himself and Madame de\nMontagu in Switzerland. She declined, because her husband was only\njust recovering from a dangerous illness, and also through fear of\ncompromising his family. Indeed, so much was circumspection necessary,\nthat her letters were written on cambric handkerchiefs, which Madame\nde Grammont took the further precaution of sewing inside her\nmessenger's waistcoat lining.\n\nMadame de Montagu affords a strong contrast to Madame de Grammont. She\nwent through life thrilling at every step; full of tears that often\ngushed for joy, but oftenest welled up from deep fountains of sorrow;\nheroic in faith, like the others, but quivering and writhing beneath\neach new load of anguish. She never grew accustomed to suffering, and\nyet God tried her well; but he could not weary her love for himself.\nAnd thus, while human affections were ever causing sharp pain, divine\nlove gave her strength to bear it without asking her to overcome\n_them_. Such was her character, which grace supported without\nchanging.\n\nMadame de Montagu was admired in the world, but never cared for\ntriumphs of any kind. Her sole wish was to please God and her home\ncircle, and do good to her fellow-creatures. We may believe that the\npauper sponsors who held her at St. Roch watched over their charge\nthrough life. For well and zealously, though full of natural\nshrinkings, did Madame de Montagu perform her part on the busy stage.\nHer timidity was put to its first great trial when, at sixteen, she\nhad to undergo her first introduction to her intended husband, on whom\nshe dared not raise her eyes, to see whether her parents' choice\nsuited her, in appearance at least, until he fortunately turned away\nto look at a picture. Next {261} came the further suffering of\nreceiving congratulatory visits from all Paris, during which the poor\nbride elect was seated bolt upright, pale and trembling, beside her\nmother, and between two goodly rows of members of either family,\nranged along both sides of the apartment. At church on the wedding-day\nshe regained her composure, because all else was forgotten in the\nearnest prayer breathed that she might well perform her new duties.\n\nAlmost immediately the young wife had to sacrifice her greatest\npleasure, that of seeing her mother and sisters frequently. M. de\nMontagu was obliged to join his regiment, and she was left under the\ntutelage of her father-in-law, a kind and clever man, but eccentric\nand full of vagaries. To please him she did everything not wrong,\ncommencing that petty series of daily yieldings, insignificant to\ncareless eyes, but so meritorious because so difficult. This is\nwoman's battlefield, obscure but high; and in this path Madame de\nMontagu always walked, perfectly ignorant that her simplicity was in\nany way extraordinary. The good she did by example, and without any\nwords, was immense; only near relatives and intimate friends could\nperceive it. One of these, M. de Mun, used to say that she was the\nonly _d\u00e9vote_ he ever knew who made him wish to be saved. So far could\nshe condescend even to the pleasures of others, that in exile, after\nall her sorrows, she danced at a rustic ball. And to a nature like\nhers, such griefs as she had known were undying even in their\nkeenness. One of her characteristic traits was that she never forgot\nan anniversary: everything that had happened to herself and to those\ndear to her was treasured up, and recalled as the days came round. If\nit was an occasion of gladness, it was celebrated in public; but her\nlife was more crowded with the memories of sorrow, and these she kept\nfor the quiet of her own room.\n\nWe should occupy a larger space than that which is at our disposal\nwere we to try to follow Madame de Montagu through the various stages\nof her exile from France. She first came to England, settling at\nRichmond; then she went with her husband to Aix-la-Chapelle, whence\nthe success of the revolutionary armies drove them again to England.\nThey stayed at Margate for a while; then the declaration of war\nbetween England and France brought out an order for the _\u00e9migr\u00e9s_ not\nto live on the coast, and Richmond received them once more. Economy,\nhowever, forced them to seek a cheaper abode at Brussels. Afterward\nthis place of refuge became unsafe, and Madame de Montagu was forced\nto separate from her husband, and accept the hospitality of an aunt,\nMadame de Tess\u00e9--a _philosophe_ old lady, who had been a friend of\nVoltaire's, but who, as one of her grandnieces said of her, \"_tout en\nse croyant incr\u00e9dule, ne laissait pas de faire un grand signe de croix\nderri\u00e8re ses rideaux chaque fois qu'elle prenait une m\u00e9decine._\"\nMadame de Tess\u00e9 lived at Lowemberg, in Switzerland; her character is\ncharmingly hit off in the memoir before us; she would have delighted\nMr. Thackeray. But the presence of Madame de Montagu brought\npersecution upon her kind relation, who took the characteristic\nresolution of selling her property and going elsewhere. She took her\nniece and family first to Erfurt, then to Altona, where many French\n_\u00e9migr\u00e9s_ were assembled. Her plan was to find a quiet spot beyond the\nElbe, where she could live in peace and carry on her farming\noperations; for her great delight was to manage everything herself,\nand to supply all the needs of her household from her own resources.\nThey were a long time in finding a place that would suit Madame de\nTess\u00e9. At length an estate named Wittmold was found, on the banks of\nthe lake of Ploen; and here the exiles found rest for some time. The\nbest elements of Madame de Montagu's beautiful character were\ndeveloped under the hardships and {262} sufferings of this life of\npoverty and continued apprehension. She had, of course, never known\neven the idea of want before she left France. When she left Paris, she\nso little expected to have to manage for herself, that it was only in\nconsequence of Madame de Grammont's imperturbable prudence that she\nmade any provision for the future. They had to part in secret, as it\nwas dangerous to let the servants know of the intended flight of\nMonsieur and Madame de Montagu. In the suppressed agitation of the\nmoment, Madame de Grammont was characteristically thoughtful. She\nasked her sister whether she was sure she had her jewels. \"Why take\nthem? we are not going to a f\u00eate.\" \"_Raison de plus; c'est parceque\nvous n'allez pas \u00e0 une f\u00eate, qu'il faut les emporter_.\" The advice was\nafterward found to have been indeed important; but even the sale of\nher jewels only supported Madame de Montagu for a time. In the course\nof her long exile, she never made herself a very perfect manager.\n\nShe tried to study domestic economy; but she proved a greater\nproficient in not spending on herself than in learning how to manage\nhousehold affairs on small means. Still her superintendence of the\nfarm produced good results, from the zeal with which it inspired the\nworkpeople. However low her funds, she always visited the sick and\npoor, managing to procure them some relief; she also worked\nunceasingly at objects for sale. Throughout life she never knew\nidleness, devoting fixed hours to prayer, reading, the instruction of\nher children, and works of charity. As years went on, she more and\nmore begrudged the hours often forcibly given in social life to\nfrivolous conversation. Her pleasure was to employ each moment\nusefully in some home duty; but this could not always be the case\nduring exile, especially when residing with her kind but worldly aunt,\nMadame de Tess\u00e9.\n\nAt this period it was that she organized her _oeuvre des \u00e9migr\u00e9s_; a\nstupendous work, if we consider that there were 40,000 persons to\nassist, and 16,000,000 francs the moderate sum estimated as requisite\nfor carrying it out with success. Unfortunately the details in figures\nof this work have been lost; for Madame de Montagu carefully noted\ndown every fraction received, from what quarter it came, and how\nexpended. But we know that the correspondence alone cost annually\nabout 500 francs during the four years it existed--that is, from 1796\nto 1800. She collected money in Germany, Denmark, Switzerland, France,\nthe Netherlands, and England; and beside distributing pecuniary\nassistance, solicited employment for persons of all ages and sexes.\nShe had children to get into schools, young women to place as\ngovernesses, drawings and needlework to sell, etc. All this was done\nwithout quitting her quiet home on the borders of Lake Ploen, or\ngiving up one domestic occupation. When pressed for time she sat up at\nnight. Winter only increased her zeal. \"The colder it is,\" said she,\n\"the warmer my heart grows.\" Indeed, she ended by selling for this\nwork the mourning worn for her mother and sister, which she had kept\nas a relic; at another time she also sold her prayer-book for the same\nobject. But she never would take from this fund for members of her own\nfamily; she preferred working for them, not from pride, but through\ndelicacy. For another charity she once cut off her beautiful hair and\nsold it, receiving eighty francs.\n\nIt is curious to remark that this gentle woman nevertheless had her\nown firm opinions, even on politics; and though never obtruding, still\nconstantly held them. One is surprised to find also that these\nopinions were not often identical with the views held by those she\nmost respected and loved. In 1790, M. de Beaune, her father-in-law,\nalarmed at the turn affairs were taking, wished to emigrate with all\nhis family. His idea was to draw Frenchmen together on neutral {263}\nground, to place their families in safety, and having gained the\nsupport of foreign powers, to return with a good army for the\nprotection of the king and the party of order in the state. Madame de\nMontagu fully shared these views; but her husband at this time\ndisapproved of emigration, considering it the greatest mistake that\ncould be committed by the king's friends. He hoped to arrive at an\nunderstanding between the liberal party and the _droite_, so as to\nsave both the monarchy and liberty. His two elder brothers-in-law, MM.\nde Noailles and la Fayette, went far beyond these views. Without\nwishing to overturn royalty, their dream was to see it based on\nrepublican principles.\n\nSo indignant did this render M. de Beaune, that he broke with them\nentirely, and wished Madame de Montagu to give up seeing her two\nsisters, who naturally embraced their husbands' opinions. She could by\nno means understand that persons were to be proscribed because of\ntheir political opinions; but, not to irritate M. de Beaune farther,\nshe would not receive Madame de la Fayette, who offered to pay her a\nvisit at Plauzat in Auvergne, and went instead to meet her privately\nat a neighbouring inn.\n\nMeanwhile M. de Montagu had yielded to his father's wishes, and at the\nend of 1791 resolved to emigrate; his choice, however, fell on England\nrather than Coblentz, where M. de Beaune then was. Madame de Montagu\nwas to accompany her husband. Ere leaving Plauzat she had the\nhappiness of seeing her mother again, but could not summon up courage\nto tell her of her own approaching departure for England. Both mother\nand daughter looked on public matters exactly in the same way; there\nwas great similarity between them as to judgment; but the duchesse was\nnot impulsive, like Madame de Montagu. They parted most tenderly, with\na presentiment of coming evil; but little did either dream that the\nguillotine was to separate them for ever.\n\nThen commenced for Madame de Montagu the miseries and heart-burnings\nof exile. Twice she visited England, spending some time at Richmond\nand Margate. Griefs began to accumulate; she lost a child for the\nthird time; Marat was lording it over Paris; M. de Montagu in disgust\nagain quitted France, and went to serve under his father's orders on\nthe banks of the Rhine; the massacres of September took place,\nfollowed by the fatal battle of Jemappes. The _\u00e9migr\u00e9s_ were\nhenceforth banished. Then the king and queen fell victims to the\nrevolution; Savenay destroyed the last hopes of the Vendeans. In\naddition to all these public sorrows, and to the pressure of poverty,\nMadame de Montagu lost another child, her fourth; it seemed as if all\nher children were born but to die.\n\nAll her life she suffered from great delicacy of constitution, and\nthis natural tendency was further increased by her extreme\nsensibility. Just after losing a child for the first time, and while\nshe was praying, bathed in tears, beside its dead body, a messenger\ncame to tell her that Madame de Grammont had just given birth to her\nfirst infant. Madame de Montagu, drying up all traces of her own\nsorrow, immediately hastened off to congratulate the young mother; but\nshe had scarcely left her sister's room when she fainted in the\nadjoining apartment. A severe illness followed, the precursor of many\nothers; indeed, it may be said that her whole life was passed amid\nmoral and physical suffering. Death was ever busy in her family.\n\nShe lost her only son Attale, a fine young man, just when he had\nattained his twenty-eighth year; and in this case sorrow was\naggravated by the circumstance of his dying through accident--a gun\nwent off in his hand. No fears, however, were entertained at first.\nMadame de Montagu herself was only recovering by slow degrees from\n{264} a dangerous malady; a sudden and fatal termination had occurred\nfor her son, and she knew it not. They dared not tell her. But the\nnext day, being Trinity Sunday, Madame de Grammont suggested that she\nshould receive holy communion, though still in bed: the priest, in\npresenting the sacred host, invited her to meditate on the passion,\nand especially on the sentiments of the Blessed Virgin at the foot of\nthe cross, where _her son died_.\n\nMadame de Montagu immediately understood him. Her husband then brought\nto her bedside the young widow and three orphan girls. Attale's mother\nwept in silence, at length ejaculating: \"Thy decree, O Lord, has thus\nordained, and I submit. But strike no more, for I am ready to faint\nbeneath the weight of my cross.\" But she reproached herself afterward\nfor this.\n\nOften before had she endured the mother's agony; but this was the\nhardest blow of all. And Madame de Montagu lived on to see many loved\nones go before her; father, and husband, and several other relations\npreceded her to the tomb; for she lingered till 1839. Among them was\nM. de la Fayette, who died in 1834, having survived his wife\ntwenty-seven years. Madame de Montagu and all the members of her\nfamily requested to be buried at Picpus.\n\nThis spot was hallowed to them by sacred memories, for there reposed\nabove thirteen hundred victims of the revolution. Its continued\nexistence as a cemetery was due to the pious labors of Madame d'Ayen's\ndaughters. In the days of terror, a pit had been dug outside the\nBarri\u00e8re du Tr\u00f4ne, and all the persons immolated in that quarter of\nParis were promiscuously thrown into it. The savage mode of proceeding\nhas been related. As each head fell from the guillotine, it was cast,\ntogether with the body, still dressed, into a large barrel painted\nred. Each night after the executions were over, these barrels were\ntaken to Picpus, and their contents indiscriminately emptied into the\npit. The ground had formerly belonged to an Augustinian convent.\nThere, it could not be doubted, lay the remains of Madame d'Ayen and\nher daughter. Madame de Montagu and Madame de la Fayette, on their\nreturn to France, ardently wished to raise a monument to their memory;\nbut on discovering the immense number of victims interred together, it\nseemed more desirable that the undertaking should be of a less private\nnature. By their joint efforts, many families of other victims were\nattracted to the pious enterprise; souls devoted to prayer gathered\nround; the old convent and church of Picpus rose from their ruins. A\ncemetery was constructed round that gloomy pit, where not even a name\nhad been scrawled to recall the memory of those who slept below.\nMadame d'Ayen's three daughters could at least enjoy the sad\nconsolation of praying near their mother's tomb.\n\nAll the sisters had bitterly, keenly, felt the cruel stroke that\ndeprived them of three such near relatives, and in such a painful\nmanner; but none suffered more enduringly than Madame de Montagu. She\nwas staying with Madame de Tess\u00e9, in Switzerland. News had reached her\nof the execution of her grand-aunt and uncle, M. and Madame de Monchy;\nbut she was completely ignorant of what had become of her mother and\nsister. Fears, however, were rife. One day she set out to meet her\nfather, whom she had not seen for some time; and he was so changed,\nthat, perceiving him on the way, she only recognized him from his\nvoice. Each alighted, and his first question was to ask whether she\nhad heard the news; but, seeing her excessive emotion, he hastened to\nassure her of his own perfect ignorance. She felt a calamity\nimpending, but dared not press for information in the presence of a\nthird person. They drove to an inn; and when father and daughter were\nalone together, he, after some preparation, informed her that he had\njust lost his mother. {265} A deadly paleness overspread her\ncountenance; confused and dizzy, she exclaimed with clasped hands,\n\"And I--,\" \"I am uneasy about your mother and sister,\" answered M.\nd'Ayen, cautiously. But she was not to be deceived. His looks belied\nhis words. That was the hour of bitterest anguish in Madame de\nMontagu's life. Cries and tears gave no relief. Again and again she\nsaw the scene re-enacted. Reason trembled, but still she strove to\npray and be resigned. Remembering her mother's pious practice in times\nof sorrow, she also recited the magnificat; then, with beautiful\nfeeling, in the midst of her own anguish, she knelt down and prayed,\nall shuddering, for those that made them suffer. But nature struggled\nstill; and days passed ere she recovered sufficient composure to be\nleft alone. When all the details reached her, strong religious feeling\ntransformed the dungeon, the cart, the scaffold into so many steps by\nwhich the martyrs had ascended up to heaven. The love unceasingly\nmanifested by the three sisters for their martyred relatives is very\ntouching. They were first reunited at Vianen, near Utrecht, in 1799.\nThe ostensible object was to settle the division of property rendered\nnecessary by their mother's death; but in reality they were much more\noccupied in calling up sweet memories of her and of their beloved\nsister. Madame de la Fayette was then about forty years of age; Madame\nde Montagu had reached her thirty-second year; and Madame de Grammont\nwas rather more than a twelvemonth younger. They remained a month\ntogether, their husbands and families being also on the spot. Not a\nlittle suffering was caused by cold and hunger, for their united\npurses could still only produce insufficient means; fuel was wanting,\nand they had scanty fare. The three, however, would sit up at night to\nenjoy each other's society, wrapping their mantles round them to keep\nout the cold, and sharing one wretched _chaufferette_. They spoke very\nlow, so as not to disturbed husbands and children sleeping in the\nadjoining rooms. One great subject of conversation was to point out\ntheir mutual defects--a Christian habit acquired under Madame d'Ayen's\ntraining, and surprisingly brought into play again under such\ncircumstances.\n\nMadame de Grammont remarked that events were graven in letters of fire\nin Madame de Montagu's countenance, and characteristically advised her\nto become more calm. She also took the opportunity of teaching her how\nto meditate--a service which the elder sister gratefully acknowledges\nin her diary. Madame de Montagu observed with admiration Madame de\nGrammont's recollected demeanor at mass, which they attended almost\ndaily, saying she looked like an angel, absolutely annihilated in the\npresence of God. \"As for me, I feel overwhelmed at my poverty beside\nher.\" Indeed, the two sisters vied in humility with each other. Madame\nde Grammont having once said, \"You excite me to virtue and attract me\nto prayer,\" Madame de Montagu quickly replied, \"Then I am like the\nhorses in this country; for one sees wretched-looking animals along\nthe canals drawing large boats after them.\"\n\nBut the chief theme at night was ever their mother. Madame de Montagu\nwas accustomed to unite herself with the dear victims in special\nprayer every day at the \"sorrowful hour,\" and the other two now\nundertook the same practice. They also composed beautiful litanies in\nremembrance of them during their stay at Vianen. Madame de Grammont\nheld the pen, writing sometimes her own inspiration, and sometimes\nwhat her sisters dictated. They called these prayers \"Litany of our\nMothers.\"\n\nOne of the most interesting episodes in the life of Madame de Montagu\nwas her intimacy with the celebrated Count Stolberg, whose conversion\nto Catholicism seems to have been mainly attributable to the influence\nof her character. She came across him during her residence at Ploen\nand Wittmold. {266} He was at that time at the head of the government\nof the Duke of Oldenburg; and he assisted her with all his power in\nher charitable labors for the relief of the French emigrants. The\nacquaintance between them sprung up in 1796. Count Stolberg, with his\nwife and sister,--the only one of the three who did not afterward\nbecome Catholic,--had already begun to see something of the\ninconsistencies and deficiencies of Lutheranism. They were calm,\nthoughtful, upright souls; grave, severe, and simple, after the best\ntype of the German character. They often conversed on and discussed\nreligious matters among themselves; but they were very ignorant about\nthe Catholic Church and its doctrines. Madame de Montagu taught them\nmore about Catholicism, without speaking on the subject directly, than\na whole library of controversial theology. Fragile in health,\nsensitive to excess, overflowing with sympathy and tenderness, tried\nby long and varied suffering, and strengthened, elevated, and\nspiritualized by the cross, without having been hardened or made\nimpassible,--her whole character showed a force and power and\ngreatness that was obviously not its own. Such persons have an\nirresistible attractiveness; and they speak with a strange silent\neloquence to intelligent hearts in favor of the religion which can\nproduce and sustain them. Madame de Montagu was not a person to\nintroduce controversial topics; but she won upon her new friends\ngradually, and at last they could not help telling her so, after\nlistening to the account they had begged her to give of her own and\nher sisters' sufferings. After a time their hearts strongly turned to\nCatholicism; but intellectual difficulties remained on the mind of\nStolberg, which were not set at rest till 1800, after he had been\nengaged in a correspondence with M. de la Luzerne and M. Asseline, to\nwhom Madame de Montagu and her sisters had introduced him. The French\nprelates did their part; but the illustrious convert must ever be\nconsidered as in truth the spiritual child of Madame de Montagu.\n\n------\n\nFrom All the Year Round\n\nA FEW SATURNINE OBSERVATIONS.\n\n\nHere is a gentleman at our doors, Mr. R. A. Proctor, who has written a\nbook upon that planet Saturn, and he asks us to stroll out in his\ncompany, and have a look at the old gentleman. It is a long journey to\nSaturn, for his little place is nine and a half times further from the\nsun than ours, and his is not a little place in comparison with our\nown tenement, because Saturn House is seven hundred and thirty-five\ntimes bigger than Earth Lodge.\n\nThe people of Earth Lodge made Saturn's acquaintance very long ago;\nnobody remembers how long. Venus and Jupiter being brilliant in\ncompany, may have obtruded themselves first upon attention in the\nevening parties of the stars, and Mars, with his red face and his\nquick movement, couldn't remain long unobserved. Saturn, dull, slow,\nyellow-faced, might crawl over the floor of heaven like a gouty and\nbilious nabob, and be overlooked for a very little while, but somebody\nwould soon ask, Who is that sad-faced fellow with the leaden\ncomplexion, who sometimes seems to be standing still or going\nbackward?\n\nHe was the more noticeable, because {267} those evening parties in the\nsky differ from like parties on earth in one very remarkable respect\nas to the behavior of the company. We hear talk of dancing stars, and\nthe music of the spheres, but, in fact, except a few, all keep their\nplaces, with groups as unchanging as those of the guests in the old\nfabled banquet, whom the sight of the head of Medusa turned to stone.\nOnly they wink, as the stone guests probably could not. In and out\namong this company of fixtures move but a few privileged stars, as our\nsister the moon and our neighbors the planets. These alone thread the\nmaze of the company of statues, dancing round their sun, who happens\nto be one of the fixed company, to the old tune of Sun in the middle\nand can't get out. Some of the planets run close, and some run in a\nwide round, some dance round briskly, and some slip slowly along. Once\nround is a year, and Saturn, dancing in a wide round outside ours, so\nthat in each round he has about nine times as far to go, moves at a\npace about three times slower than ours. His year, therefore, is some\ntwenty-seven times longer; in fact, a year in the House of Saturn is\nas much as twenty-nine years five months and sixteen days in our part\nof the world. What, therefore, we should consider to be an old man of\neighty-eight would pass with Saturn for a three-year-old.\n\nA hundred and fifty years ago, Bishop Wilkins did not see why some of\nhis posterity should not find out a conveyance to the moon, and, if\nthere be inhabitants, have commerce with them. The first twenty miles,\nhe said, is all the difficulty; and why, he asked, writing before\nballoons had been discovered, may we not get over that? No doubt there\nare difficulties. The journey, if made at the rate of a thousand miles\na day, would take half a year; and there would be much trouble from\nthe want of inns upon the road. Nevertheless, heaviness being a\ncondition of closeness and gravitation to the earth, if one lose but\nthe first twenty miles, that difficulty of our weight would soon begin\nto vanish, and a man--clear of the influence of gravitation--might\npresently stand as firmly in the open air as he now does upon the\nground. If stand, why not go? With our weight gone from us, walking\nwill be light exercise, cause little fatigue, and need little\nnourishment. As to nourishment, perhaps none may be needed, as none is\nneeded by those creatures who, in a long sleep, withdraw themselves\nfrom the heavy wear and tear of life. \"To this purpose,\" says Bishop\nWilkins, \"Mendoca reckons up divers strange relations. As that of\nEpimenides, who is storied to have slept seventy-five years. And\nanother of a rustic in Germany, who, being accidentally covered with a\nhayrick, slept there for all autumn and the winter following, without\nany nourishment.\" Though, to be sure, the condition of a man free of\nall weight is imperfectly suggested by the man who had a hayrick laid\natop of him. But what then? Why may not smells nourish us as we walk\nmoonward upon space, after escape from all the friction and the sense\nof burden gravitation brings? Plutarch and Pliny, and divers other\nancients, tell us of a nation in India that lived only upon pleasing\nodors; and Democritus was able for divers days together to feed\nhimself with the mere smell of hot bread. Or, if our stomachs must be\nfilled, may there not be truth in the old Platonic principle, that\nthere is in some part of the world a place where men might be\nplentifully nourished by the air they breathe, which cannot be so\nlikely to be true of any other place as of the ethereal air above\nthis? We have heard of some creatures, and of the serpent, that they\nfeed only upon one element, namely, earth. Albertus Magnus speaks of a\nman who lived seven weeks together upon the mere drinking of water.\nRondoletius affirms that his wife did keep a fish in a glass of water\nwithout any food for three years, in which space it was constantly\naugmented, till at first it could {268} not come out of the place at\nwhich it was put in, and at length was too big for the glass itself,\nthough that were of large capacity. So may it be with man in the\nethereal air. Onions will shoot out and grow as they hang in common\nair. Birds of paradise, having no legs, live constantly in and upon\nair, laying their eggs on one another's backs, and sitting on each\nother while they hatch them. And, if none of these possibilities be\nadmitted, why, we can take our provision with us. Once up the twenty\nmiles, we could carry any quantity of it the rest of the way, for a\nship-load would be lighter than a feather. Sleep, probably, with\nnothing to fatigue us, we should no longer require; but if we did, we\ncannot desire a softer bed than the air, where we may repose ourselves\nfirmly and safely as in our chambers.\n\nAs for that difficulty of the first twenty miles, it is not impossible\nto make a flying chariot and give it motion through the air. If\npossible, it can be made large enough to carry men and stores, for\nsize is nothing if the motive faculty be answerable thereto--the great\nship swims as well as the small cork, and an eagle flies in the air as\nwell as a little gnat. Indeed, we might have regular Great Eastern\npackets plying between London and No Gravitation Point, to which they\nmight take up houses, cattle, and all stores found necessary to the\ngradual construction of a town upon the borders of the over-ether\nroute to any of the planets. Stations could be established, if\nnecessary, along the routes to the moon, Mars, Venus, Saturn, and the\nrest of the new places of resort; some London society could create and\nendow a new Bishop of Jupiter; and daring travellers would bring us\nhome their journals of a Day in Saturn, or Ten Weeks in Mars, while\nsportsmen might make parties for the hippogriff shooting in Mercury,\nor bag chimeras on the mountains of the moon.\n\nWell, in whatever way we may get there, we are off now for a stroll to\nSaturn, with Mr. R. A. Proctor for comrade and cicerone, but turning a\ndeaf ear to him whenever, as often occurs, he is too learned for us,\nand asks us to \"let N P' P\" N' represent the northern half of Saturn's\norbit (viewed in perspective), _n_ E n' E' the earth's orbit, and N p\np' p\" N' the projection of Saturn's orbit on the plane of the earth's\norbit. Let N S N' be the line of Saturn's nodes on this plane, and let\nS P' be at right angles to N S, N', so that when at P' Saturn is at\nhis greatest distance from the ecliptic on the northern side.\" When of\nsuch things we are asked to let them be, we let them be, and are, in\nthe denseness of our ignorance, only too glad to be allowed, not to\nsay asked, to do so. We attend only, like most of our neighbors, to\nwhat is easy to us. Sun is gold, and moon is silver; Mars is iron.\nMercury quicksilver, which we, in fact, rather like still to call\nMercury, thinking nothing at all of the imprisoned god with the winged\nheels when we ask how is the mercury in the thermometer. Jove is tin;\nyes, by Jove, tin is the chief among the gods, says little Swizzles,\nwho, by a miracle, remembers one thing that he learnt at\nschool--Jove's chieftainship among the heathen deities. Venus is\ncopper, for the Cyprian is Cuprian; and as for Saturn, he is lead. A\nmiserable old fellow they made Saturn out in the days of the\nstar-decipherers. Mine, Chaucer makes Saturn say, is the drowning in\nwan waters, the dark prison, the strangling and hanging, murmur of\ndiscontent, and the rebellion of churls. I am the poisoner and the\nhouse-breaker, I topple down the high halls, and make towers fall upon\ntheir builders, earth upon its miners. I sent the temple roof down\nupon Samson. I give you all your treasons, and your cold diseases, and\nyour pestilences. This is the sort of estimation in which our\nforefathers held the respectable old gentleman we are now going out to\nsee.\n\n{269}\n\nWhen Galileo's eyes went out toward Saturn through his largest\ntelescope--which, great as were the discoveries it made, was clumsier\nand weaker than the sort of telescope now to be got for a few\nshillings at any optician's shop--he noticed a peculiarity in the\nappearance of Saturn which caused him to suppose that Saturn consisted\nof three stars in contact with one another. A year and a half later he\nlooked again, and there was the planet round and single as the disc of\nMars or Jupiter. He cleaned his glasses, looked to his telescope, and\nlooked again to the perplexing planet. Triform it was not. \"Is it\npossible,\" he asked, \"that some mocking demon has deluded me?\"\nAfterward the perplexity increased. The two lesser orbs reappeared,\nand grew and varied in form strangely: finally they lost their\nglobular appearance altogether, and seemed each to have two mighty\narms stretched toward and encompassing the planet. A drawing in one of\nhis manuscripts would suggest that Galileo discovered the key to the\nmystery, for it shows Saturn as a globe resting upon a ring. But this\ndrawing is thought to be a later addition to the manuscript. It was\nonly after many perplexities of others, about half a century later,\nthat Huygens, in the year sixteen fifty-nine, announced to his\ncontemporaries that Saturn is girdled about by a thin, flat ring,\ninclined to the ecliptic, and not touching the body of the planet. He\nshowed that all variations in the appearance of the ring are due to\nthe varying inclinations of its plane toward us, and that, being very\nthin, it becomes invisible when its edge is turned to the spectator or\nthe sun. He found the diameter of the ring to be as nine to four to\nthe diameter of Saturn's body, and its breadth about equal to the\nbreadth of vacant space between it and the surface of the planet.\n\nThe same observer, Huygens, four years earlier, discovered one of\nSaturn's satellites. Had he looked for more, he could have found them.\nBut six was the number of known planets, five had been the number of\nknown satellites, our moon and the four moons of Jupiter, which\nGalileo had discovered; one moon more made the number of the planets\nand of the satellites to be alike, six, and this arrangement was\nassumed to be exact and final. But in sixteen seventy-one another\nsatellite of Saturn was discovered by Cassini, who observed that it\ndisappears regularly during one-half of its seventy-nine days' journey\nround its principal. Whence it is inferred that this moon has one of\nits sides less capable than the other of reflecting light, and that it\nturns round on its own axis once during its seventy-nine days'\njourney; Saturn itself spinning once round on its axis in as short a\ntime as ten hours and a half. Cassini afterward discovered three more\nsatellites, and called his four the Sideria Lodoicea, Ludovickian\nStars, in honor of his patron, Louis the Fourteenth. Huygens had\ndiscovered, also, belts on Saturn's disc. Various lesser observations\non rings, belts, and moons of Saturn continued to be made until the\ntime of the elder Herschel, who, at the close of the last century,\ndiscovered two more satellites, established the relation of the belts\nto the rotation of the planet, and developed, after ten years' careful\nwatching, his faith in the double character of its ring. \"There is\nnot, perhaps,\" said this great and sound astronomer, \"another object\nin the heavens that presents us with such a variety of extraordinary\nphenomena as the planet Saturn: a magnificent globe encompassed by a\nstupendous double ring; attended by seven satellites; ornamented with\nequatorial belts; compressed at the poles; turning on its axis;\nmutually eclipsing its rings and satellites, and eclipsed by them; the\nmost distant of the rings also turning on its axis, and the same\ntaking place with the furthest of the satellites; all the parts of the\nsystem of Saturn occasionally reflecting light to each other--the\nrings and moons {270} illuminating the nights of the Saturnian, the\nglobe and moons enlightening the dark parts of the rings, and the\nplanet and rings throwing back the sun's beams upon the moons when\nthey are deprived of them at the time of their conjunctions.\" During\nthe present century, other observers have detected more divisions of\nthe ring, one separating the outer ring into two rings of equal\nbreadth seems to be permanent. It is to be seen only by the best\ntelescopes, under the most favorable conditions. Many other and lesser\nindications of division have also at different times been observed.\nSeventeen years ago an eighth satellite of Saturn was discovered by\nMr. Bond in America, and by Mr. Lassell in England. Two years later,\nthat is to say, in November, eighteen fifty, a third ring of singular\nappearance was discovered inside the two others by Mr. Bond, and, a\nfew days later, but independently, by Mr. Dawes and by Mr. Lassell in\nEngland. It is not bright like the others, but dusky, almost purple,\nand it is transparent, not even distorting the outline of the body of\nthe planet seen through it. This ring was very easily seen by good\ntelescopes, and presently became visible through telescopes of only\nfour-inch aperture. In Herschel's time it was so dim that it was\nfigured as a belt upon the body of the planet. Now it is not only\ndistinct, but it has been increasing in width since the time of its\ndiscovery.\n\nThese were not all the marvels. One of the chief of the wonders since\ndiscovered was a faint overlapping light, differing much in color from\nthe ordinary light of the ring, which light, a year and a half ago,\nMr. Wray saw distinctly stretched on either side from the dark shade\non the ball overlapping the fine line of light by the edge of the ring\nto the extent of about one-third of its length, and so as to give the\nimpression that it was the dusky ring, very much thicker than the\nbright rings, and, seen edgewise, projected on the sky. Well may we be\ntold by our guide, Mr. Proctor, that no object in the heavens presents\nso beautiful an appearance as Saturn, viewed with an instrument of\nadequate power. The golden disc, faintly striped with silver-tinted\nbelts; the circling rings, with their various shades of brilliancy and\ncolor; and the perfect symmetry of the system as it sweeps across the\ndark background of the field of view, combine to form a picture as\ncharming as it is sublime and impressive.\n\nBut what does it all mean? What is the use of this strange furniture\nin the House of Saturn, which is like nothing else among the known\nthings of the universe? Maupertuis thought that Saturn's ring was a\ncomet's tail cut off by the attraction of the planet as it passed, and\ncompelled to circle round it thenceforth and for ever. Buffon thought\nthe ring was the equatorial region of the planet which had been thrown\noff and left revolving while the globe to which it had belonged\ncontracted to its present size. Other theories also went upon the\nassumption that the rings are solid. But if they are solid, how is it\nthat they exhibit traces of varying division and reunion, and what are\nwe to think of certain mottled or dusky stripes concentric with the\nrings, which stripes, appearing, to indicate that the ring where they\noccur is semi-transparent, also are not permanent? Then, again, what\nare we to think of the growth within the last seventy years of the\ntransparent dark ring which does not, as even air would, refract the\nimage of that which is seen through it, and that is becoming more\nopaque every year? Then, again, how is it that the immense width of\nthe rings has been steadily increasing by the approach of their inner\nedge to the body of the planet? The bright ring, once twenty-three\nthousand miles wide, was five thousand miles wider in Herschel's time,\nand has now a width of twenty-eight thousand three hundred on a\nsurface of more than twelve thousand millions of {271} square miles,\nwhile the thickness is only a hundred miles or less. Eight years ago,\nMr. J. Clerk Maxwell obtained the Adams prize of the University of\nCambridge for an essay upon Saturn's rings, which showed that if they\nwere solid there would be necessary to stability an appearance\naltogether different from that of the actual system. But if not solid,\nare they fluid, are they a great isolated ocean poised in the\nSaturnian mid air? If there were such an ocean, it is shown that it\nwould be exposed to influences forming waves that would be broken up\ninto fluid satellites.\n\nBut possibly the rings are formed of flights of disconnected\nsatellites, so small and so closely packed that, at the immense\ndistance to which Saturn is removed, they appear to form a continuous\nmass, while the dark inner mass may have been recently formed of\nsatellites drawn by disturbing attractions or collisions out of the\nbright outer ring, and so thinly scattered that they give to us only a\nsense of darkness without obscuring, and of course without refracting,\nthe surface before which they spin. This is, in our guide's opinion,\nthe true solution of the problem, and to the bulging of Saturn's\nequator, which determines the line of superior attraction, he ascribes\nthe thinness of the system of satellites, in which each is compelled\nto travel near the plane of the great planet's equator.\n\nWhatever be the truth about these vast provisions for the wants of\nSaturn, surely there must be living inhabitants there to whose needs\nthey are wisely adapted. Travel among the other planets would have its\ninconveniences to us of the earth. Light walking as it might be across\nthe fields of ether, we should have half our weight given to us again\nin Mars or Mercury, while in Jupiter our weight would be doubled, and\nwe should drag our limbs with pain. In Saturn, owing to the\ncompression of the vast light globe and its rapid rotation, a man who\nweighs twelve stone at the equator weighs fourteen stone at the pole.\nThough vast in size, the density of the planet is small, for which\nreason we should not find ourselves very much heavier by change of\nground from earth to Saturn. We should be cold, for Saturn gets only a\nninetieth part of the earth's allowance of light and heat. But then\nthere is no lack of blanket in the House of Saturn, for there is a\nthick atmosphere to keep the warmth in the old gentleman's body and to\nlengthen the Saturnian twilights. As for the abatement of light, we\nknow how much light yet remains to us when less than a ninetieth part\nof the sun escapes eclipse. We see in its brightness, as a star,\nthough a pale one, the reflection of the sunshine Saturn gets, which\nif but a ninetieth part of our share, yet leaves the sun of Saturn\nable to give five hundred and sixty times more light than our own\nbrightest moonshine. And then what long summers! The day in Saturn is\nonly ten and a half hours long, so that the nights are short, and\nthere are twenty-four thousand six hundred and eighteen and a half of\nits own days to the Saturnian year. But the long winters! And the\nSaturnian winter has its gloom increased by eclipses of the sun's\nlight by the rings. At Saturn's equator these eclipses occur near the\nequinoxes and last but a little while, but in the regions\ncorresponding to our temperate zone they are of long duration. Apart\nfrom eclipse, the rings lighten for Saturn the short summer nights,\nand lie perhaps as a halo under the sun during the short winter days.\n\n------\n\n{272}\n\n\nFrom Chamber's Journal.\n\nSLIPS OF THE PEN.\n\n\nWhen Mrs. Caxton innocently made her wiser-half the father of an\nanachronism, that worthy scholar was much troubled in consequence. His\nanachronism was a living one, or he might have comforted himself by\nreflecting that greater authors than he had stood in the same paternal\npredicament. Our old English dramatists took tremendous liberties this\nway, never allowing considerations of time and place to stand in the\nway of any allusion likely to tell with their audience. Shakespeare\nwould have been slow to appreciate a modern manager's anxiety for\narchaeological fidelity. His Greeks and Romans talk about cannons and\npistols, and his Italian clowns are thorough cockneys, familiar with\nevery nook and corner of London. And so it is with other caterers for\nthe stage. Nat Lee talks about cards in his tragedy of \"Hannibal;\"\nOtway makes Spartan notables carouse and drink deep; Mrs. Cowley's\nLacedaemonian king speaks of the _night's still Sabbath_; D'Urfey's\nancient Britons are familiar with Puritans and packet-boats; and Rymer\n(though he set himself up for a critic) supplies a stage direction for\nthe representative of his Saxon heroine to pull off her patches, when\nher lover desires her to lay aside her ornaments.\n\nWhen Colman read \"Inkle and Yarico\" to Dr. Moseley, the latter\nexclaimed: \"It won't do. Stuff! Nonsense!\"--\"Why?\" asked the alarmed\ndramatist.--\"Why, you say in the finale:\n\n  'Come let us dance and sing.\n  While all Barbadoes' bells shall ring!'\n\nIt won't do; there is but one bell in the island!\" This mistake was\nexcusable enough; but when Milton described\n\n         \"A green mantling vine,\n  That crawls along the side of yon small hill,\"\n\nhe must certainly have forgotten he had laid the scene of \"Comus\" in\nNorth Wales. Ernest Jones, describing a battle in his poem, \"The Lost\nArmy,\" says:\n\n  \"Delay and doubt did more that hour\n  Than bayonet-charge or carnage shower;\"\n\nand some lines further on pictures his hero\n\n  \"All worn with wounds, when day was low.\n  With severed sword and shattered shield;\"\n\nthus making his battle rather a trial of the respective powers of\nancient and modern weapons than a conflict between equally-armed foes.\nMr. Thackeray perpetrates a nice little anachronism in \"The Newcomes,\"\nwhen he makes Clive, in a letter dated 183-, quoting an Academy\nexhibition critique, ask: \"Why have we no picture of the sovereign and\nher august consort from Smee's brush?\"--the author, in his anxiety to\ncompliment the artist, forgetting that there was no consort till 1840.\n\nA bull in a china-shop is scarcely more out of place than a bull in a\nserious poem, but accidents will happen to the most regular of\nwriters. Thus Milton's pen slipped when he wrote:\n\n             \"The sea-girt isles\n  That like to rich and various gems _inlay_\n  The _unadorned_ bosom of the deep;\"\n\na quotation reminding us that the favorite citation,\n\n  \"Beauty when unadorned, adorned the most,\"\n\nis but a splendid bull, beautiful for its {273} boldness. Thomson was\nan adept at making pretty bulls; here is another:\n\n   \"He saw her charming, but he saw not half\n   The charms her downcast modesty concealed;\"\n\nas if it were possible to see some of them, although they were\nconcealed. Pope, correct Pope, actually tell us:\n\n     \"Young Mars in his boundless mind.\n  A work t' _outlast immortal_ Rome designed.\"\n\nThe author of \"The Spanish Rogue\" makes \"a silent noise\" invade the\near of his hero. General Taylor immortalized himself by perpetrating\none of the grandest bulls on record, in which he attained what a\ncertain literary professor calls \"a _perfection_ hardly to be\nsurpassed.\" In his presidential address he announced to the American\nCongress that the United States were at peace _with all the world_,\nand continued to cherish relations of amity with the _rest_ of\nmankind. Much simpler was the blunder of an English officer, during\nthe Indian mutiny, who informed the public, through the _Times_, that,\nthanks to the prompt measures of Colonel Edwardes, the Sepoys at Fort\nMachison \"were all unarmed and taken aback, and, being called upon,\nlaid down their arms.\" There was nothing very astonishing in an Irish\nnewspaper stating that Robespierre \"left no children behind him,\nexcept a brother, who was killed at the same time;\" but it was\nstartling to have an English journal assure us that her majesty Queen\nVictoria was \"the last person to wear _another man's_ crown.\"\n\nA single ill-chosen word often suffices, by the suggestion of\nincongruous ideas, to render what should be sublime utterly\nridiculous. One can hardly believe that a poet like Dryden could\nwrite:\n\n  \"My soul is packing up, and just on wing,\"\n\nSuch a line would have come with better grace from the author of \"The\nCourageous Turk,\" a play containing the following curious passage:\n\n      \"How now, ye heavens! grow you\n  So proud, that you must needs put on curled locks,\n  And clothe yourself in perwigs of fire.\"\n\nNearly equalled in absurdity by this from Nat Lee's \"OEdipus:\"\n\n       \"Each trembling ghost shall rise,\n  And leave their grisly king without a waiter.\"\n\nWhen the news of Captain Cook's death at Owhyhee came to England, the\npoetasters, of course, hastened to improve the occasion, and one of\nthe results of their enthusiasm was a monody commencing:\n\n  \"Minerva in heaven disconsolate mourned\n  The loss of her Cook;\"\n\nan opening sufficient to upset the gravity of the great navigator's\ndearest friend.\n\nAddison lays it down as a maxim, that when a nation abounds in\nphysicians it grows thin of people. Fillibuster Henninpen seems to\nhave agreed with the essayist, or he would hardly have informed\nGeneral Walker, in one of his dispatches, that \"Doctors Rice and Wolfe\ndied of the cholera, and Dr. Lindley sickened, _after which the health\nof the camp visibly improved._\" Intentionally or not, the\nstout-hearted soldier suggests that the best way of getting rid of the\ncholera is to make short work of the doctors. Among the obituary\nnotices in a weekly paper, not many months ago, there appeared the\nname of a certain publican, with the following eulogium appended to\nit: \"He was greatly esteemed for his strict probity and steady conduct\nthrough life, he having been a subscriber to the 'Sunday Times' from\nits first number.\" This is a worthy pendant to Miss Hawkins's story of\nthe undertaker writing to the corporation of London, \"I am desired to\ninform the Court of Aldermen, Mr. Alderman Gill died last night, by\norder of Mrs. Gill;\" and not far short, in point of absurdity, is\nMadame Tussand's announcement of the exhibition of the effigy of the\nnotorious Palmer, \"who was executed at Stafford with two hundred other\ncelebrities.\" {274} The modern fashion of naming florists' flowers\nmust be held responsible for the very dubious paragraph we extract\nfrom a gardening paper: \"Mrs. Legge will be looked after; she may not\nbe so certain as some, but she was nevertheless very fine in the early\npart of the season. Lady Popham is useful, one of the old-fashioned\nbuild, not quite round in the outline, but makes up well.\"\n\nThackeray seems to have had an intense dislike to the trouble of\nrevision, for his popular works, especially those published\nperiodically, abound in trivial mistakes, arising from haste,\nforgetfulness, and want of care. The novelist mortally wounds an old\nlady with a candle instead of a candlestick, and afterwards attributes\nher death to a stone staircase. Newcome senior is colonel and major at\none and the same time; Jack Belsize is Jack on one page and Charles on\nanother; Mrs. Raymond Gray, introduced as Emily, is suddenly\nrechristencd Fanny; and Philip Fermor on one occasion becomes\ntransformed into the author's old hero, Clive. With respect to the\nlast-mentioned gentleman, author and artist seem to have differed, for\nwhile Mr. Thackeray jests about Clive's beautiful whiskers and\nhandsome moustaches, Mr. Doyle persists to the end in denying young\nNewcome's possession of those tokens of manhood.\n\nIt is not often that an author is satirical upon his own productions;\nbut Charles Dickens has contrived to be so. Describing the old inns of\nthe Borough, in his \"Pickwick Papers,\" he says they are queer places,\nwith galleries, passages, and staircases wide enough and antiquated\nenough \"to furnish materials for a hundred ghost-stories, _supposing\nwe should ever be reduced to the lamentable necessity of inventing\nany_.\" How little could Boz have anticipated certain charming\nChristmas books witching the world a few years later! So, also,\n\"American Notes,\" Mr. Jefferson Brick, and the transatlantic Eden lay\nunsuspected in the future, when he made Old Wellor suggest Mr.\nPickwick's absconding to America till Dodson & Fogg were hung, and\nthen returning to his native land and writing \"a book about the\n'Merrikens as 'ill pay all his expenses and more, if he blows 'em up\nenough!\"\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nSAINTS OF THE DESERT.\n\nBY THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D.\n\n1. Abbot Antony said: The days are coming when men will go mad; and,\nwhen they meet a man who has kept his senses, they will rise up\nagainst him, saying, \"You are mad, because you are not like us.\"\n\n2. While Arsenius was still employed in the imperial court, he asked\nof God to lead him in the way by which he might be saved.\n\nThen a voice came to him: \"Arsenius, flee the company of men,\nand thou art in that saving way.\"\n\n3. Abbot Agatho said: Unless a man begin with the observance of the\nPrecepts, he will not make progress in any one virtue.\n\n{275}\n\n4. Abbot Ammonas said: Such be thy thought as that of malefactors in\nprison. For they are ever asking, \"Where is the judge? and when is he\ncoming?\" and they bewail themselves at the prospect.\n\n5. Holy Epiphanius said: To sinners who repent God remits even the\nprincipal; but from the just he exacts interest.\n\n6. Abbot Sylvanus had an ecstacy: and, coming to himself, he wept\nbitterly. \"What is it, my father?\" said a novice to him.\n\nHe made answer: Because I was carried up to the judgment, O my son,\nand I saw many of our kind going off to punishment, and many a secular\npassing into the kingdom.\n\n7. An old man said: If you see a youngster mounting up to heaven at\nhis own will, catch him by the foot, and fling him to the earth; for\nsuch a flight doth not profit.\n\n8. Abbot Antony fell on a time into weariness and gloom of spirit; and\nhe cried out, \"Lord, I wish to be saved; but my searchings of mind\nwill not let me.\"\n\nAnd, looking round, he saw some one like himself, sitting and working,\nthen rising and praying, then sitting and rope-making again. And he\nheard the angel say: \"Work and pray; pray and work; and thou shalt be\nsaved.\"\n\n9. Arsenius, when he was now in solitude, prayed as before: \"Lord,\nlead me along, the way of salvation.\" And again he heard a voice,\nwhich said: \"Flight, silence, quiet; these are the three sources of\nsinlessness.\"\n\n10. \"Which of all our duties,\" asked the brethren, \"is the greatest\nlabor?\" Agatho answered: \"Prayer; for as soon as we begin, the devils\ntry to stop us, since it is their great enemy. Rest comes after every\nother toil, but prayer is a struggle up to the last breath.\"\n\n11. Abbot Theodore said: \"Other virtue there is none like this, to\nmake naught of no one.\"\n\n12. Abbot Sylvanus said: \"Woe to the man whose reputation is greater\nthan his work.\"\n\n13. Holy Epiphanius said: \"A great safeguard against sin is the\nreading of the Scriptures; and it is a precipice and deep gulf to be\nignorant of the Scriptures.\"\n\n14. Once a monk was told, \"Thy father is dead.\" He answered:\n\"Blaspheme not; my Father is immortal.\"\n\n------\n\n{276}\n\nMISCELLANY.\n\n_The Dead Sea_.--The level of the Dead Sea is at last finally settled\nby the party of Royal Engineers, under Captain Wilson, who were sent\nby the Ordance Survey for the purpose of surveying Jerusalem and\nlevelling the Dead Sea. The results of the survey are being prepared\nfor publication. The levelling from the Mediterranean to the Dead Sea\nwas performed with the greatest possible accuracy. The depression of\nthe surface of the Dead Sea on the 12th of March, 1865, was found to\nbe 1,292 feet, but from the line of drift-wood observed along the\nborder of the Dead Sea it was found that the level of the water at\nsome periods of the year stands two feet six inches higher, which\nwould make the least depression 1,289.5 feet. Captain Wilson also\nlearnt from inquiry among the Bedouins, and from European residents in\nPalestine, that during the early summer the level of the Dead Sea is\nlower by at least six feet; this would make the greatest depression to\nbe as near as possible 1,298 feet. Most of the previous observations\nfor determining the relative level of the two seas gave most\ndiscordant results. The Dead Sea was found by one to be 710 feet above\nthe level of the Mediterranean, by another to be on the same level, by\nanother to be 710 feet lower, and by another to be 1,446 feet lower;\nbut the most recent before that now given, by the Duc de Luynes and\nLieutenant Vignes of the French navy, agrees with the present result\nin a very remarkable manner.\n\n_Eozoon in Ireland_,--The fossil Rhizopod is not confined to the\nCanadian rocks. Mr. W. A. Sanford has discovered Eozoon in the green\nmarble rocks of Connemara in Ireland. His assertion that it is to be\nfound in these deposits at first excited very grave doubts as to the\naccuracy of his observations. Since his first announcement of the\ndiscovery, his specimens have been examined by the distinguished\nco-editor of the \"Geological Magazine\" (Mr. H. Woodward), and this\ngentleman fully confirms Mr. Sanford's opinion. In the specimens\nprepared from Connemara marble, \"the various-formed chambers--the\nshell of varying thickness--either very thin, and traversed by fine\ntubuli, the silicate filling which resembles white velvet-pile, or\nthick, and traversed by brush-like threads, are both present. Although\nthe specimens were not so carefully prepared as those mounted for Dr.\nCarpenter, still the structure was so plainly perceptible as to render\nthe diagnosis incontrovertible.\"\n\n\n\n_The Mont Cenis Tunnel_.--The following particulars of the state of\nthe works at Mont Cenis will be read with interest. We owe them to a\nrecent report of M. Sommeiller, the engineer in charge. The length of\nthe tunnel from Bardonn\u00eache to Modena is 12,220 metres, and, at the\nend of 1804, 2,322 metres had been pierced on the Bardonn\u00eache side,\nwhilst the work had advanced 1,763 metres from the Modena end, making\nin all 4,085 metres--nearly a third of the whole distance. From the\n1st of January to the 10th of June of the present year the progress of\nthe work has been considerably augmented, upwards of 654 metres having\nbeen accomplished. The excavation is now, however, retarded by a mass\nof granite, which lessens the work of the machinery by one-third. The\npresence of this impediment was almost exactly predicted by MM. Elie\nde Beaumont and Sismonda, who stated, as a result of their survey,\nthat granitic rocks would be met with at a distance of 1,500 or 2,000\nmetres from the mouth of the tunnel on the Italian side.\n\n\n\n_Lightning._--M. Boudin has recently laid before the Academy of\nSciences a return of the deaths which have been caused by the action\nof lightning in France during the period 1835-63. During these thirty\nyears 2,238 persons were struck dead. Among 880 victims during\n1854-63, there were but 248 of the female sex; and in several\ninstances the lightning, falling among groups of persons of both\nsexes, especially struck those of the male sex, and more or less\nspared the females. In a great number of cases flocks of more than 100\nanimals, {277} cattle, hogs, or sheep, have been killed, while the\nshepherds or herdsmen in their midst have remained uninjured. In 1853,\nof 34 persons killed in the fields, 15, or nearly half, were struck\nunder trees; and of 107 killed between 1841-53, 21 had taken shelter\nunder trees. Reckoning, then, at only 25 per cent, the proportion\nstruck under trees, we find that of 6,714 struck in France nearly\n1,700 might have escaped the accidents which occurred to them by\navoiding trees during storms.\n\n_More about the Nile_--Another source of the Nile has been discovered\nby the adventurous Mr. Baker, whose name has been frequently mentioned\nof late among geographers. But this so-called source is a lake only,\nthe Luta Nzige, about two hundred and sixty miles long, and of\nproportionate breadth, which lies between the lake discovered by\nCaptain Speke and the heretofore explored course of the Nile. The\ngreat river flows from one to the other, forming on the way the Karuma\nwaterfall, one hundred and twenty feet in height, in which particular\nit represents the Niagara Fall between lakes Erie and Ontario. But it\nseems right to remark that the true source of the Nile has not yet\nbeen discovered, and that it must be looked for at the head of one of\nthe streams which flow into the upper lake--the Victoria Nyanza of\nSpeke. That the two lakes are reservoirs which keep the Nile always\nflowing, may be accepted as fact; but to describe them as sources is a\nmisuse of terms. If Dr. Livingstone, in his new exploration, should\nget into the hill-country above the Victoria Nyanza, we might hope to\nhear that the real source, the fountain-head, of the Nile had been\ndiscovered. It is worthy of remark that these lakes of the Nile are\nlaid down and described in old books on the geography of Africa.\nPtolemy mentions them; and they are represented in some of the oldest\nArabian and Portuguese maps. It is well known to scholars that the\nEmperor Nero sent two officers expressly to search for the head of the\nNile. \"I myself\" writes Seneca, \"have heard the two centurions narrate\nthat after they had accomplished a long journey, being furnished with\nassistance by the king of Ethiopia, and being recommended by him to\nthe neighboring kings, they penetrated into far distant regions, and\ncame to immense lakes, the termination of which neither the\ninhabitants knew nor could any one hope to do so, because aquatic\nplants were so densely interwoven in the waters.\" This description\nholds good to the present day; and it is thought that certain rocks\nseen by the centurions mark the site of the Karuma Falls. Mr. Baker\ndescribes his voyage down the Luta Nzige as \"extremely beautiful, the\nmountains frequently rising abruptly from the water, while numerous\ncataracts rush down their furrowed sides. . . . . . The water is deep,\nsweet, and transparent,\" and, except at the outlet of the river, the\nshores are free from reeds. \"Mallegga, on the west coast of the lake,\nis a large and powerful country, governed by a king named Kajoro, who\npossesses boats sufficiently large to cross the lake.\" \"About ten\nmiles from the junction,\" he writes, \"the channel contracted to about\ntwo hundred and fifty yards in width, with little perceptible stream,\nvery deep, and banked as usual with high reeds, the country on either\nside undulating and wooded. At about twenty miles from Magungo, my\nvoyage suddenly terminated; a stupendous waterfall, of about one\nhundred and twenty feet perpendicular height, stopped all further\nprogress. Above the great fall, the river is suddenly confined between\nrocky hills, and it races through a gap, contracted from a grand\nstream of perhaps two hundred yards width to a channel not exceeding\nfifty yards. Through this gap it rushes with amazing rapidity, and\nplunges at one leap into a deep basin below.\"\n\n\n_The Burning Well at Broseley_.--Mr. John Randall, F.G.S., writes to\nthe \"Geological Magazine\" anent this extinct petroleum spring. The\nso-called burning well has ceased to exist for nearly a century. It\nwas fed by a spring, and petroleum and naphtha also found their way\nfrom rents in the rock into the water of the well. Springs of\npetroleum on a much larger scale are met with in the neighborhood, and\nthe yield of them was formerly much greater than at present. Many\nhogsheads from one of these were exported some years ago under the\nname of \"Betton's British Oil,\" The rocks were tapped by driving a\nlevel through one of the sandstone rocks of the coal {278} measures;\nbut these are now drained; and very little is found to flow from them.\n\n\n\n_The Origin of the Salt in the Dead Sea_.--One of our most\ndistinguished explorers of the Holy Land attributes the intensely\nsaline character of the Dead Sea to the hill of Jebell Usdum. This is\na huge ridge of salt, about a mile wide, and running N.E. and S.W. for\na distance of three miles and a half, then due N. and S. for four\nmiles further. It is situated near the southern extremity of the Dead\nSea, and renders that portion of it much more salt than the northern\nportion. Further, Mr. Tristram thinks that it is the proximate cause\nof the saltness of the Dead Sea, the drainage to which has been\ndissolving away portions of salt, and carrying it to the Dead Sea,\never since the elevation of the ridge of Akabah separated the latter\nfrom the Red Sea, or since the desiccation of the ocean, which existed\nto the Eocene period, presuming (which seems most probable) that the\nfissures of the Ghor were of submarine origin, and that the valley\nitself was during the Tertiary period the northernmost of a series of\nAfrican lakes, of which the Red Sea was the next.--Geological\nMagazine.\n\n\n_Iron Implements in Crannogues_.--In a letter addressed to the London\n_Reader_, by Mr. George Henry Kinahan, some important points relative\nto the antiquity of iron, and the necessity for seeking for traces of\nthis metal, have been dwelt upon. While investigating one of the\nlargest crannogues or artificial islands in Loughrea, County Galway,\nIreland, he found only stone implements, with the exception of a rude\nknife, which appeared to be of some sort of bronze. But he observed\nfacts which would seem to indicate that iron implements had been in\nuse among the inhabitants of the crannogues. These facts are as\nfollows: 1st, All the stakes that were drawn had been pointed by a\nsharp cutting instrument, as were evidenced by the clean cuts. 2d,\nPieces of deer's horn that were found had been divided by a very fine\nsaw, as was proved by the absence of marks of graining on the surface\nof the sections. 3d, On some of the bones there were farrows,\nevidently made by sharpening fish-hooks or some pointed implement on\nthem. 4th, In various places nests of peroxide of iron were observed,\nas if an iron instrument had once been there, but had been corroded\naway in course of time. Mr. Kinahan draws particular attention to the\ncircumstances that \"few metals corrode as fast as iron, and that,\nwhile stone and bronze would last for ages, iron would disappear,\nowing to corrosion, in a comparatively short space of time.\"\n\n\n\n_The Gibraltar Cave Fossils_.--Mr. Busk in his paper on this subject\nsays: The rock in which the caverns of Gibraltar were found is\nlimestone, and extends for about three miles from north to south, at\nan elevation varying from 1,400 to 1,200 feet. It is geologically\ndivided into three nearly equal portions by cleavages which separate\nthe higher parts of the rock on the north and south from the central\nand lower part. At the southern face of the rock there is\ncomparatively low ground, the Windmill Hill being about 400 feet above\nthe level of the sea; but the strata there are inclined in an opposite\ndirection to the great mass of what is termed the \"Rock of Gibraltar.\"\nIn the Windmill rock the caverns have been found, and in these latter\na great quantity of bones was discovered. The bones, which were\nmingled with pottery, flint implements, and charcoal, appear to have\nbeen deposited at different periods, and were found at various depths,\nthe lowest being fourteen feet below the floor of the cavern. Those in\nthe lowest layer consisted of the bones of mammals, several of which\nwere of extinct species. They were imbedded in ferruginous earth\npartially fossilized, and were covered with stalagmite--no human bones\nwere with them. Above this layer were deposited the remains of about\nthirty human skeletons, with fragments of pottery, flint implements,\nparticles of charcoal, and a bronze fishing-hook. Some of the pottery\nhad been turned in a lathe, and bore evidence of classic art. In\nanother cavern, discovered under the foundation of the military\nprison, the remains of two isolated skeletons were also found. Only\none skull had been discovered there, and that had been sent to Mr.\nBusk, who remarked that the lower jaw transmitted with the cranium did\nnot belong to it, showing that there must have been another skull\n{279} in the cavern, though no trace of it had been found. There was\nnothing in the form of the skull to distinguish it from the ordinary\nEuropean type; but the bones of the leg were remarkably compressed;\nfor which appearance it was difficult to account. Since Mr. Busk's\nattention had been drawn to this character, he had observed a similar\ncompression in the leg-bones of other human skeletons which were known\nto be of great antiquity. Whether this conformation was to be regarded\nas a race-character, or was produced by special occupation or habit,\nMr. Busk would not venture an opinion upon.--_Social Science Review_.\n\n\n\n_Sun's Photosphere_.--From a strict examination of the sun-pictures\nobtained at Kew, near London, and from Mr. Carrington's maps, Mr. De\nla Rue and assistants hare arrived at the conclusion that the\nsun-spots are cavernous, and lie below the general level of the\nluminous surface, whilst, on the contrary, the faculae are elevated\nabove the latter. The reason that the faculae appear brighter is, that\non account of their height above the solar surface, they are less\ndimmed by passing through its atmosphere. They further conclude that\nthe sun's luminous surface is of the nature of cloud, and that the\nspots are influenced by the planet Venus. They find that the faculae\nretain nearly the same appearance for days together, and consider them\nto be small particles of solid or liquid matter in suspension, and\ncomposed of the same cloudy matter as the luminous surface of the sun.\nThey notice that in the majority of cases the faculae appear to the\nleft of the spots, as if they had been abstracted from them, and,\nrising to a greater elevation where the velocity of rotation is\ngreater, are consequently left behind. They remark that all the spots\nwhich are seen on the solar surface about the same time show a\nresemblance to each other; for instance, if one spot increases to the\ncentral line or past it, another will do the same; if one spot\ndiminishes from its first appearance, another will do the same; if one\nspot breaks out on the right half; another will do the same. It\nappears from Mr. Carrington's and all the Kew pictures, that the\ninfluence of Venus is exerted in such a manner that as the spots\napproach the neighborhood of this planet by rotation they decrease;\nbut as the solar surface passes away in the same manner, this\ninfluence causes it to break out into spots on the opposite side. The\nquestion is also proposed, whether the falling behind of the faculae\nmay not be the physical reaction of the motion of the spots detected\nby Mr. Carrington, the current passing upward and carrying the\nluminous matter falling behind, whilst the current coming down from a\ncolder region moves forward, carrying the spot with it, and accounting\nfor its deficient luminosity.--_Social Science Review_.\n\n\n_The Arctic Expedition--The Open Polar Sea again_--Last month we\npublished an extract in which it was stated as the belief of the\nwriter that there was an open Arctic sea. Here is another opinion\nwhich we find in the _London Reader_ of a late date: \"We have received\nfrom the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences a map of Spitzbergen, with\nexplanatory remarks in illustration (by N. Duner and A. E.\nNordenski\u00f6ld). This beautiful map is the result of the two last\nexpeditions undertaken to explore that group of islands. It is based\nupon astronomical observations, made at about eighty different places\non the shores of Spitzbergen, with prism-circles by Pistor and\nMartins, mercury horizons and good chronometers by Frodsham and\nKessels. The observations were calculated by Professors D. G.\nLindhagen and Duner. The latitude and longitude of seventy-nine\ndifferent points are given--the longitude of Sabine's Observatory,\ndetermined as 11\u00b0 40' 80\", being taken as the starting point of the\nlongitudes. The value of such a map is at once apparent. All the\nhighest mountains were ascended during the expedition, and the height\nof twenty-eight peaks is given; the highest being Lindstr\u00f6m's Mount of\n8,800 English feet. The permanent snow-line commences at about 1,500\nfeet. The whole interior country forms an even ice plateau, here and\nthere interrupted by rocks. There are many good harbors, and on this\nmap the places are marked where the explorers anchored. Fish, fowl,\nand reindeer are to be met with in great numbers. We quote from the\nmemoir as bearing upon one of the most interesting questions of the\nday. 'During the last years the idea has been vindicated that the\nPolar {280} basin is composed of an open sea, only here and there\ncovered with drift ice. The learned geographer, Dr. Petermann, has\neven asserted that it would be as easy to sail from Amsterdam Island\n(70\u00b0 47') to the Pole, as from Troms\u00f6 to Amsterdam Island. This view\nis in itself so contrary to all experience that it scarcely merits\nrefutation, but as different prominent English Arctic navigators seem\ninclined to adopt the same view, in spite of the experience gained by\ntheir own numerous Arctic expeditions, we will here give some of the\nmost important reasons against this supposition. All who for a long\nperiod have navigated the northern seas, whalers and Spitzbergen\nhunters, have come to the conclusion that the Polar basin is so\ncompletely filled with ice that one cannot advance with vessels, and\nall the attempts that have been made to proceed toward the north have\nbeen quite without success. Passing by older voyagers, Torell and\nNordenski\u00f6ld ascended, during the expedition in 1861, on the 23d of\nJuly, a high top on Northeast Land, Sn\u00f6toppen (80\u00b0 23' L.), without\nbeing able, from that height, to see trace of open water to the north\nof the Seven Islands. A few days later, when the ice between Northeast\nLand and the Seven Islands was separated a little, they could push\nforward as far as to Parry's Island, though they, even from the\nhighest tops on these islands (1,900 feet, 80\u00b0 40' L.), could see\nnothing but ice northward. From the top of White mountain, at the\nbottom of Wijde Jans Water (3,000 feet), we could, on the 22d of\nAugust, 1864, not see anything but ice between Giles Land and\nSpitzbergen. Some vessels that had the same year attempted to sail\nround Northeast Land were shut up by ice, and had to be abandoned by\ntheir crews. Before leaving the ships, an attempt was made to sail\nnorth, in order to return this way to Amsterdam Island, but they were\nsoon met by impenetrable fields of ice. Notwithstanding a high prize\nhas been offered for the reaching of high degrees of latitude, none of\nthe whalers, who else sail boldly wherever the hope of gain allures\nthem, have considered it possible to win this prize. We have had\nopportunities of speaking to most of the masters of vessels sailing to\nSpitzbergen. All experience hitherto acquired seems thus to prove that\nthe Polar basin, when not covered with compact, unbroken ice, is\nfilled with closely-packed, unnavigable drift-ice, in which, during\ncertain very favorable years, some larger apertures may be formed,\nwhich apertures, however, do not extend very far to the north. Older\nnarratives, by Dutch whalers, who are said to have reached 86\u00b0 or 87\u00b0\nnay, even 89-1/2\u00b0 must therefore be received with the greatest\ndiffidence, if not looked upon as pure fictions, and the prospect of\nbeing able to advance with vessels from Spitzbergen to the Pole is, no\ndoubt, extremely slight. _It would be particularly unwise to choose\nthe spring for such an attempt, and the passage east of Spitzbergen.\nAt that time and by that passage it would be difficult, if not\nimpossible, to reach even 78\u00b0 of latitude._ Whereas, on the west side,\none can every year depend on reaching the 80th degree of latitude, and\nin favorable years it might be possible, _in September or October_, to\nsail even a couple of degrees higher.'\"\n\n------\n\n{281}\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nSIXTEEN REVELATIONS OF DIVINE LOVE, made to a devout servant of our\nLord, called Mother Juliana, an anchorite of Norwich, who lived in the\ndays of King Edward the Third. 12mo., pp. 214. Boston: Ticknor &\nFields.\n\n\nWe Catholics of the United States have good reason to congratulate\nourselves upon the appearance of this work. The selection of such a\nwork for republication is proof of good judgment in the Boston\npublishers, while certainly nothing can be more elegant and tasteful\nthan the \"getting up.\"\n\nMother Juliana lived in the city of Norwich, England; and, as we are\nnotified by the famous Father Cressy, who first published and edited\nher \"Revelations,\" she wrote during the reign of Edward the Third, and\nabout three years before his death. She was an anchoret or recluse, a\nreligious woman who, like St. Bees and many others in England and\nelsewhere, lived alone, shut up by herself, in contemplation and\nprayer. It is to us a great mystery that these \"Revelations,\" so\nexcellent in themselves, and edited once by such a man, should be so\nlittle known in our day, and should owe their reproduction once more\nin English literature to Protestant curiosity and not to Catholic\npiety. We know of nothing of the same kind which can compare with\nthem. There is an odor of supernatural sweetness about them, and a\ndepth of contemplative thought, a freshness moreover and originality,\nwhich has never impressed us before when reading books of revelations.\nCritical authors have sometimes complained of works of this nature\nthat much in them of what seems elevated or profound is evidently\nderived, at second hand, from the speculations of theologians, and\nespecially of the philosophical schoolmen; while other things,\nsupposed to have been seen in vision, are the reproduction of early\nhistories, once popular, but proved to be apocryphal and destitute of\nall authority. Nothing of the kind can be said of these revelations of\nMother Juliana. They sometimes touch upon questions most profound and\ndifficult, but in the simplest and most inartificial manner, and there\nis not the slightest appearance of reproducing what she had read\nelsewhere. Every thought bears the stamp of originality and freshness.\nAll is drawn from the same deep well of contemplation. All comes from\nher own mind, whether that mind be divinely illuminated or not. There\nis not the least semblance of searching after what is wonderful, or\ncalculate to strike an undisciplined and curious imagination. For our\nown part, we cannot resist the impression that the beautiful and holy\nlight which beams upon these pages is a divine illumination, is\nsomething supernatural. When we say _supernatural_, this does not\nnecessarily infer anything strictly miraculous, or revelation in the\nhighest sense of the word (supernaturally attested, as well as\nsupernaturally given). We mean simply to say that there is apparent a\ncertain unction and power of spiritual vision which betokens an\nextraordinary gift of divine love and light, to which her natural\npower, unaided, could never reach. In reading this book one is\nimpressed in the same way as when reading the Holy Scriptures or\nThomas \u00e0 Kempis. There is a natural beauty of style and thought, but\nthat is not all. There is inspiration, too. It is like a far-reaching\nlandscape in a fair day, where the distant hills are not fairly\ndistinguishable from the sky, and the beauty of earth is mingled with\nthe beauty of heaven.\n\nWe have room to give just one example, which we select as showing, in\na few lines, the general characteristics of piety, sweetness,\nsimplicity, and beauty which everywhere pervade this little book:\n\n  \"He is our clothing, that for love wrappeth us, and windeth us,\n  halseth us, and all becloseth us, hangeth about us for tender love,\n  that he maie never leave us. And so in this sight I saw that he is\n  all thing that is good, as to my understanding.\n\n  \"And in this he shewed a little thing, the quantitie of a\n  hasel-nutt, lying in the palme of my hand, as me seemed; and it was\n  as found as a ball. I looked thereon {282} with the eie of my\n  understanding, and thought, What may this be?' and it was answered\n  generallie thus.\n\n  \"'_It is all that is made_.' I marvelled how it might last: for\n  methought it might sodenlie have fallen to naught for litleness.\n\n  \"And I was answered in my understanding, _'It lasteth and ever\n  shall: for God loveth it, And so hath all thing being by the love of\n  God.'_\"\n\n\nCOMPLETE WORKS OF THE MOST REV. JOHN HUGHES, D.D., ARCHBISHOP OF NEW\nYORK. Comprising his Sermons, Letters, Lectures, Speeches, etc.\nCarefully compiled from the best sources, and edited by Lawrence\nKehoe. 2 vols. 8vo., pp. 608 and 810. New York: Lawrence Kehoe, No. 7\nBeekman street.\n\n\nIn opening these two capacious volumes, one of the first things that\nstrikes us is the great number of excellent pieces from the pen of the\nlate Archbishop of New York which are now entirely forgotten by the\ngeneral public. There never was an author more careless of his fame\nthan Dr. Hughes. He cast his writings upon the world, and gave no\nthought to them afterward He was not even at the pains of keeping\nsingle copies of his own publications. So it has happened that many of\nhis best productions have not only been long out of print, but have\nnever even been heard of except by a few of the writer's special\nfriends, or some of our oldest and best read Catholic citizens. We\nmake no doubt that the collection for which the Catholic public is so\nmuch indebted to the zeal and industry of Mr. Kehoe, will cause\nconsiderable surprise among those who supposed themselves to be well\nacquainted with Archbishop Hughes's literary labors. How many persons,\nfor instance, have ever heard or remember anything of a tract of some\nthirty or forty pages called \"An Answer to Nine Objections,\" which\nFather Hughes published when he was first a priest? Or of his\ncontroversies with Dr. Delancey, the late Protestant Episcopal bishop\nof western New York, and Dr. Onderdonk, P. E. bishop of Pennsylvania?\nOr of his letters on \"Infallibility,\" written while he was in\nPhiladelphia? Or his once famous series of letters on the \"Importance\nof being in Communion with the Catholic Church?\" And yet some of these\ndeserve to rank among the most important and valuable productions of\nhis pen. Our readers will find them all in Mr. Kehoe's volumes, and\nmany other pieces with them which possess a more than ordinary\ninterest. There is a long letter here to the Leopoldine Society of\nVienna, in which Dr. Hughes exposes in a very graphic and masterly\nmanner the condition of the Irish emigrants in this country: to the\nbest of our belief it has never been published before. There is a\ntouching and beautiful narrative, extracted from the Annals of the\nPropagation of the Faith for 1840 of the conversion of the Dodge\nFamily in western New York. There is a description of a storm at sea,\nwritten during the bishop's voyage to Europe in 1839. And the second\nvolume closes with a \"Christmas Vesper Hymn,\" which has often been\nprinted before, and even set to music, but will doubtless be new to\nmany people.\n\nWe have mentioned these portions of Mr. Kehoe's collection, not only\nbecause they are less known than the archbishop's great controversies;\nbut because every true friend of the lamented prelate's fame ought to\ndesire them to be far better known than they are. Archbishop Hughes\nwas one of the kindest, tenderest-hearted men that ever lived; and any\none who should judge him by the severe, caustic tone of his letters to\nBreckinridge, for example, or his speeches on the school question,\nwould gravely mistake his character. Most of the pieces that we have\nnamed, and some others as well, show him in his true and most amiable\nlight.\n\nThe first volume is occupied principally by the archbishop's various\nletters and speeches on the School Question; his letters to David\nHale, Mayor Harper, and Colonel Stone: Letters on the Importance of\nbeing in Communion with the Catholic Church; Kirwan Unmasked; and a\nnumber of miscellaneous lectures and sermons. The second contains a\nnumber of letters, sermons, etc., on the Temporal Power of the Pope;\nvarious lectures; over thirty miscellaneous sermons; the Church\nProperty Controversy with Senator Brooks and others; and a great deal\nof miscellaneous matter, including the archbishop's speeches at\nbanquets etc., during his last visit to Europe. Bishop Bayley's\nadmirable lecture on {283} the Life and Times of Archbishop Hughes is\ngiven in full, by way of introduction to the second volume.\n\nMr. Kehoe's collection is the most important contribution to the\nhistory of the Church in the United States that has been made for many\na year. Archbishop Hughes not only played an important part in the\necclesiastical history of his time and country, but he may be said\nwithout much exaggeration to have _made_ that history. His writings\nare destined to hold a permanent place in American Catholic literature\nby the side of those of Bishop England, while from their subjects, as\nwell as the comparatively cheap form in which they are now presented\nto us, they will no doubt be more popular than those of the\nillustrious Bishop of Charleston.\n\n\nCAPE COD. By Henry D. Thoreau. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1865. 12mo.,\npp. 253.\n\n\nThis is a readable book, notwithstanding some of its critics have put\nit down as \"dry.\" The keen observations, and quaint remarks sprinkled\nall over its pages, keep its reader in good humor chapter after\nchapter until the book is read. Thoreau's books are healthy, and\ndeserve to be read, especially by our young men.\n\nThis is true of the general tone of his writings. Occasionally,\nhowever, there is a slight vein of skepticism running through them.\nBut he has less of this than his contemporaries. Thoreau had deep\nreligious feeling, but he found no expression for it in the religious\ndenominations around him. Had he lived in the fifth century he would\nhave been a father of the desert. As it is, he gives you the natural\nside of life and things exclusively, but with freshness and\noriginality.\n\nThe sturdy integrity of the man, the fixed determination of seeing\nlife and things with his own eyes, and his resolve to have his own say\nabout them, is what characterizes all his writings, and what makes\nthem valuable where popular opinion sways.\n\nAs a sample of his talent for description, read the following\npen-drawing of a wrecker:\n\n  \"We soon met one of these wreckers,--a regular Cape Cod man, with a\n  bleached and weather-beaten face, within whose wrinkles I\n  distinguished no particular feature. It was like an old sail endowed\n  with life--a hanging cliff of weather-beaten flesh--like one of the\n  clay boulders which occurred in that sand-bank. He had on a hat\n  which had seen salt water, and a coat of many pieces and colors,\n  though it was mainly the color of the beach, as if it had been\n  sanded. His variegated back--for his coat had many patches, even\n  between the shoulders--was a rich study to us, when we had passed\n  him and looked around. It might have been dishonorable for him to\n  have so many scars behind, it is true, if he had not had many more,\n  and more serious ones, in front. He looked as if he sometimes saw a\n  doughnut, but never descended to comfort; too grave to laugh, too\n  tough to cry; as in different as a clam,--like a sea-clam with hat\n  on, and legs, that was out walking the strand. He may have been one\n  of the Pilgrims--Peregrine White, at least--who has kept on the\n  back side of the Cape and let the centuries go by. He was looking\n  for wrecks, old logs, water-logged and covered with barnacles, or\n  bits of boards and joists--even chips, which he drew out of reach\n  of the tides and stacked up to dry. When the log was too large to\n  carry far, he cut it up where the last wave had left it, or, rolling\n  it a few feet, appropriated it by sticking two sticks into the\n  ground crosswise above it. Some rotten trunk, which in Maine\n  encumbers the ground, and is, perchance, thrown into the water on\n  purpose, is here thus carefully picked up, split and dried, and\n  husbanded. Before winter the wrecker painfully carries these things\n  up the bank on his shoulders by a long diagonal slanting path made\n  with a hoe in the sand, if there is no hollow at hand. You may see\n  his hooked pike-staff always lying on the bank, ready for use. He is\n  the true monarch of the beach, whose 'right there is none to\n  dispute,' and he is as much identified with it as a beach bird.\"\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE GREAT MARCH.\nFrom the Diary of a Staff Officer. By Brevet Major George Ward\nNichols, Aid-de-camp to General Sherman. With a Map and Illustrations.\n12mo., pp. 394. New York: Harper Brothers.\n\nThe advance of General Sherman, with 70,000 men, through the heart of\nthe seceded states, will ever be memorable in the annals of American\nhistory as the greatest achievement of modern times. From the time of\nhis departure from Atlanta, Ga., until the purpose on which he started\nwas accomplished in the surrender of Gen. Johnston, near Raleigh,\nN.C., his {284} movements attracted the attention, and called forth\nthe criticism, of _un_military as well as military men in Europe and\nAmerica. Many were the prophecies uttered of his total failure, but\nthe able captain who conceived the plan and to whose care it was\nintrusted, carried the expedition successfully through. Of this march\nmost of our readers have read more or less, in the daily papers. These\nstatements have oftentimes been very incorrect and vague, from the\nexcitement and hurry of the correspondents in getting them up. The\nhandsome volume before us, however, is a clear and concise narrative\nof that great march, noted down from day to day by a member of General\nSherman's staff. The author in this sketch gives us a true narrative\nof the entire march, and account of the interview between Sherman and\nJohnston. His style is plain and unaffected, but occasionally a little\ninflated. This, however, is pardonable, for he is very brief, and\nbrevity, the poet says, \"is the soul of wit.\" He wastes but few words\nin \"saying his say,\" and has evidently taken much pains in getting his\nstatements in as small space as possible. The book is embellished with\na fine map of the march, and several appropriate wood-cuts. It also\ncontains General Sherman's official reports of the campaign, and\nstatement before the Congressional committee on the conduct of the\nwar--valuable documents in themselves. We copy the following extracts\nfrom the chapter personal to General Sherman:\n\n  \"Late in the summer of 1864, I was relieved from detached service in\n  the west, and ordered to report to the general commanding the\n  military division of the Mississippi. I found General Sherman at\n  Atlanta, seated in the parlor of his headquarters, surrounded by\n  several of his generals, and shall never forget the kindness with\n  which he received me when he heard that I was a stranger in the\n  western army; he said, \"Very well; I will retain you on my staff.\"\n  The expression of gentleness, sympathy, and consideration which\n  accompanied this brief announcement, made an impression upon me\n  which will be fully understood by any officer who has had the\n  fortune to be suddenly ordered to a strange and distant field of\n  duty, where anxiety and embarrassment awaited him. The incident is\n  introduced here because it gives the key-note to a striking feature\n  in the character of General Sherman.\n\n  \"A striking evidence of his sense of justice and his unselfishness\n  may be seen in his refusal to accept the commission of a\n  major-general in the regular army which was offered him previous to\n  the fall of Atlanta. In his letter declining the honor, he said:\n  'These positions of so much trust and honor should be held open till\n  the close of the war. They should not be hastily given. Important\n  campaigns are in operation. At the end, let those who prove their\n  capacity in merit be the ones appointed for these high honors.'\n\n  \"General Sherman's memory is marvellous. The simplest incidents of\n  friendly intercourse, the details of his campaigns, citations of\n  events, dates, names, faces, remain fresh in his mind. A soldier who\n  may have addressed him long years ago in the swamps of Florida; some\n  heroic deed of an officer at Shiloh; a barn or a hill-side in\n  Georgia; a chance expression of your own which you may have\n  forgotten; minutest description of the plan of the campaign;\n  whatever he has seen, heard, or read, he remembers with astonishing\n  accuracy. Napoleon had a similar trait.\n\n  \"He is also remarkably observant, especially of the conduct and\n  character of the officers of the army. He sees what many persons\n  suppose it is impossible for his eye to reach. In an army of 70,000\n  men, it might be reasonably imagined that the commanding general is\n  too far removed from the great mass to know or be known by them; but\n  when it is remembered that Sherman has marched during this campaign\n  alternately with one and another corps, it ceases to be a matter of\n  surprise that he is thoroughly acquainted with the character of the\n  different organizations. In truth, nothing escapes that vigilant and\n  piercing eye, from the greatest to the minutest detail of the\n  command.\n\n  \"General Sherman is sociable in the best sense of the word. When the\n  responsibilities of the hour are cast aside--and he throws them off\n  with the utmost facility--he enters into the spirit of a\n  merry-making with all the zest and appreciation of the jolliest of\n  the party. He has a keen sense of wit and humor; and not\n  unfrequently he is the centre and life of the occasion. He converses\n  freely, yet he is reticent to the last degree, knowing how to keep\n  his own counsel, and never betraying his purpose. He is cautious and\n  often suspicious; yet no man ever accused him of deceit or\n  dishonesty either in word or deed. His unmeasured scorn and contempt\n  are visited upon pretense, new philanthropy, arrogance,\n  self-conceit, or boasting; but he never fails to recognize and pay a\n  hearty tribute to unpretentious merit, courage, capacity, Christian\n  manliness and simplicity. He is not prodigal of promises, but his\n  word once given is {285} sacred as holy writ. General Sherman is\n  terribly in earnest in his method of conducting war, but he is\n  neither vindictive nor implacable. He once said to a Methodist\n  preacher in Georgia who had, by voice and example, helped to plunge\n  the nation into war: 'You, sir, and such as you, had the power to\n  resist this mad rebellion; but you chose to strike down the best\n  government ever created, and for no good reason whatsoever. You are\n  suffering the consequence, and have no great reason to complain.'\n\n  \"Yet there is a depth of tenderness akin to the love of woman behind\n  that face, which is furrowed with the lines of anxiety and care, and\n  those eyes, which dart keen and suspicious glances. Little children\n  cling to the general's knees and nestle in his arms with intuitive\n  faith and affection. During our sojourn in Savannah his headquarters\n  and private room became the play-ground of hosts of little ones,\n  upon whom the door was never closed no matter what business was\n  pending.\n\n  \"General Sherman's integrity seemed to pervade every trait in his\n  character. His intense dislike of the men who have been interested\n  in the war only to make money out of it, is well known. From the\n  first instant of the rebellion pecuniary considerations were cast\n  aside by the general, and he has given himself wholly to the service\n  of his country. He knows the value of money, but he can say with\n  honorable pride that the atmosphere of integrity and honesty about\n  him withers and destroys the lust of gain. Not even the taint of\n  suspicion in this regard has ever been cast upon him nor upon the\n  officers associated with him.\n\n  \"In person, General Sherman is nearly six feet in height, with a\n  wiry, muscular, and not ungraceful frame. His age is only\n  forty-seven years, but his face is furrowed with deep lines,\n  indicating care and profound thought. With surprising rapidity,\n  however, these strong lines disappear when he talks with children\n  and women. His eyes are of a dark brown color, and sharp and quick\n  in expression. His forehead is broad and fair, sloping gently at the\n  top of the head, which is covered with thick and light brown hair,\n  closely trimmed. His beard and moustache, of a sandy hue, are also\n  closely cut. His constitution is iron. Exposure to cold, rain, or\n  burning heat seems to produce no effect upon his powers of endurance\n  and strength. Under the most harassing conditions I have never seen\n  him exhibit any symptoms of fatigue. In the field he retires early,\n  but at midnight he may be found pacing in front of his tent, or\n  sitting by the camp fire smoking a cigar. His sleep must be light\n  and unrestful, for the gallopping of a courier's horse down the road\n  instantly wakes him, as well as a voice or a movement in his tent.\n  He falls asleep as easily and as quickly as a little child--by the\n  road-aide, upon the wet ground or the hard floor, or when a battle\n  rages near him. His mien is never clumsy or commonplace; and when\n  mounted upon review he appears in every way the great captain that\n  he is.\n\n  \"When sounds of musketry or cannonading reach his ears, the general\n  is extremely restless until he has been satisfied as to the origin,\n  location, and probable results of the fight in progress. At such\n  moments he lights a fresh cigar, and smokes while walking to and\n  fro; stopping now and then to listen to the increasing rattle of\n  musketry; then muttering 'Forward,' will mount old 'Sam,' a horribly\n  fast-walking horse, which is as indifferent to shot and shell as his\n  master, and starts off in the direction of the fire.\n\n  \"One afternoon during the Atlanta campaign the general paid a visit\n  to General Hooker, who had pitched his headquarters in a place\n  almost as much exposed to the fire of the enemy as any that could\n  have been found along the line. The two generals seated themselves\n  comfortably, with their feet planted against the trees, watching the\n  operations immediately in front and in full view of the rebels. Very\n  soon a rebel shell passed them, shrieking overhead, clearing the\n  crockery from the dinner-table with amazing rapidity, and\n  frightening the cook Sambo, who afterward excused himself on the\n  ground that his mate had been killed the night before by one of\n  'them things.' Another shell quickly followed, demolishing a chair\n  which had just been vacated by an officer. Meanwhile the rifle\n  bullets were singing and 'fiezing' about in a reckless way, chipping\n  the bark from the trees, and cutting their leaves and branches.\n  Still the two generals sat, discussing military questions, with the\n  utmost indifference until the sun went down; while the staff\n  officers, not seeing any fun in the business, carried on their own\n  conversation as companionably as could reasonably be expected in a\n  spot where the protecting trees were five to ten feet apart.\n\n  \"The general's habits of life are simple. Primitive almost as first\n  principles, his greatest sacrifice will be made when he resigns\n  campaigning for a more civilized life. He has a keen sense of the\n  beauty of nature, and never is happier than when his camp is pitched\n  in some forest of lofty pines, where the wind sings through the\n  tree-tops in melodious measure, and the feet are buried in the soft\n  carpeting of spindles. He is the last one to complain when the\n  table-fare is reduced {286} to beef and 'hard tack,' and, in truth,\n  he rather enjoys poverty of food as one of the conditions of a\n  soldier's life. I remember that he apologized to our guest, the\n  secretary of war, one day at Savannah, because certain luxuries,\n  such as canned fruits and jellies, had found their way to his table.\n\n  \"'This,' he remarked, 'is the consequence of coming into houses and\n  cities. The only place to live, Mr. Secretary, is out of doors in\n  the woods.'\n\n  \"General Sherman's patriotism is a vital force. He has given himself\n  and all that he has to the national cause. Personal considerations,\n  I am sure, have never influenced him. Doubtless he is ambitious, but\n  it is impossible to discern any selfish or unworthy motive, either\n  in his word or deeds. I do not believe it possible for a man more\n  absolutely to subordinate himself and his personal interests to the\n  great cause than he. His patriotism is as pure as the faith of a\n  child; and, before it, family and social influences are powerless.\n  His relatives are the last persons to receive from his hand\n  preferment or promotion. In answer to the request of one nearly\n  allied to him that he would give his son a position on his staff,\n  the general's reply was curt and unmistakable: 'Let him enter the\n  ranks as a soldier, and carry a musket a few years!'\n\n  \"In no instance is it possible for the general to favor the\n  advancement of soldiers upon mere political grounds; bravery and\n  capacity are the considerations which weigh with him. When a paper\n  is handed to him for endorsement, accompanied by questions relative\n  to promotion, he leaves the selection of the candidate to army or\n  corps commanders, reserving his own opinion until the proper time.\n\n  \"He has had as great responsibilities to meet as any man of the age,\n  but there has never yet been an instance when he was not equal to\n  the occasion, even to the acceptance of a new truth. Few men have so\n  harmoniously united common sense and genius as General Sherman.\"\n\n\nTHE OLD HOUSE BY THE BOYNE. By\nMrs. J. Sadlier. 12mo., pp. 375. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1865.\n\nAnother new story by Mrs. Sadlier! \"Why, it is only the other day,\"\nthe reader will naturally exclaim, \"I read one also from her pen.\" But\nsuch is the fact. \"The Old House by the Boyne\" is, however, her latest\nproduction, and well does it sustain her reputation as one of our best\nliving Irish novelists at home or abroad. Mrs. Sadlier is thoroughly\nIrish in her stories, and her sole object in them all is the elevation\nand edification of her countrymen and countrywomen on this side the\nAtlantic. A most praise-worthy object, and one which must in the end\nbring forth good fruit. The low and the vulgar, which the English\nnovelists, and we are sorry to say some Irish writers also, take\nparticular pains to bring forward as _the_ leading characters in their\nworks, find no place in Mrs. Sadlier's books. All that is good and\ngenerous in the Irish character is given its true value, and when\nnecessity compels her to describe the ruffian, she does so in such a\nmanner as to make the reader abhor his actions, and not as other\nwriters have done--make him a sort of a hero, as if his crime was the\nrule and not the exception.\n\nHer descriptions of Irish manners, customs, and characteristics can\nalways be relied upon as correct, for she has made the Irish character\nher constant study, and beside, she feels for the miseries and\nmisfortunes of that unfortunate but generous and kind-hearted people.\n\nMrs. Sadlier has done much for the Catholic literature of America. Her\nworks, original and translated, put together, make a large library in\nthemselves, and every year sees additions to them. We trust she will\nbe spared a good longtime yet, to aid by her prolific pen the good\ncause in this country.\n\n\nTHE PEEP O' DAY; or, John Doe,|and Crohoore of the Billhook. By the\nO'Hara Family. A new edition, with Introduction and Notes. By Michael\nBanim, the survivor of \"The O'Hara Family.\" Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 4. New\nYork: D. & J. Sadlier. 1865.\n\nThese are the first four parts of \"The Works of the Brothers Banim,\"\nknown as \"The O'Hara Family,\" now publishing in numbers by the\nSadliers. The Banims were, without an exception, the most powerful\nIrish novelists of the present century. Their style of writing was\naltogether different from that of Griffin, who was their superior in\ndescribing some phases of Irish life. All through Griffin's writings\ncan be found that deep religious feeling which he never for a moment\nlost sight of. The Banims, although Catholics, launch {287} out more\nboldly into the world of passion and folly, and give us more dramatic\nscenes; more of reality than the \"gentle Griffin\" could possibly allow\nhis pen to write. For this reason we look upon Banim's works as bolder\nand more vivid pictures of Irish life, as it existed forty years ago,\nthan Griffin's. Griffin's are sounder and safer reading, for no word\never escaped his pen that could not be uttered in any society.\n\nThe present editor, Mr. Michael Banim, says in the preface to the\nfirst volume \"that my brother and myself were joint producers of the\nstories now about to be republished. This being the case, it will, I\ntrust, be conceded that the editorship has not been intrusted, by the\npublisher, to unfit hands. It is my intention, as each volume appears,\nin condensed shape, to state in how far I have been concerned\ntherewith. It is my intention also, as we go on, to append notes here\nand there. It will be my endeavor to make these notations as little\ncumbrous as possible, and to throw into them whatever of anecdote or\nhistorical reference may appear to me interesting to the reader.\"\n\nSo far the notes are highly interesting. We only wish the publishers\nhad given us the work in volumes, just as it appears in Dublin,\ninstead of in numbers. We do not like to read a story by \"piecemeal,\"\nhence our objection to the publication of novels in monthly or\nsemi-monthly parts. When the whole is completed and published in bound\nvolumes, these writings will be a valuable addition to our literature.\n\n\nREMY ST. REMY; or, The Boy in Blue.\nBy Mrs. C. H. Gildersleeve. 12mo., pp. 352. New York: James O'Kane. 1865.\n\nAnother story of the late rebellion. And we may make up our mind to be\noverloaded with stories of this description for at least the next ten\nyears. \"The Boy in Blue\" is the latest we have seen, and is an\nindifferent one enough. There are plots sufficient in the book for two\nor three good stories, but they are badly managed, and the various\nparts of the story clumsily put together. \"The Boy in Blue\" proves to\nbe a girl, who thus unsexed herself for the double purpose of\nthwarting the vengeance of a rejected lover, whom she refused to marry\nbecause he was _disloyal_, and of being near a _loyal_ lover whom she\nafterward married. The scene opens in Massachusetts, jumps abruptly to\nthe army of the Potomac, and from there to that of the Cumberland,\nwhere the principal events occur. The characters are nearly all East\nTennesseeans, and are made to figure in the story without any regard\nto time or place. The book is one we cannot recommend; for none of the\ncharacters are any better than the law allows them to be. The heroine\nis no model for any virtuous modest girl; for no woman of correct\ntraining or good morals could dress herself in the habiliments of the\nopposite sex. If the authoress cannot write a better story than this\none, she had better give her time and attention to something else than\nnovel writing. It is not her _forte_.\n\n\nCATHOLIC ANECDOTES; OR, THE CATECHISM IN EXAMPLES.\nThe Apostles' Creed, etc. Translated from the French by Mrs. J.\nSadlier. 12mo., pp. 236. New York: D. & J Sadlier. 1865.\n\nAn excellent little book, and should meet with a general circulation.\nThe present volume contains anecdotes on the different articles of the\nCreed, and is to be followed, we believe, by two more on the other\nportions of the Catechism. The translation is well made, and the book\nis very neatly got up. We earnestly recommend it to our readers as a\nbook worthy of universal circulation.\n\n\nTHE METROPOLITES; OR, KNOW THY NEIGHBOR.\nA Novel, by Robert St. Clar. 12mo., pp. 575. The American News\nCompany. 1865.\n\nHere is a formidable volume describing fashionable society in New\nYork. The parentage of the leading character in the story is at first\nunknown, but is supposed to be the son of some German emigrant who was\nshipwrecked and drowned off the coast. He was brought up by a German\nwoman, and passed through all phases of New York life, from being a\nbootblack and newsboy, to find himself an office boy with a lawyer,\nwho, seeing in him talent, sent him to college and paid for his\neducation. Nathan P. Trenk is the cognomen by which this person is\ndesignated {288} in the story. The author seems to have taken every\ngood quality possessed by different men and placed them _all_ in the\nperson of his beloved Nathan. His hero far exceeds in perfection the\ngods of the ancients. He speaks French like a Frenchman; German like a\nGerman; Spanish like a Spaniard; English of course, and we are led to\ninfer that if he chose he could converse in the language of Timbuctoo,\nMalay, or in the Sanscrit. In fact, he excelled in all things--was\nperfect in dancing, music, tragedy, yachting, _and the law_. He is\nmade to possess nearly all these qualities before he was even sent to\nschool!! He was also better looking than any of his comrades--a\nperfect Apollo. One gets tired of this hero called Nathan, and cannot\nhelp asking, with the poet,\n\n  \"How one small head could hold it all.\"\n\nAs a story, \"The Metropolites\" is a failure. There are many good\npassages in it; but it is too inflated in style, too absurd and\nimpossible in its scope and plot, and too pretentious, to suit the\nmerest tyro in light literature. It ends too abruptly--in fact, the\nstory is not finished; for only one or two of the characters are\ndisposed of, and you are left to imagine what became of the author's\n_beau ideal_ of a man--Nathan. But there is no danger of such a\nquestion troubling the reader, for it is very few will have the\npatience to wade through its pages to the end. If there be any such,\nwe pity them.\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN REPUBLIC.\nIts Constitution, Tendencies, and Destiny. By O. A. Brownson, LL.D.\nNew York: P. O'Shea.\n\nWe have seen some of the advance sheets of Dr. Brownson's forthcoming\nwork with this title. The book will be out in the course of this\nmonth. It will make a very handsome octavo volume of nearly 500 pages,\nelegantly printed. It appears from what we have seen of it to have\nbeen written with great care, and to be a profoundly philosophical\nwork on the principles of government, and especially on the\nconstitution of the United States.\n\n\n\nNATURAL HISTORY.\nA Manual of Zoology for Schools, Colleges, and the General Reader. By\nSanborn Tenney, A.M. Illustrated. 8vo., pp. 540. New York: Charles\nScribner & Co. 1865.\n\nThis is an excellent manual for schools and colleges; beautifully\nillustrated; well printed on fine paper, from large type; nicely\nbound; and is altogether a _fine_ book.\n\nTHE LIVES OP THE POPES.\nBy Chevalier d'Artaud. Translated from the French. Edited by Rev. Dr.\nNelligan. Nos. 1 and 2, pp. 96. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1865.\n\nThis is, we believe, the first attempt to give the \"Lives of the\nPopes\" in English. The French work from which this is a translation\nhas been looked upon as a very reliable one. This work is one that was\nmuch needed in this country, and will no doubt have a decided success.\n\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\nFrom P. O'Shea, New York. Nos. 13 and 14 of the GENERAL HISTORY OF THE\nCHURCH, by M. l'Abb\u00e9 J. E. Darras.\n\n\nFrom P. Donahoe, Boston. PARRA SASTHA; or, The History of Paddy\nGo-Easy, by William Carleton.\n\n\nFrom Ticknor & Fields, Boston. LYRICS OF LIFE, by Robert Browning.\n\n\n\nFrom Charles Scribner, New York. Froude's History of England. Vols.\nIII. and IV.\n\n------\n{289}\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL, II., NO. 9.--DECEMBER, 1865,\n\n----\n\nFrom Le Correspondant\n\nGENERAL DE LA MORICI\u00c8RE.\n\nI.\n\nIt is the sad destiny of those who outlive their generation to be\ncalled upon to speak over the graves of friends, companions, and\nchiefs who have the happiness of being the first to depart. Forced to\nenvy those who precede them their lot, they readily yield to the\ntemptation of beguiling their regrets by recalling their memory; and\nwhile thus essaying to lighten their own griefs, they think, perhaps\nnot justly, that they have something of which to remind forgetful\ncontemporaries, or which they may teach an indifferent posterity.\n\nThe _\u00e9lite_ of the men who date from the early years of the century\nbegin already to be decimated by death, and this death which strikes\nthem with a premature blow, while in the full possession of the gifts\nwhich God had lavished on them, has often been preceded by a disgrace\nor a retreat so prolonged that we naturally regard them as having long\nsince entered into history. Their stern and melancholy fate,\naggravated by the inconstancy of their country, may at least serve to\nlengthen the perspective from which our eye contemplates them.\n\nWhat can less resemble the times in which we live than those early and\nsplendid years of the parliamentary royalty in which L\u00e9on de la\nMorici\u00e8re was first revealed to France and to glory? A whole powerful\ngeneration, delivered from military despotism and the imperial\ncensorship, enfranchised, brought up, or completed by the free and\nloyal _r\u00e9gime_ of the Restoration, was then in full sap and full\nbloom. A constellation of rare men, men of original powers and popular\nrenown, appeared at the head of all the great departments of the\nnational intelligence, and fulfilled the first condition of the life\nof a people that are free and master of their destiny. The nation was\ngoverned or represented by its most eminent men. All its living\nforces, all its real wants, all its legitimate interests, were\nrepresented by men of an incontestable superiority. The names of\nCasimir Perier, Royer-Collard, Mol\u00e9, Berryer, Guizot, Thiers, Broglie,\nFitz James, Villemain, Cousin, Dufaure, gave to the contests of the\ntribune and to the country itself an _\u00e9clat_ never surpassed, not even\nin 1789. Lamartine, Victor Hugo, and Alfred de Musset stamped poetry\nwith a character as original as ineffaceable. Ary Scheffer, {290}\nDelaroche, Delacroix, Meyerbeer, in the arts; Cuvier, Biot, Th\u00e9nard,\nArago, Cauchy, in the sciences; Augustin Thierry, Michelet,\nTocqueville, in history and political philosophy, opened new paths,\ninto which rushed the ardent and high-spirited youth of the nation.\nLacordaire and Ravignan made radiate from the Christian pulpit a halo\nof eloquence and popularity unknown since Bossuet.\n\nPerhaps this fertile opening of political, intellectual, and moral\nlife did not encounter an analogous development in the military life;\nperhaps this purely civil glory extinguished the necessary attraction\nof the glory of arms. To this doubt, the army of Africa takes upon\nitself to reply.\n\nIn the ranks of that army new men, predestined to glory, began\nforthwith to appear. Each year, each day, augmented their renown. The\ntrue soldiers of free and liberal France were found. We learned to\ngreet in that army a new line of soldiers, as chivalric, as\nformidable, as brave, as the bravest among their fathers, and adorned\nwith virtues but too often wanting in our soldiers in former times\n--modest and austere virtues, civic virtues, which were the honor, and\nin the hour of danger the salvation, of their country. The illustrious\nChangarnier is the only one of that glorious phalanx that can receive\nhere below the homage of our loyal gratitude. Of his noble companions,\nsome, like Damesme, N\u00e9grier, Duvivier, Br\u00e9a, gave themselves to be\nkilled in the streets of Paris in 1848, so that France might remain a\ncivilized country; others, and the most illustrious, Cavaignac,\nBedeau, La Morici\u00e8re, have died one by one, obscurely and prematurely,\nrendered by implacable destiny useless to the country they had saved.\nThis oppresses the heart, and certainly does no honor to our times.\n\nAmong all those valiant knights, the youngest, the most sympathetic,\nthe most brilliant, and the most rapidly popular, was this same La\nMorici\u00e8re, who has just been torn from us by death while still so full\nof fire, light, and life, of strength and faith, of physical and moral\nstrength, of faith in God and in the future of France. Although few\nto-day know, or, having known, remember, that the future conqueror of\nAbd-el-Kader, a simple lieutenant of engineers at the taking of\nAlgiers by Marshal Bourmont, faithful to the traditions of his\nroyalist race, accompanied to the coast almost alone that disgraced\nand proscribed conqueror, and then returned to take his rank in the\narmy where he was to conquer the most brilliant renown, without\nsuspecting, assuredly, that he himself would one day experience\ninjustice, ingratitude, proscription, exile, and forgetfulness.\n[Footnote 41] But all the world knows that the name of La Morici\u00e8re,\nas that of Changarnier, is inseparably connected with the most\ndramatic episode of our African history--the two expeditions against\nConstantine. The pencil of Horace Vernet has made us all familiar with\nthose prodigious exploits; he has made live again for us the immovable\nintrepidity of Changarnier, inclosed in the square battalion that\nsaved the army on occasion of the first retreat, and then the\nimpetuous daring of La Morici\u00e8re at the head of his Zouaves, the red\nfez on his head, the white burnous on his shoulder, rushing the first\nup to the breach, where he was soon to disappear in the cloud of smoke\nand dust, in the midst of a fearful explosion, to be found again, his\neyes almost destroyed, under a formless group of soldiers blackened\nwith powder, their garments charred, and their flesh burnt.  [Footnote\n42] From that day he was married to fame. All France felt what has\nbeen so well rendered by Tocqueville in a private letter dated\nNovember, 1887: \"I am even more interested in La Morici\u00e8re than I can\n{291} explain. He carries me away in spite of myself; and when I read\nthe account of his storming of Constantine, I seem to see him arrive\nfirst at the summit of the breach, and my soul for the moment is with\nhim. I love him also, I believe, for France; for I cannot help\nbelieving that there is a great general in that little man.\"\n[Footnote 43]\n\n  [Footnote 41: I must be permitted to refer for all the details of\n  the military career of General de la Morici\u00e8re to the article of M.\n  de  in \"Le Correspondant\" for April, 1860.]\n\n  [Footnote 42: _\"Les Zouaves et les Chasseurs \u00e0\n  pied,\"_by his Royal Highness the Duke\n  d'Aumale, 1855. _\"Histoire de la Conqu\u00eate\n  d'Alger,\"_by Alfred Nettement.]\n\n  [Footnote 43: Tocqueville, born the 29th of July, 1805, was nearly\n  of the same age with La Morici\u00e8re, who was born the 6th of February,\n  1806. Before being colleagues in the Chamber of Deputies and in the\n  ministry, they had, still young, met in 1828 at Versailles, where\n  Tocqueville was a judge auditor, and where he received a visit from\n  La Morici\u00e8re, then hardly out of the Polytechnic School. In a letter\n  of that date which is found in the precious collection published by\n  M. Gustave de Beaumont, Tocqueville traces a portrait of the future\n  hero which remained a striking likeness to his last days: \"I must\n  say that I have been charmed with him personally; I thought I saw in\n  him all the features of a truly remarkable man. I who am habituated\n  to live among men profuse in words with little meaning, was wholly\n  surprised at the craving for clear and distinct understanding with\n  which he seemed to be constantly tormented. The _sang-froid_ with\n  which he stopped me to demand an account of one idea before\n  proceeding to another, which several times a little disconcerted me,\n  and his manner of speaking of only what he perfectly understands,\n  have given me an opinion of him superior to almost any that I have\n  ever formed of any man at first sight.\"]\n\nIncorporated with the Zouaves from the foundation of the corps in\n1830, it was he who, in gaining with them all his grades up to that of\ncolonel, created the European reputation of that unequalled troop, at\nthe same time that by his vigilant activity in the Arab bureaus, he\npreluded his remarkable faculties as an organizer and administrator.\nMajor-general at thirty-four, lieutenant-general at thirty-seven,\ngovernor-general of Algeria _ad interim_ at thirty-nine, he never\nquitted Algeria till he had rendered it for ever French by forcing\nAbd-el-Kader to surrender his sword to the Duke d'Aumale, a young and\nmeritorious prince, whose own rising glory was soon to set\nunexpectedly in the sad night of exile. He quitted Algeria in the\nbeginning of 1848, and bore with him a reputation whose brightness was\ndimmed by not a shade or a breath. His courage, his rare strategic\nability, the number and splendor of his victories, were enhanced by\nthe most rigid integrity and at the same time by a humanity and a\ngenerosity all the more meritorious from the pain it must have cost\nhis impetuous nature to exercise it in favor of barbarous enemies who\nmassacred and mutilated our soldiers who were taken prisoners.\n[Footnote 44]\n\n  [Footnote 44: \"In leaving the shores on which he had landed young\n  and obscure, and which he quitted illustrious without appearing old,\n  he bore with him a recollection more precious than the fame of his\n  heroic deeds; his glory was without a stain, his hands, always\n  burning for the combat, were sullied by no abuse of victory. When\n  the irritation against an enemy that massacred our soldier prisoners\n  was at its height. La Morici\u00e8re, pursuing one day a tribe that was\n  in insurrection notwithstanding their oaths, and having driven them\n  to the sea, he suddenly halted his columns and suspended his\n  vengeance. What fear had seized his intrepid soul? He himself tells\n  us: 'In the disposition of mind in which our soldiers then were,\n  that vengeance might have been too severe!' Beautiful and touching\n  words, which reveal the man in the warrior, and attest a fear of\n  excess in the bosom of a courage that paused at no obstacles.\"--_Le\n  General de la Morici\u00e8re_, by Viscount de Meaux, p. 11.]\n\nHe re-entered France, already invested with a sort of legendary halo,\nand was everywhere recognized as the true type of disinterested\nheroism, intelligent boldness, moral dignity, independence a little\nhaughty, and liberal instincts, which become the armies of France, at\nleast such as they were then. Race apart, these _Africans_, as\nbrilliant as original in the military history of Europe, as foreign to\nthe brutal manners of the soldier of fortune led by Gustavus Adolphus\nand Frederic II. as to the savage and cruel pride of the lieutenants\nof Napoleon, showed themselves always the citizens of a free country,\nthe missionaries of civilization, as well as the first soldiers in the\nworld.\n\nBut military glory did not suffice for La Morici\u00e8re. Sensible to an\nattraction then all powerful, he aspired to enter political life, and\nas soon as he was initiated into it he relished it, and devoted\nhimself to it with that passion which he carried into everything he\nundertook. In 1846 he solicited and obtained the suffrages of his\nfellow-citizens. Elected to the Chamber of Deputies, he took his place\nwith the moderate opposition. By a privilege rarely accorded, it was\ngiven him to conquer at once, on this new and {292} difficult\nbattle-field, a distinction and an authority almost as fully\nacknowledged and as legitimate as that which he had gained on the\ntheatre of his exploits in Algeria.\n\nLa Morici\u00e8re was born with the gift of eloquence--that gift which is\nthe first condition neither of the love of liberty nor of the exercise\nof power, but which is seldom separated from either in countries and\ntimes which permit free discussion. He united the three qualities,\nvery rare, which the prince of contemporary orators, M. Thiers, exacts\nof those who aspire to govern--knowledge of public affairs, ability to\nexpose them lucidly and in order, and the weight of character\nnecessary to defend them. But, against the ordinary rule, his\neloquence was not at all the result of labor. With him the orator was\nnot slowly disengaged, as with the most illustrious, step by step, in\na continuous progress toward perfection; he revealed himself at once\nas a bold and successful improvisator, who, on a chosen ground, had\nnothing to fear from anybody. He jeered those who passed for eloquent\nwithout having his extemporary facility. \"You Academicians,\" said he,\n\"must always retire to make the toilet of your speech, and are never\nready when you are wanted.\" As for him, he was always ready, and it\nwas a real pleasure to hear him, and to see him spring to the tribune,\nto mount it as if it were his horse, stride it, so to speak, and\nmaster it at a single word, with the ease of the perfect\nhorseman--then broach the most complicated questions, provoke the most\nformidable adversaries, even M. Thiers himself, overcome the tumult,\nregain and fix the distracted attention, instruct and charm even those\nwhom he failed to convince. His eye sparkling, his head aloft, his\nvoice thrown out by jerks, he seemed always in speaking to be sounding\na charge. He managed figures, metaphors, arguments, with as much\ncelerity, dash, and freedom as his Zouaves. Supple and impetuous,\nbounding as the panther, he turned around his adversary, as if seeking\nhis vulnerable point, before springing upon and prostrating him.\nRarely did he descend from the tribune without having moved his\nauditory, enlightened a question, corrected a misapprehension,\nrepaired a defeat, prepared or justified a victory. Never was the\ncelebrated word of Cato on the Gauls, _Rem militarem agere et argute\nloqui_, more exactly verified. Under this relation, as under so many\nothers, he was the most French of the Frenchmen of our age.\n\nThis double superiority was manifested with an _\u00e9clat_ as sudden as\ncomplete in the midst of the frightful dangers of the revolution of\nFebruary, 1848. Named minister by a last effort of expiring legality,\nhe presented himself with his accustomed intrepidity before the\ninsurgent populace. The populace mistook and outraged him: dragged\nfrom his horse, wounded with the thrusts of a bayonet, he with\ndifficulty escaped with his glorious life from the cowardly assassins.\nWhen the Provisional Government issued from the mob, he would neither\nserve it nor combat it. But he promised to accept the Republic, and to\nbe loyal to it, if it would preserve the army. That army was about to\nbecome, in the hands of the National Assembly and under the orders of\nthe _African_ generals, the last bulwark of European civilization.\nWhen the terrible days of June came to show the depth of the abyss\nexcavated by February, La Morici\u00e8re was then by the side of his friend\nCavaignac, who, become his chief, after having been his lieutenant,\nand retained himself from personally engaging in the struggle by his\nduties as head of the executive, hastened to confide to him the\nprincipal part in repressing the most terrible insurrection that ever\nbroke out in the most revolutionary city in the world. Those who were\nthere--those who breathed the inflamed atmosphere of those solemn and\nterrible days, run through those narrow streets incumbered with\nbarricades and heaps of the {293} slain, and where flowed literally\nstreams of blood, those deserted quays and blocked-up quarters, whose\nsilence was broken only by _the sublime horror of the\ncannonade_--those who were obliged to deliberate through three days\nand two nights amidst the roar of that cannonade, while came\nalternately messages of death and bulletins of the most sad but most\nnecessary victories--those alone can know by what means and at what\ncost their country could really be saved, without violating the laws\nof justice, honor, or humanity. Those who were not there will never\nform a conception either of the extent of the danger or of the yawning\ngulf in which he came so near being swallowed up, nor of the mixture\nof determined energy and invincible patience needed to vanquish those\nmisguided but intrepid masses inured to war, and desperate, and whose\nblows too large a number of former military officers directed against\nthe inexperience of the Gard Mobile or the hesitation of the troops\nthat had just entered Paris.\n\nLa Morici\u00e8re, more than any other, was the man for the occasion. His\nfiery temperament protected him from that patriotic sadness which\novercast the countenance of General Cavaignac all through the bloody\ncrisis which must raise him to supreme power. In exposing himself as\nat Constantine, for a longer time, and to still greater danger than at\nConstantine, in rushing himself the first against the barricades,\ndefended by adversaries far more formidable than Arabs or Kabyles; in\nprolonging the struggle with a revolution madder than that of the\ninsurgents. La Morici\u00e8re finally succeeded in wresting Paris from the\ninsurrection. The confidence with which he inspired the troops, the\nhigh spirits and gaiety, the heroic recklessness which he mingled with\nhis indomitable resolution, triumphed over every obstacle, and decided\nthe victory. Thanks to that victory, and to that alone, France was\ndrawn from the abyss and saved from barbarism.\n\nHence, on his return from the fearful struggle, he was greeted only\nwith a unanimous shout of enthusiasm and gratitude. Cavaignac hastened\nto set his seal to the general acclamation by associating him to his\ngovernment as minister of war.\n\nThere was then a short period of confidence, of union, of calm, and of\nrelative security. Those days must have been sweet to the two friends\nplaced at the head of the country which they had just saved, and which\ngave them freely the gratitude which they had so richly merited. Their\nunion, intimate and loyal, cordial and frank, contributed often to the\ncharm and well-being of that bright interval. It received an official\nand touching consecration during the discussion of the constitution,\non the occasion of the articles relative to the public force. It was a\nbeautiful scene. An imprudent member, _apropos_ of the promotion, a\nlittle irregular, of the future Marshal Bosquet, accused the minister\nof war of acting from private friendship, and spoke of those whom\nchance and fortune had placed at the head of the army. La Morici\u00e8re\nremained calm under the insult, but Cavaignac, seated by his side on\nthe ministerial bench, was indignant, and, ascending the tribune, and\naddressing the aggressor, said: \"There is one thing that astonishes\nme; it is that you, sir, who were there, on the soil of Africa, as\nwell as me,--that you could see no other motive for the elevation of\nthat man but chance and fortune. As for me, if I am surprised, it is\nto see him in the second rank, while I am in the first.\" A noble word,\nand worthy of the noblest antiquity, such as could sometimes, by the\nside of others by no means felicitous, fall from the lips of the proud\nand loyal Cavaignac, then still the idol of the fickle enthusiasm of\nconservative France, and which was so soon to leave him only the right\nto say, with not less of modest dignity, \"I have not fallen from\npower; I have descended from it.\"\n\nLa Morici\u00e8re was then at the {294} apogee of a fortune which nobody\nwas disposed to regard as excessive or usurped. At the age of forty he\nwas everywhere known, was invested with universal popularity, and was\nthe second man of France. The superiority he had won on the\nbattle-fields of Africa and at the much more formidable barricades in\nthe streets of Paris, he maintained and exercised in the councils of\nhis country and on the uncertain and perilous soil of the tribune.\n[Footnote 45] Even when individuals were not of his opinion, which was\noften the case with his friends of the evening as with those of the\nmorrow, they regretted or were astonished not to agree with him; they\nceased not to admire him, and were drawn toward him. It was known, it\nwas felt, that however the passions of the moment might mislead him,\nthe miserable instincts of envy, servility, selfishness, mean\nambition, or thirst for wealth, could never find a place in his robust\nand manly heart. We loved him even when we were forced to oppose him.\nBeside, we knew not yet how much better and further on many essential\npoints he saw, in his transports and gruffness, than many others more\ncalm or more experienced, and who were, though in a different manner,\nas much deceived as he.\n\n  [Footnote 45: \"Never has been pushed farther the intelligence, and\n  the power of labor, with the passion or struggle under all the forms\n  which create public life.\"'--_Discours du G\u00e9n\u00e9ral Trochu sur la\n  tombe de la Morici\u00e8re \u00e0 Saint-Philibert de Grand-Lieu._]\n\nMoreover, in the public life of free nations and great assemblies, if\nthe clashing of opinions and the collision of self-loves give birth to\nnoisy or passionate dissents, they are rarely deep or lasting. This is\nevident from what is seen every day and has been for a long time in\nEngland. One is not forced there to brood in silence and darkness over\nanimosities which their very impotence renders incurable. Often, on\nthe contrary, in that open-day life, friendships the most serious, and\nalliances the most sincere, succeed to misunderstandings or transports\nwhich with well-born souls cannot survive the action of time and the\nlights of experience, when people are agreed on the great conditions\nof liberty, dignity, probity, and honor, without which all is null of\nitself. But more than this, La Morici\u00e8re, a short time before getting\npower, gave to what was then called the _conservative reaction_ a\npledge the best fitted of all to make us forget the dissensions which\nhad separated him from us. It was he who directed the first steps of\nthe Roman expedition, and imprinted on it from the outset its real\ncharacter, _that of defending the Pope, and assuring the liberty and\nthe security of the visible head of the Church_.\n\nTo him is due the honor of initiating that expedition, of which twelve\nyears later he must write the sorrowful epilogue with the blood of the\nyoung martyrs of Castelfidardo. To him and to the assemblies belongs\nthe glorious responsibility of that grand act of French politics,\nwhich has been too often thrown at us as a crime, by the Caesarian\ndemocracy, hoping to gain the right to give to others an homage not\ntheir due.\n\nEven afterwards, when the substitution of Prince Louis Napoleon for\nGeneral Cavaignac had removed him from office, when the dismissal of\nhis friends, Odillon-Barrot, Tocqueville, and Dufour, had involved his\nresignation of his embassy to Russia, which he had accepted at their\nrequest--when, in fine, the conservative party met him often among its\nmost active opponents, before dividing and turning against itself. La\nMorici\u00e8re preserved in the eyes of all a position apart and a marked\nascendency. In the present he had no peer, and the future, whatever\nmight happen, seemed to reserve to him a place always eminent, and\nalways preponderant in the destinies of France and of Europe.\n\n{295}\n\nII.\n\nIn one day, or, rather, in one night, all this present and all this\nfuture crumbled. La Morici\u00e8re, at the age of forty-five, falling from\nthe most enviable position a French soldier could occupy, without its\nbeing possible to reproach him with the shadow of a crime or even of a\nfault, saw for ever closed to him all access to either of the two\ncareers in which he had won so much glory, and in which he walked as\nthe peer, or the superior, of all his contemporaries. His military and\npublic life was closed. The most brilliant of our soldiers succumbed\nto a military revolution. The statesman and the tribune, so in love\nwith popular sympathies, was swept away by a movement sanctioned by a\npopularity none could dispute. He was broken when the law was broken\nwith the assent of the people; he was broken for having remained\nfaithful to an opinion which had for it constitutional right and the\ninviolability of oaths; broken much less by the unmerciful demands of\nvictory than by the forgetfulness and abandonment of France; broken\nfor not having comprehended that France had wholly changed her gait\nand her tendencies, and no longer held anything which she had\npretended to hold and to love ever since 1814. He must then, in his\nturn, undergo those prodigies of inconstancy and ingratitude with\nwhich the contemporary public delights to visit princes when they are\nliberal, and superior men when they are honest.\n\nNo cup of bitterness was spared him: I mean bitternesses of the mind\nand the heart, the most poignant and the most unbearable of all; and I\nspeak not for him alone, but also for his valiant and unfortunate\ncompanions in glory and in exile. In the first years of his exile he\nmet, outside of his family and his wife, little sympathy in that\nBelgium where Catholics especially were almost all under the\nfascination of the conqueror. At that period of life when we have the\nfull consciousness of our strength and our resources, when the\nemployment of the gifts received from God is a prime necessity, he saw\nhimself condemned to forego not only the exercise of power and the\nmanagement of great affairs to which he had become accustomed, but all\npublic life, and, indeed, all active life. In vain he repeated the\ndevice of his generous rival and friend Changarnier, _Happiness is\ngone, but honor remains;_ in vain he spoke and wrote with Count de\nMaistre after Tilsit, _Europe is Bonaparte's, but my heart is mine;_\nhe was forced to experience a long while the mortal tediousness of the\ndead calm after the salutary and quickening excitements of the storm,\nand to sink into a wearisome idleness, the mother, as Fouquet says to\nPignerol, of despair. He had to bear the laceration of impatience,\nthat mortal despite, that sterility of walks and books for a man of\nhis condition, that lassitude of a life deprived of all occupation,\nthat fatigue of doing nothing of which the bare thought made\nSaint-Simon shudder, and held him fast in the ante-chamber of Louis\nXIV.\n\nBut there was for him a more cruel trial still, a thousand times more\nbitter, of which neither Fouquet nor Saint-Simon had the remotest\nconception.\n\nFrance was on the point of making war, a great war; and these valiant\nguards, these great war-chiefs, are not to be there! From Africa are\ndrawn the battalions they formed, which they commanded, and so often\nled to victory. These battalions are now to march under other chiefs\nto new victories. Themselves so long first and alone, on whom the eyes\nof France and of Europe were so long accustomed to be\nfixed--themselves all glowing with military ardor, full of vigor and\npatriotism--having never failed their country, honor, or justice, are\nnow condemned to inaction, to forgetfulness, to nothingness; noted\nsubalterns rise and seize the first rank in the eyes of the\nworld!--who can tell, who can conceive, the anguish, the torture of\nthese men, so illustrious, so intrepid, and, be it not forgotten, so\ninnocent, so irreproachable before the country and the army?\n\n{296}\n\nThe \"Epoque\" tells us to-day that a word, a single word, had sufficed\nto recall them to France, and to commands in the Crimea, the baton of\nthe marshal, and all the augmented splendor and prosperity which\nvictory brings in its train. Nothing is known of it. Always is it a\nfact that this word, whether it would have been listened to or not,\nwas not spoken, and since it was not, it no doubt ought not to have\nbeen spoken.\n\nWhat, moreover, was that marshal's baton so cruelly stolen from those\nwho had so well earned it? Those grades, decorations, gildings, and\nsalaries, the vulgar food of vulgar souls, were they what attracted,\nwhat inflamed, these heroic souls? No, a thousand times no. It was\ndanger; it was devotedness, enthusiasm, action, the service of France,\nthe love of country, the love of the noble flag which they had borne\naloft for twenty years; the glorious brotherhood of arms with so many\ngood soldiers and brave officers, their own offspring, so to speak;\nthe burning desire, a thousand times legitimate, of adding new laurels\nto those already won; in a word, it was HONOR--and it was precisely\nhonor that condemned them to silence, to inaction, to death--the real\ndeath and the only death they had ever dreaded.\n\nNever did Calderon, the great Spanish poet, in those famous dramas of\nhis which always turn on the imperious exigencies, the merciless\nrefinements, the torturing delicacies of honor, imagine a situation\nmore striking, a trial more acute, a narrower pass, or a yoke more\ncrushing. The trial was submitted to, the pass was traversed, the yoke\nwas borne to the end. All we cannot say, and what we do say is nothing\nby the side of the suffering we have seen, felt, known, and shared.\nPerhaps a day will come when these tortures of the soul will be\ncomprehended and rewarded with the admiration which is their due. But\nwho knows? To hope that, it is necessary to believe in the justice of\nhistory, and who knows if there will be again any history worthy of\nthe name? We may well doubt it, when we mark what is passing around us\nin an age which for a long time boasts of having regenerated history,\nand when we see liberals make the panegyric of the 10th of August,\nChristians applaud the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and writers\nin high credit with their several parties undertake to rehabilitate\nthe reign of terror, the Inquisition, and the Roman empire.\n\nNothing was wanting, we have said, to the evil fortune of our friend.\nAfter years of exile in Belgium, his only son fell ill in France. And\nwhile were debated with the desolate father the conditions of his\nreturn, the son, the only hope of his family, died. When at length he\nwas permitted to return, it was too late; he received not the last\nsigh of his child. He was inconsolable. \"They restore me my country,\"\nhe said; \"but who will restore me my child?\" It was no longer his\ncountry, such as he had known it, that was restored to him--the\ncountry, above all, by which he had been so well known, so proudly\nboasted, and so admired. The real exile is not in being torn from our\nnative country, but in remaining in it and finding no longer that\nwhich made it specially dear to us. La Morici\u00e8re perceived it only too\nsoon. But he comprehended the difference alike of time and men, and\nconformed with an intelligent and manly resignation, which held in\nnothing from his adhesion, and which took nothing from the energy of\nhis convictions or the dignity of his attitude. For the rest, he had\nbrought back with him from the land of his exile neither the illusions\nof the _emigr\u00e9_, blind animosities, nor mean or noisy bitterness. And\nyet he was not at the end of his cross.\n\nThere remained to him a last human good, a last plank saved from\nshipwreck!--his old popularity among {297} his contemporaries, and the\ncompanions in that shipwreck, near his old political friends, in the\nbosom of the party which he had not only served and defended, but,\nabove all, had honored and protected with his glory. That popularity\nhe risked totally in the most abandoned, the most contested, and the\nmost vilipended cause in the world. He risked all, and he lost! A\npriest whom he had known as a soldier in Africa, under the flag of\nFrance, before becoming his relation and his friend, offered him, in\nthe name of Pius IX., an opportunity of braving new perils, with the\ncertainty of being vanquished in the desperate struggle. He ran\nthither. Forthwith a long and loud howl of insult and derision rose\nfrom the bosom of the whole so-called European democracy. He was\ndragged to the _gemoniae_--both he and the young warriors that\nfollowed in his footsteps. A hideous clamor arose from the lowest\ndepths of human baseness, from the Thames to the Arno, and pursued\nwith invectives, railleries, and calumnies the devoted band and their\nheroic chief. The vapid calumniators of disinterested virtue spoke all\nat once, and spoke alone; France and Europe justified them. New Italy\nblushed in her turn to find herself approached by men bold enough to\ndare to fight and die under the colors of a pontiff and a father. She\nasked and obtained freedom to crush them. But she essayed to kill them\nwith falsehood before attacking them with the sword, and by falsehoods\nsuch as the world had not heard since the imperial trap set at Bayonne\nin 1808. A Cialdini dares call, in an order of the day to his army, La\nMorici\u00e8re and his companions \"_mercenaries_ thirsting for gold and\npillage,\" and King Victor Emmanuel announces to the Emperor of the\nFrench that he \"is marching his troops into the Marches and Umbria to\nre-establish order there in relation to the temporal authority of the\nPope, and, if it should be necessary, to give battle to the revolution\non the Neapolitan territory.\"  [Footnote 46] Eight days after the\ntroops of the king pounced, ten to one, on the little army of La\nMorici\u00e8re. The obscure burgh of Castelfidardo is immortalized by that\nbutchery. Pimodan perished there by a death worthy of his chief, who\nsought refuge in Ancona, and capitulate when his last gun was\ndismounted. This French general--and what a general!--gave up his\nsword to the Piedmontese! His young companions, prisoners like\nhimself, passed over Italy in the midst of insults and outrages. La\nMorici\u00e8re, himself released as soon as the work of spoliation was\nconsummated, returned to France, where he met the scoffs and jeers of\nthose who insulted his departure.\n\n  [Footnote 46: _Circular of M. Thouvenel_, Minister of Foreign\n  Affairs, 18th October, 1860. The \"National Opinion,\" a worthy\n  \"Moniteur\" of Piedmont, adds in its number for Sept. 14, 1860:\n  \"Victor Emmanuel proposes precisely to protect the Holy Father and\n  his temporal authority against the enthusiasm of the volunteers.\"]\n\nFrom that moment all was accomplished or marching toward the end\nforeseen and determined. The darkest forebodings, the saddest\npredictions, are verified. Christian France is resigned, and Europe\nhas habituated herself to what five years ago appeared to be the _nec\nplus ultra_ of impossible iniquity. People have even come to regard\nconfining the spoliation within its present limits as a benefit which,\nif assured, would make a _Te Deum_ break forth from the whole Catholic\nworld, asleep or deceived.\n\nLa Morici\u00e8re had seen and suffered all this, and it was only the last\nphase of a disgrace which lasted fifteen years without relaxation and\nwithout revenge. As his life, rent asunder, drew toward its end, by an\ninsolent freak of fortune, by a contrast and a coincidence the strange\nmystery of which will astonish the future, Abd-el-Kader arrives in\nFrance to be received there as a sovereign!\n\nThe conqueror and the conquered, it is said, met in the street: La\nMorici\u00e8re on foot, confounded with the {298} multitude; Abd-el-Kader\nwith all the pomp of his official train, and the grand cordon of the\nLegion of Honor on his breast. They exchanged a single look. After\nwhich, the prisoner of 1847 is found sufficiently avenged on the\nprisoner of the 2d of December; pursuing his course with loud din,\ncaressed, feasted, toasted by courtiers, functionaries, and\nfreemasons, presented to the universitarian youth as the type of\nmodern civilization and the religion of large souls, Abd-el-Kader\nquitted triumphantly the soil of France, to return with his wives, who\naccompanied him, to his palace in the East; La Morici\u00e8re entered his\nhouse to die there, and he did die there, all alone, forgotten by the\nmultitude, unknown by the rising generation, and buried in the silence\nof the flatterers and satellites of fortune. The death of this great\nservant of France is announced by the official journal among the\n\"Miscellaneous Facts,\" after an article on conducting water into\nParis! At the decline of day his coffin, in being directed toward a\nvillage cemetery, traverses obscurely the streets of that Babylon\nwhich he had saved, really saved, from barbarism--those very streets\nlately ploughed by the pompous _cort\u00e8ge_ of a marshal of France, named\ngrand master of freemasonry by an imperial decree.\n\nWhilst the Cialdinis, the Fantis, and so many authors and fomentors of\nthe _guet-apens_ of Castelfidardo, so many other violators of the law\nof nations and of their sworn faith, survive and triumph, rolling in\nopulence and prosperity. La Morici\u00e8re, for having been faithful to\nlaw, to honor, and to religion, is extinguished and disappears,\nvanquished, ignored, forgotten.\n\nI have said that I suspect the judgments of history, because history\nis almost always the servant or the priestess of Success; but its\nrecitals are always instructive, and I consent that it be questioned\nto ascertain if it furnish many instances of a destiny more tragic.\n\nIII.\n\nBut after having touched the bottom of the abyss, the soul rises to\ncontemplate and adore the grandeur and glory of adversity. La\nMorici\u00e8re, we know and confess it, triumphant and satisfied, marshal\nof France, conqueror at Alma or Magenta, hailed by the curiosity of\nthe eager multitude, fat and heavy by prosperity, had not risen above\nthe throng of successful generals, had attained no other glory than\nmilitary glory, with which France in all times has been smitten, and\nin all times been saturated. His image, placed in its rank in the\ngalleries of Versailles, in the midst of so many others, would have\nawakened in the souls of the visitors only a transient and commonplace\nemotion; but La Morici\u00e8re, betrayed by fortune, disgraced, proscribed,\ninsulted; La Morici\u00e8re, conqueror of anarchy and victim of the\ndictatorship; La Morici\u00e8re, condemned by his sense of honor to the\npunishment of an obscure idleness; La Morici\u00e8re, beaten at\nCastelfidardo and a captive at Ancona; La Morici\u00e8re, submitting to the\nwrongs of fate with a modesty and a gravity wholly Christian, then\ndying all alone, but standing with the crucifix in his hand--is a\npersonage of another stamp, and rises at once from the ranks of the\nherd to the loftiest height of human admiration. This is a glory\napart, which re-youths the soul, which stimulates and purifies it, and\nwhich it would not exchange for any other. This is a spectacle such as\nhistory too rarely offers, such as we Frenchmen, we Catholics, too\ndocile worshippers of force and fortune, have special need of. Yes,\nthis glory is enviable, and in reality the most enviable of all\nglories. In vain nature rebels, reason and faith unite to  proclaim\nit. We are all moved by the recollection of Catinat, old, retired, and\nresigned in his retreat, and recalling there, as says Saint-Simon, \"by\nhis simplicity, his frugality, his contempt of the world, his peace of\nmind, and the uniformity of {299} his conduct, the memory of those\ngreat men who, after triumphs the best merited, returned tranquilly to\ntheir plough, always loving their country, and little affected by the\ningratitude of Rome, which they had so well served.\" But Catinat,\nreally unfortunate; Catinat, a prisoner, exiled, disgraced; Catinat,\nremoved at the flower of his age from the command of armies, had been\nmuch greater still, and, as our La Morici\u00e8re have recalled St. Louis\nin chains. The ancients said that the good man struggling with\nadversity is the most worthy, if not alone worthy, of the favor of\nGod. Christianity adds, that it is a sight the most necessary and\nsalutary to the heart of man.\n\nLa Morici\u00e8re was chosen among us to give this high lesson in all its\nmajesty and in all its beauty. He has shown that double character of\ndocility under trial, and of empire over misfortune, which makes great\nmen and great saints. It was because there was in him the stuff of a\ngreat Christian.\n\nTrials and exile rapidly developed in his soul the germs of faith\nwhich early domestic education had planted, and which pure and noble\nexamples near him led him to admire and cherish. By his marriage with\nthe granddaughter of the Marchioness of Montagu, he entered a family\nin which calamities the most atrocious and the most unexpected, borne\nwith superhuman energy, had left in the soul only a sublime serenity,\nand compassion greater still for the executioners than for the\nmartyrs. Inflamed by the recitals of a mother-in-law who continued to\nthe last his most devoted and enthusiastic friend, he had the first\nthought of a publication destined to count among the treasures of our\nhistory, and of which he himself dictated the first draft.  [Footnote\n47] In learning to appreciate the action of Christian virtue on the\nmost touching victims of the Reign of Terror as on the obscure duties\nof domestic life, he was conducted further and higher still. A study,\nan active study, ardent and profound, of the doctrines and results of\nreligion, became henceforth his principal occupation, and he continued\nit with unwearied perseverance to his last moments. Once a Christian\nin practice as well as in belief, he would be so openly, and no more\nrecoil before human respect and the disdains of infidelity than before\nthe Arabs or the barricades. He was seen at the foot of the Christian\npulpit, following the words of the preacher with deep attention, and\nthe lively gesticulation habitual to him, marking on his nobly\nchiselled features an expressive assent and sometimes an impatient\ncontradiction, as if he felt that he must in his turn mount the\ntribune and reply. One day, at Brussels, a former colleague and\nfriend, who had known him quite different from what he was now, found\nhim bending over his maps, tracing the progress of our army in the\nCrimea. To hold them unrolled he took the books which he now\ngenerally, and which were the Catechism, his mass-book, the Imitation\nof Jesus Christ, and a volume of P\u00e8re Gratry. At sight of these four\nwitnesses of a preoccupation so novel, the visitor could not dissemble\nhis surprise. \"Yes, indeed,\" said the general, \"I use these, I occupy\nmyself with that. I do not wish, like you, to remain with my feet\ndangling in the air, between heaven and earth, between light and\ndarkness. I wish to know whither I go, and by what I am to hold. I\nmake no mystery of it.\"\n\n  [Footnote 47: _\"Anne Dominique de Noailles, Marquise de Montagu.\"_\n  Rouen, 1859. It May be well to remind the American reader that the\n  Marquise de Montagu,  grandmother of General La Morici\u00e8re's wife,\n  was a sister of Madame Lafayette, who so heroically shared the\n  prison of Olmntz with her husband, and whoso faith and purity gave a\n  superhuman strength and energy to her noble character.--THE\n  TRANSLATOR. ]\n\nThis public courage against the enemies of the faith availed him from\nGod the unhoped for and incomparable gift of magnanimous patience,\nwhich he needed to enable him to accept and bear his trials, and to\noffer to God all the goods of his glorious life, which he had\nsacrificed. The progress of {300} that great soul, becoming every day\nmore obvious, was manifested especially by his resignation in presence\nof the heavy cross which was inflicted on him.\n\n\"We welcome the cross at a distance,\" says F\u00e9nelon, \"but shrink from\nit when close by.\" It was not so with La Morici\u00e8re. He had seldom\nwelcomed the cross when afar, but when it came home to him, he\nembraced it, raised it up, and bore it even to the tomb, with a\nsupernatural generosity, serenity, and simplicity. The _crucifying\nexperience_ which, according to F\u00e9nelon, is always needed to detach us\nfrom ourselves and the world, found in him no revolt, no fainting, no\nfeebleness. He entered this new career and walked in it to the end\nwith the vehement and obstinate resolution of a man of war determined\nto become a man of God.\n\nA great genius has said it concerns the honor of the human species\nthat souls  born to suffer should know how to suffer well. La\nMorici\u00e8re was not born to suffer; he was born to combat, to command,\nto conquer, and to dazzle; nevertheless, when life became to him only\none long suffering, he learned how to suffer well, to suffer as a\nChristian, as a soldier of Christ, as the conqueror of evil--to suffer\nnot during fifteen days or fifteen months, but through fifteen years,\ntill death came to relieve him from his post.\n\nAll of us who have known and visited him in this second and sorrowful\nphase of his existence, owe to him great and valuable lessons, which\nhis memory and the stern example of his death must render for ever\nsacred to us. Doubtless, the acts of the saints, the examples of the\nheroes of the Christian life, their trials and their triumphs,\ntransmitted by historians or commentators to their spiritual\nposterity, are much; but they are nothing, or next to nothing, in the\nreal presence, if I may so speak, of a man marked with the seal of\nelection, of a confessor, not merely of the faith, but of virtue,\npatience, resignation, and Christian abnegation. What history, what\npreaching, could avail so much as a clasp of that valiant hand, an\naccent of that vibrating voice, a look of that lion's eye, coming to\nthe support of a truth recognized, asserted, and practised by a soul\nof that temper?\n\nNo; the flame of that beautiful eye, so limpid and so proud, will\nnever be forgotten by any who have once seen it, whether touched with\nthe surprise of generous indignation or softened by sympathy and the\ndesire to persuade; and that flame, always living in our memory, will\ncontinue to illumine for us the mysteries of life and suffering.\n\nBesides, no exterior metamorphosis accompanied the deep and salutary\nchange in his interior. Such as he was seen on the field of battle, or\nin the assemblies of which he was a member, in the most brilliant and\nthe most agitated portion of his career, such he was in the solitude\nand obscurity of his new life. He was as vehement and as dazzling as\never, with all his fire and all his charm, with his exuberance of\nlife, youth, originality, enthusiasm, which seemed always anxious to\noverflow on all and on everything around him. Only sourness, wrath,\nirritation even the most legitimate, seemed swallowed up in one master\npassion, the passion for good--seeking and accepting the will of God,\nin the love of souls.\n\nNothing in him was worn-out or enfeebled, but all was pacified,\nreduced to order, animated with a higher and purer inspiration. The\ntouching forgetfulness of his human glory, humanly buried, rendered\nhim only the more dear and the more sacred to his friends. These\nfriends were still numerous; and friends, relations, old comrades, old\ncolleagues, we were all proud of him, all under his charm as soon as\nhe reappeared, for too brief moments, amongst us. Nothing, indeed,\ncould be more natural, for I cannot too often repeat that he preserved\nin his private relations all his old fascination, and all his old\n{301} attractiveness. Essentially French, with all the good and\ngenerous instincts of our country; essentially modern, also, in the\nturn of his mind, his ideas, and his convictions, having nothing\nstern, morose, or superannuated in his religion, and willing to place\nat the service of the old law, and the old faith, all the resources of\nmodern civilization, which none better knew or more justly\nappreciated; in fine, he remained a liberal in spite of so many\ndisappointments, so many defections, and so many mad crimes committed\nin the name of liberty--a liberal certainly more moderate and more\npractical than in the days of his youth, but liberal _altogether a\nsoldier_, as affirms to us one of those valiant knights who fought\nwith him at Castelfidardo. He thought with the new generation, and\nheld liberty a thing so beautiful and so good that he was willing to\naccept it frankly and cordially whatever the hand that offered it.\n\nAs the price of his suffering, God granted him the conversion of his\nsoul. As the price of his conversion, it was given him to fix for a\nlast time the eyes of Europe and of posterity on himself, by a\nstruggle as unequal as generous, in the service of a cause as\nlegitimate as abandoned. All has been said both before and since his\ndeath on the epic grandeur and the Christian heroism of the sacrifice\nhe made for the Papacy, so basely betrayed. It was, as repeated over\nand over again, not the sacrifice of his life, which he had a hundred\ntimes exposed with joy on the field of battle, but the sacrifice of\nhis name, his reputation, his military glory, the victories he had\nwon. _Se et ante actos triumphos devovit,_ according to the truly\nRoman device of the medal offered him by the magistracy of Rome. \"He\nmarched,\" says General Trochu, \"with weakness against force, a signal\nand rare honor which remains attached to his name in the judgment of\nall honest men of all creeds and of all countries.\"\n\nLet us endeavor to define clearly what it was, aside from the justice\nof the sovereign and the sanctity of the right he went to defend, that\nmarks his devotion with a character of exceptional grandeur and\npurity, which places him--dare I say it?--almost above Lescure and\nLarochejaquelein. He was not young, obscure, and inexperienced, as\nwere those heroes so pure; he was not attracted by novelty, the\nirresistible charm of the unknown, the chances of the struggle, or the\nfortune of battle; he was vanquished in advance, and he knew it; he\nmarched in cool blood to an inevitable defeat, and a defeat not simply\nmaterial. To yield to that sublime seduction of a duty which can end\nonly in a catastrophe, he was obliged to break with most of his\npolitical friends. He knew perfectly to what he exposed himself; he\nknew thoroughly the cosmopolitan power and implacable fury of the\nparty which he was sure to stir up against him. He knew that\n_clerical_ unpopularity is that which is the hardest to efface, and\nthe last that is pardoned. He knew it, and as formerly before the\nbreach of Constantine, he threw himself, head lowered, against it. He\nhad the noble courage to be unpopular, and so became unpopular even to\nheroism. Taking the man such as we have known him, with his character,\nhis age, and his antecedents, I fear not to affirm that in no epoch\nhas Christian chivalry ever conceived anything more difficult, more\nmeritorious, more worthy of eternal memory.\n\nThus in what must be his check, God granted him here below a glory as\nrare as refined and imperishable. He counts in the first ranks of\nthose who are the seconds for God in the great duel between good and\nevil--men predestined to be sponsors for the good, for honor and\njustice.  [Footnote 48]\n\n  [Footnote 48: Mgr. Dupanloup _\"Oraison fun\u00e9bre du morts de\n  Castelfidardo.\"_]\n\nA handful of young men, miserably scanty in numbers, alone responded\nto an appeal of so magnificent, so seductive an example; and of all\nthe symptoms {302} of the decadence or transformation of European\nsociety, there is none more alarming, more humiliating, than that very\npaucity of their numbers. _Their small number honors them, but accuses\nus_, said, with too much truth, a brave man, who died at the very\nmoment he was going to join them. But this small number sufficed for\nwhat La Morici\u00e8re sought, and for all that he regarded as possible. It\nsufficed to represent the honor of Catholic France in the midst of the\ncowardly abandonment of Europe. Above all, it sufficed to strip the\nlying mask from Piedmontese usurpation, and to spot with blood the\nhypocritical hands about to be placed on the shoulder and the white\ntunic of the Vicar of Jesus Christ.\n\nThis done, nothing remained for La Morici\u00e8re but to die as he has\ndied. Death came suddenly, but it did not take him unprepared. It\nfound him on foot, vigilant, decided, invincible, as when, in the\ntimes of his youth, he looked it every day in its face. It found him\narmed with a force and a faith it found not in him then. In seeing it\napproach he \"unhooked his crucifix as he formerly unhooked his sword.\"\nThe word is from a bishop and it will remain: \"She was sweet toward\ndeath, as she had been sweet toward life,\" said Bossuet of his\nHenrietta of England. He would have said of our hero, that he was\nstrong against death, as he had been strong against life. He would\nhave greeted with his immortal accents that death of the soldier which\nwas also, and above all, the death of a saint. What more admirable or\nmore complete! That last night after a day divided between private and\npublic prayer, and the study of the history of the Church in which he\nwill have a page--a page how resplendent!  [Footnote 49] That word\nonly to call a priest--that only cry to procure the grace of\nabsolution--those rapid moments passed while standing in solitude, the\ncrucifix in his hand--and, in fine, the supreme moment which finds\nhim in full adoration on his knees before his God!--can there be\nconceived a life more generously, more Christianly finished, a death\nmore happy in its suddenness? Behold him saved from tasting, drop by\ndrop, the bitterness of separation from his family--his noble wife,\nalways so worthy of him, and whom God had given for his companion and\nhis light, and his daughters, whom he adored with the tenderness and\npassionate anxiety of an old soldier. Behold him transported at once\nfrom his obscure and wearisome idleness into eternal activity, into a\nsplendor and a glory which no one can henceforth take from him! What a\ntriumphant exit from his exile here below! What a triumphant entry\ninto the heavenly country, the army of the elect, of the confessors of\nthe faith, the chevaliers of Christ! _Te martyrum candidatus laudat\nexercitus._\n\n  [Footnote 49: It is well known that on Sunday, the eve of his death,\n  he assisted for the last time at the Benediction of the Blessed\n  Sacrament, in the village church of Plouzel. He remained there\n  kneeling through the whole office. On his return he read\n  \"_l'Histoire de l'Eglise_,\" by the Abb\u00e9 Darras. It was his last\n  reading. The volume was open, near his bed, when he rose to call a\n  domestic to go for the parish priest, who barely arrived in time to\n  receive his last sigh.]\n\nHow he now loves and esteems those fifteen years of human disgrace,\nduring which divine grace invaded his soul, and led him through thorns\nand the cross, scoffs, jeers, disasters, bitterness, anguish, to the\nChristian coronation of his career!\n\n\"I will go,\" said the Bishop of Orleans, in speaking of the graves of\nthe young soldiers of La Morici\u00e8re, immolated under his eyes in his\nlast battle,--\"I will go there, to cast a look toward heaven and\ndemand the triumph of justice and eternal honor on the earth; I will\ngo there to relieve my heart from its sadness and to strengthen my\nsoul in its faintings. I will learn from them to keep burning within\nme zeal for the Church and zeal for souls,--to devote myself to the\nstruggle of truth and justice, even to the last whisper of my voice\nand my last sigh.\"\n\nAnd we will go, and the great and dear bishop will come with us;--we\n{303} will go and ask, and learn all that we lack, near that grave\nopened on the barren heath in Bretagne, at the foot of an unrecognized\ncross, where lie the remains of the immortal chief of those\nvictims--of him who, as Duguesclin, Duguesclin his countryman, had\nwell deserved to sleep among the kings at Saint-Denis. So long as\nthere shall be a Christian France, that distant and solitary tomb will\nappear to the soul clothed with a solemn grandeur and a touching\nmajesty. Far from the intoxications of the battle-field, far from the\ntheatre of his struggles and his successes, under that mound of earth\nwhich will cover to the day of judgment that brave heart and that\nvictorious arm,--there, there with love it will go to invoke that\ngreat soul, betrayed by fortune and magnified by sacrifice. It is\nthere that it will admire without reserve the warrior, the statesman,\nwho preserved unstained his honor--the honor of the soldier, of the\ncitizen, and of the Christian. It is there that it will be needful to\ngo to learn the emptiness of human hopes, and at the same time that\nthere is even in this world true greatness and real virtue. That grave\nwill tell us how necessary it is to despise iniquitous victories, and\nto serve in the army of justice against the army of fortune; to\nprotest against enervating indolence, against servile compliances,\nagainst the idolatry of Success; to place above the poor tinsel of a\nfalse greatness fidelity to convictions deserted, to the torn flag of\nliberty denied, to friends persecuted, to the proscribed, and to the\nvanquished. That tomb will teach us, in the confusion and instability\nof the present, to preserve before all things integrity of character,\nwhich makes all the power and all the value of the man here below. But\nfrom that tomb will come forth at the same time a harder and a more\nnecessary lesson still. It will teach us how to be gentle and strong\nin adversity; to find calm and joy in suffering; to bear it without\ndepression and without sourness; to consent, where need is, to be only\na useless servant, and to gain thus eternal life. Yes, all this will\nbe revealed by the grave of him who will not be forgotten, because he\nunited in his life things too often separated; because he was not only\na great captain, a great servant of his country, a faithful soldier of\nliberty, an honest man, a great citizen, but also a great Christian,\nan humble and brave Christian, who loved his soul, and has saved it.\n\nCH. DE MONTALEMBERT.\n\n------\n{304}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nCONSTANCE SHERWOOD.\n\nAN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.\n\nBY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nWhen I had been a short time in my Lady Lumley's chamber, my Lord\nArundel sent for his granddaughter, who was wont, she told me, at that\nhour to write letters for him; and I stayed alone with her ladyship,\nwho, as soon as Lady Surrey left us, thus broke forth in her praise:\n\n\"Hath any one, think you. Mistress Sherwood, ever pictured or imagined\na creature more noble, more toward in disposition, more virtuous in\nall her actions, of greater courage in adversity or patience under\nill-usage than this one, which God hath sent to this house to cheer\ntwo lonely hearts, whilst her own is well-nigh broken?\"\n\n\"Oh, my Lady Lumley!\" I exclaimed, \"I fear some new misfortune hath\nbefallen this dear lady, who is indeed so rare a piece of goodness\nthat none can exceed in describing her deserts. Hitherto she hath\ncondescended to impart her sorrows to her poor friend; but to-day she\nshut up her griefs in her own bosom, albeit I could read unspoken\nsuffering in every lineament of her sweet countenance.\"\n\n\"God forgive me,\" her ladyship replied, \"if in speaking of her wrongs\nI should entertain over-resentful feelings toward her ungracious\nhusband, whom once I did love as a mother, and very loth hath my heart\nbeen to condemn him; but now, if it were not that I myself received\nhim in my arms what time he was born, whose life was the cause of my\nsweet young sister's death, I should doubt he could be her son.\"\n\n\"What fresh injury,\" I timidly asked, \"hath driven Lady Surrey from\nher house?\"\n\n\"_Her_ house no longer,\" quoth Lady Lumley. \"She hath no house, no\nhome, no husband worthy of the name, and only an old man nigh unto the\ngrave, alas! and a poor feeble woman such as I am to raise a voice in\nher behalf, who is spurned by one who should have loved and cherished\nher, as twice before God's altar he vowed to do. Oh,\" cried the poor\nlady, weeping, \"she hath borne all things else with a sweet fortitude\nwhich angels looking down on her must needs have wondered at. She\nwould ever be excusing this faithless husband with many pretty wiles\nand loving subterfuges, making, sweet sophist, the worst appear the\nbetter reason. 'Men must needs be pardoned,' she would say, when my\ngood father waxed wroth at his ill-usage of her, 'for such outward\nneglect as many practice in these days toward their wives, for that it\nwas the fashion at the court to appear unhusbandly; but if women would\nbe patient, she would warrant them their love should be requited at\nlast.' And when news came that Phil had sold an estate for to\npurchase--God save the mark!--a circlet of black pearls for the queen;\nand Lord Arundel swore he should leave him none of his lands but what\nby act of parliament he was compelled to do, she smiled winsomely, and\nsaid: 'Yea, my lord, I pray you, let my dear Phil be a poor man as his\nfather wished him to be, and then, if it please God, we may live in a\ncottage and be happy.' And so turned away his anger by soft words, for\nhe {305} laughed and answered: 'Heaven help thee. Nan! but I fear that\ncottage must needs be Arundel Castle, for my hands are so tied therein\nthat thy knavish husband cannot fail to inherit it. And beshrew me if\nI would either rob thee of it, mine own good Nan, or its old walls of\nthy sweet presence when I shall be dead.' And so she always pleaded\nfor him, and never lost heart until . . . Oh, Mistress Sherwood, I\nshall never forget the day when her uncle, Francis Dacre--wisely or\nunwisely I know not, but surely meaning well--gave her to read in this\nhouse, where she was spending a day, a letter which had fallen into\nhis hands, I wot not how, in the which Philip--God forgive\nhim!--expressed some kind of doubt if he was truly married to her or\nnot. Some wily wretch had, I ween, whispered to him, in an evil hour,\nthis accursed thought. When she saw this misdoubt written in his hand\nshe straightway fell down in a swoon, which recovering from, the first\nthing she did was to ask for her cloak and hat, and would have walked\nalone to her house if I had not stayed her almost by force, until Lord\nArundel's coach could be got ready for her. In less than two hours she\nreturned with so wan and death-like a countenance that it frighted me\nto see her, and for some time she would not speak of what had passed\nbetween her lord and herself; only she asked for to stay always in\nthis house, if it should please her grandfather, and not to part from\nus any more. At the which speech I could but kiss her, and with many\ntears protest that this should be the joyfullest news in the world to\nLord Arundel and to me, and what he would most desire, if it were not\nfor her grief, which, like an ill wind, yet did blow us this good.\n'Yea,' she answered, with the deepest sigh which can be thought of, 'a\ncold, withering blast which driveth me from the shelter which should\nbe mine! I have heard it said that when Cardinal Wolsey lay a-dying he\ncried, \"It were well with me now if I had served my God with the like\nzeal with which I have served my king,\" or some words of that sort.\nOh, my Lady Lumley!' the poor child exclaimed, 'if I had not loved\nPhilip more than God and his Church, methinks I should not thus be\ncast off!' 'Cast off,' I cried; 'and has my graceless nephew, then,\nbeen so wicked?' 'Oh, he is changed,' she answered--'he is changed.\nIn his eyes, in his voice, I found not Philip's looks, nor Philip's\ntones. Nought but harshness and impatience to dismiss me. The queen,\nhe said, was coming to rest at his house on her way to the city, and\nhe lacked leisure to listen to my complaints. Then I felt grief and\nanger rise in my breast with such vehemency that I charged him, maybe\ntoo suddenly, with the doubt he had expressed in his letter to my Lord\nOxford. His face flushed deeply; but drawing up haughtily, as one\naggrieved, he said the manner of our marrying had been so unusual that\nthere were some, and those persons well qualified to judge, who\nmisdoubted if there did not exist a flaw in its validity. That he\nshould himself be loth to think so, but that to seek at that moment to\nprove the contrary, when his fortunes hung on a thread, would be to\nruin him.'\n\n\"There she paused, and clasped her hands together as if scarce able to\nproceed; but soon raising her head, she related in a passionate manner\nhow her heart had then swelled well-nigh to bursting, pride and\ntenderness restraining the utterance of such resentful thoughts as\nrose in her when she remembered his father's last letter, wherein he\nsaid his chief prop and stay in his fallen estate should be the wife\nhe had bestowed on him; of her own lands sold for the supply of his\nprodigal courtiership; of her long patience and pleading for him to\nothers; and this his present treatment of her, which no wife could\nbrook, even if of mean birth and virtue, much loss one his equal in\ncondition, as well dowered as any in the land, {306} and as faithful\nand tender to him as he did prove untoward to her. But none of these\nreproaches passed her lips; for it was an impossible thing to her, she\nsaid, to urge her own deserts, or so much as mention the fortune she\nhad brought him. Only twice she repeated, 'Ruin your fortunes, my\nlord! ruin your fortunes! God help me, I had thought rather to mend\nthem!' And then, when he tried to answer her in some sort of evading\nfashion, as if unsaying, and yet not wholly denying his former speech,\nshe broke forth (and in the relation of this scene the passion of her\ngrief renewed itself) in vehement adjurations, which seemed somewhat\nto move him, not to be so unjust to her or to himself as to leave that\nin uncertainty which so nearly touched both their honors; and if the\nthought of a mutual love once existing between them, and a firm bond\nof marriage relied on with unshaken security, and his father's dying\nblessing on it, and the humble duty she had shown him from the time\nshe had borne his name, sufficed not to resolve him thereunto, yet for\nthe sake of justice to one fatherless and brotherless as herself, she\ncharged him without delay to make that clear which, left uncertain,\nconcerned her more nearly than fortune or state, and without which no,\nnot one day, would she abide in his house. Then the sweet soul said\nshe hoped, from his not ungracious silence and the working of his\nfeatures, which visibly revealed an inward struggle, that his next\nwords should have been of comfort to her; but when she had drawn nigh\nto him, and, taking his hand, called him by his name with so much of\nreproachful endearment as could be expressed in the utterance of it, a\ngentleman broke into the room crying out: 'My lord, my lord, the\ntrumpets do sound! The queen's coach is in sight.' Upon which, she\nsaid that, with a muttered oath, he started up and almost thrust her\nfrom him, saying, 'For God's sake, be gone!' And by a back-door,' she\nadded, 'I went out of mine own house into the street, where I had left\nmy Lord Arundel's coach, and crept into it, very faint and giddy, the\nwhile the queen's coach did enter the court with gay banners waving,\nand striking-up of music, and the people crying out, \"God bless the\nqueen!\" I cry God mercy for it,' she said, 'but I could not say amen.'\nNow she is resolved,\" my Lady Lumley continued, \"never to set her foot\nagain in any of her husband's houses, except he doth himself entreat\nher to it, and makes that matter clear touching his belief in the\nvalidity of their marriage; and methinks she is right therein. My Lord\nArundel hath written to remonstrate with his grandson touching his\nill-usage of his lady, and hath also addressed her majesty thereupon.\nBut all the comment she did make on his letter, I have been told, was\nthis: 'That she had heard my Lord Arundel was in his dotage; and\nverily she did now hold it to be so, for that she had never received a\nmore foolish letter; and she did pity the old white horse, which was\nnow only fit to be turned out to grass;' and other biting jests,\nwhich, when a sovereign doth utter them, carry with them a rare\npoignancy.\"\n\nThen my Lady Lumley wiped her eyes, and bade me to be of good cheer,\nand not to grieve overmuch for Lady Surrey's troubles (but all the\nwhile her own tears continued to flow), for that she had so noble and\nreligious a disposition, with germs of so much virtue in it, that she\nthought her to be one of those souls whom Almighty God draws to\nhimself by means of such trials as would sink common natures; and that\nshe had already marked how, in much prayer, ever-increasing good\nworks, and reading of books which treat of wholesome doctrine and\ninstruction, she presently recalled the teachings of her childhood,\nand took occasion, when any Catholics came to the house, to converse\nwith them touching religion. Then, with many kind expressions, she\ndismissed me; and on the stairs, as I went out, I met {307} Lady\nSurrey, who noticed mine eyes to be red with weeping, and, embracing\nme, said:\n\n\"I ween Lady Lumley hath been no hider of my griefs, good Constance,\nand, i' faith, I am obliged to her if she hath told thee that which I\nwould fain not speak of, even to thee, dear wench. There are sorrows\nbest borne in silence; and since the last days we talked together mine\nhave grown to be of that sort. And so farewell for to-day, and may God\ncomfort thee in thy nobler troubles, and send his angels to thine\naid.\"\n\nWhen I returned to Holborn, Mistress Ward met me with the news that\nshe had been to the prison, and heard that Mr. Watson was to be\nstrenuously examined on an approaching day--and it is well known what\nthat doth signify--touching the names of the persons which had\nharbored him since his coming to England. And albeit he was now\npurposed steadily to endure extreme torments sooner than to deny his\nfaith or injure others, she did so much apprehend the weakness of\nnature should betray him, that her resolve was taken to attempt the\nnext day, or rather on the following night, to further his escape. But\nhow, she asked, could my father be dealt with in time touching that\nmatter? I told her I was to see him on the morrow, by means of an\norder from Sir Francis Walsingham, and should then lay before him the\nissues offered unto his election. She said she was very much contented\nto hear it; and added, she must now secure boatmen to assist in the\nescape who should be reliable Catholic men; and if in this she did\nsucceed, she feared not to fail in her design.\n\nAt the hour I had fixed upon with Hubert, on the next day, he came to\ncarry me to the prison at Bridewell. Mistress Ward prevailed on Mr.\nCongleton to go thither with us, for she was loth to be seen there in\ncompany with known persons, and added privily in mine ear, \"The more\nso at a time when it may happen I should get into trouble touching the\nmatter I have in hand.\" When we reached the place, Hubert presented to\nthe gaoler Sir Francis's letter, which was also signed by the\ngovernor, and I was forthwith conducted to my father's cell. When I\nentered it, and advanced toward that dear prisoner, I dared not in the\nman's presence to show either the joy or grief I felt at that meeting,\nbut stood by his side like one deprived of the power of speech, and\nonly struggling to restrain my tears. I feared we should not have been\nleft alone, and then this interview should have proved of little use\nor comfort; but after setting for me a chair, which he had sent\nfor--for there was only one small bench in the cell--this officer\nwithdrew, and locked the door on me and that dear parent, whose face\nwas very white and wan, but who spoke in as cheerful and kind a manner\nas can be thought of, albeit taxing me with wilfulness for that I had\nnot complied with his behest that none should come to visit him. I\nwould not have the chair which had been sent for me--for I did hold\nit to be an unbecoming thing for a daughter to sit down in her\nfather's presence (and he a priest), who had only a poor bench to rest\nhis limbs on--but placed myself on the ground at his feet; which at\nfirst he misliked, but afterward said it should be as I pleased. Then,\nafter some affectionate speeches, wherein his great goodness toward me\nwas shown, and my answers to them, which disburthened my heart of some\nof the weight which oppressed it, as did likewise the shedding of a\nfew tears on his hand, which was clasped in mine, I spoke, in case\ntime should press, of Sir Francis's offer, and the condition thereunto\nattached, which I did with a trembling voice, and yet such indifferent\ntones as I could affect, as if showing no leaning to one way of\nthinking or the other, touching his acceptance of these terms. In the\nbrief time which did elapse between my speaking and his reply,\nmethinks I had an equal fear lest he should {308} assent or dissent\ntherein--filial love mightfully prompting me to desire his acceptance\nof this means of deliverance, yet coupled with an apprehension that in\nthat case he should stand one degree less high in the favor of God and\nthe eyes of men. But I was angered with myself that I should have mine\nown thoughts therein, or in any way form a judgment forestalling his,\nwhich peradventure would see no evil in this concession; and\nforecasting also the consequences which should ensue if he refused, I\nresolved to move him thereunto by some such words as these: \"My dearly\nbeloved father, if it be possible, I pray you yield this small matter\nto those that seek to save your life. Let the minister come to satisfy\nSir Francis, and all shall be well, yea, without your speaking one\nword, or by so much as one look assenting to his arguments.\"\n\nI dared not to meet his eyes, which he fixed on me, but kept kissing\nhis hand whilst he said: \"Daughter Constance, labor not to move me in\nthis matter; for far above all other things I may have to suffer,\nnothing would touch me so near, or be so grievous to me, as to see\nyou, my well-beloved child, try to persuade me unto that which in\nrespect of my soul I will never consent to. For, I pray you, first as\nregards religion, can I suffer any to think, albeit I should give no\ncause for it but silence, that my faith is in any wise shaken, which\nperadventure would prove a stumbling-block to others? or, touching\ntruth and honesty, shall I accept life and freedom on some such\nsupposition as that I am like to change my religion, when I should as\nsoon think to cast myself into hell of mine own free will as to deny\none point of Catholic belief? No, no, mine own good child; 'tis a\nnarrow path which doth lead to heaven, and maybe it shall prove\nexceeding narrow for me ere I reach its end, and not over easy to the\nfeet or pleasant to the eye; but God defend I should by so much as one\nhair's-breadth overpass a narrowness which tendeth to so good a\nconclusion; and verily, to be short, my good child, tender my thanks\nto Sir Francis Walsingham--who I doubt not meaneth excellently well by\nme--and to young Master Rookwood, who hath dealt with him therein;\nbut tell them I am very well pleased with my present abode as long as\nit shall please God to keep me in this world; and when he willeth me\nto leave it, believe me, daughter Constance, the quickest road to\nheaven shall be the most pleasing to me.\"\n\nHis manner was so resolved that I urged him no further, and only\nheaved a deep sigh. Then he said, kindly: \"Come, mine own good child,\ngive me so much comfort as to let me hear that thou art of the same\nway of thinking in this matter as thy unworthy but very resolved\nfather.\"\n\n\"My dear father,\" I replied, \"methinks I never loved you so well, or\nhonored you one half so much as now, when you have cast off all human\nconsolation, yea, and a certain hope of deliverance, rather than give\noccasion to the enemies of our faith to boast they had prevailed on\nyou, in ever so small a matter, to falter in the open profession\nthereof; and I pray God, if ever I should be in a like plight, I may\nnot prove myself to be otherwise than your true child in spirit as in\nnature. As to what shall now follow your refusal, it lieth in God's\nhands, and I know he can deliver you, if he doth will it, from this\ngreat peril you are in.\"\n\n\"There's my brave wench,\" quoth he then, laying his scarred hand on my\nhead; \"thy mother had a prophetic spirit, I ween, when she said of\nthee when yet a puling girl, 'As her days, so shall her strength be.'\nVerily God is very good, who hath granted us these moments of peaceful\nconverse in a place where we had once little thought for to meet.\"\n\nAs I looked upon him, sitting on a poor bench in that comfortless\ncell, his noble fair visage oldened by hardships and toils rather than\nyears, his eyes so full of peace, yea of contentment, that {309} joy\nseemed to beam in them, I thought of the words of Holy Writ, which do\nforetell which shall be said hereafter of the just by such as have\nafflicted them and taken away their labors: \"There are they whom we\nhad some time in derision and for a parable of reproach. We fools\nesteemed their life madness and their end without honor. Behold, how\nthey are numbered with the children of God, and their lot amongst the\nsaints.\"\n\nAt that time a knock against the wall was heard, and my father set his\near against it, counting the number of such knocks; for it was Mr.\nWatson, he said, beginning to converse with him in their wonted\nfashion. \"I will tell him I am engaged,\" quoth he, in his turn tapping\nin the same manner. \"But peradventure he hath somewhat to\ncommunicate,\" I said.\n\n\"No,\" he answered, \"for in that case he would have knocked three times\nat first, for on this signal we have agreed.\" Smiling, he added, \"We\ndo confess to each other in this way. 'Tis somewhat tedious, I do\nadmit; but thanks be to God we lack not leisure here for such duties.\"\n\nThen I briefly told him of Mistress Ward's intent to procure Mr.\nWatson's escape.\n\n\"Ay,\" he said, \"I am privy to it, and I do pray God it may succeed. It\nshould be to me the greatest joy in the world to hear that good man\nwas set free, or made free by any good means.\"\n\n\"Then,\" I added, \"will you not join in the attempt, if so be she can\nconvey to you a cord? and the same boat should carry you both off.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" he replied; \"for more reasons than one I am resolved against\nthat in mine own case which in Mr. Watson's I do commend. This\nenterprise must needs bring that good woman, Mrs. Ward, into some sort\nof danger, which she doth well to run for his sake, and which he doth\nnot wrong to consent unto, she being of a willing mind to encounter\nit. For if the extremity of torture should extort the admissions they\ndo seek from him, many should then grievously suffer, and mostly his\nown soul. But I have that trust in God, who hath given me in all my\nlate perils what nature had verily not furnished me with, an undaunted\nspirit to meet sufferings with somewhat more than fortitude, with a\nvery great joy such as his grace can only bestow, that he will\ncontinue to do so, whatever straits I do find myself in; and being so\nminded, I am resolved not again by mine own doing to put mine own and\nothers' lives in jeopardy; but to take what he shall send in the\nordinary course of things, throwing all my care on him, without whose\nknowledge and will not so much as one hair of our heads doth fall to\nthe ground. But I am glad to be privy to the matter in hand for Mr.\nWatson, so as to pray for him this day and night, and also for that\nnoble soul who doth show herself so true a Christian in her care for\nhis weal and salvation.\"\n\nThen, changing to other themes, he inquired of me at some length\ntouching the passages of my life since he had parted with me, and my\ndispositions touching the state of life I was about to embrace,\nconcerning which he gave me the most profitable instructions which can\nbe thought of, and rules of virtue, which, albeit imperfectly\nobserved, have proved of so great and wholesome guidance to my\ninexperienced years that I do stand more indebted to him for this fine\nadvice, there given me, than for all other benefits besides. He then\nspoke of Edmund Genings, who, by a special dispensation of the Pope,\nhad lately been ordained priest, being but twenty-three years of age,\nand said the preparation he had made for receiving this holy order was\nvery great, and the impression the greatness of the charge made upon\nhis mind so strong, that it produced a wonderful effect in his very\nbody, affecting for a time his health. He was infirmarian at Rheims,\nand labored among the sick students, a very model of piety and {310}\nhumility; but _vivamus in spe_ was still, as heretofore, his motto,\nand that hope in which he lived was to be sent upon the English\nmission. These, my father said, were the last tidings he had heard of\nhim. His mother he did believe was dead, and his younger brother had\nleft La Rochelle and was in Paris, leading a more gay life than was\ndesirable. \"And now I pray you, mine own dear honored father,\" I said,\n\"favor me, I beseech you, with a recital of your own haps since you\nlanded in England, and I ceased to receive letters from you.\" He\ncondescended to my request, in the words which do follow:\n\n\"Well, my good child, I arrived in this country one year and five\nmonths back, having by earnest suit and no small difficulty obtained\nfrom my superiors to be sent on the English mission; for by reason of\nthe weakness of my health, and some use I was of in the college, owing\nto my acquaintanceship with the French and the English languages, Dr.\nAllen was loth to permit my departure. I crossed the seas in a small\nmerchant-vessel, and landed at Lynn. The port-officers searched me to\nthe skin, and found nothing on me; but one Sledd, an informer, which\nhad met me in an inn at Honfleur, where I had lodged for some days\nbefore sailing for England, had taken my marks very precisely; and\narriving in London some time before I landed in Norfolk, having been\nstayed by contrary winds in my longer passage, he there presented my\nname and marks; upon which the queen's council sent to the searchers\nof the ports. These found the said marks very apparent in me; but for\nthe avoiding of charges, the mayor of the place, one Mr. Alcock, and\nRawlins the searcher, requested a gentleman which had landed at the\nsame time with me, and who called himself Haward, to carry me as a\nprisoner to the lord-lieutenant of the county. He agreed very easily\nthereunto; but as soon as we were out of the town, 'I cannot,' says\nthis gentleman, 'in conscience, nor will not, being myself a Catholic,\ndeliver you, a Catholic priest, prisoner to the lord-lieutenant. But\nwe will go straight to Norwich, and when we come there, shift for\nyourself, as I will do for myself.'\n\n\"Coming to Norwich, I went immediately to one of the gaols, and\nconferred with a Catholic, a friend of mine, which by chance I found\nout to be there imprisoned for recusancy. I recounted to him the order\nof my apprehension and escape; and he told me that in conscience I\ncould not make that escape, and persuaded me I ought to yield myself\nprisoner; whereupon I went to my friend Haward, whom, through the\naforesaid Catholic prisoner, I found to be no other than Dr. Ely, a\nprofessor of canon and civil law at Douay. I requested him to deliver\nto me the mayor's letter to the lord-lieutenant. 'Why, what will you\ndo with it?' said he. 'I will go,' I said, 'and carry it to him, and\nyield myself a prisoner; for I am not satisfied I can make this escape\nin conscience, having had a contrary opinion thereon.' And I told him\nwhat that prisoner I had just seen had urged. 'Why,' said Haward,\n'this counsel which hath been given you proceedeth, I confess, from a\nzealous mind; but I doubt whether it carrieth with it the weight of\nknowledge. You shall not have the letter, nor you may not in\nconscience yield yourself to the persecutors, having so good means\noffered to escape their cruelty.' But as I still persisted in my\ndemand, 'Well,' said Mr. Haward, 'seeing you will not be turned by me\nfrom this opinion, let us go first and consult with such a man,' and\nhe named one newly come over, who was concealed at the house of a\nCatholic not very far off. This was a man of singular wit aid\nlearning, and of such rare virtues that I honored and reverenced him\ngreatly, which Mr. Haward perceiving, he said, with a smile, 'If he be\nof your opinion, you shall have the letter, and go in God's name!'\nWhen we came {311} to him, he utterly disliked of my intention, and\ndissuaded me from what he said was a fond cogitation. So being\nassuaged, I went quietly about my business, and travelled for the\nspace of more than a year from one Catholic house to another in\nNorfolk and Suffolk, ministering the sacraments to recusants, and\nreconciling many to the Church, which, from fear or lack of\ninstruction or spiritual counsel, or only indifferency, had conformed\nto the times. Methinks, daughter Constance, for one such year a man\nshould be willing to lay down a thousand lives, albeit, or rather\nbecause, as St. Paul saith, he be 'in journeyings often, in perils\nfrom his own nation, in perils from false brethren' (oh, how true and\napplicable do these words prove to the Catholics of this land!), 'in\nperils in the city, in perils of the wilderness, in perils of the\nsea.' And if it pleases God now to send me labors of another sort, so\nthat I may be in prisons frequently, in stripes above measure, and,\nfinally, in death itself, his true servant,--oh, believe me, my good\nchild, the right fair house I once had, with its library and garden\nand orchard, and everything so handsome about us, and the company of\nthy sweet mother, and thy winsome childish looks of love, never gave\nme so much heartfelt joy and comfort as the new similitude I\nexperience, and greater I hope to come, to my loved and only Master's\nsufferings and death!\"\n\nAt this time of his recital my tears flowed abundantly; but with an\nimparted sweetness, which, like a reflected light, shone from his soul\non mine. But to stay my weeping he changed his tone, and said with\ngood cheer:\n\n\"Come now, my wench, I will presently make thee merry by the recital\nof a strait in which I once found myself, and which maketh me to laugh\nto think on it, albeit at the time, I warrant thee, it was like to\nprove no laughable matter. It happened that year I speak of that I was\nonce secretly sent for by a courtlike gentleman of good wealth that\nhad lived in much bravery, and was then sick and lying in great pain.\nHe had fallen into a vehement agitation and deep study of the life to\ncome; and thereupon called for a priest--for in mind and opinion he\nwas Catholic--that he might learn from him to die well. According to\nthe custom of the Church, I did admonish him, among other things, that\nif he had any way hurt or injured any man, or unjustly possessed other\nmen's goods, he should go about by-and-by to make restitution\naccording to his ability. He agreed to do so, and called to mind that\nhe had taken away something from a certain Calvinist, under pretence\nof law indeed, but not under any good assurance for a Catholic\nconscience to trust to. Therefore, he took order for restitution to be\nmade, and died. The widow, his wife, was very anxious to accomplish\nher husband's will; but being afraid to commit the matter to any one,\nher perplexed mind was entangled in briers of doubtfulness. She one\nday declared her grief unto me, and beseeched me, for God's sake, to\nhelp her with my counsel and travail. So, seeing her distress, I\nproffered to put myself in any peril that might befall in the doing of\nthis thing; but, indeed, persuaded myself that no man would be so\nperverse as of a benefit to desire revengement. Therefore committing\nthe matter to God, I mounted on horseback, and away I went on my\njourney. When I came to the town where the man did dwell to whom the\nmoney was to be delivered, I set up my horse in the next inn, that I\nmight be readier at hand to scape immediately after my business was\ndespatched. I then went to the creditor's house, and called the man\nforth alone, taking him by the hand and leading him aside from the\ncompany of others. Then I declared to him that I had money for him,\nwhich I would deliver into his hands with this condition, that he\ninquired no further either who sent or who brought it unto him, or\nwhat {312} the cause and matter was, but only receive the money and\nuse it as his own. The old fellow promised fair, and with a good will\ngave his word faithfully so to do, and with many thanks sent me away.\nWith all the speed I was able to make, I hastened to mine host's\nhouse, for to catch hold of my horse and fly away. But forthwith the\ndeceitful old fellow betrayed me, and sent men after to apprehend me,\nnot supposing me this time to be a priest, but making the surmise\nagainst me that forsooth I was not a man but a devil, which had\nbrought money of mine own making to bewitch him. All the people of the\ntown, when they heard the rumor, confirmed the argument, with this\nproof among others, that I had a black horse, and gave orders for to\nwatch the animal diligently, whether he did eat hay as other horses,\nor no. As for me, they put a horse-lock about my leg, shut me up close\nin a strong chamber, and appointed a fellow to be with me continually,\nnight and day, which should watch if I did put off my boots at any\ntime, and if my feet were like horses' feet, or that I was\ncloven-footed, or had feet slit and forked as beasts have; for this\nthey affirmed to be a special mark whereby to know the devil when he\nlieth lurking under the shape and likeness of a man. Then the people\nassembled about the house in great numbers, and proffered money\nlargely that they might see this monster with their own eyes; for by\nthis time they were persuaded that I was indeed an ill spirit, or the\nvery devil. 'For what man was ever heard of,' said they, 'which, if he\nhad the mind, understanding, and sense of a man, would, of his own\nvoluntary will, and without any respect or consideration at all, give\nor proffer such a sum of money to a man utterly unknown?' God knowcth\nwhat should have ensued if some hours later it had not chanced that\nSir Henry Stafford did ride into the town, and, seeing a great\nconcourse of people at the door of the inn, he stopped to inquire into\nthe cause; which when it was related to him, he said he was a\nmagistrate, and should himself examine, face to face, this limb of\nSatan. So I was taken before him into the parlor; and being alone with\nhim, and knowing him to be well-disposed in religion, albeit\nconforming to the times, I explained in a general manner what sort of\nan errand had brought me to that place. Methinks he guessed me to be a\npriest, although he said nothing thereon, but only licensed me to\ndepart and go away whither I would, himself letting me out of the\nhouse through a back-door. I have heard since that he harangued the\npeople from the balcony, and told them, that whilst he was examining\nme a strong smell of sulphur had come into the chamber, and a pack of\ndevils carried me off through the window into the air; and he doubted\nnot I had by that time returned to mine own lodging in hell. Which he\ndid, I knew, for to prevent their pursuing me and using such violence\nas he might not have had means to hinder.\"\n\n\"It was not, then,\" I asked, \"on this occasion you were apprehended\nand taken to Wisbeach?\"\n\n\"No,\" he answered; \"nor indeed can I be said to have been apprehended\nat all, for it happened in this wise that I became a prisoner. I was\none day in Norwich, whither I had gone to baptize a child, and, as\nProvidence would have it, met with Haward, by whose means I had been\nset at liberty one year before. After ordinary salutations, he said to\nme, 'Mr. Tunstall' (for by that name only he knew me), 'the host of\nthe inn where you were taken last year says I have undone him, by\nsuffering the prisoner I had promised to deliver to escape; for he\nhaving been my surety with the mayor, he is threatened with eight\nmonths' imprisonment, or the payment of a large fine. He hath come to\nthis town for to seek me, and hath seized upon me on this charge; so\nthat I be only at liberty for six hours, for I {313} promised that I\nwould bring you to him by four o'clock (a Catholic merchant yielding\nhim security thereof), or else that I should deliver him my body\nagain. 'I am content,' he said, 'so that I have one of you two.' So\neither you, Mr. Tunstall, or I, must needs go to prison. You know my\nstate and condition, and may guess how I shall be treated, if once I\nappear under my right name before them. You know, also, your own\nstate. Now, it is in your choice whether of us shall go; for one must\ngo; there is no remedy; and to force you I will not, for I had rather\nsustain any punishment whatsoever.' 'Now God be blessed,' I cried,\n'that he hath thrown me in your way at this time, for I should never\nwhile I lived have been without scruple if you had gone to prison in\nmy stead. Nothing grieveth me in this but that I have not finished off\nsome business I had in this town touching a person in some distress of\nmind.' 'Why,' said Haward, 'it is but ten o'clock yet; you may\ndespatch your business by four of the clock, and then you may go to\nthe sign of the Star and inquire for one Mr. Andrews, the\nlord-lieutenant's deputy, and to him you may surrender yourself.' 'So\nI will,' I said; and so we parted. At four of the clock I surrendered\nmyself, and was straightway despatched to Wisbeach Castle, where I\nremained for three months. A message reached me there that a Catholic\nwhich had led a very wicked life, and was lying on his death-bed, was\nalmost beside himself for that he could get no priest to come to him.\nThe person which delivered this advertisement left some ropes with me,\nby which means I escaped out of the window into the moat with such\ndamage to my hands that I was like to lose the use of them, and\nperhaps of my life, if these wounds had mortified before good Lady\nl'Estrange dressed them. But I reached the poor sinner, which had\nproved the occasion of my escaping, in time for to give him\nabsolution, and from Mr. Rugeley's house visited many Catholics in\nthat neighborhood. The rest is well known to thee, my good child. . . .\"\n\nAs he was speaking these words the door of the cell opened, and the\ngaoler advertised me I could tarry no longer; so, with many blessings,\nmy dear father dismissed me, and I went home with Mr. Congleton and\nHubert, who anxiously inquired what his answer had been to the\nproposal I had carried to him.\n\n\"A most resolved denial of the conditions attached to it,\" I said,\n\"joined to many grateful acknowledgments to Sir Francis and to you\nalso for your efforts in his favor.\"\n\n\"'Tis madness!\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Yea,\" I answered, \"such madness as the heathen governor did charge\nSt. Paul with.\"\n\nAnd so no more passed between us whilst we rode back to Holborn. Mr.\nCongleton put questions to me touching my father's health and his\nlooks,--if he seemed of good cheer, and spoke merrily as he used to\ndo; and then we all continued silent. When we arrived at Ely Place,\nHubert refused to come into the house, but detained me on the outward\nsteps, as if desirous to converse with me alone. Thinking I had spoken\nto him in the coach in an abrupt manner which savored of ingratitude,\nI said more gently, \"I am very much beholden to you, Hubert, for your\nwell-meaning toward my father.\"\n\n\"I would fain continue to help you,\" he answered in an agitated voice.\n\"Constance,\" he exclaimed, after a pause, \"your father is in a very\ndangerous plight.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said I, quickly; \"but I know, too, he is resolved and\ncontent to die rather than swerve an inch from his duty to God and his\nChurch.\"\n\n\"But,\" quoth he then, \"do you wish to save him?\"\n\nI looked at him amazed. \"Wish it! God knoweth that to see him in\nsafety I would have my hand cut off,--yea, and my head also.\"\n\n{314}\n\n\"What, and rob him of his expectant crown--the martyr's palm, and all\nthe rest of it?\" he said, with a perceptible sneer.\n\n\"Hubert!\" I passionately exclaimed, \"you are investigable to me; you\nchill my soul with your half-uttered sentences and uncertain meanings!\nOnce, I remember, you could speak nobly,--yea, and feel so too, as\nmuch as any one. Heaven shield you be not wholly changed!\"\n\n\"Changed!\" quoth he, in a low voice, \"I am changed;\" and then abruptly\naltering his manner, and leaving me in doubt as to the change he did\nintend to speak of, he pressed me to take no measures touching my\nfather's release till he had spoken with me again; for he said if his\nreal name became known, or others dealt in the matter, all hope on Sir\nFrancis's side should be at an end. He then asked me if I had heard of\nBasil lately. I told him of the letter I had had from him at\nKenninghall some weeks back. He said a report had reached him that he\nhad landed at Dover and was coming to London; but he hoped it was not\ntrue, for that Sir Henry Stafford was very urgent he should continue\nabroad till the expiration of his wardship.\n\nI said, \"If he was returned, it must surely be for some sufficient\ncause, but that I had heard nothing thereof, and had no reason to\nexpect it.\"\n\n\"But you would know it, I presume, if he was in London?\" he urged. I\nmisliked his manner, which always put me in mind of one in the dark,\nwhich feeleth his way as he advances, and goeth not straight to the\npoint.\n\n\"_Is_ Basil in England?\" I inquired, fixing mine eyes on him, and with\na flutter at my heart from the thought that it should be possible.\n\n\"I heard he was,\" he answered in a careless tone; \"but I think it not\nto be true. If he should come whilst this matter is in hand, I do\nconjure you, Constance, if you value your father's existence and\nBasil's also, let him not into this secret.\"\n\n\"Wherefore not?\" I quickly answered. \"Why should one meet to be\ntrusted, and by me above all other persons in the world, be kept\nignorant of what so nearly doth touch me?\"\n\n\"Because,\" he said, \"there is a rashness in his nature which will\nassuredly cause him to run headlong into danger if not forcibly\nwithheld from the occasions of it.\"\n\n\"I have seen no tokens of such rashness as you speak of in him,\" I\nreplied; \"only of a boldness such as well becomes a Christian and a\ngentleman.\"\n\n\"Constance Sherwood!\" Hubert exclaimed, and seized hold of my hand\nwith a vehemency which caused me to start, \"I do entreat you, yea, on\nmy bended knees, if needs be, I will beseech you to beware of that\nindomitable and resolved spirit which sets at defiance restraint,\nprudence, pity even; which leads you to brave your friends, spurn\nwholesome counsel, rush headlong into perils which I forewarn you do\nhang thickly about your path. If I can conjure them, I care not by\nwhat means, I will do so; but for the sake of all you do hold dear,\ncurb your natural impetuosity, which may prove the undoing of those\nyou most desire to serve.\"\n\nThere was a plausibility in this speech, and in mine own knowledge of\nmyself some sort of a confirmation of what he did charge me with,\nwhich inclined me somewhat to diffide of mine own judgment in this\nmatter, and not to turn a wholly deaf ear to his advertisement. He had\nthe most persuasive tongue in the world, and a rare art at\nrepresenting things under whatever aspect he chose. He dealt so\ncunningly therein with me that day, and used so many ingenious\narguments, that I said I should be very careful how I disclosed\nanything to Basil or any one else touching my father's imprisonment,\nwho Mr. Tunstall was, and my near concern in his fate; but would give\nno promise thereupon: so he was forced to content himself with as much\nas he could obtain, and {315} withdrew himself for that day, he said;\nbut promised to return on the morrow.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nWhen at last I entered the house I sought Mistress Ward; for I desired\nto hear what assistance she had procured for the escape of the\nprisoners, and to inform her of my father's resolved purpose not\nhimself to attempt this flight, albeit commending her for moving Mr.\nWatson to it and assisting him therein. Not finding her in the parlor,\nnor in her bed-chamber, I opened the door of my aunt's room, who was\nnow very weak, and yet more so in mind than in body. She was lying\nwith her eyes shut, and Mistress Ward standing by her bedside. I\nmarked her intent gaze on the aged, placid face of the poor lady, and\none tear I saw roll down her cheek. Then she stooped to kiss her\nforehead. A noise I made with the handle of the door caused her to\nturn round, and hastening toward me, she took me by the hand and led\nme to her chamber, where Muriel was folding some biscuits and cakes in\npaper and stowing them in a basket. The thought came to me of the\nfirst day I had arrived in London, and the comfort I had found in this\nroom, when all except her were strangers to me in that house. She sat\ndown betwixt Muriel and me, and smiling, said: \"Now, mine own dear\nchildren, for such my heart holds you both to be, and ever will whilst\nI live, I am come here for to tell you that I purpose not to return to\nthis house to-night, nor can I foresee when, if ever, I shall be free\nto do so.\"\n\n\"O, what dismal news!\" I exclaimed, \"and more sad than I did expect.\"\n\nMuriel said nothing, but lifting her hand to her lips kissed it.\n\n\"You both know,\" she continued, \"that in order to save one in cruel\nrisk and temptation of apostasy, and others perhaps, also, whom his\npossible speaking should imperil, I be about to put myself in some\nkind of danger, who of all persons in the world possess the best right\nto do so, as having neither parents, or husband, or children, or any\non earth who depend on my care. Yea, it is true,\" she added, fixing\nher eyes on Muriel's composed, but oh how sorrowful, countenance,\n\"none dependent on my care, albeit some very dear to me, and which\nhang on me, and I on them, in the way of fond affection. God knoweth\nmy heart, and that it is very closely and tenderly entwined about each\none in this house. Good Mr. Congleton and your dear mother, who hath\nclung to me so long, though I thank God not so much of late by reason\nof the weakening of her mind, which hath ceased greatly to notice\nchanges about her, and you, Constance, my good child, since your\ncoming hither a little lass commended to my keeping. . . . .\" There\nshe stopped; and I felt she could not name Muriel, or then so much as\nlook on her; for if ever two souls were bound together by an\nunperishable bond of affection, begun on earth to last in heaven,\ntheirs were so united. I ween Muriel was already acquainted with her\npurpose, for she asked no questions thereon; whereas I exclaimed, \"I\ndo very well know, good Mistress Ward, what perils you do run in this\ncharitable enterprise; but wherefore, I pray you, this final manner of\nparting? God's providence may shield you from harm in this passage,\nand, indeed, human probability should lead us to hope for your safety\nif becoming precautions be observed. Then why, I say, this certain\nfarewell?\"\n\n\"Because,\" she answered, \"whatever comes of this night's enterprise, I\nreturn not to this house.\"\n\n\"And wherefore not?\" I cried; \"this is indeed a cruel resolve, a hard\nmisfortune.\"\n\n\"Heretofore,\" she answered, \"I had noways offended against the laws of\nthe country, except in respect {316} of recusancy, wherein all here\nare alike involved; but by mine act tonight I do expose myself to so\nserious a charge (conscience obliging me to prefer the law of divine\ncharity to that of human authority), that I may at any time and\nwithout the least hope of mercy be exposed to detection and\napprehension; and so am resolved not to draw down sorrow and obloquy\non the gray hairs of my closest friends and on your young years such\nperils as I do willingly in mine own person incur, but would not have\nothers to be involved in. Therefore I will lodge, leastwise for a\ntime, with one who feareth not any more than I do persecution, who\nhath no ties and little or nothing on earth to lose, and if she had\nwould willingly yield it a thousand times over for to save a soul for\nwhom Christ died. Nor will I have you privy, my dear children, to the\nplace of mine abode, that if questioned on it you may with truth aver\nyourselves to be ignorant thereof. And now,\" she said, turning to me,\n\"is Mr. Sherwood willing for to try to escape by the same means as Mr.\nWatson? for methinks I have found a way to convey to him a cord, and,\nby means of the management he knoweth of instructions how to use it.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" I answered, \"he will not himself avail himself of this means,\nalbeit he is much rejoiced you have it in hand for Mr. Watson's\ndeliverance from his tormentors; and he doth pray fervently for it to\nsucceed.\"\n\n\"Everything promiseth well,\" she replied. \"I dealt this day with an\nhonest Catholic boatman, a servant of Mr. Hodgson, who is willing to\nassist in it. Two men are needed for to row the boat with so much\nspeed as shall be necessary to carry it quickly beyond reach of\npursuers. He knoweth none of his own craft which should be reliable or\nelse disposed to risk the enterprise; but he says at a house of resort\nfor Catholics which he doth frequent, he chanced to fall in with a\nyoung gentleman, lately landed from France, whom he doth make sure\nwill lend his aid in it. As dextrous a man,\" he saith, \"to handle an\noar, and of as courageous a spirit, as can be found in England.\"\n\nAs soon as she had uttered these words, I thought of what Hubert had\nsaid touching a report of Basil being in London and of his rashness in\nplunging into dangers; a cold shiver ran through me. \"Did he tell you\nthis gentleman's name?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" she answered, \"he would not mention it; but only that he was one\nwho could be trusted with the lives of ten thousand persons, and so\nzealous a Catholic he would any day risk his life to do some good\nservice to a priest.\"\n\n\"And hath this boatman promised,\" I inquired, \"to wait for Mr. Watson\nand convey him away?\"\n\n\"Yea, most strictly,\" she answered, \"at twelve o'clock of the night he\nand his companion shall approach a boat to the side of some\nscaffolding which lieth under the wall of the prison; and when the\nclock of the tower striketh, Mr. Watson shall open his window, the\nbars of which he hath found it possible to remove, and by means of the\ncord, which is of the length he measured should be necessary, he will\nlet himself down on the planks, whence he can step into the boat, and\nbe carried to a place of concealment in a close part of the city till\nit shall be convenient for him to cross the sea to France.\"\n\n\"Must you go?\" I said, seeing her rise, and feeling a dull hard\nheaviness at my heart which did well-nigh impede my utterance. I was\nnot willing to let her know the fear I had conceived; \"of what use\nshould it be,\" I inwardly argued, \"to disturb her in the discharge of\nher perilous task by a surmise which might prove groundless; and,\nindeed, were it certainly true, could she, nay, would she, alter her\nintent, or could I so much as ask her to do it?\" Whilst, with Muriel's\nassistance, she concluded the packing of her basket, wherein the\nweighty cord was concealed in an ingenious {317} manner, I stood by\nwatching the doing of it, fearing to see her depart, yet unable to\nthink of any means by which to delay that which I could not, even if I\nhad willed it, prevent. When the last contents were placed in the\nbasket, and Muriel was pressing down the lid, I said: \"Do you,\nperadventure, know the name of the inn where you said that gentleman\ndoth tarry which the boatman spake of?\"\n\n\"No,\" she replied; \"nor so much as where the good boatman himself\nlodgeth. I met with him at Mr. Hodgson's house, and there made this\nagreement.\"\n\n\"But if,\" I said, \"it should happen by any reason that Mr. Watson\nchanged his mind, how should you, then, inform him of it?\"\n\n\"In that case,\" she answered, \"he would hang a white kerchief outside\nhis window, by which they should be advertised to withdraw themselves.\nAnd now,\" she added, \"I have always been of the way of thinking that\nfarewells should be brief; and 'God speed you,' and 'God bless you,'\nenough for those which do hope, if it shall please God, on earth, but\nfor a surety in heaven, to meet again.\"\n\nSo, kissing us both somewhat hurriedly, she took up her basket on her\narm, and said she should send a messenger on the morrow for her\nclothes; at which Muriel, for the first time, shed some tears, which\nwas an instance of what I have often noticed, that grief, howsoever\nheavy, doth not always overflow in the eyes unless some familiar words\nor homely circumstance doth substantiate the verity of a sorrow known\nindeed, but not wholly apparent till its common effects be seen. Then\nwe two sat awhile alone in that empty chamber--empty of her which for\nso long years had tenanted it to our no small comfort and benefit.\nWhen the light waned, Muriel lit a candle, and said she must go for to\nattend on her mother, for that duty did now devolve chiefly on her;\nand I could see in her sad but composed face the conquering peace\nwhich doth exceed all human consolation.\n\nFor mine own part, I was so unhinged by doubtful suspense that I\nlacked ability to employ my mind in reading or my fingers in\nstitch-work; and so descended for relief into the garden, where I\nwandered to and fro like an uneasy ghost, seeking rest but finding\nnone. The dried shaking leaves made a light noise in falling, which\ncaused me each time to think I heard a footstep behind me. And despite\nthe increasing darkness, after I had paced up and down for near unto\nan hour, some one verily did come walking along the alley where I was,\nseeking to overtake me. Turning round I perceived it to be mine own\ndear aged friend, Mr. Roper. Oh, what great comfort I experienced in\nthe sight of this good man! How eager was my greeting of him! How full\nmy heart as I poured into his ear the narrative of the passages which\nhad befallen me since we had met! Of the most weighty he knew\nsomewhat; but nothing of the last haunting fear I had lest my dear\nBasil should be in London, and this very night engaged in the perilous\nattempt to carry off Mr. Watson. When I told him of it, he started and\nexclaimed:\n\n\"God defend it!\" but quickly corrected himself and cried, \"God's\nmercy, that my first feeling should have led me to think rather of\nBasil's safety than of the fine spirit he showed in all instances\nwhere a good action had to be done, or a service rendered to those in\naffliction.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Mr. Roper,\" I said, as he led me back to the house and into\nthe solitary parlor (where my uncle now seldom came, but remained\nsitting alone in his library, chiefly engaged in praying and reading),\n\"I do condemn mine own weakness in this, and pray God to give me\nstrength for what may come upon us; but I do promise you 'tis no easy\nmatter to carry always so high a heart that it shall not sink with\nhuman fears and griefs in such passages as these.\"\n\n{318}\n\n\"My dear,\" the good man answered, \"God knoweth 'tis no easy matter to\nattain to the courage you speak of. I have myself seen the sweetest,\nthe lovingest, and the most brave creature which ever did breathe give\nmarks of extraordinary sorrow when her father, that generous martyr of\nChrist, was to die.\"\n\n\"I pray you tell me,\" I answered, \"what her behavior was like in that\ntrial; for to converse on such themes doth allay somewhat the torment\nof suspense, and I may learn lessons from her example, who, you say,\njoined to natural weakness so courageous a spirit in like straits.\"\n\nUpon which he, willing to divert and yet not violently change the\ncurrent of my thoughts, spake as followeth:\n\n\"On the day when Sir Thomas More came from Westminster to the\nTower-ward, my wife, desirous to see her father, whom she thought she\nshould never see in this world after, and also to have his final\nblessing, gave attendance about the wharf where she knew he should\npass before he could enter into the Tower. As soon as she saw him,\nafter his blessing upon her knees reverently received, hastening\ntoward him without care or consideration of herself, passing in\namongst the throng and company of the guard, she ran to him and took\nhim about the neck and kissed him; who, well liking her most natural\nand dear daughterly affection toward him, gave her his fatherly\nblessing and godly words of comfort beside; from whom, after she was\ndeparted, not satisfied with the former sight of him, and like one\nthat had forgotten herself, being all ravished with the entire love of\nher father, suddenly turned back again, ran to him as before, took him\nabout the neck, and divers times kissed him lovingly, till at last,\nwith a full and heavy heart, she was fain to depart from him; the\nbeholding thereof was to many that were present so lamentable, and\nmostly so to me, that for very sorrow we could not forbear to weep\nwith her. The wife of John Harris, Sir Thomas's secretary, was moved\nto such a transport of grief, that she suddenly flew to his neck and\nkissed him, as he had reclined his head on his daughter's shoulder;\nand he who, in the midst of the greatest straits, had ever a merry\nmanner of speaking, cried, 'This is kind, albeit rather unpolitely\ndone.'\"\n\n\"And the day he suffered,\" I asked, \"what was this good daughter's\nbehavior?\"\n\n\"She went,\" quoth he, \"to the different churches, and distributed\nabundant alms to the poor. When she had given all her money away, she\nwithdrew to pray in a certain church, where she on a sudden did\nremember she had no linen in which to wrap up her father's body. She\nhad heard that the remains of the Bishop of Rochester had been thrown\ninto the ground, without priest, cross, lights, or shroud, for the\ndread of the king had prevented his relations from attempting to bury\nhim. But Margaret resolved her father's body should not meet with such\nunchristian treatment. Her maid advised her to buy some linen in the\nnext shop, albeit having given away all her money to the poor, there\nwas no likelihood she should get credit from strangers. She ventured,\nhowsoever, and having agreed about the price, she put her hand in her\npocket, which she knew was empty, to show she forgot the money, and\nask credit under that pretence. But to her surprise, she found in her\npurse the exact price of the linen, neither more or less; and so\nburied the martyr of Christ with honor, nor was there any one so\ninhuman found as to hinder her.\"\n\n\"Mr. Roper,\" I said, when he had ended his recital, \"methinks this\nangelic lady's trial was most hard: but how much harder should it yet\nhave been if you, her husband, had been in a like peril at that time\nas her father?\"\n\n{319}\n\nA half kind of melancholy, half smiling look came into the good old\nman's face as he answered:\n\n\"Her father was Sir Thomas More, and he so worthy of a daughter's\npassionate love, and the affection betwixt them so entire and\nabsolute, compounded of filial love on her part, unmitigated\nreverence, and unrestrained confidence, that there was left in her\nheart no great space for wifely doating. But to be moderately\naffectioned by such a woman, and to stand next in her esteem to her\nincomparable father, was of greater honor and worth to her unworthy\nhusband, than should have been the undivided, yea idolatrous, love of\none not so perfect as herself.\"\n\nAfter a pause, during which his thoughts, I ween, reverted to the\npast, and mine investigated mine own soul, I said to Mr. Roper:\n\n\"Think you, sir, that love to be idolatrous which is indeed so\nabsolute that it should be no difficulty to die for him who doth\ninspire it; which would prefer a prison in his company, howsoever dark\nand loathsome (yea consider it a very paradise), to the beautifullest\npalace in the world, which without him would seem nothing but a vile\ndungeon; which should with a good-will suffer all the torments in the\nworld for to see the object of its affection enjoy good men's esteem\non earth, and a noble place in heaven; but which should be,\nnevertheless, founded and so wholly built up on a high estimate of his\nvirtues; on the quality he holdeth of God's servant; on the likeness\nof Christ stamped on his soul, and each day exemplified in his manner\nof living, that albeit to lose his love or his company in this world\nshould be like the uprooting of all happiness and turning the\nbrightness of noonday to the darkness of the night, it should a\nthousand times rather endure this mishap than that the least shade or\napproach of a stain should alter the unsullied opinion till then held\nof his perfections?\"\n\nMr. Roper smiled, and said that was a too weighty question to answer\nat once; for he should be loth to condemn or yet altogether to absolve\nfrom some degree of overweeningness such an affection as I described,\nwhich did seem indeed to savor somewhat of excess; but yet if noble in\nits uses and held in subjection to the higher claims of the Creator,\nwhose perfections the creature doth at best only imperfectly mirror,\nit might be commendable and a means of attaining ourselves to the like\nvirtues we doated on in another.\n\nAs he did utter these words a servant came into the parlor, and\nwhispered in mine ear:\n\n\"Master Basil Rookwood is outside the door, and craves--\"\n\nI suffered him not to finish his speech, but bounded into the hall,\nwhere Basil was indeed standing with a traveller's cloak on him, and a\nslouched hat over his face. After such a greeting as may be conceived\n(alas, all greetings then did seem to combine strange admixtures of\njoy and pain!), I led him into the parlor, where Mr. Roper in his turn\nreceived him with fatherly words of kindness mixed with amazement at\nhis return.\n\n\"And whence,\" he exclaimed, \"so sudden a coming, my good Basil?\nVerily, you do appear to have descended from the skies!\"\n\nBasil looked at me and replied: \"I heard in Paris, Mr. Roper, that a\ngentleman in whom I do take a very lively interest, one Mr. Tunstall,\nwas in prison at London; and I bethought me I could be of some service\nto him by coming over at this time.\"\n\n\"O Basil,\" I cried, \"do you then know he is my father?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" he joyfully answered, \"and I am right glad you do know it also,\nfor then there is no occasion for any feigning, which, albeit I deny\nit not to be sometimes useful and necessary, doth so ill agree with my\nbluntness, that it keepeth me in constant fear of stumbling in my\nspeech. I was in a manner forced to come over secretly; because if Sir\nHenry Stafford, who willeth me to remain abroad till I have {320} got\nout of my wardship, should hear of my being in London, and gain scent\nof the object of my coming, he should have dealt in all sorts of ways\nto send me out of it. But, prithee, dearest love, is Mrs. Ward in this\nhouse?\"\n\n\"Alas!\" I said, \"she is gone hence. Her mind is set on a very\ndangerous enterprise.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" he saith (at which word my heart began to sink); \"but,\nverily, I see not much danger to be in it; and methinks if we do\nsucceed in carrying off your good father and that other priest\nto-night in the ingenious manner she hath devised, it will be the best\nnight's work done by good heads, good arms, and good oars which can be\nthought of.\"\n\n\"Oh, then,\" I exclaimed, \"it is even as I feared, and you, Basil, have\nengaged in this rash enterprise. O woe the day you came to London, and\nmet with that boatman!\"\n\n\"Constance,\" he said reproachfully, \"should it be a woful day to thee\nthe one on which, even at some great risk, which I deny doth exist in\nthis instance, I should aid in thy father's rescue?\"\n\n\"Oh, but, my dear Basil,\" I cried, \"he doth altogether refuse to stir\nin this matter. I have had speech with him to-day, and he will by no\nmeans attempt to escape again from prison. He hath done it once for\nthe sake of a soul in jeopardy; but only to save his life, he is\nresolved not to involve others in peril of theirs. And oh, how\nconfirmed he would be in his purpose if he knew who it was who doth\nthrow himself into so great a risk! I' faith, I cannot and will not\nsuffer it!\" I exclaimed impetuously, for the sudden joy of his\npresence, the sight of his beloved countenance, lighted up with an\ninexpressible look of love and kindness, more beautiful than my poor\nwords can describe, worked in me a rebellion against the thought of\nmore suffering, further parting, greater fears than I had hitherto\nsustained.\n\nHe said, \"He could wish my father had been otherwise disposed, for to\nhave aided in his escape should have been to him the greatest joy he\ncould think of; but that having promised likewise to assist in Mr.\nWatson's flight, he would never fail to do so, if he was to die for\nit.\"\n\n\"'Tis very easy,\" I cried, \"to speak of dying, Basil, nor do I doubt\nthat to one of your courage and faith the doing of it should have\nnothing very terrible in it. But I pray you remember that that life,\nwhich you make so little account of, is not now yours alone to dispose\nof as you list. Mine, dear Basil, is wrapped up with it; for if I lose\nyou, I care not to live, or what becomes of me, any more.\"\n\nMr. Roper said he should think on it well before he made this venture;\nfor, as I had truly urged, I had a right over him now, and he should\nnot dispose of himself as one wholly free might do.\n\n\"Dear sir,\" quoth he in answer, \"my sweet Constance and you also might\nperhaps have prevailed with me some hours ago to forego this\nintention, before I had given a promise to Mr. Hodgson's boatman, and\nthrough him to Mistress Ward and Mr. Watson; I should then have been\nfree to refuse my assistance if I had listed; and albeit methinks in\nso doing I should have played a pitiful part, none could justly have\ncondemned me. But I am assured neither her great heart nor your\nhonorable spirit would desire me so much as to place in doubt the\nfulfilment of a promise wherein the safety of a man, and he one of\nGod's priests, is concerned. I pray thee, sweetheart, say thou wouldst\nnot have me do it.\"\n\nAlas! this was the second time that day my poor heart had been called\nupon to raise itself higher than nature can afford to reach. But the\npresent struggle was harder than the first. My father had long been to\nme as a distant angel, severed from my daily life and any future hope\nin this world. His was an expectant martyrdom, an exile from his true\nhome, a daily {321} dying on earth, tending but to one desired end.\nNature could be more easily reconciled in the one case than in the\nother to thoughts of parting. Basil was my all, my second self, my\nsole treasure,--the prop on which rested youth's hopes, earth's joys,\nlife's sole comfort; and chance (as it seemed, and men would have\ncalled it), not a determined seeking, had thrust on him this danger,\nand I must needs see him plunged into it, and not so much as say a\nword to stay him or prevent it. . . . . I was striving to constrain my\nlips to utter the words my rebelling heart disavowed, and he kneeling\nbefore me, with his dear eyes fixed on mine, awaiting my consent, when\na loud noise of laughter in the hall caused us both to start up, and\nthen the door was thrown open, and Kate and Polly ran into the room so\ngaily attired, the one in a yellow and the other in a crimson gown\nbedecked with lace and jewels, that nothing finer could be seen.\n\n\"Lackaday!\" Polly cried, when she perceived Basil; \"who have we here?\nI scarce can credit mine eyes! Why, Sir Lover, methought you were in\nFrance. By what magic come you here? Mr. Roper, your humble servant.\n'Tis like you did not expect so much good company to-night, Con, for\nyou have but one poor candle or two to light up this dingy room, and I\nfear there will not be light enough for these gentlemen to see our\nfine dresses, which we do wear for the first time at Mrs. Yates's\nhouse this evening.\"\n\n\"I thought you were both in the country,\" I said, striving to disguise\nhow much their coming did discompose me.\n\n\"Methinks,\" answered Polly, laughing, \"your wish was father to that\nthought, Con, and that you desired to have the company of this fine\ngentleman to yourself alone, and Mr. Roper's also, and no one else for\nto disturb you. But, in good sooth, we were both at Mr. Benham's seat\nin Berkshire when we heard of this good entertainment at so great a\nfriend's house, and so prevailed on our lords and governors for to\nhire a coach and bring us to London for one night. We lie at Kate's\nhouse, and she and I have supped on a cold capon and a veal pie we\nbrought with us, and Sir Ralph and Mr. Lacy do sup at a tavern in the\nStrand, and shall fetch us here when it shall be convenient to them to\ncarry us to this grand ball, which I would not have missed, no, not\nfor all the world. So I pray you let us be merry till they do come,\nand pass the time pleasantly.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Kate, in a lamentable voice, \"you would force me to dress\nand go abroad, when I would sooner be at home; for John's stomach is\ndisordered, and baby doth cut her teeth, and he pulled at my ribbons\nand said I should not leave him; and beshrew me if I would have done\nso, but for your overpersuading me. But you are always so absolute! I\nwonder you love not more to stay at home, Polly.\"\n\nBasil smiled with a better heart than I could do, and said he would\npromise her John should sleep never the less well for her absence, and\nshe should find baby's tooth through on the morrow; and sitting down\nby her side, talked to her of her children with a kindliness which\nnever did forsake him. Mr. Roper set himself to converse with Polly; I\nween for to shield me from the torrent of her words, which, as I sat\nbetween them, seemed to buzz in mine ear without any meaning; and yet\nI must needs have heard them, for to this day I remember what they\ntalked of;--that Polly said, \"Have you seen the ingenious poesy which\nthe queen's saucy godson, the merry wit Harrington, left behind her\ncushion on Wednesday, and now 'tis in every one's hands?\"\n\n\"Not in mine,\" quoth Mr. Roper; \"so, if your memory doth serve you,\nLady Ingoldsby, will you rehearse it?\" which she did as follows; and\nalbeit I only did hear those lines {322} that once, they still remain\nin my mind:\n\n  \"For ever dear, for ever dreaded prince,\n  You read a verse of mine a little since,\n  And so pronounced each word and every letter,\n  Your gracious reading graced my verse the better;\n  Sith then your highness doth by gift exceeding\n  Make what you read the better for your reading,\n  Let my poor muse your pains thus far importune,\n  Like as you read my verse--so read my fortune!\"\n\n\"Tis an artful and witty petition,\" Mr. Roper observed; \"but I have\nbeen told her majesty mislikes the poet's satirical writings, and\nchiefly the metamorphosis of Ajax.\"\n\n\"She signified,\" Polly answered, \"some outward displeasure at it, but\nRobert Markham affirms she likes well the marrow of the book, and is\nminded to take the author to her favor, but sweareth she believes he\nwill make epigrams on her and all her court. Howsoever, I do allow she\nconceived much disquiet on being told he had aimed a shaft at\nLeicester. By the way, but you, cousin Constance, should best know the\ntruth thereon\" (this she said turning to me), \"'tis said that Lord\nArundel is exceeding sick again, and like to die very soon. Indeed his\nphysicians are of opinion, so report speaketh, that he will not last\nmany days now, for as often as he hath rallied before.\"\n\n\"Yesterday,\" I said, \"when I saw Lady Surrey, he was no worse than\nusual.\"\n\n\"Oh, have you heard,\" Polly cried, running from one theme to another,\nas was her wont, \"that Leicester is about to marry Lettice Knollys, my\nLady Essex?\"\n\n\"'Tis impossible,\" Basil exclaimed, who was now listening to her\nspeeches, for Kate had finished her discourse touching her Johnny's\ndisease in his stomach. The cause thereof, she said, both herself\nthought, and all in Mr. Benham's house did judge to have been, the\ntaking in the morning a confection of barley sodden with water and\nsugar, and made exceeding thick with bread. This breakfast lost him\nboth his dinner and supper, and surely the better half of his sleep;\nbut God be thanked, she hoped now the worst was past, and that the\ndear urchin would shortly be as merry and well-disposed as afore he\nleft London. Basil said he hoped so too; and in a pause which ensued,\nhe heard Polly speak of Lord Leicester's intended marriage, which\nseemed to move him to some sort of indignation, the cause of which I\nonly learnt many years later; for that when Lady Douglas Howard's\ncause came before the Star-Chamber, in his present majesty's reign, he\ntold me he had been privy, through information received in France, of\nher secret marriage with that lord.\n\n\"'Tis not impossible,\" Polly retorted, \"by the same token that the new\nfavorite, young Robert Devereux, maketh no concealment of it, and\ncalleth my Lord Leicester his father elect. But I pray you, what is\nimpossible in these days? Oh, I think they are the most whimsical,\nentertaining days which the world hath ever known; and the merriest,\nif people have a will to make them so.\"\n\n\"Oh, Polly,\" I cried, unable to restrain myself, \"I pray God you may\nnever find cause to change your mind thereon.\"\n\n\"Yea, amen to that prayer,\" quoth she; \"I'll promise you, my grave\nlittle coz, that I have no mind to be sad till I grow old--and there\nbe yet some years to come before that shall befall me. When Mistress\nHelen Ingoldsby shall reach to the height of my shoulder, then,\nmethinks, I may begin to take heed unto my ways. What think you the\nlittle wench said to me yesterday? 'What times is it we do conform to,\nmother? dinner-times or bed-times?'\" \"She should have been answered,\n'The devil's times,'\" Basil muttered; and Kate told Polly she should\nbe ashamed to speak in her father's house of the conformity she\npractised when others were suffering for their religion. {323} And,\nmethought, albeit I had scarcely endured the jesting which had\npreceded it, I could less bear any talk of religion, least-ways of\nthat kind, just then. But, in sooth, the constraint I suffered almost\noverpassed my strength. There appeared no hope of their going, and\nthey fell into an eager discourse concerning the bear-baiting they had\nbeen to see in Berkshire, and a great sort of ban-dogs, which had been\ntied in an outer court, let loose on thirteen bears that were baited\nin the inner; and my dear Basil, who doth delight in all kinds of\nsports, listened eagerly to the description they gave of this\ndiversion. Oh, how I counted the minutes! what a pressure weighted my\nheart! how the sound of their voices pained mine ears! how long an\nhour seemed! and yet too short for my desires, for I feared the time\nmust soon come when Basil should go, and lamented that these\nunthinking women's tarrying should rob me of all possibility to talk\nwith him alone. Howsoever, when Mr. Roper rose to depart, I followed\nhim into the hall and waited near the door for Basil, who was bidding\nfarewell to Kate and Polly. I heard him beseech them to do him so much\nfavor as not to mention they had seen him; for that he had not\ninformed Sir Henry Stafford of his coming over from France, which if\nhe heard of it otherwise than from himself, it should peradventure\noffend him. They laughed, and promised to be as silent as graves\nthereon; and Polly said he had learnt French fashions she perceived,\nand taken lessons in wooing from mounseer; but she hoped his stealthy\nvisit should in the end prove more conformable to his desires than\nmounseer's had done. At last they let him go; and Mr. Roper, who had\nwaited for him, wrung his hand, and the manner of his doing it made my\neyes overflow. I turned my face away, but Basil caught both my hands\nin his and said, \"Be of good cheer, sweetheart. I have not words\nwherewith to express how much I love thee, but God knoweth it is very\ndearly.\"\n\n\"O Basil! mine own dear Basil,\" I murmured, laying my forehead on his\ncoat-sleeve, and could not then utter another word. Ere I lifted it\nagain, the hall-door opened, and who, I pray you, should I then see\n(with more affright, I confess, than was reasonable) but Hubert? My\nvoice shook as he said to Basil, whose back was turned from the door,\n\"Here is your brother.\"\n\n\"Ah, Hubert!\" he exclaimed; \"I be glad to see thee!\" and held out his\nhand to him with a frank smile, which the other took, but in the doing\nof it a deadly paleness spread over his face.\n\n\"I have no leisure to tarry so much as one minute,\" Basil said; \"but\nthis sweet lady will tell thee what weighty reasons I have for\npresently remaining concealed; and so farewell, my dear love, and\nfarewell, my good brother. Be, I pray you, my bedes-woman this night,\nConstance; and you too, Hubert,--if you do yet say your prayers like a\ngood Christian, which I pray God you do,--mind you say an ave for me\nbefore you sleep.\"\n\nWhen the door closed on him I sunk down on a chair, and hid my face\nwith my hands.\n\n\"You have not told him anything?\" Hubert whispered; and I, \"God help\nyou, Hubert! he hath come to London for this very matter, and hath\nalready, I fear, albeit not in any way that shall advantage my father,\nyet in seeking to assist him, run himself into danger of death, or\nleastways banishment.\"\n\nAs I said this mine eyes raised themselves toward him; and I would\nthey had not, for I saw in his visage an expression I have tried these\nmany years to forget, but which sometimes even now comes back to me\npainfully.\n\n\"I told you so,\" he answered. \"He hath an invariable aptness to miss\nhis aim, and to hurt himself by the shafts he looseth. What plan hath\nhe now formed, and what shall come of it?\"\n\n{324}\n\nBut, somewhat recovered from my surprise, I bethought myself it\nshould not be prudent, albeit I grieved to think so, to let him know\nwhat sort of enterprise it was Basil had in hand; so I did evade his\nquestion, which indeed he did not show himself very careful to have\nanswered. He said he was yet dealing with Sir Francis Walsingham, and\nhad hopes of success touching my father's liberation, and so prayed me\nnot to yield to despondency; but it would take time to bring matters\nto a successful issue, and patience was greatly needed, and likewise\nprudence toward that end. He requested me very urgently to take no\nother steps for the present in his behalf, which might ruin all. And\nabove all things not to suffer Basil to come forward in it, for that\nhe had made himself obnoxious to Sir Francis by speeches which he had\nused, and which some one had reported to him, touching Lady Ridley's\ncompliance with his (Sir Francis's) request that she should have a\nminister in her house for to read Protestant prayers to her household,\nalbeit herself, being bedridden, did not attend; and if he should now\nstir in this matter, all hope would be at an end. So he left me, and I\nreturned to the parlor, and Kate and Polly declared my behavior to\nthem not to be over and above civil; but they supposed when folks were\nin love, they had a warrant to treat their friends as they pleased.\nThen finding me very dull and heavy, I ween, they bethought themselves\nat the last of going to visit their mother in her bed, and paying\ntheir respects to their father, whom they found asleep in his chair,\nhis prayer-book, with which he was engaged most of the day, lying open\nby his side. Polly kissed his forehead, and then the picture of our\nBlessed Lady in the first page of this much-used volume; which sudden\nacts of hers comforted me not a little.\n\nMuriel came out of her mother's chamber to greet them, but would not\nsuffer them to see her at this unexpected time, for that the least\nchange in her customable habits disordered her; and then whispered to\nme that she had often asked for Mistress Ward, and complained of her\nabsence.\n\nAt the last Sir Ralph came, but not Mr. Lacy, who he said was tired\nwith his long ride, and had gone home to bed. Thereupon Kate began to\nweep; for she said she would not go without him to this fine ball, for\nit was an unbecoming thing for a woman to be seen abroad when her\nhusband was at home, and a thing she had not yet done, nor did intend\nto do. But that it was a very hard thing she should have been at the\npains to dress herself so handsomely, and not so much as one person to\nsee her in this fine suit; and she wished she had not been so foolish\nas to be persuaded to it, and that Polly was very much to blame\ntherein. At the which, \"I' faith, I think so too,\" Polly exclaimed;\n\"and I wish you had stayed in the country, my dear.\"\n\nKate's pitiful visage and whineful complaint moved me, in my then\napprehensive humor, to an unmerry but not to be resisted fit of\nlaughter, which she did very much resent; but I must have laughed or\ndied, and yet it made me angry to hear her utter such lamentations who\nhad no true cause for displeasure.\n\nWhen they were gone,--she, still shedding tears, in a chair Sir Ralph\nsent for to convey her to Gray's Inn Lane, and he and Polly in their\ncoach to Mrs. Yates's,--the relief I had from their absence proved so\ngreat that at first it did seem to ease my heart. I went slowly up to\nmine own chamber, and stood there a while at the casement looking at\nthe quiet sky above and the unquiet city beneath it, and chiefly in\nthe distant direction where I knew the prison to be, picturing to\nmyself my father in his bare cell. Mistress Ward regaining her obscure\nlodging, Mr. Watson's dangerous descent, and mostly the boat which\nBasil was to row,--that boat freighted with so perilous a burthen.\nThese scenes seemed to rise before mine eyes as I remained motionless,\nstraining {325} their sight to pierce the darkness of the night and of\nthe fog which hung over the town. When the clock struck twelve, a\nshiver ran through me, for I thought of the like striking at Lynn\nCourt, and what had followed. Upon which I betook myself to my\nprayers, and thinking on Basil, said, \"Speak for him, O Blessed Virgin\nMary! Entreat for him, O ye apostles! Make intercession for him, all\nye martyrs! Pray for him, all ye confessors and all ye company of\nheaven, that my prayers for him may take effect before our Lord Jesus\nChrist!\" Then my head waxed heavy with sleep, and I sank on the\ncushion of my kneeling-stool. I wot not for how many hours I slumbered\nin this wise; but I know I had some terrible dreams.\n\nWhen I awoke it was daylight. A load knocking at the door of the house\nhad aroused me. Before I had well bethought me where I was, Muriel's\nwhite face appeared at my door. The pursuivants, she said, were come\nto seek for Mistress Ward.\n\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED.]\n\n------\n\nFrom The Literary Workman.\n\nFACTS AND FICTIONS ABOUT ROME.\n\nBY THE VERY REV. DR. NORTHCOTE.\n\n\nTHE ROMAN PEOPLE.\n\nIt is a relief to turn from the dull, stupid, false witness of our own\ncountrymen to the more lively but not less malicious falsehoods of the\nclever Frenchman, Monsieur About. He deserves a higher rank, too, in\nthe scale of truthfulness as well as of talent than either Mr. Fullom\nor Dean Alford; but on this very account he is the more dangerous\nenemy. He handles his pen well, and he has the fatal gift of\ninsinuating the poison he wishes to administer in the minutest\nquantities, but with consummate skill. Often it is contained in a\nsingle word or phrase, dropped apparently at random. Sometimes you can\nhardly point out a single statement that is really false, yet a\ncertain tone and flavor pervades the whole which you feel to be\nunjust, and which is all the more injurious because of its extreme\nsubtlety and the difficulty of providing an antidote. An air of\nmoderation is thus imparted to his book, which, if we may judge by its\nrarity, it is not easy to maintain when writing upon this subject He\ndoes not paint either the Pope or his people all black, but sees much\nto commend both in the system and the results of the government.\nIndeed, some of his descriptions are, in our judgment, as just as they\nare graphic. Take, for example, the following description of the lower\norders of the Roman people, the genuine _plebs_:\n\n\"The noble strangers who do Rome in their carriages are but slightly\nacquainted with the little world of which I am going to speak, or more\nprobably form a very false judgment about them. They remember to have\nbeen worried to death by blustering _facchini_ (porters) and followed\nby indefatigable beggars. They saw nothing but hands open to receive;\nthey heard nothing but harsh voices screaming forth a petition for\nalms. Behind this curtain of mendacity are concealed nearly a hundred\nthousand persons who are poor without being idle, and who labor hard\nfor a scanty supply of {326} daily bread. The gardeners and\nvine-dressers who cultivate part of the environs of Rome; workmen,\nartizans, servants, coachmen, studio models, peddlers, honest\nvagabonds who wait for their supper on some miracle of Providence or\nsome lucky chance in the lottery, compose the majority of the\npopulation. They manage to struggle through the winter, when visitors\nsow manna over the land; in summer they starve. Many are too proud to\nask for an alms, not one of them is rich enough to refuse it, if\noffered. Ignorant and curious; simple, yet subtle; sensitive to\nexcess, yet without much dignity; extremely prudent in the main, yet\ncapable of the most outrageous pieces of imprudence; going to extremes\nboth in devotedness and in hate; easy to move, difficult to convince;\nmore susceptible of feelings than of ideas; sober by habit, terrible\nwhen intoxicated; sincere in practices of devotion the moat _outr\u00e9_,\nbut as ready to quarrel with the saints as with men; persuaded that\nthey have but little to hope for in this life; comforted from time to\ntime by the prospect of a better, they live in a state of quiet,\ngrumbling resignation under a paternal government which gives them\nbread when there is bread to give. The inequalities of rank, which are\nmore conspicuous in Rome than in Paris (?), do not move them to\nhatred. They are satisfied with the mediocrity of their lot, and\ncongratulate themselves that there are rich men in the world, that so\nthe poor may have benefactors. No people are less capable of managing\nthemselves, so that they are easily led by the first who presents\nhimself. They have borne a part in all the Roman revolutions, and many\nhave acquitted themselves manfully in the fight without having the\nleast idea what it was about. They trusted so little to the republic\nthat, in the absence of all the authorities, when the Holy Father and\nthe Sacred College had taken refuge at Gaeta, thirty poor families\nquartered themselves in Cardinal Antonelli's palace, without breaking\na single pane of glass. The restoration of the Pope, under the\nprotection of a foreign army, was no matter of astonishment to them;\nthey had expected it as a happy event which would restore public\ntranquillity. They live at peace with our soldiers, when the latter do\nnothing against the peace or honor of their households; and the\noccupation of their city by a foreign army does not trouble them,\nexcept when they are personally inconvenienced by it. They are not\nafraid to plunge a dagger into the breast of a conqueror, but I will\nanswer for their never celebrating any Sicilian Vespers.\n\n\"They pride themselves on their descent in a direct line from the\nRomans of great Rome; and these harmless pretensions seem to me to\nhave a very tolerable foundation. Like their ancestors, they eat\nlargely of bread, and are very greedy after sights; they treat their\nwives simply as women, not leaving a single farthing at their\ndisposal, but spending it all on themselves; every one of them is the\nclient of some client of a patrician. They are well-built, strong, and\nable to deal such a blow as would astonish a buffalo; but there is not\none of them who is not on the lookout for some means of living without\nwork. Excellent workmen when they haven't a farthing, impossible to be\ngot hold of as soon as they have a crown in their pockets; good,\nhonest, kindly, and simple-hearted folks, but thoroughly convinced of\ntheir superiority to the rest of mankind. Economical to the last\ndegree, and living on dry peas, until they can find some splendid\noccasion for spending all their savings in a day; they gather _sous_\nby _sous_, two or three pounds in the course of the year, to hire the\nbalcony of some prince at the carnival, or to show themselves in a\ncarriage at the feast _del Divin 'Amore_, It is thus the Roman\npopulace forget both the future and the past in _Saturnalia_. The\nhereditary want of forethought which possesses {327} them may be\nexplained by the irregularity of their resources, the periodical\nreturn of _festas_ which exempt them from labor, and the impossibility\nof raising themselves to any higher condition, save by the\nintervention of a miracle. They are deficient in many virtues, and,\namongst others, in refinement, which formed no part of the inheritance\nto which they have succeeded. That in which they certainly are _not_\ndeficient is dignity and self-respect. They never demean themselves to\nlow, coarse jokes, or vulgar debauchery. You will never see them\ninsult a gentleman in the streets, unprovoked, or speak an offensive\nword to a woman. That class of degraded beings which we call the\n_canaille_ is absolutely unknown here; the _ignoble_ is not a Roman\ncommodity.\"\n\nHere is another testimony of a similar kind, from the same pen, to the\ncharacter of one particular class of the Roman people, the\nTrastevirni, or people who dwell on the northern side of the Tiber. M.\nAbout invites his readers to accompany him to one of the _osterie_ or\npublic houses of the quarter where blacksmiths, and shoemakers, and\nweavers, and hackney-coachmen, etc, together with their wives and\ndaughters, resort on Sunday, to enjoy a better dinner and a more\ngenerous flask of wine than they can afford themselves during the\nweek. The entrance is not inviting, and there are not many foreigners,\nor English gentlemen either, who would like to venture, as a mere\nmatter of curiosity, and without any pressing necessity, into the\ncorresponding establishments of either France or England. M. About is\nwell aware of this, so he encourages his readers, bidding them fear\nnothing; \"you shall dine well,\" he says, \"and nobody shall dine upon\nyou.\"\n\n\"You shall see men here strong as bulls and quite as irascible; men\nwho think as little of giving a blow as you or I of drinking a glass\nof water, and who never strike without having a knife in their hands.\nThe police will be nowhere near to protect us; they are always out of\nthe way. Beside, if you were to offend one of these jolly fellows, he\nwould kill you, though you were in the very arms of the police.\nNevertheless you may come and go in the midst of them, spend lots of\nmoney, pay in gold, make your purse jingle in the hearing of all, and\ngo home after midnight through the darkest streets, without any one\ndreaming of making an attempt on your purse. More than this: we shall\nbe politely received, and they will put themselves out of the way to\nmake room for us. They will not stare at us, as though we were wild\nbeasts; they will even obligingly gratify our curiosity, if it is not\nimpertinent We need not fear that wine will excite them to pick a\nquarrel with us; but woe betide us if we have the misfortune to\nprovoke them. They are not aggressive when they are in liquor, but\nthey are very sensitive. They forgive no offence, even an involuntary\none, if it has exposed them to the raillery of their companions. When\nyou see a woman with her husband, or a girl with her father, put a\nbridle on your eyes. It is often dangerous even to cast a furtive\nglance on a Trasteverina; and I have known more than one instance in\nwhich the offender has paid the penalty with his life.\"\n\nI dare say some of our readers are a little disappointed at the sketch\nof the character of the Roman people which we have given on the\nauthority of M. About. They would rather have heard us say they were\nall good and pious and edifying members of society and of the Church.\nIndeed we have known some zealous souls who expected to find Rome a\nsort of monastery on a large scale, where worldly passions and mortal\nsins were never heard of, except among the hardened and rebellious\nfew; and even the imperfections of ordinary mortals were rarely met\nwith, and assumed some character of special enormity. Rome seems to\nhave the gift which, from the Catholic point of view, {328} we should\nnaturally expect it to have, viz., of stirring the affection of men's\nhearts in their lowest depths more powerfully than in any other place\nin the world. As our divine Master himself was \"set for the ruin as\nwell as for the resurrection of many in Israel, and for a sign which\nshould be contradicted,\" so the capital of his Church upon earth--the\nseat of his vicegerent--that city where his interests take precedence\nof every earthly consideration, and the world is made to wait upon the\nChurch, not the Church upon the world, inspires the strongest possible\nsentiment of love or of hatred into the minds of all; and where these\nfeelings are strong, it is hard to keep the exact balance of impartial\ntruthfulness. What we love intensely, we naturally like to picture to\nourselves as faultless and perfect; and even if we cannot do this--if\nwe are conscious of defects and faults, which cannot be denied, we\nstill wish to conceal them as long as possible from others. What\nbitter hatred and prejudice can do in the way of blinding men's eyes\nand closing men's ears, we have already seen in the melancholy\nexamples of Messrs. Alford and Co.; nor should we have far to seek if\nwe desired to present our readers with specimens of exaggerated praise\ndictated by the partiality of affection. Most of us have probably met\nwith generous enthusiasts, who did not hesitate to prefer Rome to\nEngland, under any conceivable aspect, secular as well as religious,\nand who would think it as much a point of honor to defend the\ncharacter of the Roman soldiers for bravery, the Roman police for\nactivity, the Roman scavengers for efficiency, and the Roman people\nfor industry and honesty, as of the Roman clergy for integrity of\nfaith and purity of morals, and the Roman government for justice\ntempered with clemency. Such persons are very amiable friends, but\nsomewhat embarrassing allies; and writers, very inferior to M. About,\nhave no difficulty in destroying their well-meant but ill-planned\nsystem of defence. M. About himself is much too wise to fall into this\nblunder of unmitigated extravagance, from his side of the question;\nand we have been glad, therefore, to avail ourselves of his clever and\nspirited sketches to lay before our readers what we really believe to\nbe a very tolerable estimate of the true state of the case. It is\ncertainly no article of the faith to believe the Romans to be\nimpeccable, or the Roman character in itself to be the ideal of human\nperfection; and we hope our devotion to the Holy See will not be\ncalled in question for the avowal. We have already quoted the\ntestimony of a Protestant traveller, who acknowledges the\nstrongly-marked character of religion which stamps the whole city of\nRome; but this, of course, is not incompatible with the existence of\nmuch that is evil, against which this religious element is always\ncontending.\n\nWe will add yet one more passage from About, which concerns the\ngeneral character of the country people, rather than of the\ninhabitants of the metropolis. We have spent several months, at\nvarious times, in more than one Italian village, and have been greatly\nedified by the simplicity and piety of the people. They were\nguiltless, for the most part, of any political knowledge even as to\nthe affairs of their own country; and as to any other country beside\ntheir own, it was as far removed from their ordinary range of thoughts\nas Mars, Venus, and Saturn still are from the thoughts of our own\npeasantry. They rose early and worked hard; still, as M. About is\nobliged to acknowledge, one cannot say of them--\"as of the Irish, for\nexample,\" says M. About--\"that they are miserable. They are poor, and\nthat is all. The fact that their religion, their schooling, and their\nmedical attendance costs them nothing, compensates to a certain degree\nfor the heavy taxation they suffer in other ways. Their labor in the\nfields keeps them alive till old age. _They pass their life in earning\ntheir livelihood._ {329} The existence of this class resembles a\nvicious circle.\" No doubt it does to those whose view of things is\nlimited to this world, and who cannot recognize any end or reward of\nthe suffering of this life beyond it. But the Romans, as he himself\nacknowledges, \"know how to die. This is a trait in their character\nwhich justice obliges us to recognize. They die as they eat, or drink,\nor sleep--quite naturally, simply, and as a matter of course. This\nresignation is to be explained by their hopes of a life of happiness\nin an ideal world hereafter, and by the continual admonitions of a\nreligion which teaches that all men must die.\" In other words, the\nRoman peasantry believe the Gospel; and so they accept with patience\nthe primeval burden laid upon fallen man--\"In the sweat of thy face\nshalt thou eat bread till thou return to the earth, out of which thou\nwast taken.\" And for this they earn the contemptuous pity of the\nenlightened Frenchman. We accept his testimony, whilst we disclaim his\ncommentary and detest his spirit. We think he speaks truly when he\nseizes on this characteristic of the Roman popular mind--familiarity\nwith the idea of death. We know of no people to whom this and other\ntruths of the faith seem to be more habitually present. It gives a\ncolor and a tone to their ordinary conversation, even where it does\nnot bring forth fruits of sanctity. We have ourselves heard of a Roman\nlady reconciling herself to a marriage which was proposed to her, and\nwhich in some respects was not inviting, simply by a consideration of\nthe piety of the intended bridegroom; but this consideration found\nexpression in a truly Roman way, quite in keeping with what M. About\nhas observed about them. \"He is not lively, I know,\" said the lady,\n\"nor handsome, nor clever, but he is pious, and _will make a good\nend._\" And in a charming little book lately published (\"Sanctity in\nHome Life\") we see another Italian lady, the Countess Medolago,\nconfiding to a friend her only idea of her future husband much in the\nsame spirit: \"All that I know is that he is pious and very fond of the\nJesuits.\"\n\n\n\nTHE POLITICS OF THE ROMAN PEOPLE.\n\nThe facts we have adduced, the pictures we have drawn--or rather which\nM. About, a bitter enemy of the Papal power, has drawn--of the\ncondition of the Roman people, ought, one would think, to have great\nweight with those who have any real care for the well-being of a\nnation. A man must be firmly wedded indeed to some political crotchet,\nwho is ready to risk the loss of such advantages as these in exchange\nfor the realization of his dreams. But in truth it is the hatred of\nCatholicism, rather than the love of any political principle, which\nlies at the root of most of the declamation we hear against the abuses\nof the Papal government. Why is it else that those gentlemen who\nprofess so lively a concern that the political liberties of three\nmillions of Italians should suffer some abridgment for the sake of\nupholding the Father of Christendom in the independent exercise of his\nspiritual power, are yet able to bear with the utmost equanimity the\nsight of real cruelty and oppression inflicted upon ten millions of\nChristians in European Turkey? The balance of political power among\nthe different European governments is of more value in their eyes than\nthe spiritual supremacy of the Pope; peace, commerce, and wealth\ndepend on the one, only virtue and religion on the other.\n\nBut let us come now to the political question, and see how it really\nstands. It has been often and truly said, that the temporal\nsovereignty of the Pope rests on more legitimate foundations than any\nother European sovereignty of the day. Long possession, to be measured\nnot by generations but by centuries;  donations from other powers; the\nfree choice of the people, all combine to impart to the chair of Peter\na dignity and a solidity which does not belong to any other throne.\n{330} And if it be objected that, however this may have been in times\npast, yet now, at least, the consent of the people is wanting, without\nwhich the modern creed of nations will not allow any power to be\nsecure, we must answer, what has been proved to demonstration, and\nwhat every one at all conversant with the facts of the case well knows\nto be true: that it is not in Rome and among Romans that plots have\nbeen hatched against the Pontifical government; a portion of the\npeople, the discontented, of whom there must ever be some under every\ngovernment, have only lent themselves to the execution of plots\nconceived and planned in the secret societies or clubs, or even the\nministerial chambers, of Turin and Genoa. Strangers have always been\nat the head of every Roman revolution, adventurers who find their\nfortunes in troubled waters, or fanatical politicians, who cannot\nendure that any one should be happy, excepting according to their own\nreceipt. So long as English politicians encourage agitation by their\npresence in the country and frequent communications with disaffected\nparties in it, or by lending their names and their houses as the\nmedium of correspondence or of banking transactions between the\nconspirators, or by delivering sensational speeches in the house; so\nlong will the Roman mind be more or less agitated; so long as Piedmont\ncan send her emissaries into all the towns and villages, distributing\nmoney as the reward of acquiescence in her schemes, conspirators, even\namong the Romans themselves, will not be wanting; but if all these\nthings could be removed, and the question were left to the settlement\nof the people themselves, we should have no fear of the result.\nWhenever the Popes have been driven out of Rome, the people have\nhailed their return with universal acclamations of joy, and already we\nare told the short experience of the blessings of Piedmontese rule\nwhich the Legations have enjoyed has sufficed to make them regret the\nchange. The increase of taxes and the military conscription are a\nprice higher than they are willing to pay for the _name_ of liberty\nunder the yoke of Victor Emmanuel. We believe that the following\naccount of the political creed of the great majority of the Pope's\nsubjects is as accurate as it is moderate. We are indebted for it to a\nFrench ecclesiastic, who has most gratefully followed M. About through\nall his misstatements, and published a complete refutation of them. He\ntells us that most Romans are of opinion that people may be happy or\nmiserable under _any_ form of government, according to the way in\nwhich it is administered; that a government of _some_ kind there must\nbe; or disorder would be universal; and that the Pope being at the\nhead of the Roman government, is the cause of many advantages: it\nattracts princes and other wealthy foreigners to Rome; sometimes\nseventy, eighty, or even ninety thousand strangers at a time; it saves\nthem from the scourge of war; the operations of commerce, if not so\nextensive as in some other capitals, are at least more secure and\nstable; there is no financial crisis or panic in the money market\nreturning at periodical intervals, and spreading ruin and desolation\nthrough innumerable families; industry and good conduct, crowned by\nsuccess in business, open the way to the possession of estates and\ntitles; the ranks of the privileged class itself, so to call it--the\nclergy--are open to all comers; the great majority of lucrative\noffices about the court, prelacies, bishoprics, judgeships, etc., are\ngiven to members of the middle class, no less than three-fourths of\nthe cardinals (including Cardinal Antonelli himself) having been\nchosen from among them; that ninety-nine out of every hundred holding\noffice under government are laymen; that not more than 100 priests\naltogether are employed in the administration of secular affairs; and\nthat among officials of the same rank, a layman always receives higher\npay than an ecclesiastic; that even in {331} offices which, as having\nto deal with matters of religion, might seem fairly to belong to\necclesiastics alone, two-thirds of the posts are filled by laymen, and\nthe salaries are divided in about the same proportion; that the Popes,\nhaying no families of their own, are always spending their private\nfortunes on public works for the good of the country, or on the\nrebuilding and decoration of churches, to the great encouragement of\nthe fine arts, and the support of innumerable families; or, finally,\non schools and hospitals, and other works of charity. They know, too,\nthat, thanks to this liberality, the education of their children need\ncost them nothing; that schools of all kinds are more numerous (in\nproportion to the population) in Rome than in any other European\ncapital, and these not only schools of primary instruction for the\nchildren of the poor, containing about 17,000 scholars, of both sexes,\nbut also for the middle and upper classes, 3,000 of whom receive here\nan education fitted to qualify them for any profession they may\nprefer, quite gratuitously.\n\nThis we believe to be a very fair account of the state of feeling on\npolitical matters among the majority of the Roman people; and if it is\nnot satisfactory to our modern liberals, because it ignores all their\nbright theories and is content to forego the blessings of\nrepresentative governments and triennial parliaments, we cannot help\nit. We think there is an intimate conviction in most Roman minds that\nGod's honor and glory, and man's truest happiness, are more earnestly\nsought for and more fully attained in that city than elsewhere; and\nthat this conviction both does, and ought to, reconcile them to any\npolitical disadvantages which such a state of things may entail, as\nMons. Veuillot has well said.\n\nElsewhere, man is considered primarily as a power; in Rome, he is\nprimarily a soul. At Rome, the public manners, following more nearly\nthe august guidance of the Church, have more frequently and more\nclosely than elsewhere approached the divine ideal of the gospel. I\nknow what cruel ravages have been wrought by long and wicked\nagitations, begun and fostered from without; I know that every people\nhas its dregs, its populace; but I know also that at Rome this very\npopulace is not without faith, and I know, too, what solid Christian\nvirtues adorn the true Roman hearth. Rarely or never do twenty years\nroll by without Rome giving to the world one of those heroes who\ndevote themselves to the love of God and of souls with the triumphant\nenergy of sanctity. Blest and encouraged by the Popes, these chosen\nones have always left disciples to prolong, as it were, their own\nexistence, and works which have not perished. And the enlightened\nChristian conscience, despising the empty boasts of ignorant pride,\nwill always assign the first place among nations to that which best\npreserves the faith and produces the greatest number of saints.\n\nWe are well aware that this test of national greatness would find no\nfavor in the ears of an English Parliament, but we are foolish enough\nto think that there may be truth in it for all that.\n\n\n\n{332}\n\n\nTranslated from the German.\n\nMALINES AND W\u00dcRZBURG.\n\nA SKETCH OF THE CATHOLIC CONGRESSES HELD AT MALINES AND W\u00dcRZBURG.\n\nBY ANDREW NIEDERMASSER.\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nSCIENCE AND THE PRESS.\n\nIn the Belgian congress the section of science and the press does not\ntreat of the same subjects that occupy the attention of that section\nin the Catholic conventions in Germany. At Malines Christian\ninstruction and education are the principal questions debated; in\nGermany, on the other hand, the university question is the chief\nsubject of discussion; at Malines it is slimly attended; at W\u00fcrzburg,\nFrankfort, etc., on the contrary, there was a crowded attendance, and\nthe proceedings were of the most interesting character. At Malines\nforty-five Catholic journalists met and passed important resolutions;\nat W\u00fcrzburg, more than sixty representatives of German science held a\nseparate conference and drew up an address to the Holy Father. Even\nthe meeting of literati held at Munich may be called the offspring of\nthe Catholic general conventions. At Munich, in 1861, Professor\nMichaelis proposed a scheme planned by D\u00f6llinger for a meeting of the\nGerman savans, which was rejected. Hereupon the project was somewhat\nchanged and a separate meeting held at Munich. Its results are well\nknown.\n\nThe principal debaters in this section of the Malines congress were\nthe genial and venerable Count de Villeneuve, Lenormant the daring\ntraveller, Lecheoni, Soudan, L\u00e9ger, du Clisieux, Ducpetiaux, Chopinet,\nSoenens, Baeten, and Decoster. The presiding officer was Nam\u00e8che, of\nLouvain, who, together with de Ram, Lanny, Delcour, Lafor\u00eat, and Perin\nworthily represented the university at Louvain. His neighbor was van\nder Haeghen, of Brussels, a writer whose name is well known, not only\nin Belgium but in foreign countries. Though an excellent linguist, he\ndeems it his first duty to refute historical misstatements and to\nexpose without mercy the errors of modern Protestant historians. As\nOnno Klopp unsparingly demolishes German scribblers, so van der\nHaeghen puts down the Belgian dabblers in history. He is intimately\nacquainted with German literature.\n\nThe subjects that occupied the attention of the section were popular\ninstruction, the classics as a means of mental training, the\nestablishment of professorships on social questions and discipline.\n\nOn popular instruction Monseigneur Dupanloup delivered a discourse,\nwhich was the event of the congress, and which has since been read by\nall Europe. Count Desbassayns de Richemout, of Paris, an orator\nfavorably known in Germany as the spirited advocate of a Catholic\nuniversity, spoke on the mental activity of society. In the Romanic\nworld the name of Dupanloup acts like a charm. If a charity sermon is\nto be held, which is to move and electrify Paris and all France, the\nBishop of Orleans is called upon. In 1862, when it became necessary to\ngive a new impetus to the Catholic cause in the East, Dupanloup was\nsummoned to Rome to {333} call the nations of the earth to a sense of\ntheir duties; thousands rushed to hear him preach at the church of St.\nAndrea del Galle. At Malines he met with the same success. When\nDupanloup speaks every listener glows with Catholic zeal, that becomes\nmore and more intense as he proceeds and finally bursts forth in a\nfiery enthusiasm, whose influence reaches far and wide. Such was the\nspectacle witnessed at Rome, and repeated at Paris and Malines. One of\nthe brightest ornaments of the French hierarchy, Dupanloup on every\noccasion expresses the opinions of Catholic France with irresistible\nforce. No wonder, then, that even the emperor fears the bishop's\neloquence. His writings are read by all, and admired for their classic\nstyle. As an orator, he enchants the French and Belgians; on the\nGermans, however, he exerts a less powerful influence; they prefer\nMontalembert, F. Hermann, or F. Felix. His discourse at Malines was\nnot, properly speaking, a discourse, but a familiar conversation,\ngrand and splendid in diction, and full of brilliant turns and telling\n_jeux de mots_. The remarks made by Dupanloup on August 30, when\nreturning thanks for his enthusiastic reception, were a masterpiece of\neloquence, which will never be forgotten by those who listened to him.\nThe Bishop of Orleans is a man of the people. \"I do not know much; but\nwhat I know best and love best is the people.\" If Dupanloup's speech\nwas the brightest gem of the congress in 1864, Montalembert, in his\nspeech on \"Religious Liberty,\" eclipsed all his competitors in 1863.\nMontalembert's discourse lasted five hours, two hours longer than\nDupanloup's speech. Montalembert and Dupanloup are the most prominent\nrepresentatives of Catholic France. Called by God to battle for his\nChurch, both are leading millions of soldiers arrayed under the banner\nof Christ to victory and triumphs. Montalembert, the athlete of the\ntribune, hailed by Pius IX. himself as one of the bravest of the\nChristian host, cherishes for the Church an ardent, pure, and holy\nlove. This love may sometimes carry him too far. At Malines, in 1863,\nhe laid down many propositions not approved by the congress. The\nCardinal of Malines, however, and the Bishop of Orleans, charitably\nthrew a veil over every thing objectionable, thus resolving into\nperfect harmony everything discordant. Dupanloup evidently thought of\nhis friend Montalembert when, in his remarks on August 30, 1864, he\nuttered the words: \"Let us not confound opinions and principles, vital\nquestions and domestic difficulties; among us let there be no\ndifferences, no disunion, no imprudence.\"\n\nCount Richemont, of Paris, is a true nobleman in appearance and\nbearing; his black beard adds new beauty to his handsome face and\nsparkling eyes. His gestures are appropriate and graceful. He speaks\nvery rapidly, however, swallowing many words, so that we Germans did\nnot understand him well; in fact, we read his speech with more\npleasure than we listened to it. A more favorable impression was made\nby Viscount Anatole Lemercier, of Paris, a man of agreeable manners, a\ntrue Parisian, full of wit and humor, a graceful speaker, who will be\nheard with pleasure by any assembly. But, great as are Lemercier's\nmerits, he has a dangerous rival in Henry de Riancey, who unites in\nhimself every quality required to become a general favorite. Among the\nFrench journalists he is one of the ablest. In his opinions he steers\na middle course between the extreme views of Montalembert and\nVeuillot, or Barrier, Faconet and Chantrel, the oracles of the\n\"Monde;\" and \"L'Union,\" the journal of which he is the editor,\noccupies an intermediate position between \"Le Monde\" and \"Le\nCorrespondant\" But de Riancey's labors are not confined to his\neditorial sanctum; he cherishes holy poverty, is untiring in the\npractice of Christian charity, and justly deserves {334} the title of\n\"Father of the Poor.\" These holy practices give an unction to his\nwords, and throw a halo around his person which he does not even\nsuspect, but which gains for him the hearts of all that see or hear of\nhim. His speeches in the section of Christian economy excited great\ninterest, and when speaking on matters connected with the Catholic\nfaith he reminded us of the fathers of the Church. His discourse\nbefore the general meeting of the congress, Sept. 12, 1864, was a gem.\nHe spoke as a soldier of Christ, as an heroic defender of the Church,\nshowing at once that he was a veteran, who had often struggled for the\ntriumph of principle. The future does not inspire de Riancey with\nanxiety or fear; he is full of hope and confidence, believing that he\nlives in an age destined to accomplish great things. He is not\ndiscouraged by the superior power of his opponents, for he bears in\nmind Christ's promise to his Church.\n\nWhen speaking, a pleasant smile rests on de Riancey's lips, and his\nfeatures reflect the cheerful calmness of his soul. His friendly eyes\ncharm his listeners, who regret to see them fixed on his manuscript,\nfor de Riancey reads his speeches. If the applause of the assembly\nbecome too long and noisy, the speaker's face beams with satisfaction,\nand he gracefully passes his hand through his hair. De Riancey\nfascinates the hearts of all his hearers.\n\nIt is hard to say which of the many eminent French orators at Malines\npossesses most claims to our preference. Who is the greatest orator,\nCount Montalembert or Bishop Dupanloup, de Riancey or P\u00e8re Felix,\nViscount Lemercier, Count Richemont, Viscount de Melan, Lasser\u00e9e, or\nLenormant? Each of them has excellences peculiar to himself that claim\nour admiration. In like manner, among the great Italian masters,\nMichael Angelo is first in grandeur of style and conception; Titian is\ndistinguished for the grace of his figures; Correggio for their\nangelic purity; whilst Raphael merits the palm for fertility of\ninvention, correctness of expression, and variety. P\u00e8re Felix, we have\nalready stated, pleased the Germans more than Bishop Dupanloup. His\nconcluding discourse, delivered in St Rombaut's cathedral at Malines,\nSept 3, 1864, was a philosophical review of ecclesiastical history;\nthe grandeur of its conception well befitted the importance of the\noccasion. In appearance, F. Felix is not so majestic as F. de\nRavignan, nor has he so powerful and sonorous a voice as his\npredecessor. His discourses betray less enthusiastic love of liberty\nthan those of F. Lacordaire, but still he is at present _the_ orator\nof the day, no less than de Ravignan and Lacordaire were some years\nago. F. Lacordaire, the Dominican, addressed his words to thousands of\nyoung men, who, carried away by the political and literary revolutions\nof 1830, were frantic with ideas of liberty, who were attracted and\ntormented by the \"infinite,\" and panting for vague, undefined ideals.\nThis yearning Lacordaire strove to satisfy, by pointing out to them\nthat Christ and his Church were the realization of their indefinite\nideals, and by teaching them to sanctify liberty by devotion and\nsacrifice. The vast schemes of 1830 were not carried out, and their\nideals were not realized. French society felt the vanity of its\naspirations, and was seized by a deadly lethargy, a kind of despair,\nas if it had suffered shipwreck. Like so many flaming meteors F. de\nRavignan's conferences suddenly shed a stream of light on the\nuniversal gloom. How majestic was his appearance, how sublime his\nlanguage, how ardent his faith, and how holy his life! All France\nlistened to the Jesuit, and seemed spell-bound. Irreligion was\nbanished from thousands of hearts, and thousands returned to the\npractice of their religious duties and were saved. The spirit of the\nage took another direction; men busied themselves exclusively with\ntheir {335} material interests, and they thought only of money, of\nsteam, of machinery and other branches of industry. For many years\nprogress has been the watchword--material progress--which has brought\nabout all these wonders of modern times, which is due to human energy\nalone, and which, for this very reason, deifies itself in its pride\nand threatens Christianity with destruction. To combat these false\nnotions, God raised up F. Felix. He devoted his attention to the\npopular idol, progress, but he dealt with it in his own way. In Lent,\n1856, he began, in the church of Notre Dame, in Paris, his famous\nconferences on \"Progress by Means of Christianity.\" Archbishop Sibour\nhad blessed the orator and his subject. His success was astounding,\nand henceforth F. Felix will hold an honorable place among French\npulpit orators. F. Felix is about fifty-five years of age; he has an\nintelligent countenance, a noble, manly brow, betokening a deep,\npenetrating mind, and a firm will. Since 1856 his voice has improved,\nhaving gained both in compass and in sweetness. It is clear and\npiercing, completely filling the immense church of Our Lady at Paris.\nThe two discourses delivered by F. Felix at Malines (Sept. 2 and 3,\n1864) are perhaps his most finished productions. He did not call forth\nany momentary burst of enthusiasm, but produced a lasting impression,\nthat will console and strengthen us in the struggle of life.\n\nThe university question, which has been so prominent in Germany, was\nnot discussed at Malines. The Belgians have had for thirty years a\nCatholic university at Louvain, which they support at a great expense,\nand for the maintenance of which they constantly struggle. The English\nspeak of establishing a Catholic college at Oxford. Canon Oakley, a\nlearned English convert, is working zealously to realize the plan, and\nif Newman will agree to take the helm, the enterprise will prosper. We\nhope the project will succeed, for English Catholics will not send\ntheir sons to the Catholic university at Dublin, which does not\nflourish, and numbers only some two hundred students. In Holland a\nCatholic university is not even thought of.\n\nThe interests of the Catholic press were not neglected at Malines.\nBelgium has done much to raise its character, as was shown by Count de\nTheux. Since the congress of 1863 the Belgian journals--especially the\n\"Journal de Bruxelles\"--have steadily progressed. In Belgium, small as\nit is, there are fifty Catholic periodicals, some French and some\nFlemish. The \"Journal de Bruxelles\" already rivals the Paris \"Monde,\"\nand both are far in advance of any German journal. At Malines the\nmembers of the press form a section of their own, in which the\nprincipal papers are represented by their directors, editors, or\ncorrespondents. The staff of the \"Correspondant\" was represented by\nCount Francis de Champagny, Viscount Anatole Lemercier, and by Francis\nLenormant, the favorite of the Parisians. \"Le Monde,\" too, had sent\nits delegates; prominent among these was Hermann Kuhn, the Berlin\ncorrespondent, who contributes valuable articles on Catholic Germany.\nHe appeared for the \"Mayence Journal\" also. We are already acquainted\nwith de Riancey, the editor of \"L'Union.\" The director of \"La Patrie,\"\npublished in Bruges, Neut, was president of the section. Although I\nearnestly desired to form the personal acquaintance of M. Neut,\ncircumstances prevented it; but he appeared to be the leading spirit\nof the section. Affable and obliging, lively and ardent, he is a\nflowing speaker, well fitted to take the lead, and a bold,\nuncompromising Catholic, without a trace of fogyism. To see him is to\nlove him. He is a man of great practical ability, and writes a popular\nstyle resembling that of Ernest Zander, of Munich. Like Zander he has\ngrown grey in journalism. The vice-presidents of the section were\nCount Celestin\u00e8 de Martini, {336} director of the \"Journal de\nBruxelles;\" Leon Lavedan, who writes for the \"Gazette de France;\" and\nLasserre, editor of the \"Contemporain,\" well known in Germany as a\ncontroversial writer. Lebrocquoi, editor of \"La Voix du Luxembourg,\"\nacted as secretary. Digard of Paris took an active part in the\ndiscussions of the section. Spain was represented by Enrique de\nVillaroya and Eduardo Maria de Villarrazza; Portugal by Don Almeida.\nThe Abb\u00e9 de Chelen and F. Terwecoren also deserve mention. Verspeyen,\neditor of \"Le Bien Public,\" at Ghent, is one of the youngest and most\nspirited journalists in Belgium. He is a good speaker, very sarcastic\nand impressive. On his recommendation Casoni, of Bologna, who has been\nshamefully persecuted by the Sardinians, received a heavy subsidy from\nthe Malines congress. Lemmens, a very clever man, is associated with\nVerspeyen in the editorship of \"Le Bien Public,\" which compares with\nthe \"Journal de Bruxelles\" in the same way as \"Le Monde\" and the\n\"Weekly Register\" compare with \"Le Correspondant\" and \"The Home and\nForeign Review.\" De Haulleville, formerly editor of the \"Universel,\"\nand at present connected with the \"Correspondant,\" is one of the best\nBelgian writers. He is not only a journalist, but also a thorough\nhistorian, well versed in German literature. I must not forget to\nmention Demarteau, the editor of the \"Liege Journal;\" A. Coomans, an\nable speaker, who represented the \"Antwerp Journal,\" and Frappier, the\neditor of \"L'Ami de l'Ordre.\" Among the English journalists the most\nprominent were Simpson, a friend of Sir John Acton, who wrote for the\n\"Rambler\" and \"Home and Foreign Review,\" and Wigley, editor of the\n\"Weekly Register,\" who writes for the \"Monde\" also, a worthy rival of\nCoquille, Faconet, Leon Pag\u00e8s, Kuhn, La Tour, d'Aignan, and H.\nVrignault. Among the periodicals that had sent representatives to\nMalines were: \"L'Ouvrier,\" \"Le Messager de la Charit\u00e9,\" \"La Revue\nChr\u00e9ti\u00e9nne,\" \"Le Journal des Villes et des Campagnes,\" \"El Diario\" of\nBarcelona, \"La Regeneracion\" of Madrid, \"L'Union\" of Valencia, \"El\nRegister Catolico\" of Barcelona, \"La Belgique,\" \"La Paix,\" \"Les Pr\u00e9cis\nHistoriques,\" \"Le Courrier de Bruxelles,\" \"Le Moniteur de Louvain,\"\n\"L'Escaut,\" \"Le Courrier de la Sambre,\" \"L'Union de Charleroy,\" \"Le\nNouvelliste de Verviers,\" \"Le Journal de Hainaut,\" \"L'Impartial de\nSoignies,\" \"La Gazette de Vivelles,\" and several others.\n\nThe assembly consisted of forty-five journalists, and their\nproceedings made a favorable impression. The gentlemen of the press\nknew why they had met. It was resolved to hold every year a general\nconvention of Catholic journalists and to establish at Brussels an\ninternational telegraphic bureau for Catholic journals, because most\nof the bureaus now existing are in the hands of Jews, who frequently\nforge untruthful telegrams. The meeting tended to foster mutual good\nfeeling among the representatives of the different journals, and\nresolutions were passed to secure unity of action in the Catholic\npress.\n\nThe managers of the \"Correspondant\" strove to obtain the patronage of\nthe Malines congress by distributing a list of contributors. In fact,\nits staff comprises some of the most able Catholic journalists, and we\ndeem it proper to give, the names of Bishop Dupanloup, the Duke\nd'Ayen, the Prince de Broglie, the Count Montalembert, the Count\nFalloux, the Count de Carn\u00e9, the Count de Champagny, Viscount\nLemercier, Viscount de Melun, Vicar-General Meignan, Prof. Perreyve,\nF. Gratry, Villemain, de Laprade, Augustine Cochin, Foisset, Leonce de\nLavergne, Wallon, N. de Pontmartin, Lenormant, de Chaillard, Amed\u00e9e\nAchard, Marmier, and de Haulleville. No doubt it would be difficult to\nfind a greater array of talent. The \"Correspondant\" appears once a\nmonth, making six large volumes per year.\n\n{337}\n\nI had been present at a meeting of journalists connected with the\nsecond general congress of the larger German states held at Frankfort\nin October, 1864. Twenty-seven representatives of the German press\nattended. Many resolutions were passed, but not one of them was\ncarried out; nay, the third general congress of the larger German\nstates never convened.\n\nThe journalists of the minor German states, also, met at Eisenach on\nMay 22, 1864. Thirty-four members were present, and resolved to meet\nat stated periods in order to consult about the interests of the\nGerman press. A committee of delegates from seven journals was\nappointed, whose headquarters was to be at Frankfort-on-the-Main until\nthe next general meeting in 1865. From the transaction of these\nassemblies, it has become evident that journalism in Germany is still\nin its infancy. The German journalists cannot compare with those of\nother countries. They form no class of their own; they lack\nself-respect and _esprit de corps_; in short, they are, without\nexception, in a lamentable state of dependence, for they are not\nwealthy nor do they receive becoming remuneration.\n\nIn Belgium the press is better organized; it is not oppressed by\ntaxation, and this is the reason why Brussels alone can boast of\nsixty-seven periodicals. In Belgium 10 to 12 francs will procure a\nwell-written daily paper, far surpassing our German journals.\n\nThe Belgian journalists whom I met at Malines despise the Catholic\npress in Germany. They reproach us with not doing our duty, and sneer\nat us for being duped by Jewish writers.\n\nJournalism is an important profession, whose members should be\nconscientious and honorable men. The journalist addresses his language\nto an audience far more numerous than the professor's, and at present\nhis influence is, so to say, unlimited; he reaches every part of\neducated society and sways public opinion. He is called to be the\nstandard-bearer of liberty and truth. He must, therefore, implant\nsound principles in the popular mind, and, standing above the reach of\npaltry prejudice, unite in himself a high degree of intelligence and\ntrue devotion to the eternal laws of the Church. Such are the\nqualities which a journalist should possess. Without independence,\ndignity, and moral freedom he cannot do justice to the task imposed on\nhim by God. \"_Impavidum ferient ruinae_.\"\n\nIn England, America, and Belgium, the press wields a powerful\ninfluence; it has become sovereign, and is necessary to the nation's\nlife. Science feels that unless it is diffused it is powerless, and\nthat the school-room is too narrow a field; hence it is that men of\nlearning make use of the press. In Catholic Germany, on the contrary,\nthere are still districts where the journalist is looked upon with a\njealous eye, and where it is deemed preferable to read papers written\nby Jews and literary gipsies.\n\n\"Let the Church be free, let her unfold fully her immense power, let\nher extend her influence to every grade and station of society, and\nthings will assume a more promising aspect. Let the Church be again\nrespected, let her word be heeded in the palace no less than in the\nhut, let homage be paid to her in the courts of justice and in\ninstitutions of learning, at the university no less than at the\nvillage school, and a new and golden era will dawn upon us.\" These\nwords, first addressed to the German nation by its bishops, have been\nrepeated again and again by the Catholic general conventions. The\nChurch has a right to watch over popular education and schools, but,\nas Moufang says, she has an equally undeniable title to direct the\neducation of those who are destined to be the leaders of the people.\nThe Church is the mother of universities, but, alas! most of her\ndaughters have forsaken her. Germany possesses eighteen Protestant\nuniversities, but she cannot boast {338} of an equal number of\nCatholic institutions. The Church has been robbed of her educational\nestablishments in the same way in which she has been deprived of her\nmonasteries and other possessions. Of the twenty-two German\nuniversities six only are Catholic. At the mixed universities\nCatholics are by no means on a footing of equality with Protestants,\nand a professor or a fellow who is a staunch Catholic will almost\ncertainly fall into disgrace. The Protestant professors number ten to\none; a great grievance, no doubt.\n\nEven previous to 1848, far-sighted men were penetrated with the\nnecessity of establishing a purely Catholic university. But since the\nemphatic approval of the scheme by the episcopal council of W\u00fcrzburg,\nin 1848, the Catholic conventions have displayed a lively interest in\nthe plan and have done all in their power to further its realization.\nAt Regensburg (1849), Mayence (1851), M\u00fcnster (1852), Vienna (1853),\nand Linz (1856), it received the fullest consideration. The convention\nof Linz recommended in the warmest terms the restoration of the\nuniversity of Salzburg. This recommendation was repeated by the\nSalzburg convention in 1857, which requested the prince-archbishop of\nSalzburg, Baron von Farnoczky, to undertake this affair, so important\nto Germany. At Salzburg the debates on this question were very stormy,\nbecause Innsbruck claimed the preference. In fact, the university of\nInnsbruck has been much better attended of late years.\n\nBut the most decisive steps in this regard were taken by the\nconvention of Aix-la-Chapelle. Prof. M\u00f6ller, of Louvain, delivered an\neloquent discourse on the establishment of the Louvain university! In\nglowing words he represented to the assembly how, on the opening of\nthe first course of lectures at Malines, in 1834, but eighty-six\nstudents followed the course, how the number of students increased in\n1885 to 261 and the following year to 360, whilst at the present day\nthe three state universities together number 800 students less than\nLouvain alone! He spoke of the generosity of the Belgians, of their\nyearly subscriptions, and of their collections, to which even the\npoorest contribute their mite. He reminded them that the Louvain\nprofessors are among the most distinguished for mental activity, and\nthat they form men of principle, who honorably fulfil the designs of\nGod upon them. \"And is it impossible for the great Catholic German\nnation to do what four millions of Belgians have accomplished? Follow\nthe example thus set you; German laymen, raise your voices, and shrink\nnot before difficulties or obstacles. Impossible--the word is unworthy\nof Germans!\" By this speech of the noble M\u00f6ller the assembly was\naroused, and its members were ready to undergo every sacrifice in\norder to realize their plans. On the following day, when the\nconvention had met in secret session, Theising, of Warendorf, brought\nup the university question, and a debate followed, in which Baron von\nAndlaw, of Freiburg, Schulte, of Prague, Count Brandis, of Austria,\nThissen, of Frankfort, M\u00f6ller, of Louvain, and Heinrich, of Mayence,\nparticipated. It was at first proposed to appoint a committee, which\nwas to exert itself energetically in favor of the project. Councillor\nPhillips, Baron Felix von Loe, Count Brandis, Baron Henry von Andlaw,\nChevalier Joseph von Buss, and Baron Wilderich von Ketteler, were\nappointed members of the committee and their nomination received with\napplause. The motion also provided for the collection of the money\nnecessary to establish the university. A wordy discourse followed, but\nno definite conclusion was arrived at, when Baron von Andlaw struck\nthe right chord. \"I will give $500 for the establishment of a Catholic\nuniversity,\" he exclaimed. \"I will give $500 more,\" cried Councillor\nPhillips of Vienna, \"I subscribe $300,\" said {339} Zander, of Munich.\nCount Richemont, of Paris, next ascended the tribune, addressed a few\nenthusiastic words to the assembly, and subscribed $500. He was\nrapidly followed by Counts Spee, Loe, Schaasberg, Stolberg,\nHoensbroich, Brandis, and many other nobles from the Rhenish provinces\nand Westphalia, who came forward with generous contributions. Prof.\nSchulte, of Prague, and Canon Moufang each subscribed a thousand\nflorins. Dumortier, of Brussels, Prisac, of Aix-la-Chapelle, Martens,\nof Pelplin, Thymus, Bachem, and Pastor Becker also gave solid proofs\nof their interest in the enterprise. In a short time the subscriptions\namounted to $7,000, and at W\u00fcrzburg, in 1864, $30,000 had already been\nsubscribed.\n\nThe scene at Aix-la-Chapelle was more imposing than any other that\nmarked the sixteen general conventions of the Catholic societies in\nGermany. Joy and enthusiasm were depicted on every countenance, and\nhope filled every breast. The whole of Catholic Germany shared in\nthese feelings; for there was now substantial reason for believing in\nthe ultimate success of the university scheme. True, subscriptions did\nnot continue to pour in so rapidly as at Aix-la-Chapelle, and the\nnobility of southern Germany, in particular, were very remiss in\nperforming their duty. To collect $7,000,000 is no easy task,\nespecially as the German clergy have been deprived of almost all their\npossessions, whilst the mass of the people show little zeal for the\nundertaking. Still the agitation of this question has been productive\nof great good to Catholicity in Germany, for it has inspired all of us\nwith redoubled zeal and energy. The Catholics have begun to claim\ntheir just rights and to insist upon them till they are granted. As\nthe Rhenish Westphalian nobility have demanded the restoration of the\nold Catholic university of M\u00fcnster, so in Bavaria, where there is a\npurely Protestant university, the Catholics should urge the\nestablishment of a Catholic one, for it is our first duty, as was\nremarked by Schulte at Aix-la-Chapelle in 1862, and by Moufang at\nW\u00fcrzburg in 1864, to insist that universities which were founded by\nCatholics should retain their original character. In mixed\nuniversities, the Catholic professors will, henceforth, strain every\nnerve to secure true equality. Where this equality is trampled under\nfoot, they will protest and demand their rights. The professors will\nbe supported by the Catholic students, who were ably represented at\nFrankfort and W\u00fcrzburg by Ansch\u00fctz and Baron Dr. von Hertling. Do not\nthe Catholics outnumber the Protestants in Germany? No one knew\nGermany and its tribes better than Frederick B\u00f6hmer, of Frankfort, and\nhe always maintained that the Catholics can boast of as many able men\nas the Protestants, and that southern Germany, far from being\ninferior, surpasses the northern races in mental abilities. To carry\nout the programme laid down above will require our best energies, but\nwe must, moreover, found a _new university_ a purely Catholic and free\ninstitution, untrammelled by state dictation, and entirely under the\ndirection of the Church. To do this the bishops, the nobles, and the\nclergy must use their best endeavors; but the professors, too, must do\ntheir share, and not look on with cold indifference, as is the case\nwith most of them. If the state encroaches unceasingly on the rights\nof the Church in the realms of science, and if its tyranny\npersistently oppresses the most able votaries of science because they\nare Catholics, why should we not rely on ourselves, and seek strength\nin union? There is neither truce nor rest for us until we are not only\nequal but superior to our opponents in every branch of science.\n\nSince its organization, two years ago, the university committee has\ndone all in its power to promote the good cause. One of the most\nzealous members is the young Prince Charles, of {340}\nL\u00f6wenstein-Werthheim, who has been substituted for the deceased Count\nBrandis.\n\nCanon Moufang, of Mayence, spoke on the university question at\nW\u00fcrzburg in 1864. Of all the members of the convention he was best\nfitted to do justice to the subject. Since 1848 Dr. Moufang has been\npresent at almost every one of the sixteen general conventions, and\nwhatever good has been accomplished by them he has promoted and\nencouraged. Connected with most of the Catholic movements of our age,\nhe understands the feelings of his Catholic countrymen and knows how\nto give forcible and opportune expression to them; at times his words\nare irresistible, like the mountain torrent. At Munich he delivered a\ndiscourse on the Holy Father and his difficulties; in Aix-la-Chapelle\nhe thundered against the want of principle and of true manliness which\ndistinguishes our times; at Frankfort he ridiculed anti-Catholic\nprejudices, and at W\u00fcrzburg he convinced his hearers of the necessity\nof a Catholic university. But the school question, also, and the\nrelations between capital and labor, he has lately treated in an\nadmirable manner. \"_Il faut \u00eatre de son temps_,\" is Moufang's motto,\nand hence he is one of the representative men of public opinion in\nCatholic Germany, and when he combats the enemies of the Church the\nadvantage is always on his side. On the nineteenth of December, 1864,\nDr. Moufang celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of his ordination.\nHundreds of priests from the dioceses of Mayence, Limburg, and\nFreiburg were present on this solemn occasion, which they will cherish\nfor ever in their memory. Dr. Moufang's name immediately suggests that\nof Canon Heinrich. They are a \"_par nobile fratrum_\" in literature as\nwell as in public life, emulating the example of Raess and Weiss and\nof Augustus and Peter Reichensperger. At the age of thirty, after\npromoting the organization of the first general convention at Mayence,\nDr. Heinrich was appointed secretary of the national council held at\nW\u00fcrzburg in 1848. Since 1848 he distinguished himself at almost all\nthe general conventions by his activity and the zeal he displayed in\nfurthering every Catholic enterprise. He is equally active in the\ncommittees, in the secret and in the open sessions. He is not only a\nfavorite speaker, but also a skilful controversialist and a journalist\nof no mean ability. He published the best reply to Renan, and as a\ntheologian and jurist he is able to cope with any adversary.\n\nProf. Haffner is the worthy colleague of Moufang and Heinrich. He\ncultivates the science which Aristotle and Plato pronounced the\nsublimest of all sciences--philosophy. But Haffner is a philosopher\nwho is intelligible even to ordinary mortals; he makes a practical use\nof his knowledge, and is a favorite at the Rhenish clubs. In fact,\nthere is no reason why he should not be so. His speeches are\ninstructive, sublime in conception, and well written. The details are\nwell arranged and he has due regard for literary perspective. His\nincomparable humor is unmixed with biting sarcasm, and his figures are\nexquisitely beautiful. Haffner's speeches are perfect gems. Long may\nyou live, noble son of Suabia!\n\nThe Mayence delegates form an attractive group, and they all work\nright earnestly for the success of the conventions. Beside those\nalready noticed, I shall mention Dr. Hirschel, canon of the cathedral,\nwho presided at the first general meeting of the Christian art unions\nat Cologne in 1856; Monsignore Count Max von Galen, who delivered an\nelegant discourse on the Blessed Virgin at Aix-la-Chapelle; Professors\nHolzammer and Hundhausen, profound scholars; Frederic Schneidier,\npresident of the young men's associations in the diocese of Mayence;\nand Falk, president of the social clubs or casinos.\n\n{341}\n\nCouncillor Phillips, of Vienna, is generally chosen chairman of the\nsection of science and the press. Richly does he deserve this\ndistinction, for Phillips is an ornament to German literature, and his\nwork on canon law is a \"_monumentum aere perennius_\" which will be\nnumbered among the German classics. On the Catholic press, too,\nPhillips has conferred a great benefit, for, in conjunction with\nJareke and Joseph von G\u00f6rres, he founded the \"Historico-Political\nJournal,\" of Munich, which he edited for a long time, assisted by\nGuido G\u00f6rres. Being sent as a delegate to the Frankfort Parliament,\nPhillips was numbered among the men of \"the stone house;\" that is to\nsay, he belonged to the Catholic party, and became the associate of\nD\u00f6llinger, Lasaulx, Sepp, F\u00f6rser, Geritz, Dieringer, Von Bally, and\nothers who took an active part in the debate on the relations between\nchurch and state. Since 1862 Phillips has been chairman of the\ncommittee on the establishment of the Catholic university. The\nspeeches of the learned professor were remarkable for the force of\ntheir arguments and the clearness of their ideas. His committee\nreports are to the point, and he presides with tact and ability.\n\nPrivy Councillor Ringseis delivered telling speeches at\nAix-la-Chapelle and Munich; at Frankfort and W\u00fcrzburg he did not make\nhis appearance, being already too much bowed down by age. Ringseis was\nborn in 1785. In the literary world he occupies a prominent position;\nbut he has always been more successful as an orator than as a writer.\nHis appearance is inspiring, his words enthusiastic. The simplicity of\nhis heart, his pleasing cordiality, and the unchanging freshness of\nhis intellect, endear him to all with whom he comes in contact; yet he\nis one of the men who have bravely weathered all the storms of our\nage. He resembles an oak that proudly withstands every hurricane.\n\nBaron von Moy was president of the W\u00fcrzburg convention. From 1832 to\n1837 he lectured on constitutional and international laws, and from\n1837 he was for ten years professor at Munich, at a time when the fame\nof the Munich university attracted hundreds of young men to the\nBavarian capital, when all Germany knew that there was a great\nCatholic university at Munich, and when, in the words of Moufang,\n\"G\u00f6rres, Ringseis, D\u00f6llinger, M\u00f6hler, Slee, Phillips, Moy,\nWindischmann, and their colleagues, formed the central group of\nCatholic Munich.\" Baron von Moy presided at W\u00fcrzburg with much tact\nand success. Age has already made its inroads, but his voice is still\nrich and agreeable. He is untainted by the ungenial formality of our\nGerman professors. In him solid piety is coupled with affability,\ncordiality, and benevolence, and adorned by true Catholic\ncheerfulness.\n\nThe Catholic professors, on the whole, have taken little interest in\nthese conventions, because the majority of them are unacquainted with\nreal life. There are exceptions, however, such as those mentioned\nabove. Schulte, of Prague, also, has displayed a laudable zeal in\nevery convention until 1862. He favors true progress, and earnestly\nwishes the Catholics not only to rival but surpass the Protestants in\nevery respect. Sometimes he is a little too exacting in his demands;\nhis expressions are rather strong, and his strictures on abuses are\nnot sufficiently tempered with moderation. Schulte is no visionary,\nfor he is thoroughly acquainted with the state of the Church, but he\nis carried away by a burning zeal, a kind of holy anger. Hermann\nM\u00fcller, professor at the W\u00fcrzburg university, a jurist and philologer,\nand formerly well known as a journalist, was the most handsome member\nof the W\u00fcrzburg convention, and his magnificent beard attracted\nuniversal attention. The university was likewise represented by\nProfessors Contzen and Ludwig and by Dr. Wirsing. Long continued study\nhas left its traces on the features of Prof. Vering, of Heidelberg,\nbut it has not {342} hardened his heart against the claims of the\nCatholic cause.\n\nAt W\u00fcrzburg sixty-three professors and authors signed an address and\nsent it to the Holy Father. In it they declare their readiness to\nsubmit unconditionally to the decision of the Holy See regarding the\nmeeting of the German _literati_. I cannot refrain from saying a few\nwords on this meeting, especially as it may be said to have originated\nin the general conventions. In fact, the sensation caused by the\nW\u00fcrzburg meeting has by no means subsided. I have lying before me\nD\u00f6llinger's \"Discourse on the Past and Present of Catholic Theology,\"\nand criticisms on it by the Mayence \"Katholik,\" the Paris \"Monde,\" and\nthe \"Civilt\u00e0 Cattolica;\" also Prof. Hergenr\u00f6ther's speech at W\u00fcrzburg\non meetings of European scholars, the pamphlet of Prof. Michelis, of\nBraunsberg, and a cutting reply in the November number of \"Der\nKatholik.\" To these I may add the papal brief to the Archbishop of\nMunich (December 21, 1863), the despatch of Cardinal Antonelli to the\nnuncio at Munich (July 5, 1864), and the letter of the Holy Father to\nProfessors Hergenr\u00f6ther and Denzinger, dated October 20, 1864. I fear\nthe matter will take a disagreeable turn, and that our learned\nprofessors will bring themselves into difficulty. No doubt there is\nmuch truth in Hergenr\u00f6ther's reflections on his colleagues: \"All our\nlearned men are not as prudent as they should be; they have not\nsufficient tact, and are wanting in knowledge of the actual state of\nthings; many a professor in his sanctum acquires ideas wholly at\nvariance with real life.\"\n\nThe Catholic general conventions will not alter their character in\norder to busy themselves with purely scientific concerns; in short, it\ncannot become a congress of learned men, nor a substitute for such a\ncongress. Fully persuaded of this fact, Prof. Denzinger declared, in\nthe most explicit terms, that the meeting of the German _literati_ was\nindependent of the sixteenth general convention, which was nowise\nresponsible for its doings.\n\nMoreover, it is a fact to be borne in mind, that the Holy See has not\nforbidden such meetings, that the German bishops do not wish them to\nbe interfered with, and that no Catholic party, as Michelis says, has\nintrigued to prevent them.\n\nIf, in spite of all this, the matter does not prosper, the learned men\nalone are to blame. It seems to be extremely difficult to prevent\ndissensions among men who devote themselves to different branches of\nscience, to unite in the bonds of friendship and concord the disciples\nof the speculative, the historical, and the practical sciences. If I\nbelonged to the class of men of which I am speaking, I would express\nmy opinions more fully. Why did not the illustrious theologians of\nT\u00fcbingen deign to come to Munich in 1863? Why is there so slim an\nattendance of German professors at the Catholic congresses? Why do the\nrepresentatives of sciences so intimately connected remain estranged\nfrom each other? A closer union would bring about renewed activity,\nprejudices would be dispelled, the jealous reserve with which we now\nmeet on every side would give way to a more healthy state of things,\nand youthful genius would be encouraged by the conviction that they\nare stayed and supported by men of experience and acknowledged merit.\n\nWill the congress of 1863 remain a fragment, as the general meeting of\nthe art unions in 1857? We hope not. The best rejoinder to all that\nhas been said on such meetings would be a general European congress of\nall learned Catholics, at Brussels, Greneva, or Frankfort--attended by\nD\u00f6llinger, Phillips, and Alzog, as the representatives of Germany; by\nPerin, Delcour, and de Ram; by Newman, Oakley, Acton, and Robertson;\nby Meignan, Montalembert, and Rio, and by the Italians Nardi, Cantu,\nand Casoni. The union between the civilized nations of Europe is\nbecoming {343} closer day by day; will our scholars alone remain\nstationary and isolated? If they follow this course, the day of\nretribution will soon arrive.\n\nForemost among the promoters of scientific progress, during the second\nhalf of the nineteenth century, stands a Catholic prince, King\nMaximilian II. of Bavaria. History tells of few princes who have so\nliberally patronized men of science. With royal munificence he has\nfounded and endowed institutions of learning and fostered scientific\nenterprise. He will always be praised as one of the most generous\npatrons of German science, and in the history of literature and\nscience will occupy an honorable position. Unfortunately, however, the\nideas of the noble prince were not realized by the men he protected.\nHe lived to be sorely disappointed, and to discover that he had\nbestowed his benefits on men unworthy of his confidence. D\u00f6llinger,\nwithout mentioning the king's mistakes, has done full justice to his\nmerits. D\u00f6llinger himself holds a princely rank in the European\nrepublic of letters. With skilful hand he is rearing the immense\nedifice of a universal Church history. The corner-stone is already\nlaid and the foundation completed. May God give life and vigor to the\narchitect, that he may finish his vast undertaking. Since his famous\nlectures at the Odeon at Munich, delivered before a mixed audience in\nApril, 1861, D\u00f6llinger has fixed the attention of men holding the most\ncontrary opinions both in and out of the Church. Of late, many have\nbeen disappointed in D\u00f6llinger, though without any reason; they have\ngiven a false meaning to his words--misinterpreted his intentions.\nTrue, he speaks with a boldness to which all cannot immediately\naccustom themselves, for he is a thorough enemy of all mental\nreservation in theology. He stands on an eminence, surveying not only\nour own times but the whole extent of sacred and profane history, and\ncombines a correct estimate of the necessities of the age with a\nfervent love of Christ and his Church.\n\nHergenr\u00f6ther, our revered professor, is in many respects the\nscientific complement of D\u00f6llinger. If D\u00f6llinger at times goes too\nfar, Hergenr\u00f6ther knows how to explain, to correct, and to limit his\nexpressions; this he has done several times of late. Hergenr\u00f6ther is a\nman of great learning, acquired by continued mental activity; but he\nis likewise well acquainted with the ideas of the present age. His\nspeech at the W\u00fcrzburg convention was a masterpiece, full of clear and\nwell-defined ideas.\n\nHis most active colleague in the W\u00fcrzburg committee was Professor\nHettinger. He is perhaps the most eminent of living controversialists.\nHe teaches apologetics, which forms the transition from philosophy to\ntheology. Hettinger takes a large and philosophical, but at the same\ntime truly Christian and Catholic, view of the world. Every grand and\nbeautiful idea, both ancient and modern, he has made his own; he has\nanalyzed every philosophical system, separating truth from falsehood,\nand has gathered every sound principle scattered over the wide range\nof philosophical literature. His controversial works deserve to be\nranked among the classics of the nineteenth century. His discourses\nare listened to with pleasure, whether he speaks from the pulpit, the\nprofessor's desk, or the tribune. At Frankfort and W\u00fcrzburg he spoke\nin a masterly style.\n\nDenzinger presided at the W\u00fcrzburg conference which sent an address to\nthe Holy Father. He is a deep theologian, well versed in all\nphilosophical systems. His mind is admirably trained, his character\nsettled and determined, and in learning, notwithstanding the frailty\nof his body, he has attained an eminence to which few can aspire.\nSelf-possessed in debate, sure and cautious in his remarks, a deep\nthinker, he exhorted all to forbearance, and gave universal\nsatisfaction.\n\n{344}\n\nThe W\u00fcrzburg professors do honor to every assembly of scholars and to\nevery Catholic convention.\n\nAbbot Haneberg, of Munich, perhaps the most venerable of our German\nmonks, bishop elect of Treves, a linguist who speaks fifteen\nlanguages, a first-rate teacher, who will ever be remembered by his\nmany disciples as one of the best pulpit orators in Germany, was a\nzealous advocate of the Munich congress of literati. The circular was\nsigned by Haneberg, D\u00f6llinger, and Prof. Alzog, of Freiburg. Alzog's\nmanual of ecclesiastical history is the text-book, not only in\nHildesheim and Freiburg, but in almost every seminary in Europe. The\nwork resembles one of the beautiful mosaics so much admired in St.\nPeter's at Rome, and has been of great use. Alzog was present at the\nFrankfort conventions.\n\nProf. Reusch, of Bonn, is one of our best commentators. He has\nrendered the Catholics of Germany a great service in translating the\nworks of the English cardinal, for Wiseman's writings are read by the\nwhole Church. About a hundred years ago all Germany perused the\nproductions of the English free-thinking deists, Shaftesbury, Locke,\nMorgan, Woolston, and Toland; at present all read the works of\nWiseman, Faber, Newman, Marshall, Dalgairn, and Manning. Toward the\nclose of the last century, Voltaire, Rousseau, d'Alembert, Diderot,\nand the other infamous encyclopaedists furnished the educated portion\nof Germany with intellectual food; now we eagerly study the writings\nof Dupanloup, Montalembert, L. Veuillot, S\u00e9gur, F. Gratry, and\nNicolas. True, Renan too and \"Le Maudit\" have their admirers, but the\nadmirable replies of Dupanloup, Felix, Freppel, Lasserre, Veuillot,\nS\u00e9gur, Pressens\u00e9, Parisis, Scherer, Coquerel, Lamy, and Nicolas, have\nlikewise found an extensive circle of readers. Catholic controversy\nhas never flourished more than at present, when hundreds of able\nwriters plead the cause of Christ and of his vicar on earth.\n\nProfessor Vosen, of Cologne, is another eminent controversialist; he\nis a skilful debater, and possesses a thorough knowledge of\nparliamentary rules and of the social condition of Germany. His\nutterance is rapid, but he uses no superfluous verbiage, and every\nsentence is clear and well brought out.\n\nProf. Reinkens, of Breslau, and Floss, of Bonn, were members of the\nexecutive committee at the Munich convention of scholars. Not long ago\nhe dedicated to us his biography of \"Hilary of Poitiers,\" a work that\nmay be classed with M\u00f6hler's \"Athanasius.\"\n\nProf. Reischl, of Regensburg, repeatedly a member of different\ncommittees at the general conventions, and an excellent teacher, whose\nmemory will ever be cherished by his students, is on the point of\nfinishing, in the course of the present year, his laborious\ntranslation of the Holy Scriptures. For twelve years he has labored\nunceasingly, and the work is the golden fruit of his labors, and will\noutlive many generations. We may justly place Reischl's translation of\nthe Bible among our Catholic classics, such as M\u00f6hler's \"Symbolism,\"\nD\u00f6llinger's \"Paganism and Judaism,\" Hefele's \"History of the\nCouncils,\" Phillips' \"Canon Law,\" Hettinger's \"Apologetics,\"\nAmberger's \"Pastoral Theology,\" Dieringer's \"Book of Epistles,\"\nLasaulx's \"Philosophy of the Fine Arts,\" St\u00f6ckl's \"Philosophy of the\nMiddle Ages,\" Kleutgen's \"Theology of the Past,\" \"The Legends of Alban\nStolz,\" etc. Most of these have appeared since 1848, or rather within\nthe last twelve years, and are the precursors of a great Catholic\nliterary period, for which every preparation seems to be already made.\nThat our writers are improving in beauty of style no observer can fail\nto notice; as a proof, I need only mention the names of Haffner,\nMolitor, Redwitz, and Hahn-Hahn. I cannot pass unnoticed {345}\nStolberg's \"History of the Church,\" Danberger's \"History of the Middle\nAges,\" Gfr\u00f6rer's great work on Gregory VII. and his times, and the\nworks of Frederick von Hurter. \"Sepp's Jerusalem,\" also, is a work of\nundoubted merit. Professor Sepp delivered some brilliant speeches at\nthe first Catholic general conventions. His last book is a telling\nrefutation of Renan and other modern infidels who deny the divinity of\nChrist, and deserves to be ranked with the writings of Heinrich,\nHaneberg, Deutinger, S. Brunner, Wriesinger, Michelis, Daumer, and\nHahn-Hahn on the same subject.\n\nMichelis, of Braunsberg, shows some of Tertullian's violence; nay,\nsometimes he becomes personal in debate, owing to his passionate\ntemper and his somewhat peevish character. These qualities are coupled\nwith an ardent love of his religion and his country, and manly honor\nand straightforwardness. His speech at Frankfort, in 1862, was\nwell-timed and called forth immense enthusiasm. Michelis bears a close\nresemblance to Prof. Remirding, of Fulda, who has lately acquired a\ngreat reputation as a dogmatic theologian. Remirding has for a long\ntime been a teacher in England, and is thoroughly acquainted with\nEnglish affairs. To him we may apply the adage: \"Still waters run\ndeep.\" He is silent, uncommunicative, and fond of thought. His bright\neyes beam with intelligence, gentleness, and benevolence. Prof.\nJanssen held his maiden speech at the convention of Frankfort, in\n1863; it was very successful. Janssen is a disciple of B\u00f6hmer, and he,\nas well as Ficker, of Innsbruck, and Arnold, of Marburg, is a worthy\nsuccessor of that great historian. He is well fitted to write a\nsatisfactory history of Germany, for Giesebrecht's \"History of the\nGerman Emperors\" fails to do justice to the Church during the middle\nages. There is no longer any lack of Catholic historians in Germany,\nand the labors of Protestant writers have rendered the task easy for\nthem. Among our Catholic historians I shall mention Onno Klopp, of\nHanover; Hoefler, of Prague; Bader, Huber, Hergenr\u00f6ther, of W\u00fcrzburg;\nMarx, of Treves; Dudik, Gindely, Kampfschulte, of Bonn; Niehus, Rump,\nand H\u00fclskamp, of M\u00fcnster; C. Will, of Nuremberg; L\u00e4mmer, of Breslau,\nwho has lately been appointed professor of theology; Remkens, of\nBreslau; Alexander Kaufmann, of Werthheim; Cornelius, Friedrich, and\nPichlcr, of Munich; Roth von Schreckenstein, Watterich, Dominicus,\nOssenbeck, Ennen, Remling, Junckmann, Kiesel, Bum\u00fcller, Weiss, Kerker,\nand Alberdingk-Thijm.\n\nThese gentlemen should try to meet very often, for by seeing ourselves\nreflected in others we learn to know ourselves. B\u00f6hmer, Pertz, Chmel,\nand Theiner have laid the foundations of historical research; on their\ndisciples devolves the task of continuing the building, and of\ncompleting it according to the intentions of their masters.\n\nMy subject is carrying me away, and I am passing the limits I had\nmarked for myself. How many other names connected with the Munich\nreunion of scholars, or the last Catholic congress, should I notice in\norder to do justice to all! Professors Reithmayer, Reitter, and\nStadlbauer, of Munich; Mayer, of W\u00fcrzburg; the learned Benedictines,\nRupert Metterm\u00fcller, of Metten, Gallus Morel, of Einsiedeln, Boniface\nGams, of Munich; Professors Schegg, of Freising, H\u00e4hnlein, of\nW\u00fcrzburg; Zobl, of Brixen, Uhrig and Schmid, of Dillingen, Engermann,\nof Regensburg, Scheeben, of Cologne, Oischinger and Strodl, of Munich,\nHagemann, of Hildesheim, Pfahler, of Eichstadt, Kraus, of Regensburg,\nBrandner and Schoepf, of Salzburg, Nirschl and Greil, of Passau; among\nour rising scholars, Messrs. Constantine von Schaetzler, of Freiburg,\nLangen, of Bonn, Wongerath, Silbernagel, Friedrich, Pichler, and\nWirthm\u00fcller, of Munich, Hitz, Kaiser, Kagerer, J. {346} M. Schneider,\nJ. Danziger, Bach, H. Hayd, Pfeifer, Kaufmann, of Munich, and Thinnel,\nof Neisse; among the clergy, Dr. Westermayer, a celebrated preacher;\nSchmid, of Amberg, Dr. Gmelch, of Lichtenstein, Dr. Clos, of\nFeldaffing, Dr. Zinler, of Gablingen, Wick, of Breslau, Dr. Zailler;\nand finally, Canons Rampf and Herb, of Munich, W. Mayer, of\nRegensburg, D\u00fcx, of W\u00fcrzburg, Freund, of Passau, Werner, of St.\nP\u00f6lten, Provost Ernst, of Eichst\u00e4dt, Canon Eberhard, of Regensburg,\nLierheimer, of Munich, and a host of others.\n\nTruly Providence has blessed Germany with many great intellects, and a\nglorious period seems to have begun for Catholic literature. Our\nleading men should be animated with a fervent love of their faith, and\ntrue patriotism; thus they will be enabled to take a truly Christian\nview of the world.\n\nI cannot refrain from saying a few words on the representatives of the\nGerman press.\n\nDr. Ernest Zander, of Munich, is the spokesman of the German\njournalists at the general conventions.\n\nZander has now been connected for twenty-seven years with the press,\nbut he is still quite hearty and ready to do battle, and the\nsubscribers of \"Der Volksbote\" read his spicy articles with\nundiminished pleasure.\n\nAlthough a poor speaker, his appearance is always greeted with\napplause, and at the close of his remarks there is no end of cheering.\n\nHe calls things by their proper names, spares nobody, and has an\ninexhaustible fund of wit and humor.\n\nHis numerous decorations, his bushy eyebrows, his twinkling eyes, and\nhis sarcastic smile, make his remarks doubly interesting.\n\nOn matters connected with the Catholic press, there are no authorities\nmore reliable than Zander and J\u00f6rg, of Munich, Sausen, of Mayence, and\nSebastian Brunner, of Vienna.\n\nJ. B. von Pfeilschifter, of Darmstadt, is older than the gentlemen\nabove mentioned; in fact, he is the oldest Catholic journalist in\nGermany.\n\nPfeilschifter, says Maurice Br\u00fchl, combines varied learning and\nextensive reading with the experience of many years.\n\nSince 1815 he has been actively engaged as a journalist, and for a\nlong time he was the only champion of lawful authority and political\norder, and for this reason he was continually scoffed at and slandered\nby his revolutionary colleagues. Zander has a worthy rival in Bachem,\nof Cologne. Properly speaking, Bachem is a publisher, but he is\nlikewise a very able editor. At the conventions he is the most\nbusiness-like representative of the press, and seems to know more\nabout journalism than the editors. In 1865 Bachem's paper will\nprobably number 6,000 subscribers, which is a very respectable\ncirculation. His journal is one of the most influential Rhenish\npapers, and very ably edited. If papers of equal merit were published\nat Mayence, Carlsruhe, Stuttgart, Augsburg, Munich, Innsbruck, Vienna,\nPrague, Breslau, and M\u00fcnster, our political press would satisfy every\nreasonable demand.\n\nFrancis H\u00fclskamp, of M\u00fcnster, is one of the youngest among our German\njournalists, but he has outstripped many older men, for he was the\nfirst to give a decisive impetus to the Catholic press. Three years\nago H\u00fclskamp and his friend, Hermann Rump, founded the \"Literary\nIndex.\" Now, in December, 1864, the \"Index\" can boast of 6,000\nsubscribers and 30,000 readers. All the other German literary papers\ntogether, Protestant as well as Catholic, do not equal the \"Index\" in\ncirculation. Success like this is unheard of in Germany, and proves\nthat for the Catholics the time of inaction is past. H\u00fclskamp is not\nonly a critic, but also well-versed in philology, exegesis, and\necclesiastical history. In poetry, too, he has made some creditable\nessays, and at Frankfort, in 1863, he proved conclusively that he is a\npromising {347} speaker. Long may this energetic son of Westphalia's\nred soil live and flourish!\n\nAmong the most regular members of the Catholic conventions is Dr.\nLouis Lang, of Munich, who has distinguished himself by his ability as\nsecretary. The Catholic press also owes him a debt of gratitude. He\nhas greatly enlarged and improved the Munich \"Sonntagsblatt\" and\nsecured for it the services of the best writers in Germany,\nsucceeding, by these means, in making it rival the \"Heimgarten\" and\nthe \"Sonntagsfreude.\" The \"Josephsblatt,\" a monthly published by Lang,\nhas already a circulation of 40,000 subscribers, and bids fair to\nnumber 100,000 by the end of 1865. Our illustrated papers, too, have\nimproved wonderfully since 1862; therefore let us not despair, but\ntrust in God.\n\nAt our Catholic conventions there were no meetings of journalists\nexclusively. But there were many complaints of the inefficiency of the\npress, and the journalists were severely blamed. Nor is the press so\nnumerously represented as at Malines, and the journalists present are\nnot so independent as the members of the Belgian, English, and French\npress, who are fully conscious of the importance of their position.\n\nAmong the journalists whose acquaintance I formed at the Catholic\nconventions, the most distinguished are Dr. Max Huttler, of Augsburg,\na man who has the welfare of the Catholic press deeply at heart;\nHoyssack, of Vienna, Dr. Krebs, of Cologne, Dr. Stumpf, of Coblentz,\nHermann Kuhn, of Berlin, Daumer, of W\u00fcrzburg, Planer, of Landshut, Dr.\nFrankl, of Gran in Hungary, Dr. von Mayer, of Hungary, Aichinger, of\nPondorf, Riedinger and H\u00e4llmayer, of Spires, Stamminger, the\nenterprising editor of the \"Chilianeum\" at W\u00fcrzburg, Th\u00fcren, of\nCologne, and a number of others.\n\nIt is but proper to give at least a passing notice to the latest\noffspring of the Catholic conventions, the \"Society for the\nPublication of Catholic Pamphlets.\" It was founded at W\u00fcrzburg, but\nthe seat of the executive committee is at Frankfort. On motion of\nHeinrich and Thissen, of Frankfort, it was recommend by the Catholic\nconvention at W\u00fcrzburg. Previous to the W\u00fcrzburg convention, Thissen\nhad already made some attempts at Frankfort.\n\nThe scheme was well received in Germany. Already the number of\nsubscribers amounts to 2,000 and at the end of 1865 it will probably\nreach 25,000. Canon Thissen has been one of the leading spirits at\nevery convention which he attended. He has an artful way of suggesting\nideas and gaining for them the favor of the assembly; to carry them\nout, however, he needs the help of others. A thorough master of\nparliamentary tactics, he is a capital manager, and in debate he may\nsafely trust to the inspiration of the moment. His brother, A.\nThissen, of Aix-la-Chapelle, is well suited to be the secretary of our\nconventions.\n\n{348}\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nFALLING STARS.\n\n(FROM THE GERMAN.)\n\n  Oh, know'st thou what betideth\n    When from the heavens afar.\n  Like fiery arrow, glideth\n    An earthward-falling star?\n\n  Yon glorious myriads, streaming\n    Their quiet influence down,\n  Are little angels gleaming\n    Like jewels in a crown.\n\n  Untiring, never sleeping,\n    God's sentinels they stand;\n  Where sounds of joy and weeping\n    Rise up on every hand.\n\n  If darkling here and dreary,\n    One patient cheek grow pale;\n  If in the conflict weary\n    One trusting spirit fail;\n\n  If to the throne ascendeth\n    One supplicating cry,--\n Then heavenly mercy sendeth\n    An angel from on high.\n\n  Soft to the chamber stealing,\n    It beams in radiance mild.\n  And rocks each troubled feeling\n    To slumber like a child.\n\n  This, this is what betideth\n    When from the heavens afar.\n  Like fiery arrow, glideth\n    An earthward-falling star.\n\n\n--------\n\n{349}\n\nFrom Once a Week.\n\nA BUNDLE OF CHRISTMAS CAROLS.\n\n\nCarols, as the name implies, are joyous songs for festive occasions,\nat one period accompanied with dancing. In an old vocabulary of A.D.\n1440, _Caral_ is defined as _A Songe;_ in John Palsgrave's work of\nA.D. 1530, as _Chanson de No\u00ebl;_whilst in Anglo-Saxon times the word\nappears to have been rendered _Kyrriole,_ a chanting at the Nativity.\nThe earliest carol in English, known under that name, is the\nproduction of Dame Berners, prioress of St Alban's in the fourteenth\ncentury, entitled _A Carolle of Huntynge_. This is printed on the last\nleaf of Wynkyn de Worde's collection of Christmas carols, A.D. 1521,\nand the first verse modernized runs thus:\n\n  \"As I came by a green forest side,\n  I met with a forester that bade me abide,\n  Whey go bet, hey go bet, hey go how.\n  We shall have sport and game enow.\"\n\nMilton uses the word carol to express a devotional hymn:\n\n              \"A quire\n  Of squadron'd angels hear his carol sang.\"\n\nAnd that distinguished light of the English Church, Bishop Jeremy\nTaylor, speaks of the angels' song on the morning of the Nativity as\nthe first Christmas carol: \"As soon as these blessed choristers had\nsung their Christmas carol, and taught the Church a hymn to put into\nher offices for ever,\" etc.\n\nAccording to Durandus, it was customary in early days for bishops to\nsing with their clergy in the episcopal houses on the feast of the\nNativity. _\"In Natali praelati cum suis clericis ludant, vel in\ndomibus episcopalibus.\"_ These merry ecclesiastics sung undoubtedly\nChristmas carols.\n\nBut carols, like everything else, must be divided into two sorts,\nreligious and secular--the carols \"in prayse of Christe\" and the merry\nsongs for the festive board or fireside. These may be broken up into\nfurther varieties, thus:\n\nRELIGIOUS\n  Scriptural,\n  Legendary,\n  Lullaby.\n\nSECULAR\n  Convivial or festive.\n  Wassail,\n  Boar's head,\n  In praise of holly and ivy.\n\nOf the variety called _Legendary_, I propose now to speak. These are,\nas a rule, the most popular of all carols, deriving mainly, as I said\nbefore, their origin, and many of their expressions, from the ancient\nmysteries. In the old plays songs are frequently introduced which\nresemble, in a very striking manner, what are commonly called carols.\nThe following song of the shepherds occurs in one of the Coventry\npageants:\n\n  \"As I rode out this endenes  [Footnote 50] night,\n  Of three Jolly shepherds I saw a sight,'\n  And all about their fold a star shone bright;\n      They sang terli, terlow,\n  So merrily the shepherds their pipes can blow.\"\n\n  [Footnote 50: Last]\n\nThe last lines actually form the chorus of one of the carols in the\nfifteenth-century manuscript formerly in the possession of Mr. Wright:\n\n  \"About the field they piped full right,\n  Even about the midst of the night;\n  Adown from heaven they saw come a light,\n  Tyrle, tyrle,\n  So merrily the shepherds began to blow.\"\n\nAgain, in _Ludus Coventriae_:\n\n  \"Joy to God that sitteth in heaven,\n    And peace to man on earth ground;\n  A child is born beneath the levyn,\n    Through him many folk should be unbound.\"\n\nA sixteenth-century carol commences:\n\n  \"Salvation overflows the land.\n  Wherefore all faithful thus may sing,\n      Glory to God most high\n      And peace on the earth continually,\n      And onto men rejoicing.\"\n\n{350}\n\nIn the Coventry Plays again we find:\n\n  \"Of a maid a child should be born,\n  On a tree he should be torn,\n  Deliver folks that are forlorn.\"\n\nA genuine carol of the sixteenth century supplies us with the\nfollowing:\n\n  \"Jesu, of a maid thou wouldst be born.\n  To save mankind that was forlorn,\n      And all for our sins.\"\n\nAnd one of the reign of Henry VI.:\n\n  \"Thy sweet Son that thou hast borne,\n  To save mankind that was forlorn.\n  His head is wreathed in a thorn.\n  His blissful body is all to-torn.\"\n\nThe \"Cherry-Tree Carol,\" formerly a great favorite throughout England,\nrecollections of which yet linger amongst the country-folk, is in many\ninstances a literal copy from the Coventry Mysteries. I give the\npopular version of the \"Cherry-Tree Carol:\"\n\n  \"Joseph was an old man.\n    And an old man was he.\n  When he wedded Mary\n    In the laud of Galilee.\n\n  \"Joseph and Mary\n   Walked through an orchard good.\n  Where were cherries and berries\n    As red as any blood.\n\n* * * * *\n\n  \"O then bespake Mary\n    With words both meek and mild,\n  'Gather me some cherries, Joseph,\n    They ran so in my mind.'\"\n\nSt. Joseph refuses \"with words most unkind\" to grant her request,\napparently unaware that his spouse is about to become the mother of\nthe Son of God. The unborn Saviour, however, directs the Blessed\nVirgin to\n\n \"'Go to the tree, Mary,\n    And it shall bow to thee,\n  And the highest branch of all\n    Shall bow down to Mary's knee.'\n\n* * * * *\n\n  \"Then bowed down the highest tree\n    Unto his mother's hand:\n  Then she cried. 'See, Joseph.\n    I have cherries at command.'\n\n  \"O eat your cherries, Mary,\n    O eat your cherries now,\n  O eat your cherries, Mary,\n    That grow upon the bough.'\"\n\nAnother version gives the following reply of S. Joseph:\n\n  \"O then bespake Joseph.\n    'I have done Mary wrong.\n  But cheer up, my dearest.\n    And be not cast down.'\"\n\nI give a portion of the rest of the carol, some of the verses being\nremarkably touching and beautiful:\n\n  \"As Joseph was a-walking,\n    He heard an angel sing,\n  'This night shall be born\n    Our Heavenly King.\n\n  \"He neither shall be born\n     In honsen nor in hall,\n  Nor in the place of paradise.\n     But in an ox's stall.\n\n  \"He neither shall be clothed\n    In purple nor in pall,\n  But all in fair linen\n    As were babies all.\n\n  \"He neither shall be rocked\n    In silver nor in gold,\n  But in a wooden cradle.\n    That rocks on the mould.\n\n  \"He neither shall be christened\n    In white wine nor in red.\n  But with the spring water\n    With which we were christened.'\"\n\nIn the fifteenth pageant of the Coventry Mysteries the following lines\noccur:\n\n  \"_Mary_, Ah, my sweet husband, would you tell to me\n  What tree is yon, standing on yon hill?\n\n  \"_Joseph_, Forsooth. Mary, it is yclept a cherry tree.\n  In time of year you might feed you thereon your fill.\n\n  \"_Mar._ Turn again, husband, and behold yon tree.\n  How that it bloometh now so sweetly.\n\n  \"_Jos._ Come on, Mary, that we were a yon city.\n  Or else we may be blamed, I tell you lightly.\n\n  \"_Mar._ Now, my spouse, I pray you to behold\n   How the cherries (are) grown upon yon tree;\n   For to have thereof right fain I would.\n   And it please you to labor so much for me.\n\n  \"_Jos._ Your desire to fulfil I shall assay sekerly,\n   How to pluck you of these cherries, it is a work wild.\n   For the tree is so high, It would not be lightly (easy).\n\n* * * * *\n\n  \"_Mar._ Now, good Lord, I pray thee, grant me this boon,\n  To have of these cherries, and it be your will;\n  Now I thank God this tree boweiht to me down,\n  I may now gather enow, and eat my fill.\n\n{351}\n\n  \"_Jos._ Now I know well, I have offended my God in trinity.\n  Speaking to my spouse these unkind words.\n  For now I believe well it may none other be,\n  But that my spouse beareth the King's Son of Bliss.\"\n\nIt is interesting to note the way in which the more modern composition\nretains all the incidents and traditions of the mediaeval mystery. Our\npopular carol speaks of St. Joseph as _an old man, and an old man was\nhe,_ while the mystery represents him as saying (p. x.), _I am an old\nman, and I am so aged and so old._The tree is the same, there is the\nsame desire of the Virgin Mother to taste the fruit, the same refusal\nand bitter retort of her husband, the bowing-down of the tree, and the\nregret of St. Joseph for his unkindness. Mr. Hone was not ashamed to\nsay of the \"Cherry-Tree Carol:\" \"The admiration of my earliest days\nfor some lines in it still remains, nor can I help thinking that the\nreader will see somewhat of cause for it.\"\n\nThe following example is still given on almost every broadside\nannually printed: it is called \"The Three Ships.\" I ought perhaps\nfirst to state that the Three Ships are supposed to signify the\nmystery of the Holy Trinity, the Incarnation being, as the _Speculum\nVitae Christi_ hath it, \"the high work of all the Holy Trinity, though\nit be that only the Person of the Son was incarnate and became man:\"\n\n  \"I saw three ships come sailing in,\n    On Christmas day, on Christmas day:\n  I saw three ships come sailing in\n    On Christmas day in the morning.\n\n  \"And what was in those ships all three,\n    On Christmas day? etc.,\n  And what was in, etc.,\n    On Christmas day in the morning?\n\n  \"Our Saviour Christ and our Lady, etc..\n    On Christmas day in the morning.\n  Pray whither sailed those ships all three? etc.,\n    On Christmas day in the morning.\n\n  \"O, they sailed into Bethlehem, etc..\n    On Christmas day in the morning;\n  And all the bells on earth shall ring, etc.,\n    On Christmas day in the morning.\n\n  \"And all the angels in heaven shall sing, etc,\n    On Christmas day In the morning.\n  And all the souls on earth shall sing, etc.,\n    On Christmas day in the morning.\n\n  \"Then let us all rejoice amain, etc..\n    On Christmas day in the morning.\"\n\nAnother rude and rather amusing version is sometimes given of this\ncarol, called \"The Sunny Bank:\"\n\n  \"As I sat on a sunny bank,\n    A sunny bank, a sunny bank.\n  As I sat on a sunny bank,\n    On Christmas day in the morning,\n\n  \"I spied three ships come sailing by, etc..\n    On Christmas day, etc.;\n\n  \"And who should be with those three ships?\n    On Christmas day, etc.,\n\n  \"But Joseph and his fair lady, etc.,\n    On Christmas day, etc.\n\n  \"Oh, he did whistle, and she did sing,\n    And all the bells on earth did ring.\n  For joy that our Saviour they did bring\n    On Christmas day in the morning.\"\n\nAn old Dutch carol, given by Hoffman, commences:\n\n  \"There comes a vessel laden.\n  And on its highest gunwale\n  Mary holds the rudder,\n  The angel steers it on.\"\n\nAnd thus explains the mission of the ship:\n\n  \"In one unbroken course\n  There comes that ship to land:\n  It brings to us rich gifts,\n  Forgiveness is sent to us.\"\n\nThis translation is taken from Mr. Sandys' book on \"Christmas-tide.\"\nAbout the sixteenth century a similar carol was sung at Yule, which is\ngiven by Ritson:\n\n  \"There comes a ship far sailing then,\n  Saint Michael was the steersman;\n    Saint John sat in the horn:\n  Our Lord harped, our Lady sang,\n  And all the bells of heaven they rang\n   On Christ's Sunday at morn.\"\n\nAnother specimen I take from a Birmingham collection; it is called\n\"The Seven Virgins.\" This is given also by Mr. Sylvester from \"the\noriginal old broadside.\" It is singular, however, that his old copy\nshould include a line which he confesses to be a \"modern\ninterpolation!\"\n\n  \"All under the leaves, and the leaves of life,\n  I met with virgins seven.\n  And one of them was Mary mild.\n    Our Lord's mother in heaven.\n  O, what are you seeking, you seven pretty maids.\n    All under the leaves of life?\"\n\n{352}\n\n  'We're seeking for no leaves, Thomas,\n    But for a friend of thine.\n  We're seeking for sweet Jesus Christ,\n    To be our heavenly guide.'\n  'Go down, go down to yonder town,\n    And sit in the gallery,\n  And there you'll see sweet Jesus Christ\n    Nailed to a yew tree.'\n  And they went down to yonder town\n    As fast as foot could fall,\n  And many a bitter and grievous tear\n    From our Lady's eyes did fall.\n  'O, peace, mother, O, peace, mother,\n    Your weeping doth me grieve,\n  I must suffer this, he said.\n    For Adam and for Eve.\n\n* * * * *\n\n  'O mother, take you John Evangelist\n    To be your favorite son,\n  And he will comfort you sometimes.\n    Mother, as I have done.'\n\n* * * * *\n\n  \"Then he laid his head on his right shoulder.\n      Seeing death it struck him nigh,\n  'The Holy Ghost be with your soul,\n    I die, mother. I die.'\"\n\nMany of my readers will recollect the famous carol of \"The Seven\nJoys,\" still croaked out in the streets of London and elsewhere about\nChristmas time. Very similar carols to this exist of the fourteenth\nand fifteenth centuries, one of which I select from Mr. Wright's\nmanuscript. I have, as in all other cases, modernized the orthography:\n\nOF THE FIVE JOYS OF OUR LADY.\n\n* * * * *\n\n  \"The first Joy that came to thee\n   Was when the angel greeted thee.\n   And said, 'Mary, full of charity,\n             Ave, plena gratia.'\n   The second joy that was full good\n   When God's Son took flesh and blood.\n   Without sorrow and changing of mood,\n           'Enixa es puerpera.'\n   The third joy was full of might,\n   When God's Son on rood was put.\n   Dead and buried, and laid in sight,\n           'Surrexit die tertia.'\n   The fourth joy was on Holy Thursday,\n   When God to heaven took his way,\n   God and man withouten nay.\n            'Ascendit supra sidera.'\n   The fifth joy is for to come.\n   At the dreadful day of doom,\n   When he shall deem us all and some\n            'Ad coeli palatia.'\"\n\n* * * * *\n\nThe following carol for St. Stephen's day is from a manuscript of the\ntime of King Henry VI. The reader will be amused to find the great\nproto-martyr here introduced as a servant of King Herod, and intrusted\nwith the task of bringing in the boar's head, a famous dish, and \"the\nfirst mess\" at Christmas and other high festivals. There was evidently\nsome honor attached to this office, for Holinshed tells us that King\nHenry II., in 1170, on the day of his son's coronation, served him as\nsewer, bringing up the boar's head, _according to the manner_; and in\n1607, at St. John's College, Oxford, the \"first mess was carried by\nthe tallest and lustiest of all the guard.\"\n\n  \"Saint Stephen was a clerk in King Herod's hall.\n  And served him of bread and doth as ever king befall.\n\n  \"Stephen out of kitchen came, with boar's head in hand.\n  He saw a star was fair and bright, over Bethlem stand.\n\n  \"He cast adown the boar's head, and went into the hall,\n_S. Stephen._ I forsake thee, King Herod, and thy works all,\n\n  \"I forsake thee, King Herod, and thy works all,\n  There is a child in Bethlehem born, is better than we all.\n\n\"_Herod._ What aileth thee, Stephen? What is thee befall?\n  Lacketh thee either meat or drink in King Herod's hall?\n\n\"_S. Stephen_. Lacketh me neither meat nor drink in King Herod's hall.\n  There is a child in Bethlehem born, is better than we all.\n\n* * * * *\n\n\"_Herod_. That is all so sooth, Stephen, all so sooth, I wit,\n  As this capon crow shall lyeth here in my dish.\n\n  \"That word was no soon said, that word in that hall.\n  The capon crew _Christus natus est_ among the lords all.\"\n\n* * * * *\n\nThis brings us to the more modern legendary carol of \"The Carnal [a\nbird] and the Crane,\" in which the same incident occurs of the bird\ncrowing in the dish:\n\n  \"As I passed by a river side.\n    And there as I did rein [run],\n  In argument I chanced to near\n    A carnal and a crane.\n\n  \"The carnal said unto the crane,\n    'If all the world should turn,\n  Before we had the Father,\n    But now we have the Son.'\n\n  \"'From whence does the Son come?\n    From where and from what place?\n  He said, 'In a manger,\n    Between an ox and ass.'\n\n* * * * *\n\n  \"'Where is the golden cradle\n    That Christ was rocked in?\n  Where are the silken sheets\n    That Jesus was wrapt in?'\n\n  \"'A manger was the cradle\n    That Christ was rocked in;\n  The provender the asses left\n    So sweetly he slept on.'\n\n{353}\n\n  \"There was a star in the west land,\n    SO bright it did appear\n  Into King Herod's chamber.\n    And where King Herod were.\n\n  \"The wise men soon espied it,\n    And told the king on high,\n  'A princely babe was born that night,\n    No king could e'er destroy.'\n\n  \"'If this be true,' King Herod said,\n    'As thou tellest unto me.\n  This roasted cock that lies in the dish,\n    Shall crow full fences three.'\n\n  \"The cock soon freshly feathered was,\n    By the work of God's own hand,\n  And then three fences crowed he\n    In the dish where he did stand.\"\n\nHerod then gives orders for the general massacre of the young\nchildren, and the Saviour, with Joseph and his mother, travel into\nEgypt amongst the \"fierce wild beasts.\" The blessed Virgin being\nweary, \"must needs sit down to rest,\" and her son desires her to \"see\nhow the wild beasts come and worship him:\"\n\n  \"First came the lovely lion,\n    Which Jesu's grace did spring.\n  And of the wild beasts in the field\n    The lion shall be the king.\"\n\nThe Holy Family continuing their flight, pass by a husbandman \"just\nwhile his seed was sown:\"\n\n  \"The husbandman fell on his knees,\n    Even before his face;\n  'Long time thou hast been look'd for,\n    But now thou'rt come at last.'\n\n* * * * *\n\n  \"'The truth, man, thou hast spoken,\n    Of it thou mayst be sure.\n  For I most lose my precious blood\n    For thee and thousands more.\n\n  \"'If any one should come this way,\n    And inquire for me alone.\n  Tell them that Jesus passed by,\n    As thou thy seed did sow.'\"\n\nKing Herod comes afterward with his train, and furiously asks of the\nhusbandman whether our Saviour has passed by; the husbandman replies\nthat\n\n  \"'Jesus passed by this way\n    When my seed was sown.\n\n  \"But now I have it reapen,\n    And some laid on my wain.\n  Ready to fetch and carry\n    Into my barn again.'\"\n\nHerod, supposing that it must be \"full three quarters of a year since\nthe seed was sown,\" turned back, and \"further he proceeded into the\nHoly Land.\" A manuscript of the fifteenth century, preserved in the\nBritish Museum, contains a representation of the flight into Egypt, in\nwhich the above legend is introduced. The city of Bethlehem stands in\nthe background, and on the right, in the distance, a field of corn and\na reaper, who is in conversation with a soldier by his side. A curious\nScotch tradition states that when Herod and his soldiers made their\ninquiry of the husbandman, \"a little black beetle lifted up his head,\nand exclaimed, _The Son of Man passed here last night_.\" Black beetles\nare probably not more popular here than in Scotland, but Highlanders,\nwhenever they find the dastardly insect, kill it, repeating the words,\n\"_Beetle, beetle, last night_.\"\n\n\"The Holy Well\" is a very favorite carol with the broadside printers;\nI have seen it side by side with a very lively \"legendary\" production,\n\"Flyaway Carol:\"\n\n  \"There good old Wesley, and a throng\n      Of saints and martyrs too,\n  Unite and praise their Saviour's name.\n      And there I long to goo.\n             Fly away! Fly away!\n             While yet it's called to-day!\"\n\nThe Magi or three Kings of Cologne form the subject of many an old\ncarol. The names of these \"famous men\" are supposed to have been,\nKasper or Gaspar, King of Tarsus, young and beardless; Melchior, King\nof Nubia, old, with long beard and grey hair; and Balthazar, King of\nSaba, a negro. Their offerings were, as is well known, symbolical; to\nuse the words of the Anglo-Saxon Hymnary, translated by the recorder\nof Sarum:\n\n  \"Incense to God, and myrrh to grace his tomb,\n  For tribute to their King, a golden store;\n  One they revere, three with three offerings come,\n          And three adore.\"\n\nFrom an old commentary on the gospel of St. Matthew, we gather some\ncurious matter relating to the history of the Three Wise Men. A\ncertain nation dwelling close to the ocean, in the extreme east,\npossessed a writing, inscribed with the name of Seth, concerning the\nstar which was to appear:\n\n{354}\n\n\"Twelve of the more learned men of that country * * * has disposed\nthemselves to watch for that star; and when any of them died, his son\nor one of his kindred * * was appointed in his place. These,\ntherefore, year by year, after the threshing out of the corn, ascended\ninto a certain high mountain, called _Mons victorialis_, having in it\na certain cave in the rock, most grateful and pleasant, with fountains\nand choice trees, into which, ascending and bathing themselves, they\nprayed and praised God in silence three days. And thus they did,\ngeneration after generation, watching ever, lest peradventure that\nstar of beatitude should arise upon themselves, until it appeared\ndescending on the mountain, having within itself, as it were, the form\nof a man-child, and above it the similitude of a cross; and it spake\nto them, and taught them, and commanded them that they should go into\nJudaea. And journeying thither for the space of two years, neither\nfood nor drink failed in their vessels.\"\n\nOther old accounts state that their journey occupied twelve days only:\n\"they took neither rest nor refreshment; it seemed to them indeed as\none day; the nearer they approached to Christ's dwelling, the brighter\nthe star shone.\"   [Footnote 51]\n\n  [Footnote 51: Early Christian Legends.]\n\n  [Illustration: Drawing described below. ]\n\nThere appears to have been no decided opinion or tradition as to the\nform of the star; it is shown thus by Albert Durer, in an old book\nwhich I have by me of 1519: it is drawn with eight points, the lowest\none being much longer than the others; in another book, 1596, I find\nit represented as a star of six points; in some old pictures it is\nshown as a sort of comet, and it is described to have been \"as an\neagle flying and beating the air with his wings,\" having within the\nform and likeness of the Holy Child.\n\nIn \"Dives and Pauper,\" printed in 1496, we gather the following\naccount of it:\n\n  \"_Dives_. What manner of star was it then?\n\n  \"_Pauper_. Some clerks tell that it was an angel in the likeness of\n  a star, for the kings had no knowledge of angels, but took all heed\n  to the star. Some say that it was the same child that lay in the\n  ox-stall which appeared to the kings in the likeness of a star, and\n  so drew them and led them to himself in Bethlehem.\"\n\nI wish it were possible to give here a quaint illustration of the\njourney of the Three Wise Men, from a sheet of carols printed in 1820,\nwhich forms one of the wood-cuts procured with no little difficulty\nfrom the publisher by Mr. Hone, and is but little known.\n\nThe history of the Magi is even traced further; after their return to\ntheir own country they were baptized by St. Thomas the Apostle, became\nmissionaries with him, and were, it is said by some, martyred.\n\nTheir journeyings did not, however, end with their deaths--their\nbodies were translated to Constantinople, thence to Milan, and\nafterward to Cologne, where they are still preserved in the cathedral,\nand their history recorded in a series of frescoes. Their shrine at\nCologne was once exceedingly rich and magnificent, but during the\nexcitement of the first French revolution many of the jewels which\nadorned the monument were sold and replaced by paste or glass\ncounterfeits. The following description of their tomb I gather from\nMr. Fyfe's book on \"Christmas:\"\n\n  \"The coffin is stated to have two partitions, the lower having a\n  half, and the upper a whole, roofing. The former compartment\n  contains the bones of the three kings, whose separate heads appear\n  aloft through the aperture in the half-roofing; and on this roofing\n  are inscribed the names _Gaspar, Melchior, Balthazar_, encrusted in\n  rubies. {355} The heads are adorned with crowns weighing six pounds\n  apiece, of gold, diamonds, and pearls. It is asserted (but doubted)\n  that the tomb and its contents are of the value of \u00a3240,000.\"\n\nFrom the offerings of the three kings arose the practice of Christmas\ngifts, and the festival of the Epiphany has always been observed in\nremembrance of their visit to Bethlehem; it has also been the custom\nfrom earliest times for our sovereigns to offer the three mystic gifts\nof gold, myrrh, and incense at the altar on the day of the Epiphany,\nwhich custom is still observed at the Chapel Royal, the royal\noblations being received by the dean or his deputy in a bag of crimson\nand gold. The Epiphany is also a \"scarlet day\" at the universities.\nAfter this long roundabout discourse, I am almost afraid to weary my\nreaders with a second edition of the wanderings of the Wise Men, but I\nmust rely upon their generous forbearance; the accompanying carol is\nfrom a manuscript of the time of King Henry VII.:\n\n  \"Now is Christmas i-come,\n  Father and Son together in One,\n  Holy Ghost, as Ye be One,\n                         In fere-a:\n  God send us all a good new year-a.\n\n  \"There came iij kings from Galilee\n  Into Bethlehem that fair city\n  To seek him that ever should be,\n                         By right-a,\n  Lord, and King, and Knight-a.\n\n  \"At they came forth with their offering,\n  They met with Herod that moody king,\n                          This tide-a,\n  And this to them he said-a.\n\n\"_Her_. Of whence be ye, you kings iij?\n\"_Mag_. Of the East, as ye may see,\n  To seek him that ever should be,\n                          By right-a.\n  Lord, and King, and Knight-a.\n\n\"_Her_. When you at this child have been,\n  Come home again by me,\n  Tell me the sights that you have seen,\n                          I pray you,\n  Go no other way-a.\n\n* * * *\n\n  \"The Father of heaven an angel down sent,\n  To these iij kings that made present\n                         This tide-a.\n  And this to them he said-a,\n  My Lord hath warned you every one\n  By Herod King you go not home\n  For an you do, he will you slay,\n                         And strew-a,\n  And hurt you wonderly-a.\n\n  \"Forth then went these kings iij\n  Till they came home to their countree.\n  Glad and blithe they were all iij,\n  Of the sights that they had seen.\n                         By dene-a.\n  The company was clean-a.\"\n\n* * * *\n\nI will conclude with a modern specimen of a legendary carol written by\nthe Rev. Dr. Neale, and published in Novello's shilling collection.\nThe story of St. Wenceslaus, the good King of Bohemia, is given by\nBishop Jeremy Taylor in his \"Life of Christ:\"\n\n'\"One winter night, going to his devotions in a remote church,\nbarefooted in the snow, * * his servant Podavius, who waited on his\nmaster's piety, and endeavored to imitate his affections, began to\nfaint through the violence of the snow and cold, till the king\ncommanded him to follow him, and set his feet in the same footsteps\nwhich his feet should mark for him; the servant did so, and either\nfancied a cure, or found one, for he followed his prince, helped\nforward with shame and zeal to his imitation, and by the forming\nfootsteps for him in the snow.\"\n\n  \"Good King Wenceslaus look'd out.\n    On the Feast of Stephen;\n  When the snow lay round about.\n    Deep and crisp and even:\n  Brightly shone the moon that night,\n    Though the frost was cruel,\n  When a poor man came in sight,\n    Gath'ring winter fuel.\n\n  \"'Hither, page, and stand by me.\n    While thou know'st it telling,\n  Yonder peasant who is he?\n    Where and what his dwelling?\n  \"'Sire, he lives a good league hence\n    Underneath the mountain;\n  Right against the forest fence,\n    By Saint Agnes' fountain.'\n\n  \"'Bring me flesh and bring me wine.\n    Bring me pine logs hither;\n  Thou and I will see him dine,\n    When we bear them thither.'\n  Page and monarch forth they went.\n    Forth they went together:\n  Through the rude wind's wild lament,\n    And the bitter weather.\n\n  \"'Sire, the night is darker now.\n    And the wind blows stronger.\n  Fails my heart, I know not how,\n    I can go no longer.'\n  \"'Mark my footsteps, good my page;\n    Tread thou in them boldly;\n  Thou shalt find the winter's rage\n    Freeze thy blood less coldly.'\n\n  \"In his master's steps he trod.\n    Where the snow lay dinted;\n  Heat was in the very sod\n    Which the saint had printed.\n  Therefore, Christian men--be sure--\n    Wealth or rank possessing,\n  Ye who now will bless the poor,\n    Shall yourselves find blessing.\"\n\n------\n\n{356}\n\nFrom The Dublin Review.\n\nTHE FORMATION OF CHRISTENDOM.\n\n_The Formation of Christendom_. Part First.\nBy T. W. ALLIES. London: Longmans.\n\n\nIt is somewhat paradoxical, but strictly true, to say that the\ngreatest and most important revolution which ever took place upon\nearth is that to which least attention has hitherto been paid, and\nconcerning which least is known--the substitution of \"Christendom\" for\nthe heathen world. Before our own day no historian, no philosopher of\nmodern times has felt any interest in this vast theme, and whatever\ninformation with regard to it is attainable must be sought in the\nfragmentary remains of ancient writers, or in works very recently\npublished on the continent. In the volume before us Mr. Allies has\ntaken ground not yet occupied by any English author. He has availed\nhimself of two works--D\u00f6llinger's \"Christenthum und Kirche\" and\nChampagny's Histories--and he acknowledges in the most liberal and\nloyal manner his obligation to them; but, in the main, he has been\nleft to find his way for himself, and no man could well be more highly\nqualified for the task, whether by the gifts of nature or by the\nacquirements of many years. We infer from the work itself that his\nattention was immediately turned to the subject by his appointment as\nprofessor of the \"Philosophy of History\" in the Catholic university of\nDublin, under the rectorship of Dr. Newman. The duties of his post\nobliged him to weigh the question, \"what is the philosophy of\nhistory?\" and the inaugural lecture with which the volume before us\ncommences, although it gives no formal definition of the phrase (which\nis to be regretted), supplies abundant considerations by the aid of\nwhich we may arrive at it. History, in its origin, was far more akin\nto poetry than to philosophy, and even when it passes into prose it is\nin the half-legendary form, which makes the narrative of Herodotus and\nof the annalists of the middle ages so charming to all readers. They\nare ballads without metre. Next came that style of which Thucydides is\nthe model, and which Mr. Allies calls \"political history.\" \"Its limit\nis the nation, and it deals with all that interests the nation.\"\n\"Great, indeed, is the charm where the writer can describe with the\npencil of a poet and analyze with the mental grasp of a philosopher.\nSuch is the double merit of Thucydides. And so it has happened that\nthe deepest students of human nature have searched for two thousand\nyears the records of a war wherein the territory of the chief\nbelligerents was not larger than a modern English or Irish county.\nWhat should we say if a quarrel between Kent and Essex, between Cork\nand Kerry, had kept the world at gaze ever since? Yet Attica and\nLaconia were no larger.\"\n\nAnd yet it needed something more than territorial greatness in the\nstates of which he wrote to enable even Thucydides himself to realize\nthe idea of a philosophical history. For the five hundred years which\nfollowed the Peloponnesian war brought to maturity the greatest empire\nwhich has ever existed among men, and although, at the close of that\nperiod, one of the ablest and most thoughtful of writers devoted\nhimself especially to its history, yet, says our author, \"I do not\nknow that in reading the pages of Polybius, of Livy, or even of\nTacitus, we are conscious of a wider grasp of thought, a more enlarged\nexperience of political interests, a higher idea of {357} man, and of\nall that concerns his personal and public life, than in those of\nThucydides.\" Great, indeed, was the genius of those ancient\nhistorians, magnificent were the two languages which they made their\ninstruments--languages \"very different in their capacity, but both of\nthem superior in originality, beauty, and expressiveness to any which\nhave fallen to the lot of modern nations. It may be that the marbles\nof Pentelicus and Carrara insure good sculptors.\" \"In the\nnarrative--that is, the poetic and pictorial part of history--they\nhave equal merit. Their history is a drama in which the actors and the\nevents speak for themselves. What was wanting was the bearing of\nevents on each other, the apprehension of great first principles--the\ngeneralization of facts.\" And this no mere lapse of time could give.\nIt is wanting in the works of the greatest ancient masters. It is\nfound in moderns in all other respects immeasurably their inferiors.\n\"What, then, had happened in the interval?\" Christianity had\nhappened--Christendom had been formed. '\"There was a voice in the\nworld greater, more potent, thrilling, and universal, than the last\ncry of the old society, _Civis sum Romanus_, and this voice was _Sum\nChristianus_. From the time of the great sacrifice it was impossible\nto sever the history of man's temporal destiny from that of his\neternal; and when the virtue of that sacrifice had thoroughly leavened\nthe nations, history is found to assume a larger basis, to have lost\nits partial and national cast, to have grown with the growth of man,\nand to demand for its completeness a perfect alliance with\nphilosophy.\"\n\nThus, then, the \"philosophy of history\" is the comparison and\narrangement of its great events by one whose mind is stored with the\nfacts which it records, and who at the same time possesses the great\nfirst principles which qualify him to judge of it. We may, therefore,\nlay it down as an absolute rule, that without Christianity no really\nphilosophical history could have been written.\n\nNot unnaturally, then, the first example of the philosophy of history\nwas given by a man whose mind, if not the greatest ever informed by\nChristianity, was at least among a very few in the first class, was\nmoreover so thoroughly penetrated by Christian principles, that to\nreview the events of the world in any other aspect, or through any\nother medium, would have been to him as impossible as to examine in\ndetail without the light of the sun the expanse of plains and hills,\nrivers and forests, which lay under him as he stood on some\npredominant mountain peak. God, the Almighty Creator--God incarnate,\nwho had once lived and suffered on earth, and now reigned on high\nuntil he should put all enemies under his feet, and who was coming\nagain to judge the world which he had redeemed--the Church founded by\nhim to enlighten and govern all generations throughout all nations,\nand in which dwelt the infallible guidance of God the Holy Ghost--the\nevil spirits, powerless against the divine presence in the Church, but\nirresistible by mere human power--the saints, no longer seen by man,\nbut whose intercession influenced and moulded all the events of his\nlife,--all these were ever before the mind of St. Augustine, not\nmerely as articles of faith which he confessed, but as practical\nrealities. To trace the events of the world without continually\nreferring to all these, would have been to him not merely irreligious,\nbut as unreal, unmeaning, and fallacious as it would be to a natural\nphilosopher of our own day to investigate the phenomena of the\nmaterial world without taking into consideration the attraction of the\nearth and the resistance of the air. This should be noticed, because\nwe have all met men who, while professing to believe most, if not all,\nof these things, would consider it bad taste to introduce such\nconsiderations into any practical affair. They are, in short, part of\nthat very {358} remarkable phenomenon, the \"Sunday religion\" of a\nrespectable English gentleman, which he holds as an inseparable part\nof his respectability, but which is well understood to have no bearing\nat all upon the business of the week. Living as St. Augustine did at\nthe crisis at which the civilization of the ancient world was finally\nbreaking up, his eye was cast back in review over the whole gorgeous\nline of ancient history, which swept by him like a Roman triumph.\nEgypt, Assyria, Greece, Rome, each had its day; the last and greatest\nof them all he saw tottering to its fall. But far more important than\nthis comprehensive survey, which the circumstances of his times made\nnatural to so great an intellect, was his possession of fixed and\ncertain principles, the truth of which he knew beyond the possibility\nof doubt, and which were wide enough to solve every question which the\nhistory of the world brought before him. Great men there had been\nbefore him, but the deeper their thoughts, the more had they found\nthat the world itself and their own position in it were but a hopeless\nenigma without an answer, a cypher without a key. A flood of light had\nbeen poured upon the piercing mental eye of St. Augustine when the\nwaters of baptism fell from the hand of the holy Ambrose upon his\noutward frame. Every part of the Old Testament history glowed before\nhim, as when from behind a cloud which covers all the earth the light\nof the sun falls concentrated upon some mountain-peak; and the man who\nreverences and ponders as divine that inspired history has learned to\nread the inner meaning of the whole history of the world as no one\nelse can. In every age, no doubt, Almighty God rules and directs in\njustice and mercy the world which he has created; but in general he\nhides himself behind an impenetrable veil. \"Clouds and darkness are\nround about him, justice and judgment the establishment of his\nthrone.\" To many an ordinary spectator, the world seems only the\ntheatre of man's labor and suffering. He passes through it as he might\nthrough one of the arsenals of ancient Greece or Rome, where indeed\ngreat works were wrought, but where the hand of the workman was always\nas visible as the result produced. A more thoughtful man might see\nproofs of some unknown power, just as in an arsenal of our day works,\ncompared to which the fabled labors of giants and cyclops were as\nchild's play, are hourly performed by the stroke of huge hammers\nwelding vast masses of glowing metal, while nothing is seen to cause\nor explain their motion. All this is understood by one who has once\nbeen allowed to see at work the engine itself which sets all in\nmotion. So does the Old Testament history unveil to the eye of faith\nthe hidden causes, not only of the Jewish history, but of the great\nevents of secular history. All that seemed before only results without\ncause, is seen to be fully accounted for; not that we can always\nunderstand the ends which the Almighty Worker designs to accomplish,\nor the means by which he is accomplishing them, but everywhere faith\nsees the operation of Almighty power directed by infinite wisdom and\nlove, and, while able to understand much, it is willing to await in\nreverent adoration the development of that which as yet is beyond its\ncomprehension. It sees that the history of other nations is\ndistinguished from that of the children of Israel, not so much by the\ncharacter of the events which it records (for the extraordinary\nmanifestations of divine power were chiefly confined to a few special\nperiods), as to the principle and spirit in which it has been written,\nand that secular history viewed by eyes supernaturally enlightened\nassumes the same appearance.\n\nIn fact, it is not difficult to write a history of the reigns of David\nand Solomon and their successors down to the fall of the Hebrew\nmonarchy which sounds very much like that of any other Oriental\nkingdom. The {359} thing has been done of late years, both in Germany\nand in England. It was by this that Dean Milman, many years ago, so\ngreatly shocked the more religious portion of English readers. Nor\nwere they shocked without cause; for his was a history of the Jews\nfrom which, as far as possible, Almighty God was left out, while the\ncharacteristic of the inspired narrative is, that it is a record not\nso much of the doings of men as of the great acts of God by man and\namong men. Only Dean Milman was more consistent than those who\ncondemned him. He was right in perceiving that the greater part of the\nhistory of the Jews is not materially different from that of other\nnations. But he went on to infer that, therefore, we may leave God out\nof sight in judging of Jewish history, as we do in that of other\nnations, instead of learning from the example of the Jews that in\nevery age God is as certainly working among every nation. That by\nwhich he offended religious Protestants was the application of their\nown ordinary principles to the one history in which they had been\ntaught from childhood to see and acknowledge with exceptional\nreverence the working of Almighty God in the affairs of the world.\n\nThis it is which gives its peculiar character to many of the\nchronicles of the middle ages. It is impossible not to feel that the\nwriters see no broad distinction between the history of the nations\nand times of which they are writing and that of the ancient people of\nGod. And hence in their annals we have far more of the philosophy of\nhistory, in the true sense of the word, than was possible to any\nancient author. For with all their ignorance of physical causes, which\nled them into many mistakes, their main principles were both true and\nvitally important, and were wholly unknown to Thucydides and Tacitus.\nBut the circumstances of their times made it impossible that they\nshould survey the extensive range of facts which lies before a modern\nhistorian. In many instances, also, they were led by the imperfect\nstate of physical science to attribute to a supernatural interference\nof God in the world things which we are now able to refer to natural\ncauses. That God has before now interfered with the course of nature\nwhich he has established in the world, and may whenever he pleases so\ninterfere again, these were to them first principles. And so far they\nreasoned truly and justly, although their imperfect acquaintance with\nother branches of human knowledge sometimes led them to apply amiss\ntheir true principle. Their minds were so much accustomed to dwell\nupon the thought of God, and upon his acts in the world, that they\nwere always prepared to see and hear him everywhere, and in every\nevent. When they heard of any event supposed to be supernatural, they\nmight be awestruck and impressed, but could not be said to be\nsurprised; and hence, no doubt, they sometimes accepted as\nsupernatural events which, if examined by a shrewd man who starts with\nthe first principle that nothing supernatural can really have taken\nplace, could have been otherwise explained. Beside, their comparative\nunacquaintance with physical science led them into errors in\naccounting for and even in observing those which they themselves did\nnot imagine to be supernatural. But their first principles were true.\nAnd the modern who assumes, whether explicitly or implicitly, that the\ncourse of the world is modified and governed only by the passions and\ndeeds of man, is in his first principles fundamentally wrong. They\nfell into accidental error; he cannot be more than accidentally right.\n\nOur author says:\n\n   \"In the middle ages, and notably in the thirteenth century, there\n   were minds which have left us imperishable memorials of themselves,\n   and which would have taken the largest and most philosophical view\n   of history had the materials existed ready to their hand. {360}\n   Conceive, for instance, a history from the luminous mind of St.\n   Thomas with the stores of modern knowledge at his command. But the\n   invention of printing, one of the turning points of the human race,\n   was first to take place, and then on that soil of the middle ages,\n   so long prepared and fertilized by so patient a toil, a mighty\n   harvest was to spring up. Among the first-fruits of labors so often\n   depreciated by those who have profited by them, and in the land of\n   children who despise their sires, we find the proper alliance of\n   philosophy with history. Then at length the province of the\n   historian is seen to consist, not merely in the just, accurate, and\n   lively narrative of facts, but in the exhibition of cause and\n   effect. 'What do we now expect in history?' says M. de Barante; and\n   he replies, 'Solid instruction and complete knowledge of things;\n   moral lessons, political counsels; comparison with the present, and\n   the general knowledge of facts.' Even in the age of Tacitus, the\n   most philosophic of ancient historians, no individual ability could\n   secure all such powers\" (p. 12).\n\nThus philosophical history is one of the results of Christianity.\nProfessor Max M\u00fcller makes a similar remark with regard to his own\nfavorite study of ethnology. Before the day of Pentecost, he says, no\nman, not even the greatest minds, ever thought of tracing the\ngenealogy of nations by their languages, because they did not know the\nunity of the human race. The unity of mankind is naturally connected\nin the order of ideas with the unity of God. Those who worshipped many\ngods, and believed that each race and nation had its own tutelary\ndivinity, not unnaturally regarded each nation as a separate race. So\nfar was this feeling carried by the most civilized races of the old\nworld, that they thought it a profanation that the worship of the gods\nof one race should be offered by a priest not sprung from that race.\nThe most moderate and popular of the Roman patricians rejected the\ndemand of the _plebs_ to be admitted to the highest offices of the\nstate, not as politically dangerous, but as profane. The Roman consul,\nin virtue of his office, was the priest of the Capitoline Jove, to\nwhom, on certain solemn occasions, he had to offer sacrifice. It would\nbe a pollution that a plebeian, not sprung from any of the tribes of\nRomulus, should presume to offer that sacrifice. In fact, the\nconsulship would hardly have been thrown open to the _plebs_ until the\nlong continued habit of intermarriage had welded the two portions of\nthe Roman people so completely into one that the plebeian began, at\nlast, to be regarded as of the same blood with the Furii, the\nCornelii, and the Julii. The first measure by which the tribunes\ncommenced their attack upon the exclusive privilege of the great\nhouses was wisely chosen; it was the Canuleian law, by which marriages\nbetween the two orders were made legal and valid. Before that,\npatricians and plebeians were two nations living in one city, and,\naccording to the universal opinion of the ancient world, this implied\nthat they had different gods, different priests, a different ritual,\nand different temples. But the day of Pentecost blended all nations\ninto a new unity--the unity of the body of Christ; and its first\neffect was, that the preachers of the new law proclaimed everywhere,\nthat \"God had made of one blood all nations of men, to dwell upon the\nface of the whole earth.\" The professor points out what curiously\ncompletes the analogy between the two cases, that while Christianity,\nby collecting into one church all the nations of the world, and by\nteaching their original unity, naturally suggested the idea that all\ntheir different languages had some common origin, any satisfactory\ninvestigation of the subject was long delayed by the unfounded notion\nthat the Hebrew must needs be the root from which they all sprang.\nThus, in both cases, the germ of studies, whose development was\ndelayed for ages by the {361} imperfection of human knowledge, appears\nto have been contained in the revelation of the gospel of Christ.\n\nIt is important to bring these considerations into prominence, because\nthe knowledge which would never have existed without Christianity, is,\nin many cases, retained by men who forget or deny the faith to which\nthey are indebted for it. Our author draws comparison between Tacitus\nand Gibbon (page 14):\n\n   \"The world of thought in which we live is, after all, formed by\n   Christianity. Modern Europe is a relic of Christendom, the virtue\n   of which is not gone out of it. Gregory VII. and Innocent III. have\n   ruled over generations which have ignored them; have given breadth\n   to minds which condemned their benefactors as guilty of narrow\n   priestcraft, and derided the work of those benefactors as an\n   exploded theory. Let us take an example in what is, morally,\n   perhaps the worst and most shocking period of the last three\n   centuries--the thirty years preceding the great French revolution.\n   We shall see that at this time even minds which had rejected, with\n   all the firmness of a reprobate will, the regenerating influence of\n   Christianity, could not emancipate themselves from the virtue of\n   the atmosphere which they had breathed. They are immeasurably\n   greater than they would have been in pagan times, by the force of\n   that faith which they misrepresented and repudiated. To prove the\n   truth of my words, compare for a moment the great artist who drew\n   Tiberius and Domitian and the Roman empire in the first century\n   with him who wrote of its decline and fall in the second and\n   succeeding centuries. How far wider a grasp of thought, how far\n   more manifold an experience, combined with philosophic purposes, in\n   Gibbon than in Tacitus. He has a standard within him by which he\n   can measure the nations as they come in long procession before him.\n   In that vast and wondrous drama of the Antonines and Constantine\n   Athanasius and Leo, Justinian and Charlemagne, Mahomet, Zenghis\n   Khan, and Timour, Jerusalem and Mecca, Rome and Constantinople,\n   what stores of thought are laid up--what a train of philosophic\n   induction exhibited! How much larger is this world become than that\n   which trembled at Caesar! The very apostate profits by the light\n   which has shone on Thabor, and the blood which has flowed on\n   Calvary. He is a greater historian than his heathen predecessor\n   because he lives in a society to which the God whom he has\n   abandoned has disclosed the depth of its being, the laws of its\n   course, the importance of its present, the price of its futurity.\"\n\nA very little thought will show that, constituted as man's nature is,\nthis could not have been otherwise. Man differs from the inferior\nanimals in that he is richly endowed with faculties which, until they\nhave been developed by education, he can never use, and appreciates\nand embraces truths, when they have been set before him, which he\ncould never have discovered unassisted. This is the most obvious\ndistinction between reason and instinct. The caterpillar, hatched from\nan egg dropped by a parent whom it never saw, knows at once what food\nand what habits are necessary for its new life. Weeks pass away, and\nits first skin begins to die; but (as if it had been fully instructed\nin what has to be done) it draws its body out of it as from a glove,\nand comes forth in a new one. A few weeks later it forsakes the food\nwhich has hitherto been necessary for its life, and buries itself in\nthe earth, which up to that very day would have been certain death.\nThere a mysterious change passes upon it, and it lies as if dead till\nthe time for another change approaches. It then gradually works its\nway to the surface, and comes out a butterfly or a moth. It is now\nindifferent to the plants which in its former state were necessary to\nits existence, but yet it chooses those plants on which to deposit its\neggs. {362} We are so apt to delude ourselves with the notion that we\nunderstand everything to which we give a name, that ninety-nine people\nout of a hundred seem to think they account for this marvelous power\nof the inferior animals to act exactly right under circumstances so\nstrangely changed, by calling it \"instinct.\" But, in truth, why or how\nthe creature does what it does, we no more know when we have called it\n\"instinct\" than we did before. All we can suppose is that as the\nCreator has left none of his creatures destitute of the kind and\ndegree of knowledge necessary to enable it to discharge its appointed\noffice in creation, the appetites and desires of the insect are\nmodified from time to time in the different stages of its existence so\nthat they impel it exactly to the course necessary for it to take,\nwith much greater certainty than if it understood what the result was\nto be. How different is the case of man. Not only is he a free agent,\nand therefore to be guided by reason, not by mere propensity, but\nneither reason nor speech, nor indeed life itself, could be preserved\nor made of any use except by means of training and education received\nfrom others. A man left to shift for himself like the animal whose\nchanges we have been tracing, would die at each state of his existence\nfor want of some one to teach him what must be done for his\npreservation. This same training is equally necessary for his\nphysical, intellectual, moral, and spiritual life. But he is so\nconstituted that the different things needful for him to know for each\nof these purposes approve themselves to him as soon as they are\npresented to his mind from without, and the things which thus approve\nthemselves, although he could never have discovered them, we truly\ncall natural to man, because no external teaching would have made him\ncapable of learning them unless the faculty had been as much a part of\nhis original constitution as the unreasoning desires which we call\ninstinct are part of the constitution of brutes. And therefore, when\nonce developed by education, they remain a part of the man, even when\nhe casts away from him those teachers by whom they were developed.\nNero would never have learnt the use of speech if he had not caught it\nfrom his mother; yet when he used it to order her murder he did not\nlose what she had taught him, because it was a part of his nature. And\nso of higher powers, the result of a superior training. Principles\nwhich men would never have known without Christian training are\nretained when Christianity itself is rejected, because they are a part\nof the spiritual endowment given to man by his Creator, although\nwithout training he would never have been able to develop them. His\nrejection of Christianity results from an evil will. The parts of\nChristian teaching against which that will does not rebel he calls and\nbelieves to be the lessons of his natural reason, although the\nexperience of the greatest and wisest heathen shows that his\nunassisted natural faculties never would have discovered them.\n\nNor is this true only of individuals. Nations trained for many\ngenerations in Christian faith have before now fallen away from\nChristianity. But it does not seem that they are able to reduce\nthemselves to the level of heathen nations in their moral standard,\ntheir perception and appreciation of good and evil, justice and wrong,\nor of the nature and destinies of the human race. In some respects\nthey are morally much worse than heathen. But it does not appear that\nin these points they can sink so low, because their nature, fallen\nthough it be, approves and accepts some of the truths taught it by\nChristianity. Hence, in order to judge what man can or cannot do\nwithout the revelation of God in Jesus Christ, we must examine him in\nnations to which the faith has never been given, rather than in those\nwhich have rejected it. Unhappily, there are at this moment parts of\nEurope in which the belief in the supernatural {363} seems wanting. An\nintelligent correspondent of the _Times_ a year ago described such a\nstate of things as existing in parts of northern Germany and\nScandinavia. The population believes nothing, and practises no\nreligion. Public worship is deserted, not because the people have\ndevised any new heresy of their own as to the manner in which man\nshould approach God, but because they have ceased to trouble\nthemselves about the matter at all. Lutheranism is dead and gone; but\nnothing has been substituted for it. The intelligent Protestant writer\nwas surprised to find a population thus wholly without religion\norderly and well-behaved, hard-working, and by no means forgetful of\nsocial duties. The phenomenon is, no doubt, remarkable; but it is by\nno means without example. Many parishes (we fear considerable\ndistricts) in France are substantially in the same state. The\npeasantry are sober, industrious, and orderly to a degree unknown in\nEngland. They reap the temporal fruits of these good qualities in a\ngeneral prosperity equally unknown here. They are saving to a degree\nalmost incredible, so that it is a matter of ordinary experience that\na peasant who began life with nothing except his bodily strength,\nleaves behind him several hundreds, not unfrequently some thousands,\nof pounds sterling. But in this same district whole villages are so\nabsolutely without religion, that, although there is not one person\nfor many miles who calls himself a Protestant, the churches are almost\nabsolutely deserted, and the _cur\u00e9s_ (generally good and zealous men)\nare reduced almost to inactivity by absolute despair. Some give\nthemselves up to prayer, seeing nothing else that they can do; some\nwill say that they are not wholly without encouragement, because,\nafter fifteen or twenty years of labor, they have succeeded in\nbringing four or five persons to seek the benefit of the sacraments\nout of a population of as many hundreds, among whom when they came\nthere was not one such person to be found.  [Footnote 52]\n\n  [Footnote 52: It should be observed that the morality said to exist\n  in those parts of France which have so nearly lost the faith is not\n  Catholic morality: in fact, the population in those districts is\n  decreasing, and that (it is universally admitted) from immorality.\n  It should also be remember that there is a most marked contrast\n  between these districts and those Lutheran districts of which the\n  _Times_ spoke: In the latter, Lutheranism has died out of itself. In\n  the worst districts of France, the Catholic religion has not died\n  out, but has been displaced by a systematic infidel education\n  inflicted on the people by a godless government. Lastly, even where\n  things are the worst, there are a few in each generation who, in the\n  midst of a godless population, turn out saints, really worthy of\n  that name. It is seldom that a mission is preached in any village\n  without some such being rescued from the corrupt mass around them.\n  Nothing, in fact, can more strongly mark the contrast between the\n  Catholic religion and Lutheranism. The subject is far too large to\n  be discussed here, but we have suggested these considerations to\n  avoid misconceptions of our meaning.]\n\nAppalling as is this state of things, the natural virtues (such as\nthey are) of populations which have thus lost faith are themselves the\nremains of Christianity. History gives us no trace of any people in\nsuch a state except those who have once been Christians. For instance,\nin all others, however civilized, slavery has been established both by\nlaw and practice; no one of them has been without divorce; infanticide\nhas been allowed and practised. Nowhere has the unity of man's nature\nbeen acknowledged, and, what follows from that, the duties owing to\nhim as man, not merely as fellow countryman. And hence, nowhere has\nthere existed what we call the law of nations, a rule which limits the\nconduct of men, not only toward those of other nations, but, what is\nmuch more, toward those with whom they are in a state of war, or whom\nthey have conquered. In the most civilized times of ancient Greece and\nRome no rights were recognized in such foreigners. All these things\nare the legitimate progeny of Christianity, and of Christianity alone,\nalthough they are now accepted as natural principles by nations by\nwhom, but for the gospel of Christ, they would never have been heard\nof.\n\n{364}\n\nWe have enlarged upon this point because, not only in what he says of\nGibbon, but in many parts of his subsequent chapters, Mr. Allies\nattributes to the influence of Christianity things which a superficial\nobserver may attribute rather to some general progress in the world\ntoward a higher civilization. We shall see instances of this as we\nproceed. We are satisfied that the objection is utterly unfounded. We\nsee no reason to believe that without Christianity any higher or\nbetter civilization than that of Rome under Augustus and Athens under\nPericles would ever have been attained. That those who lived under\nthat state, so far from expecting any \"progress,\" believed that the\nworld was getting worse and worse, and that there remained no hope of\nimprovement, nor any principles from which it could possibly arise, is\nmost certain. Nor do we believe that those who thus judged of the\nnatural tendency of the world were mistaken, although by a stupendous\ninterference of the Creator with the course of nature an improvement\nactually took place.\n\nThe philosophy of history then sifts and arranges the facts which it\nrecords, and judges of them by fixed and eternal principles of right\nand wrong; drawing from the past lessons of wisdom and virtue for the\nfuture. It will approach nearer and nearer to perfection as the range\nof facts investigated becomes wider, and as the principles by which\nthey are judged are more absolutely true, and applied more correctly,\nmore practically, and more universally. Hence, it would never have\nexisted without Christianity, and although in Christian nations it is\nfound in men partially or wholly unworthy of the Christian name, but\nwho retain many ideas and principles derived from Christianity alone,\nyet even in them it is exercised imperfectly in proportion as they are\nless and less Christian.\n\nMr. Allies thus compares Tacitus and St. Augustine:\n\n  \"The atmosphere of Tacitus and the lurid glare of his Rome compared\n  with St. Augustine's world are like the shades in which Achilles\n  deplored the loss of life contrasted with a landscape bathed in the\n  morning light of a southern sun. Yet how much more of material\n  misery was there in the time of St. Augustine than in the time of\n  Tacitus! In spite of the excesses in which the emperors might\n  indulge within the walls of their palace or of Rome, the fair fabric\n  of civilization filled the whole Roman world, the great empire was\n  in peace, and its multitude of nations were brethren. Countries\n  which now form great kingdoms of themselves, were then tranquil\n  members of one body politic. Men could travel the coasts of Italy,\n  Gaul, Spain, Africa, Syria, Asia Minor, and Greece, round to Italy\n  again, and find a rich smiling land covered by prosperous cities,\n  enjoying the same laws and institutions, and possessed in peace by\n  its children. In St. Augustine's time all had been changed; on many\n  of these coasts a ruthless, uncivilized, unbelieving, or\n  misbelieving enemy had descended. Through the whole empire there was\n  a feeling of insecurity, a cry of helplessness, and a trembling at\n  what was to come. Yet in the pages of the two writers the contrast\n  is in the inverse ratio. In the pagan, everything seems borne on by\n  an iron fate, which tramples upon the free will of man, and\n  overwhelms the virtuous before the wicked. In the Christian, order\n  shines in the midst of destruction, and mercy dispenses the severest\n  humiliations. It was the symbol of the coming age. And so that great\n  picture of the doctor, saint, and philosopher laid hold of the minds\n  of men during those centuries of violence which followed, and in\n  which peace and justice, so far from embracing each other, seemed to\n  have deserted the earth. And in modern times a great genius has\n  seized upon it, and developed it in the discourse on universal\n  history. Bossuet is worthy to receive the torch from St. Augustine.\n  Scarcely could a more majestic voice, or a more {365} philosophic\n  spirit, set forth the double succession of empire and of religion,\n  or exhibit the tissue wrought by Divine Providence, human free will,\n  and the permitted power of evil.\"\n\nAfter this estimate of St. Augustine, he speaks of\n\n  \"A living author--at once statesman, orator, philosopher, and\n  historian of the higest rank--who has given us, on a less extensive\n  scale, a philosophy of history in its most finished and amiable\n  form. The very attempt on the part of M. Guizot to draw out a\n  picture of civilization during fourteen hundred years, and to\n  depict, amongst that immense and ever-changing period, the course of\n  society in so many countries, indicates no ordinary power; and the\n  partial fulfilment of the design may be said to have elevated the\n  philosophy of history into a science. In this work may be found the\n  moat important rules of the science accurately stated; but the work\n  itself is the best example of philosophic method and artistic\n  execution, united to illustrate a complex subject. A careful study\n  of original authorities, a patient induction of facts, a cautious\n  generalization, the philosophic eye to detect analogies, the\n  painter's power to group results, and, above all, a unity of\n  conception which no multiplicity of details can embarrass; these are\n  some of the main qualifications for a philosophy of history which I\n  should deduce from these works. Yet, while the action of Providence\n  and that of human free will are carefully and beautifully brought\n  out, while both may be said to be points of predilection with the\n  author, he has not alluded, so far as I am aware, to the great evil\n  spirit and his personal operation. Strong as he is, he has been\n  apparently too weak to bear the scoff of modern infidelity--\"he\n  believes in the devil\"--unless, indeed, the cause of this lies\n  deeper, and belongs to his philosophy; for if there be one subject\n  out of which eclecticism can pick nothing to its taste, it would be\n  the permitted operation of the great fallen spirit. Nor will the\n  warmest admiration of his genius be mistaken for a concurrence in\n  all his judgments. I presume not to say how far such an author is\n  sometimes, in spite of himself, unjust, from the point of view at\n  which he draws his picture. Whether, and how far, he be an eclectic\n  philosopher, let others decide. It would be grievous to feel it true\n  of such a mind; for it is the original sin of that philosophy to\n  make the universe rotate round itself. Great is its complacency in\n  its own conclusions, but there runs through them one mistake--to\n  fancy itself in the place of God\" (p. 31).\n\nThose who have ever made the attempt to analyze in a few lines the\ngenius of a great writer will best be able to estimate the combination\nof keen intellect, patient thought, and scrupulous candor in this\ncriticism. We must not deny ourselves one more quotation:\n\n  \"St. Augustine, Bossuet, Guizot, Balmez, Schlegel: I have taken\n  these names not to exhaust but to illustrate the subject. Here we\n  have the ancient and the modern society, Africa and France, Spain\n  and Germany, and the Christian mind in each, thrown upon the facts\n  of history. They point out, I think, sufficiently a common result.\n  But amid the founders of a new science, who shall represent our own\n  country? Can I hesitate, or can I venture, in this place and company\n  [_i.e._, before the Catholic University of Dublin, in the chair of\n  which this lecture was delivered], to mention the hand which has\n  directed the scattered rays of light from so many sources on the\n  wild children of Central Asia, and produced the Turk before us in\n  his untameable ferocity--the outcast of the human race, before whom\n  earth herself ceases to be a mother--by whom man's blood has ever\n  been shed like water, woman's honor counted as the vilest of things,\n  nature's most sacred laws publicly and avowedly outraged,--has\n  produced him before us for the abhorrence of mankind, the infamy of\n  nations? To sketch the intrinsic {366} character of barbarism and\n  civilization, and out of common historical details, travel, and\n  observation to show the ineffaceable stamp of race and tribe,\n  reproducing itself through the long series of ages, surely expresses\n  the idea which we mean by the philosophy of history\" (p. 38).\n\nWe have given a disproportionate space to this inaugural lecture, both\nfor its intrinsic importance and because it gives a shadow of the\nwhole plan of Mr. Allies's work, both that part which lies before us\nand that which remains to be published; for the volume before us is\n\"only a portion, perhaps about a fourth, of the author's design.\" In\nthe six lectures which it contains, he gives us an estimate, first, of\nthe physical and political condition of the Roman empire in its palmy\ndays; then, of the force by which it pleased God to constitute the new\ncreation in the midst of it. In the last four lectures he compares the\nvital principles of these two vast social organizations--the heathen\nand the Christian--first in a representative man of each class, then\nin the effects produced upon society at large by the influence of\neach; then in the primary relation of man to woman in marriage; and,\nlastly, in the virginal state; although under this last head there can\nhardly be said to be a comparison, as heathen society has simply\nnothing to set against that wonderful creation of Christianity--holy\nvirginity.\n\nWe know not where we have met any painting of the Roman empire so\nstriking as that contained in the first lecture. Of the multitude of\nEnglishmen who read more or less of the classical Latin authors, a\nvery small proportion have ever paid any attention to the Roman\nempire, as it is displayed by Tacitus and Juvenal. This is the natural\nresult of the grace and eloquence of Livy and Cicero, much rather than\nof any strong preference for republican institutions. Indeed it is\nimpossible not to be struck with the vast influence which Roman\nrepublicanism exercises in France compared with England. Nor is it\ndifficult to account for this. France, except to a limited degree\nunder the monarchy of July, has never enjoyed constitutional liberty.\nThe Frenchman, therefore, who dreams of liberty at all, places his\ndreamland in a Roman republic. Boys who in England would rant about\nJohn Hampden are found in France ranting about Junius Brutus. For what\nthe Englishman means when he talks about liberty is \"English liberty;\"\nthe Frenchman means the Roman republic. So much has this been the\ncase, that even in America the war of independence began, not in any\naspiration after a republic, but for the rights of English subjects.\nThe sword had been drawn for a year before the colonies claimed\nindependence, and very shortly before Washington had declared that\n\"there was no thought of separation, only of English liberty.\" What\nproves that these were not mere words was, that even after\nindependence had been achieved, the leaders, who met in congress,\nagreed almost to a man in expressing their preference for \"an English\nconstitution,\" if circumstances had placed it within their reach. All\nthe world knows that France became a republic chiefly because Rome in\nher palmy days had been so called; nay, to this hour all the terms\nadopted by the revolutionary party have been borrowed from classical\ntimes. Such was the term \"citizen,\" so appropriate to a people whose\nboast was that they were free of a city which had conquered the world,\nso absurd as denoting the members of a great nation in which not even\ncenturies of extreme centralization have prevented political rights\nfrom being exercised by each man in his own province. Such, again, was\nthat inundation of pagan names which the revolutionary times\nsubstituted for those of the saints, and which are still\ncharacteristic of France--Camille, Emile, Antonine, and even Brute and\nTimoleon. This we take to be one great reason why many sensible {367}\npersons in France are so greatly afraid of classical studies in\nschools and colleges. They say that they turn the heads of boys,\nespecially French boys. It is highly characteristic of the man, that\nthe officers of the House of Commons, who made forcible entry into the\nhouse of Sir Francis Burdett when he was committed by order of the\nHouse, found him reading with his little son, not Plutarch's life of\nBrutus or Cato, as would assuredly have been the case with a\nFrenchman, but \"Magna Charta.\" He was not less theatrical, but he was\na thoroughly English actor.\n\nAnd yet we strongly suspect that out of a hundred boys who leave a\nclassical school more than ninety believe that Roman history ends with\nAugustus. The university no doubt, gives a somewhat more extended\nview. But even there Tacitus is usually about the limit. We wonder how\nfar this feeling was carried before Gibbon published the \"Decline and\nFall.\"\n\nHence we especially value the wonderful picture of the empire painted\nby our author.\n\nIt was in fact a federation of civilized states under an absolute\nmonarch; the municipal liberties were left so entire that Niebuhr\nmentions Italian cities, in the immediate neighborhood of Rome itself,\nwhich retained all through the times of the empire and the middle\nages, down to the wars of the French revolution, the same municipal\ninstitutions under which Rome had found them. They were swept away by\nthat faithful lover of despotism, Napoleon I., to make way for the\nuniform system of a _pr\u00e9fet_ and _souspr\u00e9fet_ in each district. It is\nmore important to bear this in mind because, as the revolutionists\naped the manners and names of the Roman republic without understanding\nthem, the imperialists of France are apt to assume that they\nfaithfully represent the Roman empire. Now the one striking\ncharacteristic of the French empire is that it raises yearly 100,000\nmilitary conscripts, beside the naval conscription, the police, and\nthe very firemen, all of whom are carefully drilled as soldiers. How\nwas it under Augustus?\n\n\"It is hard to conceive adequately what a spectator called 'the\nimmense majesty of the Roman peace' (Pliny, 'Nat. Hist,' xxvii. 1).\nWhere now in Europe, impatient and uneasy, a group of half-friendly\nnations jealously watches each other's progress and power, and the\nacquisition of a province threatens a general war, Rome maintained,\nfrom generation to generation, in tranquil sway, an empire of which\nGaul, Spain, Britain, and North Africa, Switzerland, and the greater\npart of Austria, Turkey in Europe, Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt formed\nbut single limbs, members of her mighty body. Her roads, which spread\nlike a network over this immense territory, from their common centre,\nthe golden milestone of the Forum, under the palace of her emperors,\ndid but express the unity of that spirit with which she ruled the\nearth her subject, levelling the mountains and filling up the valleys\nfor the march of her armies, the caravans of her merchandise, and the\neven sweep of her legislation. A moderate fleet of 6,000 sailors at\nMisenum, and another at Ravenna, a flotilla at Forum Julii, and\nanother in the Black sea, of half that force, preserved the whole\nMediterranean from piracy; and every nation bordering on its shores\ncould freely interchange the productions of their industry. Two\nsmaller armaments of twenty-four vessels each on the Rhine and the\nDanube secured the empire from northern incursion. In the time of\nTiberius a force of twenty-five legions and fourteen cohorts, making\n171,500 men, with about an equal number of auxiliary troops, that is,\nin all, an army of 340,000, sufficed, not so much to preserve internal\norder, which rested upon other and surer ground, but to guard the\nfrontiers of a vast population, amounting, as is calculated, {368} to\n120,000,000, and inhabiting the very fairest regions of the earth, of\nwhich the great Mediterranean sea was a sort of central and domestic\nlake. But this army itself, thus moderate in number, was not, as a\nrule, stationed in cities, but in fixed quarters on the frontiers, as\na guard against external foes. Thus, for instance, the whole interior\nof Gaul possessed a garrison of but 1,200 men--that Gaul which, in the\nyear 1860, in a time of peace, thought necessary for internal\ntranquillity and external rank and security to have 626,000 men in\narms.  [Footnote 53] Again, Asia Minor had no military force; that\nmost beautiful region of the earth teemed with princely cities,\nenjoying the civilization of a thousand years, and all the treasures\nof art and industry, in undisturbed repose. And within its\nunquestioned boundaries, the spirit, moreover, of Roman rule was far\nother than that of a military despotism, or of a bureaucracy and a\npolice pressing with ever watchful suspicion on every spring of civil\nlife. The principle of its government was not that no population could\nbe faithful which was not kept in leading-strings, but rather to leave\ncities and corporations to manage their own affairs themselves. Thus\nits march was firm and strong, but for this very reason devoid alike\nof fickleness and haste.\"\n\n  [Footnote 53: Surely the author should have added the Belgian army\n  (fixed by the laws of 1853 at 100,000), and that part of the\n  Prussian, etc., which is raised west of the Rhine, in comparing the\n  military force of ancient Gaul with that of the same district in our day.]\n\nIt might have been added, that, as a general rule, the army which\nguarded each portion was composed of the natives of the country in\nwhich they were stationed. Roman citizens they were, no doubt, but\ncitizens of provincial extraction, and posted to guard on behalf of\nRome the very country which their fathers, sometimes but a very few\ngenerations back, had defended against her.  [Footnote 54] This is a\npolicy the generosity of which France dares not at this day imitate,\neven in her oldest provinces. To say nothing of the British army in\nIreland, the Breton conscripts are still sent to serve at Lyons and\nParis.\n\n  [Footnote 54: Champagny, Rome, and Judea.]\n\nThe extracts we have given will doubtless lead every reader to study\nfor himself Mr. Allies's descriptions of Rome, and the life of the\nThermae, and of the colonies, everywhere reproducing the life of Rome.\nEvery page breathes with the matured thought of a mind of remarkable\nnatural acuteness, and stored with refined scholarship. There is\nnothing of beauty or majesty in that magnificent old world which he\ndoes not seem to have witnessed and mused over.\n\nIt is hardly possible to realize all this greatness without being\ntempted to repine in the remembrance whither it was all\nhastening--that the peace of the Roman world was but \"the torrent's\nsmoothness ere it dash below;\" its magnificence only the feast of\nBaltassar in that last night of the splendor of Babylon, when the\nMedes and Persians were already under her walls, and the river had\nbeen turned away from its course through her quays, and a way left\nopen for the rush of the destroyer into her streets and palaces.\nAlready the mysterious impulse had been given which, during so many\ncenturies, drove down horde after horde of barbarians from the wild\nnorth-east, to overflow the favored lands that surrounded the\nMediterranean. In the early days of Roman history the Gauls had rushed\non, sweeping away those earlier races whose remains we are now\nexploring in the shallows of the Swiss lakes, and whose descendants\nare probably to be found in the Basques, and in some of those degraded\ncastes which, in spite of the welding power of the Church, left\nproscribed remnants in France and elsewhere until the great\nrevolution. That mighty wave burst upon the rock of the Capitol,\nthreatened for a moment utterly to overwhelmed it, and then fell\nbroken at its feet. But it is not by repelling one wave, however\nformidable, that a rising tide is turned back. In the day of Rome's\n{369} utmost power her very foundations were shaken by the torrent of\nthe Cimbri and Teutones. They, too, were broken against the steel-clad\nlegions of Marius, and fell off like spray on the earth. But the tide\nwas still advancing. What need to trace its successive inroads? Every\nreader of Gibbon remembers how the time came at last when the very\nsite where Rome had stood had been so often swept by it, that of all\nits greatness there remained nothing more than the sea leaves of some\ncastle of shingles and sand, after a few waves have passed over it.\n\n  \"Quench'd is the golden statue's ray;\n  The breath of heaven hath swept away\n  What toiling earth hath piled;\n  Scattering wise heart and crafty hand,\n  As breezes strew on ocean's strand\n  The fabrics of a child!\"\n\nThere even came a time when for many weeks the very ruins of ancient\nRome were absolutely deserted, and trodden neither by man nor beast.\nNo wonder that the world stood by afar off weeping and mourning over\nthe utter destruction of all that the earth had ever known of\ngreatness and glory. So the sentence had been passed, in the day of\nher greatest glory, by the prophetic voice of the angel, who cried\nwith a strong voice:\n\n  \"Fallen--fallen, is Babylon the great, and is become the habitation\n  of devils and the hold of every unclean spirit, and of every unclean\n  and hateful bird. And the kings of the earth shall weep and bewail\n  themselves over her, when they shall see the smoke of the burning;\n  standing afar off for fear of her torments, saying, Alas! alas! that\n  great city Babylon, that mighty city; for in one hour is thy\n  judgment come. And the merchants of the earth shall weep and mourn\n  over her, and shall stand afar off from her for fear of her\n  torments, weeping and mourning, and saying, Alas! alas! that great\n  city which was clothed in fine linen, and purple, and scarlet, and\n  was gilt with gold and precious stones and pearls. For in one hour\n  are so great riches come to nought.\" (Apocalypse, chap, xviii.)\n\nIt was not the ruin of one city, however glorious, but the sweeping\naway of all the accumulated glories of the civilization of the whole\ncivilized world, during more than a thousand years. All had been\nembodied in imperial Rome. In the words of our author--\n\n  \"The empire of Augustus inherited the whole civilization of the\n  ancient world. Whatever political or social knowledge, whatever\n  moral or intellectual truth, whatever useful or elegant arts, 'the\n  enterprising race of Japhet' had acquired, preserved, and\n  accumulated in the long course of centuries since the beginning of\n  history had descended without a break to Rome, with the dominion of\n  all the countries washed by the Mediterranean. For her the wisdom of\n  Egypt and of all the East had been stored up. For her Pythagoras and\n  Thales, Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, and all the schools beside\n  of Grecian philosophy suggested by these names, had thought. For her\n  Zoreaster, as well as Solon and Lycurgus, legislated. For her\n  Alexander conquered, the races which he subdued forming but a\n  portion of her empire. Every city, in the ears of whose youth the\n  poems of Homer were familiar as household words, owned her sway. The\n  magistrates, from the Northern sea to the confines of Arabia, issued\n  their decrees in the language of empire--the Latin tongue; while, as\n  men of letters, they spoke and wrote in Greek. For her Carthage had\n  risen, founded colonies, discovered distant coasts, set up a\n  world-wide trade, and then fallen, leaving her the empire of Africa\n  and the west, with the lessons of a long experience. Not only so,\n  but likewise Spain, Gaul, and all the frontier provinces, from the\n  Alps to the mouth of the Danube, spent in her service their strength\n  and skill; supplied her armies with their bravest youths; gave to\n  her senate and her knights their choicest minds. The vigor of {370}\n  new and the culture of long-polished races were alike employed in\n  the vast fabric of her power. Every science and art, all human\n  experience and discovery, had poured their treasure in one stream\n  into the bosom of that society, which, after forty-four years of\n  undisputed rule, Augustus had consolidated into a new system of\n  government, and bequeathed to the charge of Tiberius\" (p. 41).\n\nNo wonder the ancient world had assured itself that, as nothing\ngreater, nothing wiser, nothing more glorious than Rome could ever\narise upon earth, so its greatness, wisdom, and glory could never be\nsuperseded. It was \"the eternal city.\" It was \"for ever to give laws\nto the world.\" The contemporary poets could imagine no stronger\nexpression of an eternity, than that of a duration while Rome itself\nshould last. Yet was it at that very time that the eyes of a fisherman\nof the lake of Tiberias were opened to see the angel \"coming down from\nheaven with power and great glory,\" from whose mighty cry over the\nfall of Babylon we have already quoted some words. No wonder when the\ntime came that his prophecy was fulfilled, the world stood by weeping\nand mourning, not over the fall of a single city (such as Scipio\nAfricanus had forecast as he watched the smoke of old Carthage rising\nup to heaven), but over the ruin of the civilization of the whole\nworld. No wonder that, even in our own age, those whose hearts have so\nfar sunk back to the level of heathenism as to value only material\nprosperity and worldly greatness, still re-echo the cry--\n\n  \"Alas! the eternal city, and alas!\n  The trebly hundred triumphs, and the day\n  When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass\n  The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away.\n  Alas! for earth, for never shall we see\n  That brightness in her eye she wore when\n       Rome was free.\"\n\nBut the voice of divine wisdom was far different: \"Rejoice over her,\nthou heaven, and ye holy apostles and prophets, for God hath judged\nyour judgment upon her. And a mighty angel took up a stone, as it were\na great millstone, and cast it into the sea, saying, 'With such\nviolence as this shall Babylon, that great city, be thrown down, and\nshall be found no more at all; and the voice of harpers, and of\nmusicians, and of them that play on the pipe and on the trumpet, shall\nno more be heard at all in thee; and no craftsman, of any art\nwhatsoever, shall be found any more at all in thee; and the sound of\nthe mill shall be heard no more at all in thee; and the light of the\nlamp shall shine no more in thee; and the voice of the bridegroom and\nthe bride shall be heard no more at all in thee; for thy merchants\nwere the great men of the earth, for all nations have been deceived by\nthine enchantments.' And in her was found the blood of prophets, and\nof saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth.\"\n\nThus total, according to the prophecy, was to be the destruction of\nthe wealth, civilization, greatness, and glory of the ancient heathen\nworld, gathered together in Rome, that in the utter sweeping away of\nthat one city all might perish together. How fully the words were\naccomplished we know by the lamentation of the whole world over\nBabylon, the echoes of which still ring in our ears. But to us\nChristians it rather belongs to weigh the words which follow without\nany break in the sacred text (although the division of the chapters\nleads many readers to overlook the close connection). \"After these\nthings I heard, as it were, the voice of much people in heaven,\nsaying, 'Alleluia. Salvation, and glory, and power is to our God. For\njust and true are his judgments, who hath judged the great harlot\nwhich corrupted the earth with her fornications, and he hath avenged\nthe blood of his servants at her hands.' And again they said,\n'Alleluia. And her smoke ascendeth for ever and ever.'\" Here is the\nanswer to that cry of the angel, \"Rejoice over her, thou heaven, and\nye apostles and prophets.\"\n\n{371}\n\nWere any comment needed upon such prophecies--any explanation of the\nsentence passed upon a civilization so great, so ancient, so widely\nextended, and so refined--anything to reconcile us to the utter\ndestruction of so much that was fair and mighty, we may find it in the\nlatter half of the lecture before us. Not that our author is\ninsensible to the marvellous beauty of that glow with which classical\nliterature causes the figures of those days to shine before us. That\nwould be impossible for a man of his studies. He says:\n\n  \"Is not the very language of Cicero and Virgil an expression of this\n  lordly, yet peaceful rule; this even, undisturbed majesty, which\n  holds the world together like the regularity of the seasons, like\n  the alternations of light and darkness, like the all-pervading\n  warmth of the sun? If every language reflects the character of the\n  race which speaks it, surely we discern in the very strain of Virgil\n  the closing of the gates of war, the settling of the nations down to\n  the arts of peace, the reign of law and order, the amity and concord\n  of races, the weak protected, the strong ruled: in a word,\n\n  'Romanos rerum dominos,\n  gentemque togatam.'\"\n\nNeither, need it hardly be said, has he set the hideous pollutions of\nthat civilization fully before us: that is rendered impossible by its\nvery hideousness. Let those who recoil from the horrors of what he has\nsaid--but a faint outline of the miserable truth, though traced with\nsingular artistic form and beauty--bear in mind the while the words of\nthe inspired prophecy, \"All nations have drunk of the wine of her\nfornication, and the kings of the earth have committed fornication\nwith her\"--\"Her sins have reached unto heaven, and the Lord shall\nreward her iniquities\"--\"In her was found the blood of prophets, and\nsaints, and of all that were slain upon the earth.\" The crimes, as\nwell as the civilization of a thousand years, were accumulated at\nRome, and both were swept away together by that overwhelming flood of\nfierce barbarians. Little were it worthy of Christians to mourn over a\ncivilization into whose very heart-strings such unutterable pollution\nwas intertwined; especially as it was removed, not like Babylon of\nold, to leave behind it nothing but desolation, but to make room for\nthat kingdom of God which was to be enthroned upon its ruins; for such\nwas the purpose of God, that the very centre of Christendom, the very\nseat of the throne of Christ upon earth, on which he would visibly sit\nin the person of his Vicar, was there to be established, whence the\nthrone of the Caesars and the golden house of Nero had been swept away\nin headlong ruin. \"I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first\nheaven and the first earth was gone. And I heard a great voice from\nthe throne saying, 'Behold the tabernacle of God with men, and he will\ndwell with them. And they shall be his people, and God himself shall\nbe their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.'\"\n\"And he that sat on the throne said, 'Behold, I make all things new.'\"\nThe full accomplishment of these words we expect, in faith and hope,\nwhen \"death shall be no more, nor mourning, nor crying, nor sorrow\nshall be any more; for the former things are passed away;\" yet,\nsurely, whatever more glorious accomplishment is yet to come, it were\nblindness not to see how far they are already fulfilled in the\nsubstitution of Christendom for the civilized pagan world, the setting\nup the throne of the Vicar of Christ upon the ruins of the palace of\nthe Caesars.\n\nFirst among the causes of that hideous accumulated mixture of blood\nand filth in which heathen civilization was drowned, Mr. Allies most\njustly places the institution of slavery as it was at Rome, because by\nthis the springs of human life were tainted. It is certain that during\nall the long years of the duration of the Roman {372} empire, there\nwas among its heathen population no one human being, who lived beyond\nthe earliest childhood, who was not polluted, and whose very soul was\nnot scarred and branded, by the marks of that hideous moral\npestilence. We say \"its heathen population,\" because great as must\nhave been the evil it wrought upon ordinary Christians, we doubt not\nthat there were those who gathered honey out of corruption, and whose\njustice, charity, and purity came out from that furnace of temptation\nwith a brightness which nothing but the most fiery trial could have\ngiven to them. From slavery the whole of Roman society received its\nform. Our author most truly says, \"The spirit of slavery is never\nlimited to the slave; it saturates the atmosphere which the freeman\nbreathes together with the slave; passes into his nature, and corrupts\nit.\" This miserable truth can never be too often impressed upon men,\nbecause, unhappily, there are still advocates of slavery who think\nthat they apologize for it if they can prove, as they think, that the\nslave is happy. As well might they argue that the introduction of the\nplague into London would be no calamity, if the man who brought it in\nupon him entered the city dancing and shouting. In ancient Italy\nslaves replaced the hardy rustics, that \"_prisca gens mortalium_\" who,\nthough doubtless far less virtuous than they appeared in the fevered\ndreams of men sick of the vices of Rome in the last days of the\nrepublic, were still among the best specimens of heathen life.\nWherever slavery extends, labor becomes dishonorable as the badge of\nservitude, a few masters languish in bloated luxury, but the nation\nitself grows constantly poorer, as an ever-increasing proportion of\nits population has to be maintained in indolence. At Rome slaves were\nthe only domestic servants, and after a time the only manufacturers.\nAnd yet even this is nothing compared to the evils of a state of\nsociety in which the great majority of women as well as of men are the\nabsolute property of their masters. Horrible as was this state of\nthings, it offered so many gratifications to the corrupt natures of\nthose whose hands held the power of the world, and without whose\nconsent it could not be abolished, that it would have seemed to any\none who had ever witnessed the life of a wealthy Roman noble no less\nthan madness to imagine that any man would ever willingly surrender\nthem.\n\nAs a matter of fact, so far was this state of society from holding out\nany hope of its own amendment, whether sudden or gradual, that, as our\nauthor remarks--\n\n  \"Of all the minds which have left a record of themselves, from\n  Cicero to Tacitus, there is not one who does not look upon the\n  world's course as a rapid descent. They feel an immense moral\n  corruption breaking in on all sides, which wealth, convenience of\n  life, and prosperity only enhance. They have no hope for humanity,\n  for they have no faith in it, nor in any power encompassing and\n  directing it.\"\n\nFaithless and hopeless they were; but whatever this world could give\nthey had in abundance:\n\n  \"In the time of heathenism the world of sense which surrounded man\n  flattered and caressed all his natural powers, and solicited an\n  answer from them; and in return he flung himself greedily upon that\n  world, and tried to exhaust its treasures. Glory, wealth, and\n  pleasure intoxicated his heart with their dreams; he crowned himself\n  with the earth's flowers, and drank in the air's perfume; and in one\n  object or another, in one after another, he sought enjoyment and\n  satisfaction. The world had nothing more to give him; nor will the\n  latest growth of civilization surpass the profusion with which the\n  earth poured forth its gifts to those who consented to seek on the\n  earth alone their home and their reward; though, indeed, they were\n  the few, to whom the many were sacrificed. The Roman noble, with the\n  pleasures of a vanquished world at his feet, {373} with men and\n  women from the fairest climes of the earth to do his bidding--men\n  who, though slaves, had learnt all the arts and letters of Greece,\n  and were ready to use them for the benefit of their lords; and\n  women, the most beautiful and accomplished of their sex, who were\n  yet the property of these same lords--the Roman noble, as to\n  material and even intellectual enjoyment, stood on a vantage-ground\n  which never again man can hope to occupy, however--\n\n    'Through the ages an increasing purpose runs,\n    And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns.'\n\n  \"Caesar and Pompey, Lucullus and Hortensius, and the fellows of\n  their order, were orators, statesmen, jurists, and legislators,\n  generals, men of literature, and luxurious nobles at the same time;\n  and they were this because they could use the minds as well as the\n  bodies of others at their pleasure. Not in this direction was an\n  advance possible\" (p. 159).\n\nOur author draws with great skill and vigor a picture of the moral\nsociety of the heathen world, and of the beliefs upon which the\npractice of the heathen rested. Into these we have no room to follow\nhim. At the end of this lecture he shows what sights they were which\nmet the eyes of a stranger coming from the east in the days of\nNero--an execution in which four hundred men, women, and children were\nmarched through the streets of Rome to the cross, because their master\nhad been killed by one of his slaves. In all such cases the Roman law\nrequired that every slave in the house, however innocent, however\nyoung or however old--man, woman, or child--should be put to death.\nThence the stranger passed to a scene of debauchery such as the world\nhas never imagined, in the gardens close to the Pantheon. This\nstranger--\n\n  \"Why has he come to Rome, and what is he doing there? Poor, unknown,\n  a foreigner in dress, language, and demeanor, he is come from a\n  distant province, small in extent, but the most despised and the\n  most disliked of Rome's hundred provinces, to found in Rome itself a\n  society, and one, too, far more extensive than this great Roman\n  empire, since it is to embrace all nations; far more lasting, since\n  it is to endure for ever. He is come to found a society, by means of\n  which all that he sees around him, from the emperor to the slave,\n  shall be changed\" (p. 101).\n\nWhat madness can have inspired such a hope, or what miracle, real or\nsimulated, could fulfil it? And that, not in the golden age of\npastoral simplicity, in which men looked for wonders with an\nuncritical eye, but \"amid the dregs of Romulus,\" when all the world\nseemed to have fallen together into the \"sere and yellow leaf.\"\n\n\"He has two things within him, for want of which society was perishing\nand man unhappy: a certain knowledge of God as the Creator, Ruler,\nJudge, and Rewarder of men; and of man's soul made after the image and\nlikeness of this God. This God he has seen, touched, and handled upon\nearth; has been an eye-witness of his majesty, has received his\nmessage, and bears his commission. But whence had this despised\nforeigner received the double knowledge of God and of the soul, so\nmiserably lost (as we have seen) to this brilliant Roman civilization?\n\n\"In the latter years of Augustus, when the foundations of the imperial\nrule had been laid, and the structure mainly raised by his practical\nwisdom, there had dwelt a poor family in a small town of evil repute,\nnot far from the lake of the remote province where this fisherman\nplied his trade. It consisted of an elderly man, a youthful wife, and\none young child. The man gained his livelihood as a carpenter, and the\nchild worked with him. Complete obscurity rested upon this household\ntill the child grew to the age of thirty years\" (p. 104).\n\nThen follows in few words the history of his life, death, and\nresurrection. These things the fisherman had {374} seen, and in this\nwas the power which was to substitute a new life for the corrupt\ncivilization of a world.\n\nThe details of the comparison which follows we may leave to be\nconsidered when the work is continued. They are drawn out with great\nspirit, thoughtfulness, and artistic beauty. For the comparison of the\ntwo systems in an individual, Mr. Allies selects on the one side\nCicero, on the other St. Augustine. An able reviewer has maintained\nthat \"Marcus Aurelius was the person to compare with St Augustine.\"\nMr. Allies has given his reasons for not selecting either Marcus\nAurelius or Epictetus in the defective religious system of both. There\nwere, however, other grounds which seem to us even stronger. To test\nwhat heathenism can do, it was necessary that the example selected\nshould, as a chemist would say, present not \"a trace\" of any other\ninfluence. Now this was impossible in the days of Epictetus or\nAurelius. Christianity had then been taught and professed publicly and\nwithout restraint for many years, with only occasional bursts of\npersecution since Nero first declared war upon it. Its theology,\nindeed, was fully known only to the faithful, but its moral code was\npublicly professed. The Christian teachers came before the people as\nphilosophers. It is absolutely certain that all the great Stoics, and\nespecially the emperor, must often and often have heard of the great\nmoral and religious principles laid down by the Christian teachers,\nhowever imperfect was his knowledge of their religious practices. But\nwe have already had occasion to remark that men are driven, whether\nthey will or no, to approve and admit these great principles when they\nare only publicly stated and maintained, although certain not to have\ndiscovered them by their unassisted reason. We cannot, therefore, but\nregard the religious and moral maxims of the later Stoics as an\nimperfect reflection of the full light of Christianity, like the\nmoonlight illuminating without warming, but still taking such hold of\nthe minds which have once embraced them, that they could never be\nforgotten. The life and practice of the imperial philosopher, we have\nevery reason to believe, was, for a man without the faith and the\nsacraments, wonderfully high. Far be it from us to depreciate it, for\nwhatever there was in it that was really good we know resulted from\nthat grace which is given even beyond the bounds of the Church. But\nour knowledge of details is most meagre, while Cicero we know probably\nmore familiarly than any great man in whose intimacy we hare not\nlived. The thoughts and speculations which approved themselves to the\ndeliberate judgment of Marcus Aurelius, these we know, and in many\nrespects they are wonderful. Of his life we know little more than he\nchose publicly to exhibit to his subjects. The failings of Cicero were\npetty and degrading; but if he had been firmly seated on the throne of\nthe Caesars, and if we had possessed no more exact details of his life\nthan we do of the life of Marcus Aurelius, we much doubt whether we\nshould have been aware of them. Merivale says: \"The high standard by\nwhich we claim to judge him is in itself the fullest acknowledgment of\nhis transcendent merits; for, undoubtedly, had he not placed himself\non a higher level than the statesmen and sages of his day, we should\npass over many of his weaknesses in silence, and allow his pretensions\nto our regard to pass almost unchallenged. But we demand a nearer\napproach to the perfection of human wisdom and virtue in one who\nsought to approve himself as the greatest of their teachers.\" He was\ncondemned indeed by his heathen countrymen, but their censure was\nrather of his greatness than his goodness, and they would probably\nhave been even more severe had he attained what he did not even aim at\n--Christian humility.\n\nConsidering these things, and especially that Cicero belonged almost\nto {375} the last generation, which was wholly uninfluenced by the\nreflected light of Christianity and in which, therefore, we can to a\nconsiderable degree measure the real effects of heathen philosophy, we\nventure to think that Mr. Allies has judged well in comparing him as\nthe model heathen with St. Augustine as the model Christian. The\ncomparison is drawn with a masterly hand.\n\nOn the whole, however, we incline to think that the two last lectures\nare of the greatest practical value, especially at the present crisis.\nThe salt by which Christianity acts upon the world seems to be\nmartyrdom and holy virginity. Both of them have been always in\noperation since the days of John the Baptist. But there are periods of\ncomparative stillness in which martyrdom is hardly seen, or at least\nonly at the outposts of the Christian host. At such times, it is by\nholy virginity that the Church acts most directly and most powerfully\nupon the world. This was the case in the Roman empire as soon as\npersecution relaxed.\n\nOur author says:\n\n  \"A great Christian writer [St. Chrysostom], who stood between the\n  old pagan world and the new society which was taking its place, and\n  who was equally familiar with both, made, near the end of the fourth\n  century, the following observation: 'The Greeks had some few men,\n  though it was but few, among them, who, by the force of philosophy,\n  came to despise riches; and some, too, who could control the\n  irascible part of man; but the flower of virginity was nowhere to be\n  found among them. Here they always gave precedence to us, confessing\n  that to succeed in such a thing was to be superior to nature and\n  more than man. Hence their profound admiration for the whole\n  Christian people. The Christian host derived its chief lustre from\n  this portion of its ranks.' And, again, he notes the existence, in\n  his time, of three different sentiments respecting this institution.\n  'The Jews,' he says, 'turn with abhorrence from the beauty of\n  virginity; which indeed is no wonder, since they treated with\n  dishonor the very Son of the Virgin himself. The Greeks, however,\n  admire it, and look up to it with astonishment, but the Church of\n  God alone cultivates it.' After fifteen hundred years we find the\n  said sentiments in three great classes of the world. The pagan\n  nations, among whom Catholic missionaries go forth, reproduce the\n  admiration of Greek and Latin pagans; they reverence that which they\n  have not strength to follow, and are often drawn by its exhibition\n  into the fold. But there are nations who likewise reproduce the\n  Jewish abhorrence of the virginal life. And as the Jews worshipped\n  the unity of the Godhead, like the Christians, and so seemed to be\n  far nearer to them than pagan idolaters, and yet turned with\n  loathing from this product of Christian life, so those nations might\n  seem, from the large portions of Christian doctrine which they still\n  hold, to be nearer to Christianity than the Hindoo and the Chinese;\n  and yet their contempt and dislike for the virginal life and its\n  wonderful institutions seems to tell another tale. But now, as\n  fifteen hundred years ago, whether those outside admire or abhor,\n  the Church alone cultivates the virginal life. Now, as then, it is\n  her glory and her strength, the mark of her Lord, and the standard\n  of his power, the most _special_ sign of his presence and operation.\n  'If,' says the same writer, 'you take away its seemliness and its\n  continuity of devotion, you cut the very sinews of the virginal\n  estate; so when it is possessed together with the best conduct of\n  life, you have in it the root and support of all good things: just\n  as a most fruitful soil nurtures a root, so a good conduct bears the\n  fruits of virginity. Or, to speak with greater truth, the crucified\n  life is at once both its root and its fruit'\" (p. 382).\n\nWe must conclude by expressing our deliberate conviction that no study\n{376} can be more important at the present day than that of the change\nfrom heathen civilization to Christendom, the means by which it was\nbrought about, and the effects which it produced. For in our day, most\neminently, the Protestant falling away is producing its fruits in\nrestoring throughout all Europe more and more of the special\ncharacteristics of heathen society. We have not room at present to\noffer any proofs of this, but we would beg every reader to observe for\nhimself, and we are confident that his experience will confirm what we\nsay. Nor is it only Catholics that are aware of this tendency. A\nthoughtful writer in the _Saturday Review_, six months back, devoted a\nwhole article to trace the points of resemblance between an educated\nEnglish Protestant of our day and a heathen of cultivated mind. Those\nwho feel disposed at once to regard the idea as an insult are probably\njudging of heathen civilization by Nero and Domitian. Mr. Allies's\nbook will at least dispel this delusion. In fact, it is only too\nobvious that there is, even in our own day, no want of plausibility in\nwhat is at the bottom only revived heathenism; and in consequence of\nthis remarkable resemblance, nothing could be more strictly practical\nat the present moment than any studies which show us the old heathen\ncivilization as it really was, in its attractive as well as its\nrepulsive qualities.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nSAINTS OP THE DESERT.\n\nBY THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D.\n\n\n1. Abbot Antony said: Without temptation there is no entrance possible\ninto the kingdom. Take away temptations, and no one is in the saving\nway.\n\n\n2. Some one asked blessed Arsenius, \"How is it that we, with all our\neducation and accomplishments, are so empty, and these Egyptian\npeasants are so full?\"\n\nHe made answer: We have the world's outward training, from which\nnothing is learned; but theirs is a personal travail, and virtue is\nits fruit.\n\n\n3. It was heard by some that Abbot Agatho possessed the gift of\ndiscrimination. Therefore, to make trial of his temper, they said to\nhim, \"We are told that you are sensual and haughty.\" He answered: That\nis just it.\n\nThey said again, \"Are you not that Agatho who has such a foul tongue?\"\nHe answered: I am he.\n\nThen they said, \"Are you not Agatho the heretic?\" He made answer: No.\n\nThen they asked him why he had been patient of so much, yet would not\nput up with this last. He answered: By those I was but casting on me\nevil; but by this I should be severing me from God.\n\n\n4. Holy Epiphanius was asked why the commandments are ten, and the\nbeatitudes nine. He answered: The commandments are as many as the\nplagues of Egypt; but the beatitudes are a triple image of the Holy\nTrinity.\n\n\n5. It was told to Abbot Theodore, that a certain brother had returned\nto the world. He answered: Marvel not at this, but marvel rather that\nany one comes out of it.\n\n\n6. The Abbot Sisoi said: Seek God, and not his dwelling-place.\n\n\n7. It is told of a certain senior, that he wished to have a cucumber.\nWhen he had got it, he hung it up in his sight, and would not touch\nit, lest appetite should have the mastery of him. Thus he did penance\nfor his wish.\n\n------\n\n{377}\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.\n\nBY ROBERT CURTIS.\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nNew Year's Day is always a holiday. And well it is for the girls and\nboys of a parish, of a district,  of a county, ay, of all Ireland, if\nit should rise upon them in the glowing beauty of a cloudless sun.\nThen, indeed, the girls \"are drest in all their best.\" Many a new\nbright ribbon has been purchased on the previous market-day, and many\na twist and turn the congregation side of their bonnets has had. A bow\nof new ribbon, blue or red, according to their complexion--for these\ncountry girls are no more fools in such a matter than their\nbetters--has been held first to this side of their bonnet, then to\nthat; then the long ends have been brought across the top this way,\nthen that way, temporarily fastened with pins in the first instance,\nuntil it is held at arm's-length, with the head a little to one side,\nto test the final position. Their petticoats have been swelled out by\nnumbers, not by crinoline, which as yet was unknown, even to the\nhigher orders. But \"be this as it may,\" the girls of the townlands of\nRathcash, Rathcashmore, and Shanvilla made no contemptible turn-out\nupon the New Year's day after Tom Murdock had returned from Armagh.\nThe boys, too, were equally grand, according to their style of dress.\nSome lanky, thin-shanked fellows in loose trousers and high-low boots;\nwhile the well-formed fellows, with plump calves and fine ankles,\nturned out in their new _corderoy_ breeches, woolen stockings, and\n_pumps_. I have confined myself to their lower proportions, as in most\ncases the coats and rests were much of the same make, though perhaps\ndifferent in color and material, while the well-brushed \"_Caroline_\"\nhat was common to all.\n\nConspicuous amongst the girls in the district in which our story\nsojourns, were, as a matter of course, Winny Cavana and Kate Mulvey,\nwith some others of their neighbors who have not been mentioned, and\nwho need not be.\n\nWinny, since the little episode respecting her refusal of Tom Murdock,\nand his subsequent departure, had led a very quiet, meditative life.\nShe could not help remarking to herself, however, that she had somehow\nor other become still more intimate with Kate Mulvey than she had used\nto be; but for this she could not account--though, perhaps, the\nreader can. She had always been upon terms of intimacy with Kate; had\nfrequently called there, when time would permit, and sat for half an\nhour, or sometimes an hour, chatting, which was always reciprocated by\nKate, whose time was more on her own hands. In what then consisted the\nincrease of intimacy can hardly be said. Perhaps it merely existed in\nWinny's own wish that it should be so, and the fact that one and the\nother, on such occasions, now always threw a cloak round her shoulders\nand accompanied her friend a piece of the way home. Sometimes, when\nthe day was tempting, a decided walk would be proposed, and then the\nbonnet was added to the cloak. What formed the burden of their\nconversation in these chats, which to a close observer might be said\nlatterly to have assumed a confidential appearance, must be so evident\nto the reader's capacity, that no mystery need be observed on the\nsubject. To say the {378} least, Emon-a-knock came in for a share of\nit, and, as a matter of almost necessity, Tom Murdock was not\naltogether left out.\n\nKate Mulvey, after the _\u00e9claircissement_ with Winny, believed she\ncould do her friend some good without doing herself any harm, a\nprinciple on which alone most people will act. With this view she took\nan early opportunity to hint something to Emon of the result of the\ninterview between herself and Winny, and although she did it in a very\ncasual, and at the same time a clever, manner, she began to fear that\nso far as her friend's case was concerned, she had done more harm than\ngood. The fact of Tom Murdock's proposal and rejection subsequent to\nthe interview adverted to, had not become public amongst the\nneighbors; and before Winny had an opportunity of telling it to Kate,\nEmon had left his father's house, to seek employment in the north. It\nis not unlikely that he was tempted to this step by something which\nhad fallen from Kate Mulvey respecting Winny and Tom Murdock, although\nthe whole cat had not yet got out of the bag.\n\nHitherto poor Emon's heart had been kept pretty whole, through what he\nconsidered a well-founded belief that Winny Cavana, almost as a matter\nof course, must prefer her handsome, rich neighbor to a struggling\nlaboring man like him. Tom, he knew, she saw almost every day, while\nat best she only saw him for a few minutes on Sundays after chapel.\nEmon knew the meaning of the word propinquity very well, and he knew\nas well the danger of it. He knew, too, that if there were no such\nodds against him, he could scarcely dare aspire to the hand of the\nrich heiress of Rathcash. He knew the disposition of old Ned Cavana\ntoo well to believe that he would ever consent to a \"poor devil\" like\nhim \"coming to coort his daughter.\" He believed so thoroughly that all\nthese things were against him, that he had hitherto successfully\ncrushed every rising hope within his breast. He had schooled himself\nto look upon a match between Tom Murdock and Winny Cavana as a matter\nso natural, that it would be nothing less than an act of madness to\nendeavor to counteract it. What Kate Mulvey, however, had \"let slip\"\nhad aroused a slumbering angel in his soul. He was not wrong, then,\nafter all, in a secret belief that this girl did not like Tom Murdock\nover-much. Upon what he had founded that belief he could no more have\nexplained--even to himself--than he could have dragged the moon down\nfrom heaven; but he did believe it; he even combatted it as a fatal\ndelusion, and yet it was true. But how did this mend the matter as\nregarded himself? Not in the slightest degree, except so far as that\nthe man he most dreaded, and had most reason to dread, was no longer\nan acknowledged rival to his heart. Hopes he still had none.\n\nBut Emon-a-knock was now in commotion. The angel was awake, and his\nheart trembled at a possibility which despair had hitherto hidden from\nhis thoughts.\n\nFor some time past he had not only not avoided a casual meeting with\nWinny, but delighted in them with a safe, if not altogether a happy,\nindifference. He looked upon her as almost betrothed to Tom Murdock;\ncircumstances and reports were so dovetailed into one another, and so\nlike the truth.\n\nAlthough there was really no difference in rank between him and Winny,\nexcept what her father's well-earned wealth justified the assumption\nof, his position as a daily laborer kept him aloof from an intimacy of\nwhich those in circumstances more like her own could boast; and poor\nEmon felt that it was a matter for boast. Thus had he hitherto\nrefrained from attempting to \"woo that bright particular star,\" and\nhis heart was comparatively safe. But now--ay, _now_--what was he to\ndo? \"Fly, Fly\" said he; \"I'll go seek for employment in the north.\n{379} To America, India, Australia--anywhere! Kate Mulvey may have\nmeant it as kindness; but it would have been more kind to have let me\nalone. This horrible knowledge of that one fact will break my heart.\"\n\nAnd Emon-a-knock did fly. But it was no use. There were many reasons\nquite unconnected with Winny Cavana which rendered a more speedy\nreturn than he had intended unavoidable. A stranger beyond the\nprecincts of his own pariah, he found it impossible to procure\npermanent employment amongst those who were better known, and who\n\"belonged to the place\"--a great consideration in the minds of the\nIrish, high and low. The bare necessaries of life, too, were more\nexpensive in the north than about his own home; and for the few days'\nemployment which he got, he could scarcely support himself, while his\nfather and family would feel the loss of his share of the earnings at\nhome. No; these two separate establishments would never do. He could\ngain nothing by it but the gnawing certainty of never seeing, even at\na distance, her in whom he now began to feel that his heart delighted.\nBesides, he could manage to avoid her altogether by going to his own\nchapel; yes, he felt it a duty he owed to his father not to let him\nfight life's battle alone, and--he returned. We question whether this\n_duty_ to his _father_ was his sole motive; and we shall see whether\nhe did not subsequently consider it a _duty_ to prefer the good\npreaching of Father Roche, of Rathcash, to the somewhat indifferent\ndiscourses of good Father Farrell in _his own_ chapel.\n\nEmon had not been more than ten days or a fortnight away, and he was\nnow following the usual routine, of a day idle and a day working,\nwhich had marked his life before he went.\n\nBut we were talking of a New Year's day, and it will be far spent if\nwe do not return to it at once, and so we shall lose the thread of our\nstory.\n\nThe day, as we had wished a few pages back, had risen in all the\nbeauty of a cloudless sun. There had been a slight frost the night\nbefore, but as these slight frosts seldom bring rain until the third\nmorning, the country people were quite satisfied that the promise of a\nfine day on this occasion would not be broken. The chapel-bells of\nRathcash and Shanvilla might be heard sounding their dear and cheerful\ncall to their respective parishioners that the hour of worship had\ndrawn near, and the well-dressed, happy congregation might be seen in\nstrings along the road and across the pathways through the fields, in\ntheir gayest costume, laughing and chatting with an unbounded\nconfidence in the faithfulness of the sky.\n\nTom Murdock, the reader knows, had returned, but he had not as yet\nseen Winny Cavana. One Sunday had intervened; but upon his father's\nadvice he had refrained from going \"for that wan Sunda' to chapel.\"\nNeither, on the same advice, had he gone near old Ned's house. The old\nman--that is, old Murdock--had endeavored to spread a report that his\nson Tom was engaged to be married to a very rich girl in Armagh. He\ntook his own views of all matters, whether critical or simple, and had\nhis own way of what he called managing them. He was not very wrong in\nsome of his ideas, but he sometimes endeavored to carry them out too\npersistently, after anybody else would have seen their inutility.\n\nOn this New Year's day, too, he had hinted something about his son's\nnot going to mass, but Tom would not be controlled, and quickly \"shut\nup'\" that is the _fashionable_ phrase now-a-days--the old man upon the\nsubject. His opinion, and he did not care to hide it, was, \"that he\ndid not see why he should be made a mope of by Winny Cavana, or any\nother conceited piece of goods like her.\" His father's pride came to\nhis aid in this instance, and he gave way.\n\nRathcash chapel was a crowded place of worship that day. Amongst {380}\nthe congregation, as a matter of coarse, were Winny Cavana and Kate\nMulvey, both conspicuous by their beauty and solemnity. Tom Murdock,\ntoo, was there; doubtless he was handsome, and he was solemn also, but\nhis solemnity was of a different description. It was that generated by\ndisappointment, with a dream of villany in perspective.\n\nTom was not a coward, even under the nervous influence of rejected\nlove. Physically, he was not one in the matters of everyday life; and\nmorally, he wanted rectitude to be one when he ought. He therefore\nresolved to meet Winny Cavana, as she came out of chapel, as much as\npossible as if nothing had happened, and to endeavor to improve the\nacquaintance as opportunity might permit. He purposed to himself to\nwalk home with her, and determined, if possible, that at least a\nfriendly intercourse should not be interrupted between them.\n\nEmon-a-knock had steadily kept his resolution, notwithstanding our\ndoubts, and had not gone to Rathcash chapel for the last four or five\nSundays; he was even beginning to think that Father Farrell, after\nall, was not quite so much below Father Roche as a preacher.\n\nAt length there was a rustling of dresses and a shuffling of feet upon\nthe floor, which proclaimed that divine worship had ended; and the\ncongregation began to pour out of Rathcash chapel--men in their dark\ncoats and Caroline hats, and women in their best bonnets and cloaks.\nTom Murdock was out almost one of the first, and sauntered about,\ngreeting some of the more distant neighbors whom he had not seen since\nhis return. At length Winny and Kate made their appearance. Winny\nwould have hurried on, but Kate \"stepped short,\" until Tom had time to\nobserve their approach. He came forward with more cowardice in his\nheart than he had ever felt before, and Winny's reception of him was\nnot calculated to reassure him. Kate was next him, and held out her\nhand promptly and warmly. Winny could scarcely refuse to hold out\nhers; but there was neither promptness nor warmth in her manner. An\nawkward silence ensued on both sides, until Kate, with more anxiety on\nher own behalf than tact or consideration on her friend's, broke in\nwith half a score of inquiries, very kindly put, as to his health--the\n_very long_ time he was away--how the neighbors _all_ missed him so\nmuch--what he had been doing--how he left his aunt--how he liked\nArmagh, etc, ending with a _hope_ that he had come home to _remain_.\n\nWinny was glad she had so good a spokeswoman with her, and did not\noffer a single observation in her aid. To say the truth, there was\nneither need nor opportunity; for Kate seemed perfectly able, and not\nunwilling, to monopolize the conversation. Tom endeavored to be\nsprightly and at his ease, but made some observations far from\napplicable to the subjects upon which his loquacious companion had\naddressed him. He had hoped that when they came to the end of the lane\nturning up to their houses, that Kate Mulvey would have gone toward\nher own home, and that he must then have had a word with Winny alone;\nbut the manner in which she hastened her step past the turn, saying,\n\"Kate; you know we are engaged to have a walk 'our lone' today,\"\nshowed him that no amelioration of her feelings had taken place toward\nhim; and without saying more than \"Well, this is my way,\" he turned\nand left them.\n\nBully-dhu was standing near the end of Winny's house, looking from\nhim; and as he recognized his mistress on the road, commenced to wag\nhis huge tail, as if asking permission to accompany them. \"Call him,\nWinny,\" said Kate; \"he may be of use to us; and, at all events, he\nwill be _company_,\" and she laid a strong emphasis upon the last word.\nWinny complied, and called the dog as loud {381} as she could. Poor\nBully wanted but the wind of the word, and tore down the lane with his\nmouth wide open, and his tail describing large circles in the air. He\nhad well-nigh knocked down Tom Murdock as he passed, but he did not\nmind that; and bounding out upon the road, cut such capers round Winny\nas were seldom seen, keeping up at the same time a sort of growling\nbark, until the enthusiasm of his joy at the permission had subsided.\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nWinny and Kate had agreed to take a long walk after mass on the day in\nquestion. This was not a mere trick of Winny's to get rid of Tom\nMurdock. Certainly they had not agreed that it should be \"their lone;\"\nthis was as chance might have it; and it was a gratuitous addition of\nWinny's, as calculated to attain her object; and we have seen how\npromptly she succeeded.\n\nThe day was fine, and they now wandered along the road, so engaged in\nchat that they scarcely knew how far they were from home. They had\nturned down a cross-road before they came to Shanvilla, the little\nvillage where Emon-a-knock lived. Kate would have gone on straight,\nbut Winny could not be induced to do so. Kate had her own reasons for\nwishing to go on, while Winny had hers for being determined not; so\nthey turned down the road to their left, intending, as they had\nBully-dhu with them, to come home through the mountain-pass by\nBoher-na-milthiogue. They had chat enough for the whole road. Prayers\nhad been over early, although it was second mass; and the country\npeople generally dine later on a holiday than usual. It gives the boys\nand girls more time to meet and chat and part, and in some instances\nto make new acquaintances. But whether it had been agreed upon or not,\nWinny and Kate appeared likely to have their walk alone upon this\noccasion; and as neither of them could choose their company, they were\nnot sorry to find the road they had chosen less frequented than the\none they had left. Bully-dhu scampered through the fields at each side\nof them, and sometimes on a long distance in front, occasionally\nrunning back to a turn to see if they were coming.\n\nThey were now beyond two miles from home, and two-and-a-half more\nwould have completed the circle they had intended to take; but they\nwere destined to return by the same way they came, and in no\ncomfortable or happy plight.\n\nThey were descending a gentle hill when, at some distance below them,\nthey perceived a number of young men engaged playing at what they call\n\"long bullets.\" They would instinctively have turned back, not\nwishing, unattended as they were except by Bully-dhu, to run the\ngauntlet of so many young men upon the roadside, most of whom must be\nstrangers; but the said Bully-dhu had been enjoying himself\nconsiderably in advance, and they called and called to no purpose.\nThey could not whistle; and if Bully heard them call, he did not heed\nthem. He had seen a large brindled mastiff coming toward him from the\ncrowd with his back up, and a growl of defiance which he could not\nmistake. Bully was no coward at any time; but on this occasion his\ncourage was more than manifest, being, as he considered, in sole\ncharge of his mistress and her friend. He was not certain but his\nantagonist's attack might be directed as much against them as against\nhimself; and he stood upon the defensive, with his back up also, the\nhairs of which, from behind his ears to the butt of his tail, bristled\n\"like quills upon the fretful porcupine.\" An encounter was now\ninevitable. The mastiff had shown a determination that nothing but a\ndeath-struggle should be the result, and rushed with open mouth and a\nroar of confident superiority upon his {382} weaker rival. It was no\neven match; nothing but poor Bully-dhu's indomitable courage and\nactivity could enable him to stand a single combat with his antagonist\nfor five minutes. The first snarling and growling on both sides had\nnow subsided, and they were \"locked in each other's arms\" in a silent\nrolling struggle for life or death. A dog-fight of even the most minor\ndescription has charms for a crowd of youngsters; and of course the\n\"long bullets\" were left to take care of themselves, and all the\nplayers, as well as the spectators, now ran up the road to witness\nthis contest, which was, indeed, far from a minor concern. Poor Winny\nhad screamed when she saw her dog first rolled by so furious and, as\nshe saw at once, so superior a foe. She would have rushed forward but\nthat Kate restrained her, as both dangerous and useless. She therefore\nthrew herself against the bank of the ditch by the roadside,\ncontinuing to call out \"for God's sake for somebody to save her poor\ndog. Was there no person there who knew her, and would save him?\"\n\nThe crowd had by this time formed a ring round the infuriated animals.\nSome there were who would have been obedient to Winny's call for help;\nbut the case at present admitted of no relief. Notwithstanding poor\nBully-dhu's pluck and courage, he had still the worst of it; in fact,\nhis was altogether a battle of defence, while that of the mastiff was\none of ferocious attack. He had seized Bully in the first instance at\nan advantage by the side of the neck under the ear, meeting his teeth\nthrough the skin, while the blood flowed freely from the wound,\ncoloring the mud of the road a dark crimson round where they fought,\nand nearly choking the mastiff himself, as he was occasionally rolled\nunder in the strife. Now they were upon their hind-legs again,\nwrestling like two stout boys for a fall; now Bully was down, and the\nmastiff rolled his head from side to side, tightening his grip, while\nthe bloody froth besmeared himself and his victim, as he might now\nalmost be called.\n\nSome men at this point, more humane than the rest, took hold of the\nmastiff by the tail, while others struck him on the nose with a stick.\nThey might as well have struck the rocks love Slieve-dhu or\nSlieve-bawn. The mastiff was determined upon death, and death he\nseemed likely to have. His master was there, and seemed anxious to\nseparate them. He even permitted him to be struck on the nose,\nclaiming the privilege only of choosing the thickness of the stick.\n\n\"He's loosening, boys!\" said one fellow; \"he's tired of that hoult,\nan' can do no more with it; stan' back, boys, an' give the black dog\nfair play, he's not bet yet; he never got a grip iv th' other dog yet;\ngive him fair play, boys, an' he'll do good business yet. There!\nTiger's out iv him now, and the black dog has him; be gorra, he's a\ngame dog any way, boys! I dunna who owns him.\" This man seemed to be\nan \"expert\" in dog-fighting. Tiger had got tired of the hold he had\nhad, and, considering a fresh grip would be better, not by any means\ninfluenced by the blows he had received on the nose, had given way;\nbelieving, I do suppose, that he had already so mastered his\nantagonist, that he could seize him again at pleasure. But he had\nreckoned without his host. Bully-dhu took advantage of the relief to\nturn on him, and seized him pretty much in the same way he had been\nseized himself, and with quite as much ferocity and determination. Hie\nfight did not now seem so unequal; they had grip for grip, and there\nwas a general cry amongst the crowd to let them see it out. Indeed,\nthere appeared to be no alternative, for they had both resisted every\nexertion to separate them.\n\n\"It's no use, boys,\" said the expert; \"you might cut them in pieces,\nan' they wouldn't quit, except to get a better hoult; if you want to\npart them, hold them by the tails, an' watch for {383} the loosening\nof wan or th' other, an' then drag them away.\"\n\n\"Stan' back, boys,\" said another. \"The black dog's not bet yet; stan'\nback, I say!\"\n\nBully-dhu had made a great rally of it. It was now evident that he\nwould have made a much better fight from the first, if he had not been\nseized at an advantage which prevented him from turning his head to\nseize his foe in return. They had been by this time nearly twenty\nminutes in deadly conflict; and the mastiff's superior strength and\nsize began now to tell fearfully against poor Bully-dhu. He had shaken\nhimself completely out of Bully, and made a fresh grip, not far from\nthe first, but still nearer the throat. The matter seemed now coming\nto a close, and the result no longer doubtful. Every one saw that if\nsomething could not be done to disengage Tiger from that last grip,\nthe black dog must speedily be killed.\n\nHere Winny, who heard the verdict from the crowd, could be restrained\nno longer, and rushed forward praying for some one, for them all, to\ntry and save her dog. They all declared it was a pity; that he was a\ngrand dog, but no match for the mastiff. Some recommended one thing,\nsome another. Tiger was squeezed, and struck on the nose; a stick was\nforced into his mouth, with a hope of opening his teeth and loosening\nhis hold; but it was all useless, and poor Winny gave up all for lost,\nin a fit of sobbing and despair.\n\nHere a man, who had not originally been of the party, was seen running\nat full speed down the hill. It was Emon-a-knock, who at this juncture\nhad come accidentally upon the top of the hill immediately above them,\nand at once recognizing _some_ of the party on the road, rushed\nforward to the rescue. He cast but a glance at the dogs. He knew them\n_both_, and how utterly hopeless a contest it must be for Bully-dhu.\nLike an arrow from a bow, he flew to a cabin hard by, and seizing a\nhalf-lighted sod of turf from the fire, he returned to the scene.\n\"Now, boys,\" he cried, \"hold them fast by the tails and hind-legs, and\nI'll soon separate them.\" Two men seized them--Tiger's own master was\none. Although there were many young men there who would have looked on\nwith savage pleasure at an even fight between two well-matched dogs,\neven to the death, there was not one who could wish to stand by and\nsee a noble dog killed without a chance by a superior foe, and they\nall hailed Emon-a-knock, from his confident and decisive manner, as a\ntimely deliverer. The dogs having been drawn by two strong men to\ntheir full length, but still fastened by the deadly grip of the\nmastiff on Bully-dhu's throat, Emon blew the coal, and applied it to\nTiger's jaw. This was too much for him. He could understand squeezes,\nand even blows on the nose and head, or perhaps in the excitement he\nnever felt them; but the lighted coal he could not stand, and yielding\nat once to the pain, he let go his hold. The dogs were then dragged\naway to a distance; Emon-a-knock carrying poor Bully-dhu in his arms,\nmore dead than alive, to where Winny sat distracted on the roadside.\n\n\"O Emon! he's dead or dying!' she cried, as the exhausted animal lay\ngasping by her side.\n\n\"He's neither!\" almost roared Emon; \"have you a fippenny-bit, Winny,\nor Kate? if I had one myself, I wouldn't ask you.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" exclaimed Winny, taking an old bead-purse from her pocket,\nand giving him one. She knew not what it was for, but her confidence\nin Emon's judgment was unbounded, and her heart felt some relief when\nit was not a needle and thread he asked for.\n\n\"Here,\" said Emon to a gossoon, who stood looking at the dog, \"be off\nlike a hare to Biddy Muldoon's for a naggin of whiskey, and you may\nhave the change for yourself, if you're back in less than no time;\nmake her put it in a bottle, not a cup, that you may {384} run the\nwhole way without spilling it.\"\n\nThe boy started off, not very unlike--either in pace or\nappearance--to the animal he was desired to resemble, for he had a cap\nmade of one of their skins.\n\nEmon-a-knock, although a very steady, temperate young man, was not\naltogether so much above his compeers in the district as not to know\n\"where a dhrop was kept,\" which, to the uninitiated (English, of\ncourse), means a sheebeen house. Perhaps, _to them_, I am only\nexplaining one thing by another which equally requires explanation.\n\nDuring the interval of the boy's absence, Emon-a-knock was examining\nthe wounds in poor Bully-dhu's neck and throat. The dog still lay\ngasping, and occasionally scrubbling with his fore-legs, and kicking\nwith his hind, while Winny reiterated her belief that he was dying.\nEmon now contradicted her rather flatly. He knew she would excuse the\nrudeness from the hope which it held forth.\n\n\"There will be nothing on him to signify indeed, Winny, after a\nlittle,\" he said kindly, feeling that he had been harsh but a moment\nbefore; \"see, he is not even torn; only cut in four places.\"\n\n\"In four places! O Emon, in four?\"\n\n\"Yes; but they are only where the other dog's teeth entered, and came\nthrough; see, they are only holes; the dog is quite exhausted, but\nwill soon come round. Come here, Winny, and feel him yourself.\"\n\nWinny stretched over, and Emon took her hand to guide it to the spots\nwhere her poor dog had been wounded. Poor Bully looked up at her, and\nfeebly endeavored to wag his tail, and Winny smiled and wept together.\nEmon was a very long time explaining to her precisely where the wounds\nwere, and how they must have been inflicted; and he found it necessary\nto hold her hand the whole time. Whether Winny, in the confusion of\nher grief, knew that he did so, nobody but herself can tell. Three or\nfour persons who knew Winny had kindly come up to see how the dog was,\nand the expert amongst them, with so much confidence that he was going\nto set him on his legs at once. But Emon had taken special charge of\nhim, and would not suffer so premature an experiment, nor the\ninterference of any other doctor.\n\nBut here comes the gossoon with the whiskey, like a hare indeed,\nacross the fields, and his middle finger stuck in the neck of the\nbottle by way of a cork.\n\nEmon took it from him, and claiming the assistance of the expert, whom\nhe had just now repudiated, for a few moments to hold his head, he\nplaced the neck of the bottle in Bully-dhu's mouth. He poured \"the\nleast taste in life\" down his throat, and with his hand washed his\njaws and tongue copiously with the spirits.\n\nWith a sort of yelp poor Bully made a struggle and a plunge, and rose\nto his feet. Winny held out her hand to him, and he staggered over\ntoward her, looking up in her face, and wagging his tail.\n\n\"I told you so,\" said Emon; \"get me a handful of salt.\"\n\nThe same cabin which had supplied the \"live coal\" was applied to by\nthe gossoon (who kept the change), and it was quickly brought.\n\nEmon then rubbed some into the wounds, in spite of Winny's\nremonstrances as to the pain, and the dog's own unequivocal objections\nto the process.\n\nMatters were now really on the mend. Bully-dhu shook himself, looking\nafter the crowd with a growl; and even Winny had no doubt that Emon's\nprescriptions had been necessary and successful.\n\n\"The sooner you get home now with him, Winny, the better,\" said Emon.\n\n\"You are not going to leave us, Emon?\" said Winny, doubtingly.\n\n{385}\n\n\"Certainly not,\" he replied; \"the poor dog is still very weak, and may\nrequire rest, if not help, by the way.\" He then took a red cotton\nhandkerchief from his pocket, and tying it loosely round the dog's\nneck, he held the other end of it in his hand, and they all set out\ntogether for Rathcash.\n\nThe handkerchief, Emon said, would both keep the air from the wounds,\nand help to sustain the dog on his legs. But he may have had some idea\nin his mind that it would also serve as an excuse for his accompanying\nthem to the very furthest point possible on their road home.\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\nFrom London Society.\n\nTENDER AND TRUE AND TRIED.\n\n  Tender and true.\n      You kept faith with me,\n  As I kept faith with you;--\n         Though over us both\n         Since we plighted troth\n         Long years have rolled:--\n         But our love could hold\n  Through troubles and trials manifold,\n             My darling tender and true!\n\n  Tender and true,\n      In your eyes I gazed,\n  And my heart was safe, I knew!\n         Your trusting smile\n         Was pure of guile,\n         And I read in sooth\n         On your brow's fair youth\n  The earnest of loyal trust and truth,\n             My darling tender and true!\n\n  Tender and true.\n     All my own at last!\n  My blessing for all life through--\n         In death as life\n         My one loved wife--\n         Mine--mine at last,\n         All troubles past--\n  And the future all happiness, deep and vast.\n              My darling tender and true!\n\n--------\n{386}\n\nTranslated from Etudes Religieuses, Historiques, et Litt\u00e9raires, par\ndes P\u00e8res de la Compagnie de J\u00e9sus.\n\n\nA RIDE THROUGH CALCUTTA AND ITS VICINITY.\n\nLETTER FROM A FATHER OF THE PROVINCE OF BELGIUM,\nMISSIONARY AT CALCUTTA.\n\n\nYou ask me for a little information concerning this country and our\nordinary life in this climate. I am entirely at your disposal for this\nwhole afternoon, if you will come and join me at the college of St.\nFrancis Xavier, No. 10 Park street, Calcutta.\n\nIt is warm there. The thermometer I have just consulted stands 37\u00b0\ncentigrades in the shade. Look where you may from my windows, you see\nnothing but white houses which, turned toward the four winds of\nheaven, have no other shade but that of their cornice; and a little\nfurther on, in an old cemetery, some fifty obelisks lit up on their\nfour faces, so vertical is our sun! Hence, though lightly clad--a\nwhite calico soutane, without buttons, a white girdle, white\npantaloons, and white shoe--we still feel enough of the tropical heat\nof the dog-star. Happily, we have the breeze, which, although it does\nnot lower the thermometer any, refreshes us considerably. But it does\nnot always blow; and when it stops, the floor is watered with drops of\nperspiration as big as two-franc pieces. Those who would then make up\nfor the breeze have themselves _ponka-ed._ _Ponka-ed?_ what is that?\nTo understand it, you will enter Father Stochman's abode. He is seated\nall in white, at his desk, in the middle of a large room; over his\nbald head, at a little less than a metre, is hung a large white\ntriangle, three metres long horizontally, and one metre in height; a\ncord is fastened to it there, passes into the hollow of a pulley fixed\nto the wall, and terminates at a crouching Indian, clad in his dusky\nskin and a strip of stuff around his loins. This human machine has no\nother occupation than to pull the cord which balances continually over\nFather Stochman's head the other rectangular machine that I have\ndescribed to you, which is called a _ponka_. Now, do not suppose that\nFather Stochman is a Sybarite. There are _ponkas_ here everywhere: in\nthe parlor, in the refectory, and many persons have themselves ponkaed\nin their bed the whole night long. These instruments are not in use in\nCatholic churches, but every parishioner, male and female, continually\nuses the fan, which by extension is likewise called a _ponka_. Other\ncountries, other customs; a _ponka_ is here more necessary than a\ncoat; whereas, on the other hand, there is not a single chimney in the\nwhole house. No chimney, you will say; do you, then, eat your rice\nquite raw? To that question I have two answers; first, the kitchen,\nwith us as with our neighbors, is not in the house, but in the\n_compound_--that is to say, in the vast inclosure that surrounds the\ndwelling. Then I will furthermore observe, that even in the kitchen\nthere is no chimney. These black Indians, who are our cooks, are\naccustomed to make fire without troubling themselves about the smoke,\nwhich escapes wherever it can, through the windows, through the\ncrevices, anywhere and everywhere. If you were, like me, philosopher\nenough to eat whatever comes before you, I would introduce you into\nthat kitchen; but I think you would not care to enter that dingy {387}\nhole, lest you should for ever lose your appetite. Let us leave the\nIndians in their den, and go sit down under the _ponka_ in the\nrefectory. To-day they will serve us with mutton and fowl; to-morrow\nwith fowl and mutton; now and then with fowl only. As regards\nvegetables, yon shall see them successively of all kinds; but, if you\ntake my advice, you will not touch them; they have no other taste than\nthat of stagnant water. Beside the morning repast and the dinner,\nwhich is at half-past three o'clock, we have two other meals a day.\nOne at noon, under the name of _tiffin_, is composed, in the maximum,\nof a glass of beer, a crust of bread, and some fruit; for some amongst\nus, it is reduced to but one of those three things; for many others,\nand myself in particular, to nothing at all. The other repast, at\neight in the evening, consists of a cup of coffee, with or without\nbread.\n\nAnd now let us quit this abode of misery, no more to return. Come and\nsee my chamber. It has no _ponka_, but four windows, open day and\nnight; two to the south, where the sun does not enter, and two to the\neast, where the Persians forbid him access in the morning. My bed is a\nspecies of large sofa, upon which there is a nondescript article, that\nis neither a pattiass nor a mattrass. It is a flat sack, eight or nine\ninches thick, and stuffed with hair; over it two linen sheets (a\nluxury here, where most people use but one) and a pillow as hard as\nthe mattrass. But best of all are the four posts supporting a\nhorizontal rectangle from which is hung the mosquito net. The mosquito\nnet is used here all the year round. It is a piece of net fastened\nbelow the mattrass. Behind, that frail rampart, if happily there be no\nrent in it anywhere, you enjoy the pleasure of hearing the mosquitoes\nbuzzing about powerless and exasperated. In December and January,\nthere are clouds of them; but, hearing them, you appreciate that verse\nof Tibullus: _Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem!_ What is a\nmosquito? It is the cousin-german of your gnats in Europe, generally a\nlittle smaller, but quite the same in form; it _sings_ and stings like\nthem; only its sting is a little more painful, and is followed by a\nlarger and more lasting tumor. Nothing can secure you against its\nattacks; it can dart its sting even through a double covering of\nlinen.\n\nThese insects are not my only room-mates. There are now, in addition\nthereto, some millions of red and black ants, hundreds of which I\nevery day crush, but all in vain; there are lizards, which are not\ndumb as in Europe, but give utterance, now and then, to a short song.\nThese lizards apply themselves to hunt the insects, so that I am very\ncareful not to hunt themselves. In my chamber, moreover, there are\nhorrible beetles--large insects of a dark brown color, four or five\ninches long, which have the privilege of inspiring universal disgust.\nTo love them, one should be as poetical as M. Victor Hugo, who had an\naffection for \"the toad, poor meek-eyed monger.\" There are little\n_white fishes_, insects that do not live in water, but are\nparticularly abundant during rainy weather. These _fishes_, little as\nthey are, contrive to make large holes in cloth and in stuffs. During\nthe night I sometimes hear rats and mice prowling around; the mosquito\nnet protects me from their assaults. As for bats, owls, and other such\nnocturnal visitors, I do not think they ever come in through our open\nwindows.\n\nBirds of prey are very numerous here, and wherever I am in my chamber,\nI know not how many are watching me from the top of the adjacent\nbuildings. Crows are another species of bird as interesting as they\nare dreary. They inhabit the riversides where the Indians throw their\ndead; two, three, or more of them are often seen in the water, looking\nas though they were sailing on some invisible bark; that bark is a\ndead body, which they slice amongst them as they {388} go. Sometimes\nthe jackals, along the river, dispute this horrible prey with them,\nand you might see these animals, at some distance from the city,\ntrotting along with human limbs across their mouth. In the city, the\ncrows live on offal of all kinds; they are often found assembled round\nkitchen doors; during our meals there are always twenty or thirty of\nthem before our refectory. There they seem to beg for crusts of bread,\nbones, etc, and willingly receive whatever is thrown to them. The\nkites, less numerous and less bold, but much more voracious, mount\nguard with them, and often fly away with what the poor crows had\npicked up from the ground. In revenge, it is really a pleasure to see\na kite gnaw a bone which he has thus purloined. If he does not take\ncare to perform that operation high up in the air, he is invariably\nflanked by two crows, one of which keeps constantly pulling him behind\nto make him angry, whilst the other avails himself of this artifice to\npeck at the bone in the very claws of the kite. After a while, the\ncrows change parts, and each in his turn becomes the assailant. I\nperceive at this moment in our court another bird, less common than\nthe two preceding species, but still not at all rare. The name it\nusually bears here is that of _adjutant_; in other places the much\nmore picturesque name of _philosopher_ is given to it. In order to\nform an idea of it, give an ordinary heron the size of a small\nostrich; the bill is ten inches wide and from fifty to sixty long; the\nclaws and the legs, white and thin, are more than three feet high; the\nneck almost always bent, and forming a crop, has a development of from\nsixty to seventy inches. Between these two extremities place a big\nwhite body with large wings of a dark-gray color, and you shall have\npretty nearly the _adjutant_ or _philosopher_.\n\n_Apropos_ to the description of my domicile, I have been led to give\nyou a course of natural history; let us go on to something else. There\nis no other curiosity in my chamber, if it be not the two partitions\nwhich, with the walls of the house, form the inclosure. These\npartitions are but two yards in height, whilst the ceiling is more\nthan five; they are generally arranged in this way, so as to give a\nfree passage to the breeze.\n\nIn descending, let us take a look at the bathing rooms, about a dozen\nin number, in which there is not a single bath, but large vases of\nbaked clay, always full of water, and small copper vases, that contain\nabout a quart. You stand on the pavement, and, dipping the small vase\ninto the larger one, pour the contents of it fifty times or so on your\nhead. This is called taking a bath. It is said to be very wholesome;\nevery one in this country takes their daily bath--except me, who have\nno time; so every one has been more or less sick, except me, for the\nsame reason.\n\nBefore going out, a word on the pupils of our college. They are two\nhundred and twenty, the great majority of whom are Catholics. Most of\nthe names have an English aspect; but you will also hear Portuguese,\nFrench, and Armenian names, borne respectively by white, black,\nbronze, and brown skins. English is the common language; the French\npupils themselves speak it more fluently than their mother tongue, and\nmost of them know only as much of Bengalese and Hindostanese as is\nnecessary to make themselves understood by their Indian domestics. The\ncostumes are varied enough; but as for the Indians, one may say that\nwhite, and especially white calico, constitutes their wardrobe,\nnotwithstanding that some dark or pale colors are seen here and there.\n\nLet us set out. Here are our young people coming in for recreation,\nand I would spare your ears one of my daily torments. It were\nimpossible to find on the European continent people more destitute of\nall musical judgment than our pupils. It is not taste they want, but\n_good_ taste. Several of them have an instrument like the {389}\naccordeon which is called the _concertina_. They have the courage to\nspend all their recreations, for three months and more, playing always\nthe same air. I have thus heard \"God save the Queen\" thousands of\ntimes. Once would have sufficed to disgust you with it for ever; you\nmay just imagine what liking I have for it. But it is time to go for\nour walk.\n\nThe English took a very simple way of making Calcutta. They marked out\na broad circular road, to fix its boundary. Three Hindoo villages,\nFort William, and some European factories, were inclosed within it;\ntime has done the rest. Within the inclosure, the construction of the\nhouses is subject to police regulations; straw roofs are prohibited,\ntiles required, etc; all that annoys the Hindoo, who likes better to\ntake up his quarters on the other side of the circular road; and in\nthis way the suburbs are formed. The European city, on its side, has\ngrown larger every day. Five years ago, our college was at the very\nextremity of the city; now, it is nearly in the centre; the new houses\nhave occupied all the free space, and, in some places even go beyond\nthe circular road. A year and a half since, a group of Hindoo huts,\nsituate about one hundred paces from the college, disappeared to make\nplace for a public tank, which furnishes us with water. The\ntransformation is slow, but sure. So much for English tact; they have\nmade Calcutta a palatial city, and such its name implies--_the city\nof palaces_. It is, moreover, an immense city; the streets are of\nfabulous length, thanks to the mode of construction employed here. I\nbelieve, indeed, that if Paris were built on the same system, it would\nextend itself as far as the _natural frontiers_.\n\nIn those long streets circulates a numerous and very mixed population,\nas in all great maritime places. If you please, we will busy ourselves\nto-day with the Indians only.\n\nWe distinguish them here into two great classes; the Mohammedans and\nthe Hindoos. They are easily recognized in the streets. The\nMohammedans wear a beard; they have usually on their head a cap a\nlittle larger than that of the priests in Belgium, but which, having\nonly one seam forming an edge, is a little less spherical. The rich\nhave caps embroidered with gold and silver, often very costly; the\npoor make theirs of two pieces of grayish-white calico. As for the\nwomen, I know not by what sign to recognize them, unless, perhaps, by\nthe seams of a portion of their garments. For the rest, no Indian\nwoman, poor or rich, appears in the streets. The Hindoos, all\nidolaters, wear no beard on their chin, but only moustaches and\nsometimes whiskers. In case of mourning for the death of a parent,\nthey shave all, and even the hair from the fore part of the skull. The\nrest of the hair is generally drawn back and gathered in a knot. The\nmen go almost always bareheaded; sometimes they make themselves a\nturban of a large piece of calico gracefully enough wound around. The\nrich dress in muslin; unbelievers wear leather shoes,  [Footnote 55]\nthe others wooden sandals. The poor have a cord around their loins,\nwhich the rich replace by a silver chain, that they never leave off.\nOne or more keys are usually attached to it. Between this cord and the\nskin they thrust the edge of a piece of calico as long and as wide as\na bed-sheet, and which goes first round and half round the legs; the\nmen pass between their legs what remains of the sheet and fasten the\nend of it to the cord or to the silver chain; the women throw this\nsame remainder of the stuff over one shoulder and the head, so as to\ncover the chest. All go barefoot; many men have necklaces, the women\nwear on their ankles two large rings of copper or silver; they have,\nbeside, a profusion of necklaces, bracelets, rings in the ears and\neven in the {390} nostrils. This costume forms their essential and\nordinary apparel.\n\n  [Footnote 55: Leather is an abomination to a devout Hindoo.]\n\nFrom the month of November till the month of March, the Indians have a\nseason which they call winter. At 20\u00b0 they are cold, at 15\u00b0 they\nshiver, at 12\u00b0 or 13\u00b0 they are frozen. You should see, in the morning,\nthe masons, carpenters, and other workmen, residing usually in the\ncountry, coming into town all muffled up in one or two extra\nbed-sheets, their mouth and nose completely hidden, and looking so\nmuch like being cold, that after some years the Europeans themselves\n(sad effect of bad example!) end by persuading themselves that it is\ncold here in winter, and even catch a little cold here and there. The\ndomestics also try then to obtain some cast-off garments, in which\nthey wrap themselves up without any regard for aesthetics. The porter\nof the college, who may be recognized by his red skull-cap and small\nwhite band worn as a shoulder-belt, characteristic of the caste of\nBrahmins, asked Father Stochman last year for one of his old soutanes.\nA little _bera_ (servant) strutted about the other day in his master's\nold _paletot_. The master is thirty-five, the _bera_ seven. The\n_meteurs_ (room sweepers, etc) cover themselves with everything:\npacking-linen, palliasses, etc., etc. The _bossartchi_ (cooks) are the\nbest off in winter; they keep themselves warm with their masters'\nwood.\n\nNow that you have my Indians more or less dressed, let us see how they\nact. The best way to do that will be to go in a palanquin from our\ncollege to the railroad station. If we arrive in time for the train,\nwe shall make a little excursion as far as Serampore or even to\nChandernagor. Here is the palanquin that is waiting for us at the\ndoor: it is a wooden box, about four feet long; two poles a little\nbent, and fastened one before, the other behind, seem to be the\ncontinuation of the axle of the parallelepiped (excuse the word: I\nteach geometry). Two individuals, clothed just so far as it is\nabsolutely necessary, place themselves under the front pole, so as to\nlay it one over his right shoulder, the other over his left shoulder;\nthey press one against the other, because union makes strength. Two\nother Indians similar to these do as much for the back pole; the\npalanquin is raised. I slide the doors sideways, seat myself on the\nedge, and with all the elegance given by gymnastic habit I dart in\nbackwards. The bottom is a sort of mattrass, on which one lies down at\nfull length: the shoulders are then supported by a back-cushion, the\nfeet are in front; you cry _Djas!_ and the four _palki-bera_ start\noff. Usually, to mark the way, the most intelligent of the bearers\nthrows out phrases of four or six syllables, in a very monotonous tone\nquite unknown in Europe; the other answers, repeating the phrase in\nthe same tone. In town, they go at the rate of at least six miles an\nhour; in longer journeys they go more slowly.\n\nI have already made a journey of five leagues twice in this kind of\nbox. The first was poetical enough. It was more than fifty leagues\nfrom Calcutta. We were three Europeans; a very light Frenchman (not in\nbody, but in mind), an Irishman, and myself. The Frenchman had a\nconsiderable sum about him, and the country being in his opinion\nsomewhat dangerous, he had brought to the starting station arms of\nevery kind. I had with me in my palanquin a double-barrelled carabine,\na case of ammunition, and a large hunting-knife. To prevent any one\nfrom robbing me of all this, I partly lay down on the carabine, made a\npillow of the case, and slept with the sheath of my knife in one hand\nand the handle in the other. The Irishman, travelling on horseback,\nwith pistols, served us as a scout; but his pistols did not prevent\nhim from being struck on the face and arms by the greatest brigand in\nIndia: I mean the sun. He had his skin red for several days. For us,\nwho were shaded in our palanquins, we had, of {391} course, no\nadventure; were it not that I dreamed sometimes of brigands and the\nBlack Forest, crossing a vast desert plain, all white with light. So,\nwhen we came back the same way a fortnight after, we took with us no\nother fire-arms than a box of matches and cigars. But this is a\ndigression; let us continue our journey.\n\n_Daina p\u00e9ro!_ (turn to the right). It is not the ordinary way; but\ninstead of passing by the broad European thoroughfare, Park street, we\nshall turn aside into the dark and winding passages of an Indian\nbazaar. A bazaar is a multitude of lanes, exclusively composed of\nmiserable huts, and blocked up with all sorts of merchandise. You\nrarely meet any one there but men; the shop-girl and the \"young lady\"\nof the store are equally unknown here; but in it is found every form\nof misery.\n\nSee there below that beggar of eighteen or twenty years, scarce half\ncovered, and without even a rudiment, a shadow, of an arm. He is long\nand thin, but appears to be in good health. A French physician told me\nthat, very probably, his parents cut off his arms when he was a child\nto secure him a livelihood. Whilst we are looking at him, a gigantic\nhand is thrust trough the opposite door of the palanquin. The fingers\nare as big as the arms of a two-year old child; they are long in\nproportion. That hand is soliciting alms. We raise ourselves up a\nlittle to see this needy giant, and our eyes fall on a wretched,\nemaciated Indian; the rest of his body can weigh but little more than\nhis two hands, for the left is like unto the right. This case of\nhypertrophy is, I think, isolated here; but another very common one,\nwhich is met in every street, is _Elephantiasis_, hypertrophy of the\nlegs. The unhappy creatures attacked by this malady have, from the\nknee to the end of the foot, one, or sometimes two, elephant's legs,\ncylindrical, enormous, and seeming to draw to them the nourishment of\nall the rest of the body.\n\nBut here we are at the _Me\u00efdan_, This is the name given to that\nimmense esplanade on which stands Fort William, and which bounds the\ngovernor's palace, the city hall, the Protestant cathedral, the\nprison, the lunatic asylum, etc. Let us cross it in our palanquin,\ncoasting along the river, and we shall soon reach the vicinity of the\nstation. There we find ourselves besieged by the _couli_ (a sort of\nporter) of every age. They claim the honor of carrying our\ntravelling-bag fifty paces for a _pais_--about four centimes. Since\nwe are there, before going any further, let us say a word of the\n_couli_.\n\nSome are in the service of the rich and of Europeans, others are for\nhire in the streets. The first are always men; amongst the second,\nthere are many children: there are few of them very strong. Indeed, as\na general rule, one European has the strength of several Bengalese.\nBoth carry everything on their head, in a great hemispherical basket;\nthere it is that they place the traveller's luggage or the provisions\nbought in the bazaar. A _couli_ brought me one day two little birds\nwhich an Irishman had shot for me, and sent them to me from his\nresidence, three leagues from Calcutta. The birds were in the large\nbasket. On receiving them I wrote a few lines of thanks; the _couli_\nput the note in his basket. Here is another anecdote, for the truth of\nwhich I can certify. M. Moyne, a Frenchman settled in Chandernagor,\nhad ordered his _couli_ to convey some very heavy materials, of I know\nnot what kind. He saw the poor devil bent under the burden, and as the\njourney was to be of several days' duration, he went to his carpenter\nand had him construct a wheelbarrow. That done, he comes back quite\npleased with his good work, and, wheeling the barrow himself to the\n_couli_, gives it to him, shows him how to use it, and goes his ways\nsatisfied that he has caused that man to make one step toward\ncivilization. The pleasure he experiences at this {392} reflection\ninduces him to turn round to enjoy his work. He turns, therefore, and\nsees the _couli_ walking along, the barrow and the burden all on his\nhead!\n\nWe have met by the way a great number of Mohammedans, carrying on\ntheir back an enormous leather flask, and dripping wet. These are the\n_bisthi_, water-carriers. Every house has its own; for people here\nwaste a great deal of water, and there are neither wells nor cisterns.\nThe _bisthi_ go and fill their leather flasks at the river or at the\npublic reservoirs, which are to be found in almost all the large\nstreets, and come and empty it into pitchers of the dimensions of a\nhogshead. It is filtered for drinking; for other uses it is merely\nleft to settle.\n\nThose other individuals, a little cleaner, who carry on their head\nlarge bundles of linen, are _d\u00f4bi_, or washers. They wash the linen by\nsoaking it in water, and then striking it with their whole strength\nagainst a plank or a stone. Happily, notwithstanding the American war,\ncalico is not very dear here. You understand that in such a mode of\nwashing it is roughly handled, and wears out before it is old. But why\nnot teach the _d\u00f4bi_ to wash in another way? Remember M. Moyne's\nwheelbarrow, when you ask that question!\n\nMercy on us! whilst we are chatting so about the _couli_, the\n_bisthi_, and the _d\u00f4bi_, we are missing the train. Since it is gone,\nwe shall do as others do who are left behind: we shall take a\n_Hinghi_, an Indian bark, long, curved, and without a keel. We shall\nfind four or five Mohammedan _mendji\u00e9_ (boatmen), one of whom steers\nwith a long oar; the others row with bamboos as thick as one's arm,\nand terminated by small flat boards. Just as we enter, the crew are\nfinishing their common prayer, in which, with many protestations and\ngesticulations, they thank God and the Prophet for having helped them\nto speed well heretofore, and asking them to help them the same for\nthe future.\n\nAllah! Allah! _mendji\u00e9_  row strong; if we arrive in time, you shall\nhave two _annas_ (30 centimes). What is this floating three paces from\nhere? The body of a man lying on his back. And yonder? A woman's\ncorpse. And further off? The carcass of a horse. The crows, the kites,\nthe vultures, are much interested in it. But we are landing. The\npassengers on board the steamboat are not all landed yet. You see\nthere perhaps forty, fifty European dresses, and hundreds of Indian.\nIn the second-class car, which we enter, we shall see Indians in\nmuslin, who are named _babou_ (or townspeople) through politeness.\nThey are clerks in the Calcutta offices; they reside several leagues\nfrom here, come every day to town, and return home by the railroad.\nThe compact mass of the poor are penned up in wretched third-class\ncars. The bell rings, the whistle blows, we are off.\n\nThirteen miles north of Calcutta in the third station, the first\nimportant one; we stop two minutes. Let us go down; we are at\nSerampore, an old Danish colony sold to England. We shall content\nourselves there with a visit to the Hindoo gods, and we shall have\nenough to do if we see them all. There are, I think, more than fifty\ntemples. Here is one that is no larger than one of the little wayside\nchapels we often see at home. At the further end, on a scaffold, is a\ngod quite black, almost of human form, holding his two hands as though\nhe were playing the flute. No flute is there, however. The god has the\ncut of a French conscript; at his feet there is a little woman a foot\nhigh, and a little god half a foot, an exact copy of the large one.\nThe priest has observed us, and here he comes to speak to us. He is\nclad like the poorest of the Hindoos. What is your god's name? Answer\nunintelligible. Who are those two little personages? His wife and son.\nWhat does that god do? He eats. Indeed? Oh yes, _sahib_, he eats much.\nIf you will give him some rice or flour he will be very thankful {393}\nto you, and it will be of great spiritual advantage to you. Oh! oh!\nbut if we give him rice, will he eat it before us? Oh! of course not.\nHe does not eat in company. I place the rice before him; I close the\ndoor carefully, and go away; when I come back some time after to open\nthe door, he has it all eaten up. Thereupon we begin to laugh; the\npriest smiles, too, and we move away.\n\nYou meet under almost every large tree four or five of these gods, or\neven a greater number. Over them the Indians hang cocoa-nuts, full of\na water which escapes drop by drop, from a little hole bored in the\nbottom. It is thus that they keep their gods cool. You often see a\nregular series of little temples, built one after the other, on the\nsame base. Usually, there are six on one side, six on the other. In\nthe centre of each of them there is a black stone, fairly representing\nan anvil covered with a hat. That stone is a god. A great number of\nthem are sold in Calcutta at from ten to twelve rupees a piece\n(twenty-five or thirty francs).\n\nBut here is a temple of _Kali_, the terrible goddess of destruction,\nin honor of whom the sect of _Togs_ has devoted itself to murder for\nages long. They say there are still Togs who kill for killing's sake,\nespecially in Bengal. The goddess is standing; she is almost black;\nhas four arms armed with daggers and death's-heads; around her neck is\na double necklace, which hangs to the ground, composed of hundreds of\nlittle figures also representing death's-heads. The best of it is that\nher tongue hangs down midway on her chest. To pull the tongue is a\nsign of astonishment in Bengal. Now Kali, returning one day from the\nwar, with her chaplet of skulls round her neck, met a man, whom she\nnaturally killed first and foremost. That is the dead body that lies\nunder her feet. She asked the name of the individual, and was much\nsurprised to find that she had killed her husband. Then she pulled her\ntongue, the best thing she could do. Having no other husband to kill,\nand even deprived recently of human sacrifices by the English\ngovernment. Kali has enormous quantities of black kids sacrificed to\nher. I often see flocks of several hundreds of them coming into town;\nthe votaries of Kali have their heads cut off at a celebrated temple\nwe have here in Calcutta. For you must know, Calcutta signifies\n_temple of Kali!_ I went one day to see these sacrifices. The temple\nis a small affair; but all around a great number of other gods,\nattracted, doubtless, by the scent of blood, come to establish their\ndwelling.\n\nLet us go on. That great straw shed which you see yonder covers an\nenormous car, having a great number of very heavy wheels. Many a man\nthose wheels have crushed. It is the car of Juggernaut, that devil to\nwhose festivals the English government sent European soldiers only a\nfew years since; not to maintain order, but to take part in the\nprocession. _Djaghernatt_ (the Indian name of this idol) remains with\n_Bolaraham_ and _Soub\u00e2dhra_, his brother and sister, in a temple\nopposite the straw shed. A great number of the Indian gods have a\ntaste for moving about; hence those kiosks that you see everywhere,\nand which serve them as resting-places. The prettiest is the shade of\na banyan-tree, with about a hundred stems, a whole wood in itself.\n\nBut we must leave the Hindoo gods; we have barely time to pay a short\nvisit to Chandernagor. Let us take the railroad again, and go on some\nminutes' ride further. Another time we shall, if you choose, come by\nwater, ascending the Hoogly to twenty-one miles north of Calcutta.\nThere, on the right bank of the broad river, is a strip of land two\nmiles in length by one in breadth, where some sixty persons live in\nEuropean style, with some thousands of Bengalese, who live in Indian\nfashion; it is the French colony.\n\nThe Indian _employ\u00e9s_ cry with all {394} their might \"Chan'nagore!\nChan'nagore!\" Let us get down, and out of the terminus, and when we\nhave crossed that ditch, ten paces before us, we shall be in France.\nAs the centre of the European habitations is a quarter of an hour's\nwalk from this point, we throw ourselves here into a four-seated\ncarriage, and thread our way through roads wretchedly out of repair,\nat the risk of upsetting an hundred times, or of getting sea-sick by\nthe way. I have often passed that place in company with Frenchmen; we\nendeavored to feel an impression, by humming\n\n  \"Vera les rives de France,\" etc.   [Footnote 56]\n\n  [Footnote 56: \"Toward the shores of France,\" etc.]\n\nOne day when I was making ready to brave those perilous roads in\ncompany with two Irishmen, there came into our carriage a large\ngentleman, whose weight would have been formidable to us, had I not\nmanaged to balance his pounds by my kilogrammes.  [Footnote 57] By his\nappearance I took him for a _Briton_, and, therefore, took no pains to\nenter into conversation. But after a little, one of my Irishmen,\nannoyed by the jolting of the carriage, said to me in English: \"Faith!\nthese Frenchmen needn't boast of the way they keep these roads of\ntheirs.\" At this remark, you should have seen my stout gentleman leap,\nand with a menacing air reply to my interlocutor: \"I warn you to say\nnothing here against the French. I am a Frenchman.\"\n\n  [Footnote 57: A kilogramme is equal to 2 lb. 3 oz. and 4 drms.]\n\nThis was said in English. I had not yet opened my mouth. I thought I\nwould appease my irascible fat man by speaking to him in his own\ntongue. \"Come, come,\" said I, \"no one here has any intention of\nlaughing at the French.\" My man instantly drew in his horns,\nstammering three or four syllables which I could not understand.\n\"Magical effect of the mother tongue!\" thought I; and ten yards\nfurther on, in order to perfect a good understanding between us, I\nbegan again to address him in French on any subject that presented\nitself. He looked at me with mouth and eyes open. Supposing that he\nhad not heard what I said, I repeated it. He was then forced to\nconfess that he did not know a word of French; that he was an\nIrishman, an old soldier. In short, he was an original, well known in\nthe country by his eccentricity, and styling himself _the hero of 132\nfights_. Now retired from the service, he is writing his exploits in a\nlittle diary full of fun and humor. He detests England, loves France\nin general, and attacks all Frenchmen in particular. Once at his ease,\nafter his candid confession, he took to chatting, and talked so much\nand so well that we forgot the jolting of the carriage, and even the\nlofty and magnificent trees that, fringe the road.\n\nAfter some winding about, and after passing a great number of Indian\nhuts, and meeting hundreds of Hindoos loaded each with a great pitcher\nof water, here we are at last in a street. _Rue de Paris_, if you\nplease: long and dirty, and ill aired; nothing remarkable; let us pass\non. _Rue Neuve,_in ruins. _Rue des Grands Escaliers_, so narrow that\nthe slightest staircase before a door would block it up completely.\nLet us go on, turn to the left, and here we are at the river side.\nHere all is large and wide--quay, river, houses, gardens. Without\nstopping now, let us go on immediately to the end of the quay, where\nwe shall rest and refresh ourselves in a friendly house. It deserves\nthat name in three ways, for, 1st, it was formerly the house of God,\nan ancient chapel of the Franciscans. An old plank yet to be seen\nthere still bears the following inscription in French, nowise\nremarkable for good orthography: \"_This church is dedicated to St.\nFrancis of Assissium._\" 2nd, It belongs to the venerable pastor,\nFather Ch\u00e9routre, who is now our neighbor at Bailloul. And, 3rd, It is\noccupied by M. Moyne of Lyons, one {395} of our old pupils, of whom I\nhave already spoken to you. He stands on the threshold, and receives\nus with open arms.\n\nThe Franciscans were formerly pastors at Chandernagor; this chapel\nserved as parish church; their convent is now converted into a hotel.\nFrom one of its windows there is a magnificent and extensive view,\nthanks to the river and the level character of the ground. That square\ntower to the left is the guard-house; for there is here a French army,\ncomposed of thirty Indians, commanded by a European lieutenant. They\npretend, but erroneously, that these thirty soldiers have but twenty\nuniforms amongst them, and that often, when the guard is relieved, the\nnew comers enter, not only into the functions, but also into the\nclothes, of their comrades. It is a calumny of \"perfidious Albion;\" my\ninformation is certain. I have it from the general-in-chief. Close by\nis the police station. With their white tunics, their red pantaloons,\nthese Indian policemen have very much the look of altar-boys. This\nfine house to the left is the house of the administrator, or, as he is\nstyled by courtesy, the governor. Let us go in. We shall see this\ngovernor, a fat little man, born in the colonies. He will speak a\nlittle on everything, but especially on honor and the happiness, to\nhim so rare, of receiving a visit from a man of learning. It is very\nunlucky that his lady has the influenza at this moment; for she is an\nastronomer, and had ever so many questions to ask me whatever day I\nshould have accepted their invitation. Another time will do as well.\nThe governor himself is a horticulturist; he has his garden kept in\nperfect order by Indian convicts, who drag the cannon ball along his\nwalks.  [Footnote 58]\n\n  [Footnote 58: A military punishment.--TRANS. ]\n\nThe sun is setting; let us go home. We shall see in the streets of\nCalcutta what is seen there every evening; dogs, fireworks, and\nmarriages.\n\nThe Bengal dog is a wretched and cowardly animal, long muzzled,\nred-haired; he barks little, but howls incessantly. Be very sure that\nhe will assail us persistently in the lanes, as we pass now in the\nevening, distance being our only security against him. There are also\nin the country, and even in the city, a great number of _paria_ dogs,\nthat prowl around, especially by night; a species of wild beasts; not\nvery dangerous, however, because of their cowardice. It is said that\ndogs of European race gradually degenerate here.\n\nThose rockets that you see going up from all points of the horizon are\na daily amusement in which the Bengalese take much delight. There is\nscarcely ever a fire-work worth seeing; but there is fire, smoke, and\ncrackers, and that suffices. Sometimes they send up little paper\nballoons, with a ball of lighted camphor, which burns a good quarter\nof an hour.\n\nBut look yonder: is not that a fire? A bright light flashes on the\ntree-tops and on the European houses. No, it is not a fire; it is a\nmarriage. The procession is turning the comer of the street; a score\nof Indians carry each on his head a plank, on which some fifty candles\nare burning; others carry resinous wood burning on the top of a long\npole; in the centre of the procession trumpets, drums, large and\nsmall, pots and saucepans, produce a frightful din, each musician\nhaving no other rule than that of making the greatest possible noise.\nBehind the orchestra come one or two open palanquins containing the\nbrides, around whom \"blue lights\" are lit from time to time. I defy\nyou to form any correct idea of this _cort\u00e8ge_, and especially of the\nmusic. They go about thus from street to street for several hours;\nthen they will eat rice to satiety, gorge themselves with Indian\npastry, and to-morrow will not have a single sou. We see that from our\nterrace several times in the week, and, at certain seasons, every day.\n\n{396}\n\nIf I am not mistaken, I have said nothing yet of the character of\nthese poor Indians. In this respect some reserve is necessary. I hear\nit said that there is very little resemblance between Bengal, Maduras,\nthe Bombay territory, the Punjaub, etc. As for the Bengalese, all\nagree in regarding them as the most degraded; they are effeminate,\nidle, and cowardly by temperament; liars and thieves by education.\nThey often dispute amongst themselves, but never fight. That cowardice\nencourages many Englishmen, who beat them at random when they have\nnothing else to do. My idea is that, unless miracles of grace be\nwrought for them, it is scarcely possible to make true Christians of\nthese poor people. The only means of establishing Christianity amongst\nthe race would be to buy their children, and bring them up, away from\nall contact with the others. There are Christians amongst them, who\nare oftenest found as cooks or _kansama_ amongst the Europeans; but\nthey know not the first rudiments of their religion, go to church only\non Good Friday and All Souls' Day, and are generally admitted to be\nworse than the pagan servants.\n\nOur day is now ended. If you are fatigued, come and rest yourself on\nthe college roof, constructed as a platform, like those of all the\nother houses in the country. There, evening and morning, but only\nthen, the heat is bearable. I sometimes go and sit there to think of\nmy friends. I look back into the past, forget the present, and, as I\ndo everywhere else, laugh at what worldlings call _the future_. The\nfuture is heaven. It seems to me that I am nearer to it here than in\nEurope. May God grant us grace to gain it one day or another!\n\nT. CARBONNNELLE.\n\n----------\n\nTHE ROUND OF THE WATERS.\n\nBY ROBT. W. WEIR\n\n  \"All thy works praise thee, O Lord.\"\n\n  Up, up on the mountains, high up near the sky.\n  Where the earth gathers moisture from clouds passing by;\n  Where the first drops of rain patter down full of glee,\n  As they join hand in hand on their way to the sea;\n\n  There the rills, like young children, go prattling along.\n  Full of life, full of joy, full of motion and song;\n  And, swelling the brooks, with glad voices they raise,\n  To him who made all things, their tribute of praise.\n\n  Then, as they dance onward, half hidden in spray,\n  Like bands of young nymphs dress'd in bridal array,\n  With shouts of wild laughter they leap the deep linn.\n  Where the broad flowing river at once takes them in.\n\n  Now calm their rude mirth as they matronly glide,\n  Bearing onward rich freight to the blue briny tide.\n  Where the mist of the mountains once more joins the sea\n  With its incense, O Lord, ever heaving to thee.\n\n------\n\n{397}\n\n\nTranslated from the German\n\nTHE BIBLE; OR, CHRISTMAS EVE,\n\n\nChristmas Eve had come. The bells of the high towers in majestic and\nsolemn tones were reminding the faithful that the advent of the Lord\nwas near. Here and there through the gathering darkness already\nglimmered a solitary taper, casting a feeble light upon the streets,\nwhere a throng of people, large and small, young and old, were moving\nto and fro with joyful activity, impatiently awaiting the hour when\nthe treasures and splendor of the Christmas market should be opened to\nthem. Good mothers were engaged in quietly and secretly baking the\ncakes and adorning the Christmas-tree for the children, and shared\nbeforehand in the delights and surprises of the little ones, while\nothers, who had perhaps chosen the best part, were preparing\nthemselves in still devotion and pious meditation for the great\nfestival.\n\nThe young student of theology, Ernest Kuhn, was sitting in his little\nupper chamber, watching, with eyes full of deep affection and\nsympathy, his dear mother, who, after a confinement to her bed of\nseveral weeks, had been refreshed for the first time by a peaceful\nsleep. His countenance was lighted up with an expression of great\ninterior joy, for on this day the physician had announced to him that\nhis mother had safely passed through a perilous crisis, and that, with\ncare, a speedy recovery might be expected.\n\nBut he turned his eyes from his dear mother and looked upon the bare\nwalls, which gave a speaking proof of the poverty of the inmates, then\na cloud of sadness passed over his countenance, his young breast\nheaved heavily, as if oppressed by a weight of sorrow. The house-rent\nwas due, the fire-wood was reduced to a few sticks, hardly enough to\nlast two days, his little sister needed a new dress, his mother good\nstrengthening nourishment, the apothecary's bill was to be paid, and\nwhere were the means to be found?\n\nHeavily and slowly he rose from his seat, as if standing would lighten\nhis burdens, and cast his eyes thoughtfully around the apartment. \"The\ntables and chairs,\" he said to himself in an under-tone, \"are gone not\nto come back, the pictures too are sold, and the clock also; and now\nit is your turn, O my books! It cannot be helped; I have spared you\nfor a long, long time.\" At these words he stood before the book-case\nand gazed on the few but good books by which he had so often been\ninstructed and counselled, and which had remained with him in joy and\nin sorrow. Each of them was dear to him, associated with some dear\nremembrance either of joy or sorrow. Sad and wavering, he looked at\nthem again and again, as if he could never part from them. At last,\nafter long hesitation, he took down from the shelf a large bound\nvolume; it was a Bible adorned with beautiful copper-plate engravings.\n\"I can best spare you,\" he said sadly, \"for I have two more in Greek\nand in Latin; I shall meet with the most ready sale and get the most\nmoney for you. My grandfather who is in heaven will forgive me this; I\nhave other remembrances of him; Agnes will grieve and weep greatly for\nthe beautiful Bible, but I think I can easily quiet her, and I can\nalso give my mother a satisfactory explanation.\"\n\n{398}\n\nHe cast a sorrowful glance at the beautiful book which had afforded\nhim so much enjoyment in his boyhood, and which was so much dearer to\nhim as a memorial of his pious grandfather, long since dead, whom he\nheld in great veneration. Then he thought of earlier and better times,\nof the present, so full of trouble, and of the blessed future, and his\nheart was heavy and his youthful breast heaved painfully.\n\nThen his eye fell as if by chance upon the open Bible, and he read:\n\"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.\"\n\nAnd he humbly kissed the consoling words, and a tear of sorrow but\nalso of the firmest trust flowed down his cheek, and he turned his\ntrue and weeping eyes to heaven as if he would ask pardon of his\nFather for his faint-heartedness. He remembered how God had heard his\nearnest prayer, and restored his dear mother, how often he had helped\nhim, and his heart became lighter, and hope once more began to dawn\nupon him.\n\n\n\nII.\n\nSuddenly the door opened, and his little sister Agnes, a child seven\nyears old, ran in, joyfully holding up her little writing-book. \"Look\nhere, dear Ernest,\" she eagerly exclaimed, \"only see how beautifully I\nhave written to-day! That great A is very nice.\" \"Softly, softly, you\nnoisy little girl,\" said her brother, putting his hand over her mouth;\n\"you will wake up mother!\" Agnes hastened on tip-toe to her mother's\nbedside, softly kissed her white hand, and said beseechingly, as she\nwatched her slumber, \"Do not scold, dear brother, mother is sleeping\nso good!\"\n\nErnest smiled and told her that while he attended to some necessary\nbusiness she must stay with their mother, and be very quiet and silent\nthat she might not wake her; but that if she did awake she was to give\nher the warm broth upon the stove, and that the bread and butter for\nherself was on the window ledge. \"Now be very quiet,\" he added, \"for\nyou know what the doctor said.\"\n\nThe little girl assured him that he might trust her, but, added she,\ncoaxingly, \"When you come back, may I not go with dame Margaret to the\nChristmas market?\" \"That you shall,\" promised her brother. But Agnes\nclung to him, and full of pious simplicity, whispered in his ear: \"If\nyou meet the Christ-child in the street, tell him he must not forget\nme, but must look in here.\"\n\nThe brother embraced the little girl with a sad smile, and casting an\naffectionate glance upon his mother, left the room.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nErnest had only to turn the corner of the little street to find the\nshop of H\u00f6ss, the antiquary, who had before bought many a book of him,\nand to whom he intended to offer the Bible. With a beating heart (for\nH\u00f6ss was a rough, purse-proud man) Ernest entered the shop, which was\ncrowded with books, maps, and pictures. He greeted the antiquary, who\nwas busy writing, in a friendly manner, but there was a pretty long\npause before he took any notice of him.\n\n\"Ah! it is you, Master Studious,\" he exclaimed, raising his cap in a\nstately manner, \"what good thing brings you to me?\"\n\n\"Something beautiful and good indeed,\" replied Ernest \"See here, you\nmust buy this of me.\"\n\n\"Always buying,\" said the antiquary; \"when will you begin to buy of\nme? I don't like to deal with you. Look at your pictures, that I\nbought of you three weeks ago, and for which I paid more than they\nwere worth on account of your destitute condition; no one will buy\nthem of me; my good nature played me a trick that time. It shall not\nhappen again, Master Studious.\"\n\n\"How can you say this, Mr. H\u00f6ss?\" {399} replied Ernest, greatly\ndisgusted; \"did you not have them for a trifle, and was not I present\neight days since when you refused double of what you gave for them,\nwhen it was offered you?\"\n\n\"You heard wrong,\" replied the antiquary, displeased and ashamed, \"let\nme see your articles.\"\n\nWith evident pleasure he turned over the leaves of the book, and\nlooked at the beautiful and delicately executed engravings.\n\n\"Not so bad,\" thought he. \"It is a pity that I have already more than\nenough of such trash, as you can see for yourself if you will look at\nthose shelves. I will take it, however, on account of my regard for\nyou and your mother, if you don't set your mark too high.\"\n\n\"Only give me,\" begged Ernest, \"the fourth part of what it first\ncost.\"\n\n\"And what was that?\"\n\n\"Six florins, Mr. Hoss.\"\n\n\"You are sharp indeed, young master! Six florins in these hard times!\nSuch are our young people now-a-days,\" grumbled the old man.\n\n\"Only look at the beautiful pictures, so skilfully and clearly\nengraved; I am sure it would bring you double and treble the price you\ngive for it.\"\n\n\"What do you know of all this, Master Studious? I will give you three\nflorins and not a penny more, and this only out of pure kindness.\"\n\n\"If you have that, give me more,\" earnestly pleaded the young man;\n\"think of my mother's sickness and our poverty.\"\n\n\"Is it my fault that your mother is poor and sick?\" sneered the miser;\n\"why have you not made yourself rich if poverty is so disagreeable to\nyou? Take your book, or the three florins, whichever you please.\nMaster Studious; only be quick, for I have something else to do beside\nlistening to your whining.\"\n\nIt was as if a two-edged sword had pierced the heart of the deeply\ndistressed young man. He suddenly seized the book; then he thought of\nhis sick mother, and their extreme need at home, and he strongly\nchecked the rising words of his just anger. \"Take the book, then,\" he\nsaid, with a look and tone in which the indignation of his deeply\nwounded spirit spoke forth--\"take it, but you have not dealt with me\nas a Christian should deal with a Christian; may God be more merciful\nto you in your dying hour than you are now to me.\" And with these\nwords he hastened from the shop, and he heard a scornful laugh behind\nhim.\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nHe went forth into the street with burning sorrow rankling in his\nwounded breast. The December air blew sharp and cold over his glowing\ncheeks--he felt it not. People were talking loud and merrily as they\nmoved up and down the lighted streets, but he heard them not. Sunk in\ndespondency, he stood motionless in the night air, leaning against the\ncorner of a house. Never before had he been so wretched. His spirit\nwas stirred by an indescribable feeling of bitterness, which\nthreatened to destroy the happiness of his life.\n\nIn mild solemn tones the bells sounded anew, and awakened in his soul\nthe remembrance of him who brought, and is ever bringing to us all,\nredemption, help, and consolation; he called to mind the words of\nChrist which he a short time before had read, and which had so\nwonderfully cheered him; he thought of the resolution he had this day\nformed, of his dear mother, of whose entire recovery he had now so\nlively a hope. Then he took courage, walked down the street, and went\nto the shop of the apothecary Kremer.\n\n\n\nV.\n\nThe apothecary, a kind, cordial-hearted man, greeted Ernest in a\nfriendly way as he entered with a \"God be with you. Master Theologus.\nYou want the medicine for your {400} mother? Here it is; and how is\nthe good woman?\"\n\n\"Thanks be to God,\" replied Ernest joyfully, \"she is out of danger;\nbut dear Herr Kremer,\" added he in an under-tone, '\"I cannot pay you\nthis time; oh! be so good as to bear with me a little longer.\"\n\n\"Have I ever asked anything of you?\" said the apothecary; \"do not\ntrouble yourself. I am right glad that your mother is better; I knew\nshe would recover. But you yourself look so pale and weak! what has\nhappened to you?\"\n\nThen Ernest, encouraged by the kindness of the cordial-hearted man,\nrelated to him how scornfully and hardly the antiquary had dealt with\nhim.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the apothecary angrily, \"that is the way with this\ncovetous man; I have known him from his youth; it was his pleasure as\na schoolboy to torment us, and, whenever he could, to cheat us. But do\nnot let this disturb you; sit down at the table out yonder near the\nstove,\" he continued kindly; \"after this vexation a drop of wine will\nnot harm you.\" Saying this he opened a cupboard, took down a bottle of\nwine and a tart, and with good-natured haste filled the glass.\n\nErnest hardly knew what all this meant. \"Oh, sir,\" he exclaimed,\ngreatly surprised, \"how have I merited such great kindness?\"\n\n\"You are a brave son, and have acted honorably toward your mother, and\nfor that I esteem you highly; so drink, drink!\" insisted the kind old\nman.\n\n\"I wish my mother was here in my place,\" said the good son; \"the wine\nwould do her good.\"\n\n\"Do not let that trouble you,\" answered the apothecary, deeply moved;\n\"your mother shall not be forgotten, and your little sister shall not\ngo without her share; and now eat and drink to your heart's desire.\"\n\nThe kindness of the cordial-hearted old man made Ernest's meal a happy\none; new life flamed through his veins with the wine, his cares began\nto lessen, and he felt himself wonderfully refreshed. For a long time\nhe had not been so light-hearted.\n\nMeanwhile the old man, whose joy was heartfelt at seeing how much the\nyoung student relished his little repast, had taken down a second\nbottle of wine from the cupboard, and had made up a parcel of bonbons\nand candy for his little sister.\n\n\"The wine,\" said he to Ernest, \"is for your mother, and this parcel\nfor your little sister.\"\n\n\"How can I repay you for all your kindness to us?\" asked Ernest,\noverpowered with joy and gratitude.\n\n\"Oh! that is of no importance,\" answered the apothecary laughing; \"it\nis Christmas eve, when the Lord visits all his children, and you have\nbeen a very good child.\"\n\n\"May God reward you for the love you have shown us,\" said Ernest with\nemotion; \"my mother and I have nothing but thanks and prayers to\nreturn you.\"\n\n\"Give me the last, dear young man,\" answered the apothecary, \"and\ninvite me to your first. Remember me to your mother, and freely ask me\nfor whatever you need. Farewell.\"\n\nWith a heart full of gratitude Ernest pressed die offered hand of the\nold man to his heart, took the presents and hastened home.\n\n\nVI.\n\nCheered and warmed, refreshed in body and spirit, he entirely forgot\nthe hard-hearted antiquary. He entertained himself as he went along\nwith the pleasing surprise he should give his mother and sister, when\nthey saw the good things he brought them, and raising his eyes to\nheaven in gratitude he exclaimed, \"Father, there are some good men\nstill!\" When he reached home he found his mother still asleep, his\nlittle sister trying to darn his old socks, but, as yet wholly\nunpractised in the art of patching, she {401} more than once pricked\nher little fingers till they bled.\n\n\"Is it you, dear brother?\" she asked affectionately. \"Mother has not\nwaked yet; I have been very good and still.\"\n\n\"For this the little Christ-child has given me something for you,\"\nsaid her brother, as he came toward her smiling; \"he sends you his\nkind greeting, and tells you to study well, never forget to pray, and\nlove him always!\"\n\nAgnes quickly opened the parcel, and, surprised and delighted, beheld\nthe bonbons, the sugared almonds, and the gingerbread. A flush of joy\nlighted up her pretty features, and for some time she could not find\nwords to speak.\n\n\"Oh, brother, only see how good the Christ-child is! Yes, yes, I will\nindeed love him, and study and pray hard, that our Heavenly Father and\nthe good infant Jesus may be pleased with me.\"\n\nHer brother smiled, moved by her pious joy, but just at this moment\ndame Margaret, their good old neighbor, came in, who had shown every\nkindness and attention to Ernest's mother during her illness. With joy\nhe told her the happy news of her recovery; the delighted little Agnes\nspread out her sugar-plums and gingerbread, and cordially invited her\nto take some. But Margaret thought her teeth were not good enough.\n\"But come,\" said she, \"when you are ready we will go to the Christmas\nmarket.\"\n\n\"May I go, brother?\" asked Agnes. \"Yes, indeed you may, only come home\nin time,\" said he; '\"and be so good, dame Margaret, as to keep watch\nupon the little girl.\"\n\n\"Have no fear, Master Ernest,\" she replied, \"for you know I love her\nas if she were my own child.\"\n\n\nVII.\n\nDame Margaret took her way along the street leading to the Christmas\nmarket--holding the Agnes by hand, who every now and then urged her to\nmake greater haste. From the deep blue sky the stars poured down their\npale silver light upon the dazzling fresh-fallen snow. Crowds of\npeople were hurrying up and down, talking merrily, or, divided into\ngroups, stood gazing eagerly and curiously upon the bright display of\nthe fair. Bright lights were burning in the stands and shops of the\ntradesmen, displaying all their treasures to the astonished eye. Here\npeeped out the pleasant, friendly faces of dolls with waxen heads,\ndressed after the newest fashion in little hoods or Florence hats,\nwhile others stood more retired, like ladies and gentlemen, splendidly\nwrapped in cloaks and furs, as if they feared the cold. A varied\nmedley of hussars in rich embroidered uniform hung there; huntsmen\nwith, rifle and pouch, chimney-sweeps and Tyrolese, hermits and\nfriars, Greeks near their mortal enemies the Turks, and Moors,\nstanding peacefully side by side. The plashing fish swam round in a\nglass panel, whilst close by stood a dark oak-wood case, in which\nleaden bears and stags were seized by hounds and hunters of the same\nmetal. Elsewhere was a whole regiment of bearded grenadiers, arranged\nin stiff array, with Turkish music. A frightful fortress, with paper\nwalls and wooden cannon, frowned next a kitchen where was to be seen\nthe pretty sight of cook, hearth, pans, spits, plates, etc. Here\nsweetmeats, choice pastry, tarts, chocolate, almonds, gingerbread,\netc., excited in many a dainty palate long desire and hard temptation.\nGolden apples gleamed forth from dark leaves, nuts rattled in silver\nbowls, while in another place low cribs, with water, mountain, and\nvalley, herds and herdsmen, with angels in the air and on the earth,\nsweetly represented the new-born child lying in the cradle, carefully\nwatched by Mary and Joseph.\n\nLittle Agnes gazed with delighted eyes upon all this splendor, and\noften laid her tender hand upon her youthful breast, as if to repress\nits longings {402} and sounds escaped her lips which only too plainly\nexpressed the joy of her heart.\n\nBut at length dame Margaret thought it was time to go home. \"Do let us\nfirst go to find Herr H\u00f6ss,\" begged Agnes, \"his crib is always the\nprettiest,\" and laughing good-naturedly she drew the obliging Margaret\nalong with her to the antiquary. They found him occupied in attending\nupon an elderly lady. Did Agnes see aright? Did her eyes deceive her?\n\"Yes, yes,\" she suddenly exclaimed in great distress, \"it is my Bible,\nmy dear picture-book!\" and in a moment she released herself from\nMargaret and ran up to the lady.\n\n\"Oh, dear lady,\" cried she, eagerly, \"do not buy it; you cannot, you\nmust not buy it; that book belongs to me!\" The lady looked at the\nlittle girl in great astonishment.\n\n\"What are you dreaming of, you silly little thing?\" grumbled the\nantiquary, vexed at the unwelcome interruption. \"It is mine; I bought\nit, and at a high price.\"\n\n\"That cannot be, dear sir,\" earnestly protested the little girl. \"I\nbeg you give me back my picture-book; I will give you all the money I\nhave,\" and saying this she drew out her little purse, which contained,\nalas! only four pennies, her little savings. \"Take it,\" said she,\n\"only give me my picture-book.\"\n\n\"Oh! you little sharper,\" said the antiquary jeeringly, \"that would be\na great profit; I have paid more florins for it than you have\npennies.\"\n\n\"I beg you, for heaven's sake,\" sobbed Agnes, with folded hands and\ntears streaming from her blue eyes. \"I tell you, upon my honor, it\nbelongs to me; only see, there is my name on the title-page, which my\nbrother wrote there in Latin letters.\"\n\nThe lady turned the leaf over and read aloud, \"Frederic Schein!\"\n\n\"Frederic Schein?\" exclaimed suddenly a loud voice, with evident\nemotion, and a slender, manly figure wrapped in a cloak, from beneath\nwhich glistened a richly embroidered huntsman's uniform, pressed\nthrough the circle which curiosity had formed around Agnes and the\nantiquary. \"Frederic Schein?\" again he exclaimed, and looked greatly\nagitated upon the book. \"Permit me, noble lady?\" he asked, and hastily\nseized the offered Bible. \"Good heavens! my suspicions were right, it\nis my father's Bible!\" and suddenly turning to the little girl: \"What\nis thy family and baptismal name?\"\n\n\"Agnes Kuhn,\" answered Agnes, greatly terrified.\n\n\"Is your mother's name Sophia?\" he asked urgently and eagerly.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the child, \"my mother's name is Sophia, and my\nbrother's Ernest.\"\n\n\"Thanks be to God, a thousand thanks!\" fervently exclaimed the tall\nman, with deep emotion, and ardently pressed Agnes to his heart.\n\"Agnes,\" he cried, \"I am your uncle; your mother is my sister. Oh!\ntake me to her.\"\n\nAgnes, looking at him with astonishment, asked: \"Are you my uncle\nFrank, of whom my mother has so often told me? Oh! if you are my uncle\nFrank,\" said she coaxingly, \"do buy the Bible for me! and then I will\ntake you to my mother.\" Her uncle kissed the little girl, and gave her\nthe book. \"I will take the book, sir,\" said he, \"at any price;\" and\nthe antiquary made him a very low bow.\n\nWhen the bargain was concluded, the tall huntsman moved quickly\nthrough the circle of astonished spectators, leading the little Agnes,\nwho joyfully pressed the precious picture-book to her heart. Margaret\nfollowed, lost in astonishment.\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nWhile these things were taking place at the fair, and Agnes\nunexpectedly had found the Bible and her uncle, Ernest sat by the\nbedside of his mother, enjoying her slumber, which was to him the\nsweet pledge of {403} her recovery. Before him lay open the histories\nof Holy Writ, and with deep emotion he was reading what the Lord in\nhis infinite love and mercy had done for sinful men, and how he had\nsent them his only begotten Son to redeem and console them, whose\nbirth-day was now to be joyfully celebrated throughout Christendom.\n\nHe had just looked at the fire in the stove, and poured fresh oil into\nthe expiring lamp, when his mother awoke, and cast a kind,\naffectionate glance upon her good son.\n\n\"Oh, mother,\" cried he joyfully, \"what a good sleep you have had; you\nhave been asleep seven whole hours!\"\n\n\"Yes, I have slept soundly,\" answered she, \"and find myself greatly\nstrengthened. But what has become of Agnes?\"\n\n\"I let her go with dame Margaret to the Christmas fair; it is almost\ntime for her to come back.\"\n\n\"Ah! it grieves me to the heart,\" sighed his mother, \"that I cannot\ngive you both a little Christmas gift, as I used to do.\"\n\n\"Don't be distressed on that account, dear mother,\" said Ernest,\nsoothingly; \"you are out of danger, and that is the most beautiful and\nbest Christmas gift that could be bestowed on us. But the Christ-child\nhas not forgotten us,\" and he handed his mother the bottle of wine and\nthe biscuit.\n\n\"Where in all the world did this come from?\" asked his astonished\nmother.\n\nErnest now related how he had sold the Bible to the antiquary (whose\nunkind treatment he concealed from his mother lest it should disturb\nher) for three florins, and how he had called on the apothecary, who\nhad so hospitably received him, so kindly remembered his mother and\nlittle sister, and had promised not only a larger credit, but every\nkind of aid.\n\nHis mother could not find words to praise and thank their benefactor.\n\nWhen Ernest wrapped up the biscuit again as his mother directed, he\nremarked upon the cover the hand-writing and name of the apothecary,\nand had the curiosity to open the whole paper.\n\nWho can describe his surprise and emotion when he found the wrapper\nwas a receipt in full, signed by the apothecary, for the eight florins\nand thirty pence due to him for medicines delivered.\n\n\"God bless our noble benefactor!\" prayed his mother with folded hands.\n\nBut Ernest shouted, \"Mother, we are now relieved of a great care!\"\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nDame Margaret just then entered with an unusually quick step, and with\na countenance evidently announcing good tidings, but without little\nAgnes.\n\n\"Where have you left my Agnes?\" inquired the mother anxiously.\n\n\"Do not trouble yourself about her; she will soon come, and not alone\neither. She is bringing an old acquaintance of yours with her!\"\n\n\"An old, dear acquaintance?\"\n\n\"Yes, and from your native place, too.\"\n\n\"From my native place?\" asked the mother eagerly.\n\n\"He declares that he is very nearly related to you; and he does look\nvery much like you.\"\n\n\"How does he look?\" asked the mother urgently.\n\n\"He is tall and slender, with black eyes and black hair, and a scar\nover his brow; he looks to me like a huntsman.\"\n\n\"Great God! is it possible? can it be my brother?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is he,\" cried the huntsman, as he entered and offered his\nhand to his astonished sister. From the arms of his sister he hastened\nto embrace his manly nephew, while the joyful Agnes, with the Bible in\nher arms, now ran up to her mother, now {404} to her uncle, and then\nto her brother, who beheld the book with astonishment, and began\nfaintly to suspect what happened.\n\nWhen the first tempest of delight had subsided, and given place to a\nmore quiet though not less deep joy, question crowded upon question,\nand answer upon answer.\n\nThe uncle first related how after the marriage of his sister he had\nentered into the service of the Count of Maxenstein as upper\ngame-keeper; how he had often tried to obtain intelligence of his dear\nsister; twice had taken a journey himself to their native place, and\ncould learn nothing of her; how he had searched all the newspapers;\nand at length, when all means and efforts had failed, how be\nsorrowfully gave up the hope of ever seeing her again. Then he told\nher how he had come to this place on business for the count, his\nmaster; had visited the Christmas fair and the stall of the antiquary,\nand had there unexpectedly found his father's Bible and Agnes, and\nthrough them his sister and nephew.\n\nThen affectionately clasping Ernest by the hand he begged his sister\nto relate her history.\n\n\"My history,\" she replied, \"is short, and yet varied with many sorrows\nthat the Lord has laid upon me. You knew that my husband left his\nnative place to seek a better living in Eichstadt. But in this he was\ndeceived. Then, in spite of my entreaties, he entered the French\nservice as surgeon, and came to Saarlouis, where his regiment lay in\ngarrison. Soon after his arrival a malignant fever broke out among the\nsoldiers, which carried away great numbers, and among them my husband.\nGod give him his kingdom,\" said she drying her tears. \"His death was\nthe more dreadful for me, because I was alone in a foreign land\nwithout friends or help, and had but just risen from my bed after the\nbirth of Agnes. In my need I wrote several letters to you and to our\nrelatives at Settenberg, but received no answer. At first I thought\nthis was caused by irregularities of the post-route, which was\neverywhere embarrassed by the disturbances of the war; but I soon\nlearned, to my great sorrow, that our Settenberg had been sacked and\nburned by the French. Imagine, my dear brother, my condition! What a\nhappiness for me that, some months after the death of my husband, an\nold aunt of his made me the offer to go to her, and she would support\nme as well as she was able. I was not terrified by the length of the\nway, and received from her a cordial welcome. But, alas! this\nhappiness was not long to last. My good aunt died, leaving me her\nheir, but she had other relations who disputed the will, and, after a\nlaw-suit of three years' continuance, an agreement was made by which\nmost of the property fell into the hands of the judges and lawyers.\nHardly a fourth part of it remained after the costs were paid. I had\nnothing now but care and trouble; but I ever found a firm support in\nmy dear Ernest. May God reward him! But now, dear brother, now, if I\nonly have you, again all care will be over.\" And the good woman,\ndeeply affected, pressed his hand.\n\n\"Oh, my dear ones!\" cried he, after listening to his sister's\nnarrative with lively sympathy, \"let us all thank our Heavenly Father\nthat he has to-day brought us all together again, in so wonderful a\nmanner, by means of this book; for I had already determined to leave\nthis place in the morning.\"\n\nErnest related how hard it had been for him to part with the precious\nbook, how he had been encouraged by the passage in Matthew, what mean\ntreatment he had met with from the antiquary, and how he had almost\nmade up his mind to take back the book with him.\n\nLittle Agnes, on her side, thought it had been no very easy matter to\nbring dame Margaret to the antiquary, and she had gone through trouble\nand {405} terror enough \"until the Christ-child sent my uncle.\"\n\nHe pressed the little one to his heart, but she seized him fast by the\nhand, and coaxingly begging him, said: \"Now uncle, you never will go\naway; you will stay with us?\"\n\n\"How could I leave you so soon, my dear ones, just as I have found you\nagain? No, no, we will never separate; we will always remain\ntogether,\" cried the uncle. \"You must go with me to Peinegg, sister,\nwhere I am head-forester; it is a beautiful and splendid place there,\nand I have everything in abundance.\"\n\n\"With you and my children I would go to the ends of the earth,\" said\nshe cheerfully.\n\nThen Ernest, upon a hint from his mother, brought out the bottle of\nwine and the biscuit, and offered them to his uncle. A slight meal,\nprepared in haste by dame Margaret, seasoned with cheerful\nconversation, enlivened the evening, to which Ernest and his mother\nhad looked forward only a few hours before with such pain and anxiety.\nJoy and deep satisfaction lighted every countenance, but the mother\nsaid with deep feeling: \"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall\nbe comforted.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" responded the uncle, devoutly raising his eyes to heaven.\nErnest and Agnes wept tears of joy and gratitude.\n\n\n\nX.\n\nIt was not long before their mother was entirely recovered and\naccompanied her beloved brother to Peinegg, where he arranged\neverything in a manner to make her life agreeable. It may easily be\nimagined that the Bible was not forgotten. Every Christmas evening was\npassed with far more festivity and joy than the evening which united\nagain the long separated. At the end of two years Ernest celebrated\nhis first mass at Peinegg. The good apothecary was invited to be\npresent, and esteemed this day as the happiest of his life. Sixteen\nyears after, Ernest was established as parish priest at Peinegg, where\nhe still exercises his holy office with extraordinary zeal.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nTHOUGHTS ON ST. GERTRUDE.\n\nBY AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n\nWhen a voice from the thirteenth century comes to us amid the din of\nthe nineteenth, it is difficult for those interested in the cause of\nhuman progress not to feel their attention strongly challenged. Such a\nvoice appeals to us in a work which has now first appeared in an\nEnglish version.  [Footnote 59]\n\n  [Footnote 59: \"The Life and Revelations of St. Gertrude, Virgin and\n  Abbess.\" By a Religious of the Order of Poor Clares.]\n\nWe owe it to a religious of the order of Poor Clares; a daughter of\nSt. Francis thus paying to St. Benedict a portion of that debt which\nall the religious orders of the West owe to their great patriarch. The\nbook possesses a profound interest, and that of a character wholly\napart from polemics. The thirteenth century, the noblest of those\nincluded in the \"ages of faith,\" was a troubled time; but high as the\ncontentions of rival princes and feudal chiefs swelled, we have here a\nproof that\n\n  \"Birds of calm sat brooding on the charm\u00e8d wave.\"\n\nNot less quieting is the influence of {406} such records in our own\ntime. They make their way--music being more penetrating than mere\nsound--amid the storm of industrialism and its million wheels.\nControversialists may here forget their strifes, and listen to the\nannals of that interior and spiritual life which is built up in peace\nand without the sound of the builder's hammer, much less of sword or\naxe. There is here no necessary or direct contest between rival forms\nof belief. Monasteries have been pulled down and sold in Catholic as\nwell as in Protestant countries; and in the latter also are to be\nfound men whose highest aspiration is to rebuild them, and restore the\ncalm strength and sacred labors which they once protected. Such books\nare not so much a protest against any age as the assertion of those\ngreat and universal principles of truth and peace which can alone\nenable each successive age to correct its errors, supply its defects,\nand turn its special opportunities to account. It is not in a literary\npoint of view that they interest us chiefly, although they include not\na little which reminds us of Dante, and reveal to us one of the chief\nsources from which the great Christian poet drew his inspiration.\nTheir interest is mainly human. They show us what the human being can\nreach, and by what personal influences, never more potent than when\ntheir touch is softest, society, in its rougher no less than in its\nmilder periods, is capable of being moulded.\n\nThe \"Revelations of St. Gertrude\" were first translated into Latin, as\nis affirmed, by Lamberto Luscorino in 1390. This work was, however,\napparently never published; and the first Latin version by which they\nbecame generally known was that put forth under the name of\n\"_Insinuationes Divinae Pietatis_,\" by Lanspergius, who wrote at the\nclose of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth century. The\nwork has appeared in several of the modern languages; but the French\ntranslation, by which it has hitherto been chiefly known among us, has\nmany inaccuracies. The present English translation has been  carefully\nmade from the Latin of Lanspergius and the original is frequently\nquoted in the foot-notes. The \"_Insinuationes_\" consist of five books.\nOf these the second only came from the hand of the saint, the rest\nbeing compiled by a religious of her monastery, partly from personal\nknowledge and partly from the papers of St. Gertrude. Two works by the\nsaint, her \"Prayers\" and her \"Exercises,\" have lately appeared in an\nEnglish version.\n\nSt. Gertrude was born at Eisleben, in the county of Mansfield, on the\n6th of January, 1263, just sixty-nine years after the birth of St.\nClare, the great Italian saint from whose convent at Assisi so many\nothers had already sprung in all parts of Europe, and whose name had\nalready become a living power in Germany and Poland, as well as in the\nsunny south. [Footnote 60] St. Gertrude was descended from an\nillustrious house, that of the Counts of Lackenborn. When but five\nyears old she exchanged her paternal home for the Benedictine Abbey of\nRodersdorf, where she was soon after joined by her sister, afterward\nthe far-famed St. Mechtilde. When about twenty-six she first began to\nbe visited by those visions which never afterward ceased for any\nconsiderable time. At thirty she was chosen abbess; and for forty\nyears she ruled a sisterhood whom she loved as her children. The year\nafter she became abbess she removed with her charge to another but\nneighboring convent, that of Heldelfs. No other change took place in\nher outward lot. Her life lay within. As her present biographer\nremarks, \"she lived at home with her Spouse.\"\n\n  [Footnote 60: An interesting life of this saint and of her earlier\n  companions has lately been published in English: \"St. Clare, St.\n  Colette, and the Poor Clares: by a Religions of the Order of Poor\n  Clares.\" J. F. Fowler, Dublin.]\n\nThe visions of St. Gertrude are an endless parable of spiritual\ntruths, as well as a record of wonderful graces. From the days when\nour divine Lord himself taught from the hillside and {407} the\nanchored ship, it has been largely through parables that divine lore\nhas been communicated to man. Religious and symbolic art is a parable\nof truths that can only be expressed in types. The legends through\nwhich the earlier ages continue to swell the feebler veins of later\ntimes with the pure freshness of the Church's youth are for the most\npart facts which buried themselves deep in human sympathies and\nrecollections, because in them the particular shadowed forth the\nuniversal. It is the same thing in philosophy itself; and that\n_Philosophia Prima_ which, as Bacon tells us, discerns a common law in\nthings as remote as sounds are from colors, and thus traces the \"same\nfootsteps of nature\" in the most widely separated regions of her\ndomain, finds constantly in the visible and familiar a parable of the\ninvisible and unknown. The very essence of poetry also consists in\nthis, that not only in its metaphors and figures, but in its whole\nspirit, it is a parable, imparting to material objects at once their\nmost beautiful expression and that one which reveals their spiritual\nmeaning. So long as the imagination is a part of human intellect, it\nmust have a place in all that interprets between the natural and the\nspiritual worlds.\n\nThe following characteristic passage, while it shows that St. Gertrude\nmade no confusion between allegory and vision, yet suggests to us that\nso poetical a mind might, under peculiar circumstances, be more easily\nfavored with visions than another:\n\n  \"Whilst thou didst act so lovingly toward me, and didst not cease to\n  draw my soul from vanity to thyself, it happened on a certain day,\n  between the festival of the resurrection and the ascension, that I\n  went into court before prime, and seated myself near the fountain;\n  and I began to consider the beauty of the place, which charmed me on\n  account of the clear and flowing stream, the verdure of the trees\n  which surrounded it, and the flights of the birds, and particularly\n  of the doves--above all, the sweet calm--apart from all,\n  considering within myself what would make this place most useful to\n  me, I thought it would be the friendship of a wise and intimate\n  companion, who would sweeten my solitude or render it useful to\n  others; when thou, my Lord and my God, who art a torrent of\n  inestimable pleasures, after having inspired me with the first\n  impulse of this desire, thou didst will also to be the end of it;\n  inspiring me with the thought that if by my continual gratitude I\n  return thy graces to thee, as a stream returns to its source; if,\n  increasing in the love of virtue, I put forth, like the trees, the\n  flowers of good works; furthermore, if, despising the things of\n  earth, I fly upward, freely, like the birds, and thus free my senses\n  from the distraction of exterior things, my soul would then be\n  empty, and my heart would be an agreeable abode for thee\" (p. 76).\n\nIf in this passage we see how the natural yearning for sympathy and\ncompanionship may rise into the heavenly aspirations from which mere\nnature would divert the heart, we find in the following one a type of\nthat compensation which is made to unreserved loyalty. The religion of\nthe incarnation gives back, in a human as well as a divine form, all\nthat human instincts had renounced. \"It was on that most sacred night\nin which the sweet dew of divine grace fell on all the world, and the\nheavens dropped sweetness, that my soul, exposed like a mystic fleece\nin the court of the sanctuary, having received in meditation this\ncelestial rain, was prepared to assist at this divine birth, in which\na Virgin brought forth a Son, true God and man, even as a star\nproduces its ray. In this night, I say, my soul beheld before it\nsuddenly a delicate child, but just born, in whom were concealed the\ngreatest gifts of perfection. I imagined that I received this precious\ndeposit in my bosom\" (p. 85). One of the chief tests as to the divine\norigin of visions consists in their tending toward humility; for those\n{408} which come from a human or worse than human source tend to\npride. The humility of St. Gertrude was profound as the purity of\nwhich humility is the guardian was spotless. \"One day, after I had\nwashed my hands, and was standing at the table with the community,\nperplexed in mind, considering the brightness of the sun, which was in\nits full strength, I said within myself, 'If the Lord who has created\nthe sun, and whose beauty is said to be the admiration of the sun and\nmoon; if he who is a consuming fire is as truly in me as he shows\nhimself frequently before me, how is it possible that my heart\ncontinues like ice, and that I lead so evil a life?'\" (p. 106).\n\nThere can be no stronger argument in favor of the supernatural origin\nof St. Gertrude's visions than their subjects. The highest of her\nflights, far from carrying her beyond the limits of sound belief, or\nsubstituting the fanciful for the fruitful, but bears her deeper into\nthe heart of the great Christian verities. She soars to heaven to find\nthere, in a resplendent form, the simplest of those truths which are\nour food upon earth. As the glorified bodies of the blessed will be\nthe same bodies which they wore during their earthly pilgrimage, so\nthe doctrines, \"sun-clad,\" in her \"Revelations\" are still but the\nprimary articles of the Creed. Her special gift was that of\nrealization: what others admitted, she believed; what others believed,\nshe saw. It was thus that she felt the co-presence of the supernatural\nwith the natural, the kingdom of spirit not to her being a future\nworld, but a wider circle clasping a smaller one. From this feeling\nfollowed her intense appreciation of the fact that all earthly things\nhave immediate effect on high. If a prayer is said on earth, she sees\nthe scepter in the hand of the heavenly King blossom with another\nflower; if a sacrament is worthily received, the glory on his face\nflashes lightning round all the armies of the blessed. That such\nthings should be seen by us may well seem wonderful; that they should\n_exist_ can appear strange to no one who realizes the statement, that\nwhen a sinner repents there is joy among the angels in heaven.\n\nA vision, from which we learn the belief of one of God's humblest\ncreatures that something was lost to his honor by her compulsory\nabsence from choir, but that he was more than compensated for the loss\nby the holy patience with which she submitted to illness (p. 180), is\nnot more wonderful than the fact that God's glory should be our\nconstant aim, or that God should have joy in those that love him. The\nmarvel is, that the saint was always believing what we profess to\nbelieve. She lived in an everlasting jubilee of divine and human love:\nit was always to her what a beaming firmament might be to one who for\nthe first time had walked up out of a cave. She was ever seeing in\nvisible types the tokens of a transcendent union between God and man\n--a deification, so to speak, of man in heaven. Is this more wonderful\nthan the words that bow the foreheads and bend the knees of the\nfaithful, \"He was made man?\" If such things be true, the wonder is,\nnot that a few saints realize them, living accordingly in\ncontemplation and in acts of love, but that a whole world should stand\nupon such truths as its sole ground of hope, and yet practically\nignore them.\n\nNeither in ordinary Christian literature nor in the ordinary Christian\nlife do we find what might have been anticipated eighteen centuries\nago by those who then first received the doctrines of the incarnation\nand the communion of saints. How many have written as if Christianity\nwere merely a regulative principle, introduced to correct the\naberrations of natural instincts! Yet even under the old dispensation\nthe sacred thirst of the creature for the Creator was confessed: \"As\nlongeth the hart for the water-springs, so longeth my soul after thee,\nO Lord.\" The royal son of the {409} great Psalmist had sang in the\nBook of Canticles the love of the Creator for the creature. What might\nnot have been expected from Christian times!\n\nHow much is not actually found in all those Christian writings the\ninspiration of which, in the highest sense of the word, is _de fide!_\nHow supernatural at once and familiar is that divine and human\nrelationship set forth by our Lord in his parables! What closeness of\nunion! what omnipotence of prayer! Some perhaps might say, \"If our\nLord were visibly on earth as he was during the thirty-three years,\nthen indeed the closeness of intercourse between him and his own would\nbe transcendent.\" But the exact contrary is the fact. The closest\nintercourse is in the spirit, and apart from all that is sensual; the\nsense is a hindrance to it. So long as he was visibly with them, the\naffection of the apostles themselves for their Lord was too material\nto be capable of its utmost closeness. Even earthly affections are\nperfected by absence, and crowned by death. Till they are purified by\nthe immortalizing fire of suffering, sense clings to the best of them\nmore than we know; not by necessity corrupting them, but limiting,\ndulling, depressing, and depriving them of penetration and buoyancy.\nWhile he was with them, the apostles sometimes could not understand\ntheir Master's teaching--where to the Christian now it seems\nplain--and replied to it by the words, \"Be it far from thee!\" When the\nfeast of Pentecost was come, they loved him so that they did not fear\nto die for him; but they no longer so loved him as to see in him but\nthe restorer of a visible Israel, and to lament his death. But this\nPentecost has continued ever since in the Christian Church! What,\nthen, was to be expected except a fulfilment of the earlier promises:\n\"I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh;\" and as a natural\nconsequence of perfected love, the development of the spiritual sight:\n\"Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy; your old men shall dream\ndreams, and your young men shall see visions\" (Joel ii. 28)? Such was\nthe condition of that renewed world for which the apostles wrote, and\nto which they promised the spiritual gift and the hidden life. More\nplainly than the Jewish king they proclaimed that the union between\nthe Creator and the creature was no dream, but that the servants of\nsense and pride were dreamers; and, in words like a musical echo from\nthe canticle of Canticles, they affirmed that between Christ and his\nChurch there exists a union, the nearest type of which is to be found\nin the bridal bond. This was the doctrine that made the world in which\nSt. Gertrude lived. The clear-sighted will see that the charges\nbrought against her and her Church are charges brought against the\nBible no less.\n\nBut all is not said when it is affirmed that the ascetics, like the\napostles, enjoyed a closer union with their Lord in his spirit because\nhe had withdrawn his visible presence from the earth. Sense may\nseparate those whom it seems to unite; but there is a nearness\nnotwithstanding, which has no such paradoxical effect. No one can even\napproach the subject of the visions of the saints unless he duly\nappreciates the real presence, not only as a doctrine, but in its\npractical effects. The saints had a closeness to their Lord denied to\nthe Jewish prophets. He was absent as regards visibility; but he was\npresent in the blessed eucharist. If the absence made the love more\nreverential, the presence made it more vivid. A large proportion of\nthe visions of the saints were connected with the blessed sacrament.\nIn it the veil was not lifted; but the veiled nearness quickened that\nlove which perfects faith. To sense all remained dark; but the spirit\nwas no longer enthralled by sense, and it conversed with its\ndeliverer.\n\nThere are those who could not be happy if they did not believe that\nthe {410} world abounds in persona nobler than themselves. There are\nothers who are affluent but in cavils. The visions of saints must,\naccording to them, be illusory, because they are not demonstrably\ndivine! But are the ordinary graces of Christians distinguished from\nillusions by demonstration? Is penitence, or humility, or simplicity\ndemonstrable? Do we believe that nothing is an object of prayer, or an\noccasion for thanksgiving, till it is proved to be such? Those who\nknow that religion has its vast theological region of certainty know\nalso that there exists an outward region in which, though credulity is\nan evil, yet needless contentiousness is the note of a petty mind. Or\nthe visions must be fabulous, because the caviller does not understand\nthe mode of spiritual operation to which they are referable! But how\nmuch do we know as to the separate or joint action of our bodily,\nintellectual, and moral powers? We believe in results; but we\nunderstand little of processes.\n\nThe only visions received as _de fide_ are those recorded in the Holy\nScriptures. Do we know by what process even these came to exist? Were\nthey external manifestations, such as, if shown to two persons, must\nhave worn for both the same semblance; or may they have had an\nexistence only within the mind of the seer? Is not the real question\nthis--whether or not they had a divine origin; not whether he who sent\nthem worked on the mind from without, or stimulated its action from\nwithin? In this case the visions of some event--such as the\ncrucifixion--possessed by two different saints, might not have been\nthe less authentic although different from each other in some\nparticulars. Who can say to what extent habitual grace may not\ndetermine the action of the imaginative faculty, as of other\nfaculties, so as to produce vision in one man while it produces\nprudence or wisdom in another? That grace acts on the mind as well as\non the heart no one will deny, since some of the gifts of the Holy\nGhost are of an intellectual order, and it is through spiritual\ndiscernment that we understand religious truth. It seems, indeed, but\nnatural to suppose that grace should operate on the imagination, and\nthus counterwork the seductions by which an evil power assails that\nfaculty--a form of temptation often, but not consistently, insisted on\nby those who scoff at visions. If this be granted, then, as we can\nneither measure the different degrees in which grace is granted, and\nincreased by co-operation, nor ascertain the intellectual shape and\nproportions of those to whom it is accorded, who can affect to\ndetermine to what extent that grace may not suffice, in some cases, to\nproduce vision, even when accorded mainly for other purposes?\n\nBut this is not all. The imagination does not act by itself; the other\nfaculties work along with it; by them also the vision is shaped in\npart; and as they are developed, directed, and harmonized in a large\nmeasure by grace, in the same degree the vision must, even when not\nmiraculous, be affected by a supernatural influence. Once more: God\nworks upon us through his providence as well as through his grace; and\nthe color of our thoughts is constantly the result of some external\ntrifle, apparently accidental. A dream is modified by a momentary\nsound; and a conclusion may be shaped not without aid from a flying\ngleam or the shadow of a cloud. Our thoughts are \"fearfully and\nwonderfully made,\" partly for us and partly by us, and through\ninfluences internal and external, which we trace but in part. We can\ndraw a line between the visions which command our acceptance and those\nwhich only invite it; but in dealing with the latter class, it seems\nimpossible to determine _\u00e0 priori_ how far they may or may not be\naccounted supernatural. It will depend upon their evidence, their\nconsequences, their character, and the character of those to whom they\nbelonged.\n\n{411}\n\n\"But,\" the caviller will object, \"unassisted genius has visions of its\nown.\" What then? Does that circumstance discredit all visions that\nclaim to be supernatural? Far from it; the visions of genius are\nelevated by virtue. They are not only purified thus, but edged with\ninsight and enriched with wisdom. Has virtue, then, nothing of the\nsupernatural? or would Dante have \"seen\" as much if, instead of\nfollowing her voice, he had followed that of the siren? Again,\nsimplicity of character, and what Holy Scripture calls \"the single\neye,\" have a close affinity with genius; for which reason the poor\npossess many characteristics of it denied to the rich--its honest\napprehension of great ideas, for instance, and the inspiration of good\nsense; its power of realizing the essential and of ignoring the\naccidental; its freshness in impressions and loyalty in sentiment. But\nsimplicity is a divine gift. Above all, faith communicates often what\nresembles genius to persons who would otherwise, perhaps, have narrow\nminds and wavering hearts. It appears, then, that the whole of our\nmoral and spiritual being--which is of course under supernatural\ninfluence--admits of such a development as is favorable to genius,\nand may eminently promote that natural \"vision\" which belongs to it.\nEducation and life may do the same. What disperses the faculties over\na vast field of heterogeneous knowledge saps genius; what gives unity\nto the being strengthens it. It evaporates in vanity; it is deepened\nby humility. Society dissipates its energies and chills them; solitude\nconcentrates and heats them. Indulgence relaxes it; severity\ninvigorates it. It is dazzled by the importunate sunshine of the\npresent; its eyes grow wider in the twilight of the past and the\nfuture. All the circumstances, exterior and interior, that favor\ngenius are thus indirectly connected with grace or with providence.\nWhat, then, is not to be thought in a case like that of St. Gertrude,\nin which we find, not genius trained on toward sanctity, but sanctity\nenriched with genius?\n\nIt is, however, to be remembered that we in no degree disparage the\nclaim to a divine character possessed by St. Gertrude's visions in\nadmitting that some of them may not claim that character. In one\nfavored with such high gifts, it is not unphilosophical to suppose\nthat the natural qualities, as well as supernatural graces, which lend\nthemselves to visions would probably exist in a marked decree. We have\nno reason, indeed, to conclude that the Hebrew prophets, to whom\nvisions were sent by God, never possessed, when not thus honored,\nanything that resembled them--anything beyond what belongs to ordinary\nmen. They, too, may have had unrecorded visions of a lower type, in\nwhich the loftiest of their thoughts and deepest of their experiences\nbecame visible to them; and if so, they had probably something\nancillary to vision in their natural faculties and habits,\nindependently of their supernatural gifts. Among the peculiar natural\ncharacteristics of St. Gertrude may be reckoned an extraordinary\n_literalness_ of mind, strangely ignited with a generalizing power.\nShe had a value for everything as it was, as well as for the idea it\nincluded. There was a minuteness as well as a largeness about her.\nThese qualities probably belonged to that pellucid simplicity which\nkept her all her life like a child. This childlike instinct would of\nitself have constantly stimulated her colloquies with him who was the\nend of all her thoughts. In the spiritual as in the intellectual life,\nthe powers seem augmented through this dramatic process, as though\nfecundated from sources not their own. The thoughts thus originated\nseem to come half from the mind with which the colloquy is held, and\nhalf from native resources.\n\nLet us now pass to another cavil. Devotions such as those of St.\nGertrude have sometimes been censured because they are full of love.\nThere {412} is here a strange confusion. Most justly might dislike be\nfelt for devotions in which love is not supplemented by a\nproportionate veneration. Among the dissenting bodies devotions of\nthis sort are to be found, though we should be sorry rudely to\ncriticise what implies religious affection, and is a recoil from\ncoldness. The fault is not wholly theirs. An age may be so\ncharacterized that it cannot be fervent, even in its prayers, without\nbeing earthly; but such an age is not religious, and may not judge\nthose that were. In them reverence and love are inseparable. God\nreigns in man's heart through love and fear. True devotion must,\ntherefore, have at once its fervid affection and its holy awe. Thus\nmuch will be conceded. It does not require much penetration to\nperceive also that the more it habitually possesses of awe, the more\nit admits of love. If the expression of divine resembles that of human\naffection, this results by necessity from the poverty of language.\nThose who object to the use of the word \"worship\" in connection with\nGod's saints as well as with God (though of course used in a different\nsense) see nothing to surprise them in the circumstance that the terms\n\"love\" and \"honor\" possess equally this double application. Yet when\nexpressions of real and zealous love are addressed to Almighty God,\nthey are sometimes no less scandalized than when worship (that is,\nhonor and veneration) is addressed in a subordinate sense to the\nsaints! In both cases alike they labor under misconceptions which may\neasily be removed.\n\nTo abolish the resemblance between the expression of divine and human\naffections, it would be necessary to break down the whole of that\nglorious constitution of life by which human ties, far from being\neither arbitrary things or but animal relations improved upon, are\ntypes of divine ties. The fatherhood in heaven is admitted to be the\nantetype of human parentage; and the adoptive brotherhood with Christ,\nthe second Adam, to be the antetype of the natural brotherhood. Can\nany other principle prevail in the case of that tie which is the\nfountain whence the other domestic charities flow? Not in the judgment\nof those who believe, with St. Paul, that marriage is a type of that\nunion which subsists between him and his Church. If there be an\nanalogy between divine and human ties, so there must be between the\nlove that goes along with them and the blessedness that is inseparable\nfrom love.\n\nIn such cavils as we have referred to there is a latent error that\nbelonged to the earliest times. The caviller assumes that an element\nof corruption must needs exist in religious affections which betray\nany analogy to human affections, whereas it is but a Manichean\nphilosophy which affirms the necessary existence of corruption in the\nhuman relations themselves. Human relations are not corrupt in\nthemselves either before or since the fall; but human beings are\ncorrupt and weak, and do but little justice to those relations.\nPraise, both in heaven and on earth, is held out to us in Holy\nScripture as one of the rewards of virtue. It may not be the less\ntrue, on that account, that few orators have listened to the\nacclamations that follow a successful speech without some alloy of\nself-love. Possessions are allowable; it may be, notwithstanding, that\nfew have had \"all things\" as though they \"had nothing.\" It is not in\nthe human relations that the evil exists (for they retain the\nbrightness left on them by the hand that created them), but in those\nwho abuse them by excessive dependence on them, or by disproportion.\nIt is mainly a question of due subordination. Where the higher part of\nour being is ruled by the lower, or where the lower works apart from\nand in contempt of the higher, there evil exists. Where the opposite\ntakes place--where a flame enkindled in heaven feeds first upon the\nspiritual heights of our being and descends by due degrees through the\n{413} imagination and the affections--there the whole of our being\nworks in a restored unity, and there proportionately the senses are\nglorified by the soul. This has ever been the teaching of that Church\nwhich encircles the whole of human life with its girdle of sacraments.\nIt has naturally come to be forgotten in those communities which admit\nthe legal substitution of divorce, and polygamy for the sanctity and\ninviolability of Christian marriage.\n\nThat those who do not understand the relation of human to divine ties\nshould not understand the devotions of saints is far from strange. The\nexpressions of the saints are bold because they are innocent. They\nhave no part in that association of ideas which takes refuge in\nprudery. The language of St. Gertrude is that of one on whose brow the\nfillet had dropped when she was a child, and who had neither had any\nexperience of earthly love nor wished for any. It is indeed the\nexcellence of the domestic ties that they are indirect channels of\ncommunication with heaven. But in her case the communication was\ndirect and immediate--a clear flame rising straight from the altar of\nperpetual sacrifice. The beautiful ascent of affections from grade to\ngrade along the scale of life had in her been superseded by a yet\ndiviner self-devotion. She had not built upon the things that are\nlawful within due measure, but upon those counsels the rewards of\nwhich are immeasurable. She had reaped immortal love in the fields of\nmortification. She had begun where others end. She had found the union\nof peace with joy. Had there been added to this whatever is best in\nthe domestic ties, it could to her have been but a rehearsal, in a\nlower though blameless form, of affections which she had already known\nin that highest form in which alone they are capable of being realized\nin heaven.\n\nExpressions associated with human affections are to be found in St.\nGertrude's devotions, because she _had_ human affections. In the\nmonastic renunciation the inmost essence of them is retained; for that\nessence, apart from its outward accidents, is spiritual. What is the\nmeaning of the incarnation, if God is not to be loved as man? To what\npurpose, without this, the helpless childhood, the fields through\nwhich he moved, the parables so homely, the miracles of healing, the\naccess given to sinners, the tears by the grave of him whom he was\nabout to restore to life, the hunger and the weariness, the reproach\nfor sympathy withheld? These domestic memories of the Church are\nintended to give the higher direction to human affections before they\nhave strayed into the lower, in order that the lower may receive their\ninterpretation from the higher. Nothing is more wonderful than to see\nthe natural passing into the supernatural in actual life; nothing more\ninstructive than to see this in devotions. It is not the presence of a\nhuman element in them, but the absence of a divine element, that\nshould be deplored. The natural may be shunned where the supernatural\nis not realized. It can only be realized through love; and love is\nperfected through self-sacrifice, the strength and science of the\nsaints.\n\nIt is easy to distinguish between devotions that are really too\nfamiliar and those of the saints. The latter, as has been remarked,\nare as full of awe as of love. Their familiarity implies the absence\nof a servile fear; but everywhere that filial fear, the seat of which\nis in the conscience, reveals itself. Again, if they regard our Lord\nin his character of lover of souls, they regard him proportionately in\nhis other characters, as brother and as friend, as master and as Lord,\nas creator and as judge. The manhood in Christ is ever leading the\nheart on to his divinity; and the incarnation, as a picture of the\ndivine character, is the strongest preacher of Theism. Again, the love\nthat reveals itself in them has no pettiness, no narrowness; it exults\nin the thought of that great army of the elect, each member of {414}\nwhich is equally the object of the divine love, as a single drop\nreflects the firmament no less than the ocean of which it is a part.\nOnce more: in such devotions the thirst after the divine purity is as\nstrongly marked as that for the divine tenderness; and death is ever\nwelcome, that God may be seen in the spirit.\n\n\"But in these devotions,\" it is said, \"we trace the yearnings of a\nwoman's heart.\" And why not? With what else is woman to love God? May\nnot the devotion of a child be childlike, and of a man be manly? Why\nare female affections alone to strain themselves into the unnatural,\ninstead of advancing to the supernatural? In such sneers there is as\nlittle philosophy as charity. The whole structure of our\nbeing--together not only with all its experiences, but with all its\ncapacities--is that which, yielding to divine grace, constitutes the\nmould in which our devotion is cast. It is not religion alone, but\neverything--art, science, whatever we take in--that is colored by\nwhatever is special to the faculties or the dispositions of the\nrecipient. Religion is the only thing that holds its own in spite of\nsuch modification. It does so on account of its absolute simpleness.\nBut it does much more than hold its own. It is enriched. Religion is\nas manifold as it is simple. The faculties and instincts of the mere\nisolated individual are too narrow to allow of his fully accepting the\ngifts which it extends to us. But fortunately our incapacities balance\neach other; the characteristics of religion least appreciated by one\nbeing often those which will most come home to another. Not only\nindividuals but nations and ages, both by what they have in common and\nby what they have of unlike, unconsciously help to make up the general\nstore. Christianity has become in one sense to each of us what it was\nto an \u00e0 Kempis as well as what it was to an Aquinas; and why not also\nto what it was to a Gertrude or a Theresa? All things subserve this\nvast scheme. How much we are enriched by those different aspects of\nreligion presented to us by the chief authentic architectures! In the\nGothic, which is mystic, suggestive, infinite, it is chiefly the\nspirituality of religion that is affirmed. In the Roman basilica,\norderly and massive, it is the \"law\" that is insisted on. In the\nByzantine style, precious marble and beaming gold, and every device of\nrich color and fair form, preach the inexhaustibility of Christian\ncharity and the beauty of the Eden it restores. These aspects of\nreligion are all in harmony with each other. The mind that embraces\nthem is not endeavoring to blend contradictions into a common\nconfusion, but to reunite great ideas in the unity from which they\nstarted. Still more is the manifold vastness of religion illustrated\nby those diversities of the _religious sentiment_ which result from\ndiversities in the human character.\n\nAll modern civilization rests on reverence for woman, both in her\nvirginal and maternal character; the Mother of God, from whom that\nreverence sprang, being in both these relations alike its great type.\nIn the restored, as in the first humanity, there is an Eve as well as\nan Adam; and it has been well remarked, that among the indirect\nbenefits derived from this provision is the circumstance that there\nthus exists a double cord, by which the two great divisions of the\nhuman family are drawn to the contemplation of that true humanity.\nFrom the beginning woman found herself at home in Christianity; it was\nto her a native country, in which she fulfilled her happiest\ndestinies, as paganism had been a foreign land, where she lived in\nbondage and degradation. In the days of martyrdom the virgins took\ntheir place beside the youths amid the wild beasts at the Coliseum. In\nthe days of contemplative monasticism the convents of the nuns, no\nless than those of the monks, lifted their snowy standards on high,\nand, by the image of purity which they had there exalted, rendered\nintelligible the {415} Christian idea of marriage--thus refreshing\nwith ethereal breath those charities of hut and hearth which\nflourished in the valleys far down. In those convents, too, the\nscholastic volume, and the psalm sustained by day and night, proved\nthat the serious belonged to woman as well as the soft and bright.\nSince the devastations of later times womanhood has won a yet more\nconspicuous crown. Through the active orders religion has measured her\nstrength with a world which boasts that at last it is alive and\nstirring. By nuns the sick have been nursed, the aged tended, the\norphan reared, the rude instructed, the savage reclaimed, the\nrevolutionary leader withstood, the revolutionary mob reduced to a\nsane mind. There are no better priests than those of France; yet they\ntell us that it has been in no small part through the Sisters of\nCharity that religion has been restored in their land. In how many an\nEnglish alley is not the convent the last hope of purity and faith? On\nhow many an Irish waste does not the last crust come from it?\n\nThe part of woman in Christianity might have been anticipated. For it\nshe is strengthened even by all that makes her weak elsewhere. In the\nChristian scheme the law of strength is found in the words, \"When I am\nweak, then I am strong.\" It is a creaturely, not self-asserting\nstrength; it is not godlike, but consists in dependence on God. In\nproportion as self is obliterated, a Divine Presence takes its place,\nwhich could otherwise no more inhabit there than the music which\nbelongs to the hollow shell could proceed from the solid rock. To\nwoman, who in all the conditions of life occupies the place of the\nsecondary or satellite, the attainment of this selflessness is perhaps\nmore easy than to man. Obedience is the natural precursor of faith;\nand to those whose hands are clean the clearer vision is granted.\nMoreover, religion is mainly of the heart; and in woman the heart\noccupies a larger relative place than in man. Paganism, with the\ninstinct of a clown, addressed but what was superficial in womanhood,\nand elicited but what was alluring and ignoble. Christianity addressed\nit at its depths, and elicited the true, the tender, and the\nspiritual. The one flattered, but with a coarse caress; the other\ncontrolled, but with a touch of air-like softness. In pagan times\nwoman was a chaplet of faded flowers on a festive board; in Christian,\nit became a \"sealed fountain,\" by which every flower, from the violet\nto the amaranth, might grow. Even the chosen people had forgotten her\nclaims;--but \"from the beginning it was not so.\" Christianity\nreaffirmed them; it could do no less. It addresses distinctively what\nis feminine in man, as well as what is manly. It challenges, at its\nfirst entrance, the passive, the susceptive, the recipient in our\nnature; and it ignores, as it is ignored by, the self-asserting and\nthe self-included.\n\nThat which Christianity claims for woman is but the readjustment of a\nbalance which, when all merit was measured by the test of bodily or\nintellectual strength, had no longer preserved its impartiality.\nMilton's line,\n\n  \"He for God only: she for God in him,\"\n\nis more in harmony with the Mohammedan, or at least the Oriental, than\nwith the Christian scheme of thought. It is as represented both by its\nstronger and its gentler half, that man's race pays its true tribute\nto the great Creator. The modern poet gives us his ideal of man in the\nform of a prophecy:\n\n  \"Yet in the long years liker must they grow:\n  The man he more of woman--she of man.\"\n  [Footnote 61]\n\n  [Footnote 61: Tennyson's \"Princess.\"]\n\nSingularly enough, this ideal of humanity was fulfilled long since in\nthe conventual life. The true nun has left behind the weakness of her\n{416} sex. The acceptance of her vocation, implying the renunciation\nof the tried for the untried, the seen for the unseen, is the highest\nknown form of courage--\n\n  \"A soft and tender heroine\n  Vowed to severer discipline.\"\n   [Footnote 62]\n\n  [Footnote 62: Wordsworth's \"Ode to Enterprise,\" ]\n\nHer vow is irrevocable; and thus free-will, the infinite in our\nnature, stands finally pledged to the \"better part.\" In her life of\nmortification, and her indifference to worldly opinion, she reaches\nthe utmost to which fortitude may aspire; yet she perfects in herself\nalso the characteristic virtues of woman--love, humility, obedience.\n\nThe true monk also, while more of a man than other men, includes more\nof the virtues that belong least often to man. It is pre-eminently the\nsoul within him that has received its utmost development, and become\nthe expression of his being. The highest ideal of the antique world,\n_mens sana in corpore sano_, implied, not the subordination of the\nbody to the mind, and of both to the soul, but the equal development\nof the former two, the soul being left wholly out of account. Such a\nformula, it is true, rises above that of the mere Epicurean, who\nsubordinates the mind to the body, and makes pleasure the chief good.\nIt leaves, however, no place for the spiritual. By the change which\nChristianity introduced, virtues which paganism overlooked or despised\nbecame the predominant elements in man's being. Purity, patience, and\nhumility bear to Christian morals a relation analogous to that which\nfaith, hope, and charity bear to theology. The former, like the\nlatter, triad of virtues will ever present to the rationalist the\ncharacter of mysticism, because they rest upon mysteries--that is,\nupon realities out of our sight, and hidden in the divine character.\nThe earthly basis upon which they are sometimes placed by defenders\nthat belong to the utilitarian school is as incapable of supporting\nthem as the film of ice that covers a lake would be of supporting the\nmountains close by. These are Christian virtues exclusively, and it\nwas to perfect them that the convents which nurtured saints were\ncalled into existence.\n\nWe know the hideous picture of monastic life with which a morbid\nimagination sometimes amuses or frightens itself. Let us frankly\ncontrast with it the true ideal of a monastic saint. No ideal, of\ncourse, is fully realized; but still it is only when the ideal is\nunderstood that the actual character is appreciated. The monastic life\nis founded on the evangelical counsels, the portion of practical\nChristianity most plainly _peculiar_ to the Christian system. It is\nobedience, but the obedience of love. It is fear, but the fear of\noffending, far more than the fear of the penalty. It is dependence\nglorified. It is based on what is feminine as well as on what is\nmasculine in our nature; on a being which has become recipient in a\nsacred passiveness. It lives by faith, which \"comes by hearing;\" and\nits attitude of mind is like that indicated by the sweet and serious,\nbut submitted, face of one who listens to far-off music or a whisper\nclose by. In the stillness of devout contemplation the soul,\nunhardened and unwrinkled, spreads itself forth like a vine-leaf to\nthe beam of truth and the dews of grace. In this perfected Christian\ncharacter we find, together with the strength of the stem, the\nflexibility of the tendril and the freshness of the shoot. For the\nsame reason we find the consummate flower of sanctity--a Bernard or a\nFrancis--and with the flower the fruit, and the seed which has sown\nChristianity in all lands; for monks have ever been the great\nmissionaries. The soul of the monk who has done most for man has thus\nmost included the womanly as well as the manly type of excellence. It\nhas unity and devotedness. It has that purity which is not only {417}\nconsistent with fervor, but in part proceeds from it. It shrinks not\nonly from the forbidden, but from the disproportionate, the startling,\nand the abrupt. It is humble, and does not stray as far as its limit.\nIt regards sin, not as a wild beast chained, but as a plague, and\nthinks that it cannot escape too far beyond the infection. It has a\nmodesty which modulates every movement of the being. It has\nspontaneity, and finds itself at home among little things. It is\ncheerful and genial, with a momentary birth of good thoughts, wishes,\nand deeds, that ascend like angels to God, and are only visible to\nangels.\n\nNor is this all. It is in the conventual life that the third type of\nhuman character--that of the child--is found in conjunction with the\nother two. In the world even the partial preservation of the child in\nthe man is one of the rare marks of genius. In the cloister the union\nis common. Where the character is thus _integrated_ by harmoniously\nblending the three human types--viz., man, woman, and child--then man\nhas reached his best, and done most to reverse the fall. It is among\nthose who have most bravely taken the second Adam for their example\nthat this primal image is most nearly restored. We see it in such\nbooks as the \"Imitation,\" and the \"Confessions\" of St. Augustine. We\nsee it in the old pictures of the saints, where the venerable and the\nstrong, the gracious and the lovely, the meek and the winning, are so\nsubtly blended by the pencil of an Angelico or a Perugino. We see it\nwithin many a modern cloister. It has its place, to the discerning\neye, among the evidences of religion.\n\nIn the north the world now finds it more difficult than in the south\nto appreciate such a character as St. Gertrude. If it is sceptical as\nto visions and raptures, still more is it scandalized by austerities\nand mortification. The temperament of the south tends too generally to\npleasure; but the great natures of the south, perhaps for that reason,\nrenounce the senses with a loftier strength. They throw themselves\nfrankly on asceticism, leaving beneath them all that is soft, like the\nItalian mountains which frown from their marble ridges over the\nvalleys of oranges and lemons. The same ardor which so often leads\nastray, ministers, when it chooses the soul for its residence, to\ngreat deeds, as fire does to the labors of material science. In the\nnorth, including the land of St. Gertrude, many of the virtues are\nthemselves out of sympathy with the highest virtue. Men can there\nadmire strength and industry; but they too often believe in no\nstrength that is not visible, no industry that is not material.\nMortification is to them unintelligible. Action they can admire; in\nsuffering they see but a sad necessity, like the old Greeks, to whom\nall pain was an intrusion and a scandal.\n\nChristianity first revealed the might of endurance. It was not the\ntriumph over Satan at the temptation that restored man's race; though\nMilton, not without a deep, unintended significance, selected that\nvictory as the subject of his \"Paradise Regained.\" It was not\npreaching, nor miracle, but Calvary. Externally, endurance is passive;\ninternally, it is the highest form of action--the action in which\nthere is no self-will, the energy that is one with humility. The\nmoment the Church began to live she began to endure. The apostles\nbecame ascetics, \"keeping the body under,\" and proclaiming that\nbetween spirit and flesh, between watching and sloth, between fast and\nfeast, there was not peace but war. While the fiery penance of\npersecution lasted, it was easy to \"have all things as though one had\nnothing.\" There then was always a barrier against which virtue might\npush in its ceaseless desire to advance, and to discipline her\nstrength by trial. When the three centuries of trial were over,\nmonasticism rose. In it again was found a place for mortification--\nfor that detachment which is {418} attachment to God, and that\nexercise which makes Christians athletes. There silence matured divine\nlove, and stillness generated strength. There was found the might of a\nspiritual motive; and a fulcrum was thus supplied like that by which\nArchimedes boasted that his lever could move the world.\n\nIt is difficult to contemplate such a character as that of St.\nGertrude without straying from her to a kindred subject--that\nwonderful monastic life, with its rapturous visions and its as\nconstant mortifications, to which we owe such characters. Without the\ncloister we should have had no Gertrudes; and without the\nmortification of the cloister the ceaseless chant and the incense\nwould have degenerated into spiritual luxuries. It is time for us to\nreturn, and ask a practical question: What was this St. Gertrude, who\nfound so fair a place among the wonders of the thirteenth century, and\nwhom in the nineteenth so few hear of or understand? What was she even\nat the lowest, and such as the uninitiated might recognize? She was a\nbeing for whom nature had done all nature could do. She was a\nnoble-minded woman, pure at once and passionate, more queenly and more\ntruly at home in the poverty of her convent than she could have been\nin her father's palace. Secondly, she was a woman of extraordinary\ngenius and force of character. Thirdly, she was one who, the child of\nan age when the dialectics of old Greece were laid on the altar of\nrevealed truth, dwelt habitually in that region of thought which, in\nthe days of antiquity, was inhabited by none, and occasionally\napproached but by the most aspiring votaries of the Platonic\nphilosophy. This was the human instrumentality which sovereign grace\ntook to itself, as the musician selects some fair-grained tree out of\nwhich to shape his lyre. There was in her no contradictory past to\nretrieve. Without a jar, and almost without consciousness, she passed\nwith a movement of swanlike softness out of innocence into holiness.\nSome have fought their way to goodness, as others have to earthly\ngreatness, and won the crown, though not without many a scar. But she\nwas \"born in the purple,\" and all her thoughts and feelings had ever\nwalked with princely dignity and vestal grace, as in the court of the\ngreat King. Her path was arduous; but it stretched from good to\nbetter, not from bad to good. She did not graduate in the garden of\nEpicurus, nor amid the groves of Academus, nor amid the revel of that\nGreek society in which the glitter of the highest intelligence played\nabove the rottenness of the most corrupt life. She had always lived by\nfaith. The spiritual world had been hers before the natural one, and\nhad interpreted it. Man's supernatural end had ever for her presented\nthe clue to his destinies, and revealed the meaning of his earthly\naffections. Among these last she had made no sojourn. She had\nprolonged not the time, but done on earth what all aspire to do in\nheaven: she had risen above human ties, in order to possess them in\ntheir largest manifestations. The faith affirmed that we are to have\nall things in God, and in God she resolved to have them. Her heart\nrose as by a heavenward gravitation to the centre of all love. A\ncreature, and knowing herself to be no more, her aspiration was to\nbelong wholly to her Creator. To her the incarnation meant the union\nof the human race, and of the human soul, with God. Her devotions are\nthe endless love-songs of this high bridal. They passed from her heart\nspontaneously, like the song of the bird; and they remain for ever the\ntriumphant hymeneal chant of a clear, loving, intelligential spirit,\nwhich had renounced all things for him, and had found all things in\nhim for whom all spirits are made.\n\n{419}{420}\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nA CHRISTMAS CAROL.\n\nBY BESSIE RAYNER PARKES.\n\n  Christmas comes, Christmas comes.\n  Blessing wheresoe'er he roams;\n  And he calls the little children\n  Cluster'd in a thousand homes.\n\n  \"Stand you still, my little children,\n  For a moment while I sing,\n  Wreath'd together in a ring,\n  With your tiny hands embracing\n  In a snowy interlacing.\n  And your rich curls dropping down--\n  Golden, black, and auburn-brown--\n  Over bluest little eyes;\n  Toss them back in sweet surprise\n  While my pretty song I sing.\n\n  I have apples, I have cakes,\n  Icicles, and snowy flakes.\n      Hanging on each naked bough;\n  Sugar strawberries and cherries,\n  Mistletoe and holly-berries,\n      Nail'd above the glorious show.\n\n  I have presents rich and rare.\n  Beauties which I do not spare,\n      For my little children dear;\n  At my steps the casements lighten,\n  Sourest human faces brighten.\n  And the carols--music strange--\n  Float in their melodious change\n      On the night-wind cold and drear.\n\n  Listen now, my little children:\n  All these things I give to you,\n  And you love me, dearly love me\n  (Witness'd in your welcome true).\n  Why do I thus yearly scatter.\n  With retreating of the sun.\n  Sweetmeats, holiday, and fun?\n  There must be something much the matter\n  Where my wine-streams do not run.\n\n  Once I was no more than might be\n  Any season of the year;\n  No kind tapers shone to light me\n  On my way advancing here;\n  No small children rush'd to meet me,\n  Happy human smiles to greet me.\n  True, it was a while ago;\n  But I mind me it was so,\n  Then believe me, children dear.\n\n  Till one foggy cold December,\n  Eighteen hoary centuries past\n  (Thereabouts as I remember),\n  Came a voice upon the blast.\n  And a strange star in the heaven;\n  One said that unto us was given\n  A Saviour and a Brother kind;\n  The star upon my head shed down\n  Of golden beams this living crown.\n  The birthday gift of Jesus Christ,\n  Whereby my glory might be known.\n\n  You all keep your little birthdays;\n  Keep likewise your fathers', mothers',\n  Little sisters', little brothers';\n  To commemorate _this_ birth,\n  Sings aloud the exulting earth!\n  Every age and all professions,\n  In all distance--parted nations,\n  Meet together at this time\n  In spirit, while the church-bells chime.\n  Little children, dance and play,--\n  We will join,--but likewise pray\n  At morning, thinking of the day\n  I have told you I remember\n  In a bleak and cold December,\n  Long ago and far away.\"\n\n------\n\nFrom The Popular Science Review.\n\nEPIDEMICS, PAST AND PRESENT--\nTHEIR ORIGIN AND DISTRIBUTION.\n\nEpidemics, derived from the two Greek words [Greek text], _among_, and\n[Greek text], _people_ are those diseases which for a time prevail\nwidely among the people of any country or locality, and then, for a\nlonger or shorter period, either entirely, or for the most part,\ndisappear. There are few diseases to which the human race is liable\nthat may not, under favorable circumstances, take on the epidemic\nform. For example, diseases of the organs of respiration are very apt\nto become epidemic in seasons characterized by extreme coldness or\ndampness of the atmosphere, or by great and sudden alternations of\ntemperature. In a strict sense, however, the term {421} epidemics is\nnot usually employed in reference to the diseases of individual organs\nof the body, but is restricted to those derangements of the entire\nsystem depending upon the absorption of some poison, or the action of\nsome \"influence,\" from without. In the latter class of maladies the\nindividual organs may become diseased, and the derangement of their\nfunctions may modify the symptoms resulting from the primary poison or\n\"influence;\" but then the local diseases are the secondary result of\nthe general disorder of the constitution, and not the source and\norigin of all the mischief.\n\nSome epidemic diseases possess the power of self-propagation; that is\nto say, the poison or influence may be communicated by infected\npersons to persons in health, and the disease is then said to be\ncontagious,  [Footnote 63] while others are entirely destitute of any\nsuch property. Scarlet-fever and small-pox are familiar examples of\nthe former class; ague and influenza of the latter.\n\n  [Footnote 63: The terms \"contagion\" and \"contagious\" are here used\n  in their widest signification, and are applied in this essay to all\n  diseases capable of propagation by infected individuals to persons\n  in health.]\n\nIt is still a vexed question whether a disease that is capable of\nself-propagation can ever be generated _de novo_. It is maintained, on\nthe one hand, that such an occurrence is as impossible as the\nspontaneous generation of plants or animals; while, on the other hand,\nit is argued that the poison of certain diseases capable of\nself-propagation may, under certain favorable conditions, be produced\nindependently of any pre-existing cases of the disease. The comparison\nof a fever-poison with a spore or ovum is an ingenious, but a most\ndelusive, argument. An epidemic disease springing up in a locality\nwhere it was before unknown, and where it is impossible to trace its\nintroduction from without, is said to be not more extraordinary than\nthe development of fungi in a putrid fluid. The argument, however, is\nfounded on a pure assumption, for there is not a tittle of evidence to\nshow that a fever-poison is of the nature of a spore or ovum. Air\nsaturated with the poisons of various contagious diseases has been\ncondensed and submitted to the highest powers of the microscope, but\nnothing approaching to a small-pox spore, or a typhus ovum, has yet\nbeen discovered. It is true that certain contagious diseases, such as\nscarlet-fever and smallpox, can in most instances be traced to\ncontagion; but, with regard to others, such as typhoid or enteric\nfever, it is in most instances utterly impossible to account for the\n_first cases_ in any outbreak on the theory of contagion, while, at\nthe same time, there is direct evidence that the contagious power of\nthe disease is extremely. The question is no doubt beset with many\ndifficulties, and constitutes one of the most intricate problems in\nmedical science. It is one, however, which can never be solved by\nentering on the discussion with a preconceived theory as to the close\nanalogy, if not identity, of a fever-poison with an animal or\nvegetable ovum, nor by assuming that the laws which regulate the\npropagation of one contagious disease are equally applicable to all.\nNature's facts are too often interpreted by human laws, rather than by\nthe laws of nature. In the case before us, the natural history of each\ndisease must be studied independently, and our ideas as to its origin\nand mode of propagation must be founded on the evidence furnished by\nthat study alone, and irrespective of the laws which seem to regulate\nthe origin and propagation of other diseases with which it has no\nconnection whatever, except in the human mind. At the present moment,\nwhen the subject of epidemics is attracting so much attention, it may\nbe interesting to call attention to the more important diseases\ncomprised under that head, and to point out some of the main facts\nconnected with their origin and distribution. {422} The principal\nepidemic diseases, then, are: small-pox, scarlet-fever, measles,\ntyphus, relapsing fever, Oriental plague, yellow fever, diarrhoea,\ntyphoid or enteric fever, cholera, dysentery, ague and remittent\nfevers, influenza, the sweating sickness, and the dancing mania.\n\n1. _Small-pox_ the most loathsome of all diseases, is believed to have\nprevailed in India and China from time immemorial. About the middle of\nthe sixth century it is supposed to have been conveyed by trading\nvessels from India to Arabia, and the Arabian army at the siege of\nMecca, in the year 569, was the first victim of its fury. From Arabia\nit was imported into Europe by the Saracens, and there is evidence of\nits existence in Britain before the ninth century. Before the\nintroduction of vaccination, small-pox was one of the chief causes of\nmortality in all the countries where it prevailed, and even now it\noccupies a prominent place in our mortuary returns. During the\ntwenty-four years 1838-61, 125,352 of the population of England and\nWales, and 21,369 of the population of London, _died_ of small-pox;\nor, in other words, one in seventy-five of the total deaths in England\nand Wales, and one in sixty-three of the total deaths in London, were\ndue to this disease. Small-pox is not confined to any race or quarter\nof the globe. At the present day its appearance can, in the great\nmajority of instances, be traced to contagion. It is evident, however,\nthat it must at one time have had an origin, and it is reasonable to\ninfer that what happened once may happen again. Small-pox is known to\nattack many of the lower animals as well as man, and there are grounds\nfor believing that it originated among the former, and by them was\ncommunicated to the human species. A careful study of epizootics--our\nignorance of which has been disclosed by the present cattle plague\n--may ultimately reveal the mode of origin of the poison of small-pox.\nThe disease varies greatly in its prevalence at different times. In\nother words, it is sometimes epidemic, at others not. Some of these\nepidemics are local; others are widely extended. All exhibit a gradual\nrise, culmination, and decline, the decline being always less rapid\nthan the advance. It is difficult to account for the occurrence of\nthese epidemics. They are independent of hygienic defects, season,\ntemperature, or any meteorological conditions of which we are\ncognizant. They are probably due to causes tending to depress the\ngeneral health of the population, and so to predispose it to the\naction of the poison. For nearly two centuries it has been a common\nobservation that epidemics of small-pox have co-existed with epidemics\nof other contagious diseases. The gradual accumulation also in a\ndistrict of unprotected persons, owing to the neglect of vaccination,\nwill also predispose to the occurrence of an epidemic, after the\nintroduction of the poison. In fact, to the neglect, or careless\nperformance, of vaccination, is entirely due the occurrence of\nepidemics of small-pox at the present day.\n\n2. _Scarlet Fever_.--The early history of scarlet fever is obscure,\nfor the disease was long confounded with measles and small-pox, but it\nis generally supposed that, like small-pox, it came originally from\nAfrica, and was imported into Europe by the Saracens. It has been\nknown to prevail in Britain for the last two centuries; but although\nit is only of late years, from the reports of the Registrar-General,\nthat we have been able to form an accurate idea of the extent of its\nprevalence, there can be no doubt that it has increased greatly during\nthe present century, and that it now occupies that pre-eminence among\nthe causes of mortality in childhood which was formerly held by\nsmall-pox. During twenty-four years (1838 to 1861 inclusive) 375,009\nof the population of England and Wales, and 58,663 of the inhabitants\nof London, died of scarlet fever, or about one in every twenty-four\ndeaths that occurred in England during the period in question {423}\nwas due to this disease. The mortality from scarlet fever, in fact,\nexceeds the mortality from small-pox and measles taken together.\nScarlet fever is known to prevail over the whole of the continents of\nEurope and America, but it is nowhere so common as in Britain. In\nFrance it is a rarer disease than either measles or small-pox. In\nIndia it is said never to occur. In most instances it is not difficult\nto trace the occurrence of scarlet fever to contagion; and from the\nremarkable indestructibility of the poison and its tendency to adhere\nto clothes, furniture, and even to the walls of houses, there can be\nlittle doubt that the disease has a similar origin in many instances,\nwhere the mode of transmission of the poison cannot be traced. How the\npoison first originated is yet a mystery; but there is some\nprobability in the view, which has many able advocates, that it\noriginated in horses or cattle, and by them was communicated to man.\nIf this be so, it is reasonable to hope that investigations as to the\noccurrence of the disease in the lower animals may lead to a discovery\nproductive of as great benefits to the human race as vaccination. At\nintervals of a few years scarlet fever spreads as an epidemic: but its\nordinary prevalence, in this country is greater than is generally\nimagined. The causes of these epidemic outbursts are unknown. Many\ncircumscribed outbreaks can no doubt be traced to the importation of\nthe poison into a population of persons unprotected by a previous\nattack; but why the poison should be introduced into numerous\nlocalities at one time, and not at others, is difficult to determine.\nIt is tolerably certain, however, that at all times the prevalence of\nthe disease is independent of overcrowding, bad drainage, or of any\nappreciable hygienic or meteorological conditions.\n\n3. _Measles_ was long confounded with scarlet fever, and, like it, is\nsupposed to have been originally imported from the East. During\ntwenty-four years (1838-1861) this disease destroyed 31,595 of the\npopulation of London, and 181,868 persons in England and Wales. It is\nknown to occur in all parts of the world, and is highly contagious.\nThere is no evidence that any hygienic defects or meteorological\nconditions can generate the poison of measles. Hildenbrand, a great\nauthority, thought it might arise where numbers of men and cattle were\nconfined together in close, unventilated buildings; and in later times\nAmerican and Irish physicians have described a disease corresponding\nin every respect with the measles, which appeared to arise from\nsleeping on old musty straw, or from the inoculation of the fungi of\nwheat straw. Measles in England is much less of an epidemic disease\nthan either small-pox or scarlet fever. The number of deaths which it\ncauses in years when it is most prevalent, is rarely much more than\ndouble what it causes in years when it is at least prevalent. Although\noften most fatal in winter, there is no proof that its prevalence is\ninfluenced by season.\n\n4. _Typhus Fever_ has been well known for upward of three centuries,\nand there are grounds for believing that from remote ages it has\nprevailed in most parts of the world under favorable conditions. It is\nimpossible to estimate the precise extent of its prevalence, inasmuch\nas many other diseases are included under the designation \"typhus,\" in\nthe reports of the Registrar-General; but it is the acknowledged\nscourge of the poor inhabitants of our large towns. There is no\nevidence that typhus, such as we see it in this country, has as yet\nbeen observed in Australia, New Zealand, Asia, Africa, or the tropical\nparts of America. Even in Britain it is confined, for the most part,\nto the large towns, and to the poorest and most densely crowded parts\nof them. It is a disease almost unknown among the better classes,\nexcept in the case of clergymen and doctors who visit the infected\npoor. {424} It is undoubtedly contagious; but in a spacious dwelling\nwith a free ventilation, it almost ceases to be so. There is also\nample evidence that the poison may be generated _de novo_; and the\ncircumstances under which this occurs are overcrowding, with defective\nventilation and destitution. Hence it is that the disease was formerly\nso apt to show itself in prisons and ships, and that, even at the\npresent day, it is so common an attendant on warfare and so prevalent\nin the wretched hovels of the poor. This was the disease that before\nthe days of Howard was never absent from our prisons and hospitals,\nand that decimated the armies of the first Napoleon and of the allies\nin the Crimea. \"If,\" says an able writer on fever in the last century,\n\"any person will take the trouble to stand in the sun, and look at his\nown shadow on a white plastered wall, he will easily perceive that his\nwhole body is a smoking dunghill, with a vapor exhaling from every\npart of it. This vapor is subtle, acrid, and offensive to the smell;\nif retained in the body, it becomes morbid; but if re-absorbed, highly\ndeleterious. If a number of persons, therefore, are long confined in\nany close place not properly ventilated, so as to inspire and swallow\nwith their spittle the vapors of each other, they must soon feel its\nbad effects. Bad provisions and gloomy thoughts will add to their\nmisery, and soon breed the _seminium_ of a pestilential fever,\ndangerous not only to themselves, but also to every person who visits\nthem or even communicates with them at second-hand. Hence it is so\nfrequently bred in gaols, hospitals, ships, camps, and besieged towns.\nA _seminium_ once produced is easily spread by contagion.\" But if\novercrowding produces typhus, why is it that the disease prevails in\nthe epidemic form, and then in a great measure disappears? The\nexplanation is in this way. All the great epidemics of typhus have\noccurred during seasons of famine or of unusual destitution. One of\nthe most common consequences of general destitution is the\ncongregation of several families in one house, in consequence of their\ninability to pay their rents, and of the concentration in the large\ntowns of many of the inhabitants of country districts. Famine\npre-disposes to typhus by weakening the constitution; and it also\ntends to produce it, in so far as it causes an unusual degree of\novercrowding. It has been the custom with many writers to refer\nepidemics of typhus to some subtle \"epidemic influence;\" and thus,\nwhere a failure of the crops has been followed by typhus, both of\nthese disasters have been ascribed to a common atmospheric cause. But\nof such atmospheric influences, capable of producing typhus, we know\nnothing; their very existence is doubtful, and the employment of the\nterm has too often had the effect of cloaking human ignorance, or of\nstifling the search after truth. If typhus be due to any \"epidemic\ninfluence,\" why does this influence select large towns and spare the\ncountry districts? why does it fall upon large towns in exact\nproportion to the degree of privation and overcrowding among the poor?\nin large towns, why does it indict the crowded dwellings of the poor\nand spare the habitations of the rich? and why did the varying\nprevalence of typhus among the French and English troops in the Crimea\ncorrespond, exactly to the varying degree of overcrowding in either\narmy? Moreover, famine _artificially_ induced by warfare, by\ncommercial failures, by strikes, or by any cause that throws large\nbodies of men out of employment, is equally efficacious in originating\nepidemics of typhus, as famine from failure of the crops.\n\n5. _Relapsing Fever_ is so called from the fact that after a week's\nillness there is an interval of good health for a week, followed by a\nsecond attack. It is contagious, and is epidemic in a stricter sense\nthan even typhus. Although sometimes more prevalent in this country\nthan any other fever, it may disappear for so many years that {425} on\nits return it has more than once been thought to be a new malady. For\nupwards of ten years not a case of it has been observed in Britain,\nbut it has constitute the chief component of many of the greatest\nepidemics of fever which has devastated this country and Ireland, and\nit was one of the diseases composing the \"Russian Plague,\" which in\nthe spring of the present year caused such unnecessary alarm in this\ncountry. It usually prevails in the epidemic form in conjunction with\ntyphus, and it is connected in its origin more directly with\nprotracted starvation and the use of unwholesome food than even the\nlatter disease. Hence, in this country, it is familiarly known as\n\"Famine Fever,\" and in Germany as \"_Hungerpest_.\"\n\n6. _Oriental Plague_ is still met with in Egypt and in other eastern\ncountries; but in the middle ages it frequently overran the whole of\nEurope and invaded England, and, from the extent of its ravages, it\nwas known as the \"_Black Death_,\" and the \"_Great Mortality_.\" The\nGreat Plague of London, of 1665, is a familiar fact in history. Since\nthen the disease has not been met with in this country. But British\ntyphus is merely a modified form of Oriental plague, or, in other\nwords, plague is merely typhus complicated with numerous abscesses\nbeneath the skin. Cases of typhus are occasionally met with in this\ncountry, corresponding in every respect with true plague. Both\ndiseases appear under similar circumstances, but those which generate\nplague are of a more aggravated character than those which suffice to\nproduce typhus. The disappearance of plague from London,\nnotwithstanding our vastly increased communications with Egypt, has\nbeen chiefly due to the better construction of our dwellings since the\n\"Great Fire\" of 1666. \"It is probable,\" says an able writer on the\nplague, \"that if this country has been so long forsaken by the plague\nas almost to have forgotten, or at least to be unwilling to own, its\nnatural offspring, it has been because the parent has been disgusted\nwith the circumstances under which that hateful birth was brought to\nlight, has removed the filth from her doors in which it was matured,\nand has adopted a system of cleanliness fatal to its nourishment at\nhome. But if ever this favored country, now grown wise by experience,\nshould relapse into former errors, and recur to her odious habits, as\nin past ages, it is not to be doubted that a mutual recognition will\ntake place, and she will again be visited by her abandoned child, who\nhas been wandering a fugitive among kindred associates, sometimes in\nthe mud cots of Egypt, sometimes in the crowded tents of Barbary, and\nsometimes in the filthy kaisarias of Aleppo.\"\n\n7. _Yellow Fever_ is a contagious fever with a limited geographical\nrange. Its geographical limits, as regards the new world, are from\nabout 43\u00b0 N. lat. to 35\u00b0 S. lat; and in the old world from 44\u00b0 N. to\n8\u00b0 or 9\u00b0 S. lat. It is a common disease on board our ships stationed\nin the West Indies and off the west coast of Africa. As in the case of\ntyphus, overcrowded and defective ventilation are the main causes\nwhich favor its origin and propagation, and, indeed, it is still a\nsubject for investigation whether yellow fever may not be typhus\nmodified by climate and other circumstances. One of the most recent\nand best authorities  [Footnote 64] on the disease thus writes:\n\"Overcrowding in the between-decks of steamships seems to be the\nprincipal cause of the extreme fatality of the disease in the navy.\nWhat in this respect is true of typhus may with equal force be said of\nyellow fever. There is no such powerful adjuvant to the virulence of\nthe poison, and to its power of propagation, as an unrenewed\natmosphere, loaded with human exhalations.\"\n\n  [Footnote 64: Dr. Gavin Milroy, President of the Epidemiological\n  Society.]\n\n8. _Diarrhoea_ is always more or less prevalent in this country during\nthe summer and autumn. There is no {426} reason to believe that\nepidemic diarrhoea is contagious, but there is a direct ratio between\nits prevalence and the temperature of the atmosphere and the absence\nof ozone. As the temperature rises the cases increase in number, and\nas it falls they diminish, and the disease is always most prevalent in\nvery hot seasons. Diarrhoea may be due to many different causes, but\nits epidemic prevalence in autumn is chiefly accounted for by the\nabsorption into the system of the products of putrefaction of organic\nmatter, either in the form of gaseous effluvia or through the vehicle\nof drinking-water.\n\n9. _Typhoid or Enteric Fever_ is very commonly confounded with typhus,\nwith which, however, so far as its origin is concerned, it has nothing\nin common. It is not, like typhus, confined to the poor, but it\nprevails among rich and poor alike; and, indeed, there are some\nreasons for believing that the rich and well-fed are more prone to be\nattacked by it than the destitute. It is the fever by which Count\nCavonr, several members of the royal family of Portugal, and our own\nPrince Consort, came to their untimely end. It differs also from\ntyphus in the circumstances that its origin and propagation are quite\nindependent of overcrowding with defective ventilation, and are so\nintimately connected with bad drainage that by some physicians the\nfever is now designated _pythogenic_, or fever born of putridity. It\nis asserted by some writers that the poison of enteric fever is never\ngenerated in obstructed drains, but that the drains are merely the\nvehicle of transmission of the poison from an infected person. But if\nthis were so, enteric fever must needs be a most contagious disease,\nwhereas all experience goes to show that it rarely spreads, even under\nthe most favorable circumstances. The disease, in fact, is so slightly\ncontagious that many excellent observers have doubted if it be so at\nall. It is probable that certain meteorological conditions, such as a\nhigh temperature, a defective supply of ozone, or a peculiar\nelectrical state, may be necessary for the production of the poison of\nenteric fever; and thus, nuisances which are offensive to the senses\nmay exist for a long time without producing the disease. The necessity\nof a high temperature is undoubted, and is itself a strong alignment\nagainst the view which makes drains merely the vehicle of transmission\nof the poison. It is well known that enteric fever, like ordinary\ndiarrhoea, becomes epidemic in this country every autumn, and almost\ndisappears in spring, while the autumnal epidemics are always greatest\nin seasons remarkable for their high temperature. Enteric fever is\nmuch later in commencing and in attaining the acme of its autumnal\nprevalence than diarrhoea, showing that a longer duration of hot\nweather is necessary for its production; but, when once produced, a\nmore protracted duration of cold weather seems necessary for its\ndestruction.\n\n10. _Cholera_.--Epidemic cholera is generally described as having\noriginated at Jessore, in the delta of the Ganges, in the year 1817,\nand as having spread thence over Hindostan, and ultimately to Europe.\nSince 1817 Europe has been visited by three great epidemics of\ncholera, viz.: in 1832, in 1848-9, and in 1854; and at the present\nmoment it is threatened with a fourth. During the past autumn the\ndisease has appeared at Ancona and Marseilles, and at many other\nplaces in the basin of the Mediterranean. In England and Wales cholera\ndestroyed 53,273 lives in 1849, and 20,097 in 1854. Although the great\nepidemics of cholera have appeared to take their origin in India, and\ngradually to have spread to Europe, following often the lines of human\nintercourse, the evidence in favor of its being a very contagious\nmalady is small. The attendants on the sick are rarely attacked; and,\non the other hand, the disease has often appeared in isolated\nlocalities, where it was impossible to believe that it was imported.\nIt is a remarkable {427} circumstance, also, that some of the greatest\nepidemics which have occurred in India, as that of 1861, have shown no\ntendency to travel to Europe, notwithstanding the constant\ncommunication that exists. Even on the supposition, then, that cholera\nis of necessity imported from India, there must be something as yet\nunknown to us that favors its transmission at one time and not at\nanother. But it is very doubtful if the disease is imported in the\nmanner generally believed. Unequivocal cases of \"Asiatic cholera\" have\nbeen met with almost every year in the intervals of the great\nepidemics; and, as Dr. Farr has observed, it is highly probable that\ntrue cholera has always existed in England. The researches of the late\nDr. Snow render it highly probable that the disease often arises from\ndrinking water impregnated with the _fermenting_ excreta of persons\nsuffering from the disease; and if this be so, from what we know of\nother diseases, it is not unreasonable to infer that, in certain\nconditions of the atmosphere, the poison of cholera may be generated\nduring the fermentation of the excreta of healthy persons. It can\nreadily be conceived how the necessary meteorological conditions might\noriginate in the East and gradually extend to this country, and thus\nlead to the supposition that the disease has been propagated by a\nspecific poison.\n\n11. _Dysentery_.--Epidemics of dysentery are confined to tropical\ncountries, and need not occupy much attention at present. Atmospheric\nstates which unduly or suddenly depress the temperature of the surface\nof the body are the most common exciting causes. They are most apt to\ntake effect in the case of persons whose constitutions have been\nweakened by long exposure to extreme heat, to malaria, or to other\ndebilitating causes. There is no positive evidence that dysentery is\ncontagious.\n\n12. _Agues and Remittent Fevers_ are now but little known, and\nscarcely ever fatal, in this country. Many years ago, however, they\nwere among the most common and the most fatal diseases of Britain.\nJames I. and Oliver Cromwell both died of ague in London. The\ndisappearance of ague has been in direct relation to the drainage and\ncultivation of the soil, and this remark applies not only to England,\nbut to all parts of the globe. The fens of Lincolnshire and Cambridge\nare almost the only parts of England where agues arc now known; but in\nmany countries, and particularly in the tropics, where the vegetation\nis very rank, they are still the most common of all diseases. Agues\nare not contagious, but result from the _malaria_ given off during the\nevaporation from marshy uncultivated land. These malaria may be wafted\nto a considerable distance by the wind. A high temperature and rank\nvegetation seem to favor their production and to increase their\nvirulence.\n\n13. _Influenza_.--Severe and widespread epidemics of influenza have\nbeen observed in various parts of the world, from time immemorial. In\nthe present century the disease has been epidemic in this country in\n1803, 1831, 1833, 1837, and 1847. On each occasion it has been\nparticularly fatal in aged and debilitated persons, and it has often\nbeen followed by an increased prevalence of other epidemic diseases.\nInfluenza is not contagious, but depends on some unknown condition of\nthe atmosphere. Sudden alternations of temperature have been thought\nto favor its origin.\n\n14. _The Sweating Sickness_.--This remarkable and very fatal disease\nis happily now unknown in this country; but in the middle ages many\ngreat epidemics of it were observed, and nowhere were they more common\nthan in England. Many of the epidemics were in fact confined to\nEngland. There are records of five distinct visitations of the disease\nduring the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, viz., in 1485, 1506,\n1517, 1529, and 1551. The disease attacked all classes alike, and\n{428} was often fatal within a few hours. From the accounts handed\ndown to us it is impossible to form any accurate idea as to the causes\nof its origin and extension; but the prevalent opinion at the time\nseems to have been that it was due in the first instance to\natmospheric influences.\n\n15. _The Dancing Mania_.--The present brief summary of the principal\nepidemic diseases would not be complete without alluding to the\ndancing mania of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The effects\nof the _Black Death_ of the fourteenth century had not yet subsided,\nand the graves of millions of its victims were scarcely closed, when\nwe are told by Hecker a strange delusion arose in Germany, which took\npossession of the minds of men, and, in spite of the divinity of our\nnature, hurried away body and soul into the magic circle of the\nwildest superstition. It was a convulsion which in the most\nextraordinary manner infuriated the human frame, and excited the\nastonishment of contemporaries for more than two centuries, since\nwhich time it has never reappeared. It was called the dance of St.\nJohn or of St. Vitus, on account of the Bacchantic leaps by which it\nwas characterized, and which gave to those affected, whist performing\ntheir wild dance, and screaming and foaming with fury, all the\nappearance of persons possessed. It was propagated by the sight of the\nsufferers, like a demoniacal epidemic, over the whole of Germany and\nthe neighboring countries. While dancing, the infected persons were\ninsensible to external impressions, but were haunted by visions, their\nfancies conjuring up spirits whose names they shrieked out. Some\nasserted that they felt as if immersed in a stream of blood, which\nobliged them to leap so high; while others saw the heavens open, and\nthe Saviour enthroned with the Virgin Mary. The accounts of the\ndancing mania collected by Hecker at first sight seem almost fabulous,\nbut cease to be so when we recollect the practices of certain modern\nreligious sects and the accounts of the so-called \"revivals\" in the\nmiddle of the nineteenth century.\n\nFrom the preceding summary, it is obvious that epidemic diseases vary\ngreatly in their nature.\n\n1. First we have diseases, such as small-pox, scarlet fever, and\nmeasles, which at the present day can only be traced to contagion, and\nsome of which probably took their origin in the lower animals.\n\n2. There are diseases, such as typhus, relapsing fever, enteric fever,\nand probably also plague, yellow fever, and cholera, which are capable\nof propagation by contagion in varying degrees, but which may also\noriginate from the neglect of sanitary laws, aided by certain\nmeteorological conditions.\n\n3. A third class, including agues, remittent fevers, and diarrhoea are\nnot at all contagious, but arise from malarious exhalations.\n\n4. A fourth class, including influenza, dysentery, and, perhaps, the\nsweating sickness, are also not contagious, and, arise from certain\natmospheric conditions.\n\n5. The dancing mania differed from all other epidemic diseases in\nbeing purely mental, and in depending on the mere sight of a\ndisagreeable nervous malady.\n\n------\n{429}\n\nTranslated from Etudes Religieuses, Historiques, et Litt\u00e9raires, par\ndes P\u00e8res de la Compagnie de J\u00e9sus.\n\nANGLICANISM AND THE GREEK SCHISM.\n\n\nIn a previous number we made our readers acquainted with a certain\nproject of union between the Anglican and the Russo-Greek Churches.\n[Footnote 65] The Russian as well as the English journals have since\nspoken much of this project, and seemed to think that it was on the\neve of ending. There is one difference, however, to be observed in the\nlanguage held by the organs of the two countries. The Russian journals\ngave us to understand that the Anglicans would renounce the Protestant\ndoctrines which form a prominent portion of their belief, to adopt\npurely and simply the orthodox faith such as it is expressed in the\nsymbolical books of the Eastern Church. The Anglicans did not place\nthemselves in the same point of view. They would not change belief;\nthey admitted that both sides should remain as they now are, but that\nthere would be _intercommunion_ between the two Churches; that is to\nsay, that the Anglicans should be allowed to participate in the\nsacraments of the Greek Church, and reciprocally.\n\n  [Footnote 65: \"_Etudes_\" May, 1865. _Vide_ \"CATHOLIC WORLD,\" Vol.\n  I., No. 7, October, 1865. ]\n\nA certain Mr. Denton, rector of one of the largest Anglican parishes\nin London, was especially animated by these thoughts. He went to\nServia and asked Mgr. Michael, metropolitan of Belgrave, to admit him\nto communion in his quality of priest of the Church of England. Mgr.\nMichael refused; but Mr. Denton, nowise discouraged, betook himself to\ntravelling all over Servia, and at last found an archimandrite who\nappeared to be more accommodating than the metropolitan. After having\ncommunicated in this way in the Servian Church, the Rev. Mr. Denton\nreturns to England triumphantly announcing that the _intercommunion_\nwas an accomplished fact. Great rejoicings there were, to be sure, in\nthe little coterie. There could be no doubt, whatever, that all was\nhappily arranged.\n\nBut behold, Mgr. Michael, informed of what had taken place, removed\nthe archimandrite and struck him with ecclesiastical censures. The joy\nthat had prevailed in Mr. Denton's camp was changed to mourning. On\nthe other hand, the Anglicans who form no part of the coterie, enjoy\nexceedingly the reverend gentleman's discomfiture.\n\nAs for us, we are well pleased to see that Mgr. Michael does not seem\ndisposed to follow the footsteps of Cyril Lucar.\n\nBut another check was reserved for the famous project. The archpriest\nJoseph Wassilief, chaplain to the Russian embassy in Paris, after\nhaving shown himself rather favorable to the contemplated union, has\njust laid down, with as much wisdom as firmness, the conditions of the\nproposed treaty. \"However much explanations may be avoided, they will\nforcibly recur, sooner or later,\" he justly observes in the _Christian\nUnion_, 24th September, 1865. And, resting on this principle, he\npasses in review the three questions of the procession of the Holy\nGhost, the invocation of saints, and prayer for the dead; he then\nshows that it is not possible to establish _intercommunion_ between\nthe two Churches until they have come to an agreement on all these\npoints; Among other things, he shows that the Church has always, been\ncareful {430} to preserve the entire deposit of doctrine, and that she\nhas not permitted herself to establish a difference between what is\nfundamental and what is secondary. He concludes with these wise words:\n\"Charitable in our explanations, we are bound to be very candid one\nwith the other. If rigorous discussions on all points of divergence\nappear to retard the final agreement, they secure its solidity and\nduration; whilst reservations, though accelerating the agreement,\nwould leave therein a germ of weakness and instability.\"\n\nWe attach the more importance to this declaration because the\nauthority of the archpriest Joseph Wassilief is enhanced by the\nconsideration shown him by the synod. Latterly there was a vacancy in\nthe ranks of that assembly, which forms the supreme council of the\nRussian Church. There was question of replacing the chaplain-general\nof the armies by land and sea. Three names were proposed to the\nsovereign's choice: that of M. Wassilief was one of the three. He has\nnot been appointed; but, in proposing him, the synod sufficiently\ntestified that it would have wished to see him seated in its midst,\nraised to the highest dignity to which, in Russia, a member of the\nsecular clergy can pretend.\n\nAfter the energetic act of the metropolitan of Belgrade and the words\nof the archpriest Wassilief, it remains for us to quote the _Levant\nHerald_ an English and Protestant journal published at Constantinople.\nIn its number of the 20th September, 1865, that paper endeavors to\nmake the Anglican clergy understand that they flatter themselves with\na delusive hope if they believe in the possibility of a union, or even\nof an alliance, between the two communions.\n\nIt results from all we have just said that if the Anglo-Americans have\nentertained the project of Protestantizing the Greek Church, they must\nperceive that the enterprise is more arduous than they had supposed.\nThe Russians, on their side, must see that it is not so easy to make\nthe Anglican Church enter into the bosom of theirs. As to establishing\nthe _intercommunion_ between the two churches without having come to\nan agreement on questions of faith, it is a dream which the archpriest\nWassilief must have dispelled once and for ever.\n\n------\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\nREASON IN RELIGION.\nBy Frederic Henry Hedge. Boston: Walker, Fuller & Company, 245\nWashington St. 1863. pp. 458.\n\nThe author of this work, who is a professor in Harvard University,\nenjoys a deservedly high reputation as an accomplished scholar and\nwriter, and is looked upon by numbers of intelligent and thoughtful\npersons, especially in Massachusetts, as their most revered and\ntrusted guide in religious matters. On that account whatever he writes\nis worthy of consideration. In the work before us he has not attempted\na systematic treatise on the topic indicated in his title, but has\nthrown together a series of essays touching on it and its kindred\ntopics, indicating difficulties more than aiming at solving them, and\nsuggesting a method by which anxious minds may separate a certain\nmodicum of belief which is practically certain and safe from that\nwhich is doubtful, and wait patiently until they can get more truth by\nthe slow progress of science.\n\nAny one who looks in this work for metaphysical solutions which are\nsatisfactory or plausible of the great theological problems will be\ndisappointed. The author sees too clearly the want of sufficient data,\nand the want of a sufficient criterion in his system, to attempt to\ndogmatize much. We think this {431} course more sensible and honest\nthan the opposite. At the same time, it lays open the defects of his\nsystem; but so much the better, and so much the more hope of getting\nat the truth. He cannot satisfy, however, either the consistent\nrationalist or the consistent believer in revelation. On the\nrationalistic side he has received a severe criticism from the\n_Christian Examiner_. To a Catholic the positively theological part of\nhis work has but little interest. Some incidental topics are handled\nwith considerable acuteness and ability, as, for instance, the quality\nof sin and evil, the relation between spirit and matter, the\ncompensations of providence, etc. The impartial testimony of such a\nbold and subtle critic as the author in favor of certain facts and\ndoctrines--_e.g._, miracles, the resurrection, future punishment,\netc., is of value. There are half truths, incidental thoughts,\nscintillations of light, through the book, which show how much the\nauthor's merits are his own, and his defects those of the system he\nwas trained in. The style in which he writes has many most admirable\nand peculiar qualities, fitting it to be the vehicle of the highest\nkind of thought. Nevertheless, although we do not question the\nauthor's scholarship in his own proper field of study, what he says of\nspecially Catholic questions and matters appears to us commonplace,\nsuperficial, and sometimes quite gratuitously introduced. Through a\nwant of care in studying up the Catholic question, he has made one or\ntwo quite remarkable mistakes. One of these is in speaking of the\nsynod of Valentia as if it were a general council. Another is the\nstatement that Pope Hildebrand (St. Gregory VII.) has not been\ncanonized. These remarks are by the way, for we are not attempting to\nfollow Dr. Hedge over the area covered by his essays for the purpose\nof controverting his positions.\n\nThe real point of interest it a work like this is the author's thesis\nrespecting the source and criterion of religious truth. If we differ\nhere, there is very little use in discussing the particular\nconclusions or inferences we draw respecting doctrine. While the\ndifference continues, it is better to keep the discussion upon it; if\nwe ever come to an agreement, it will be comparatively easy to proceed\nwith the discussion of specific doctrines.\n\nAlthough Dr. Hedge does not proceed by a formal analytic method, yet\nhe has a thesis, and states it intelligibly in his chapter on \"The\nCause of Reason the Cause of Faith.\" In philosophy he is a Kantian,\nand in theology he adopts the system condemned in the late encyclical\nof Pius IX. under the name of \"moderate rationalism.\" According to\nhim, we cannot get the idea of God, or of spiritual truths, from pure\nreason. All we know of these truths comes from revelation, and the\ntruths of revelation are subject to the critical judgment of reason,\nwhich cannot originate, but can approve or reject, conceptions of\nspiritual truth.\n\nThere are two rather serious objections to this theory. The first is,\nthat it destroys reason by denying to it either the original intuition\nof God, or the capacity of acquiring the idea of God by reflection;\nwithout which it has no capacity of apprehending or judging of the\nconception of God proposed to it by revelation. The second is, that it\ndestroys revelation, making it identical with the conscience or moral\nsense; that is, individual and subjective. What is this revelation or\ninspiration in the spiritual nature of an individual? Is it his reason\nor intelligence elevated and illuminated? That cannot be; for then\nreason and revelation are identical, and the proposition that we know\nnothing of spiritual truths by reason would be subverted. What then is\nit? We can conceive of nothing in the spiritual nature of man which is\nnot reducible to intelligence or will. It must be will, then. But will\nis a blind faculty. It is a maxim of philosophy, \"Nil volitum, nisi\nprius cognitum.\" The will cannot choose the supreme good unless the\nintelligence furnishes it the idea of the supreme good. You cannot\nhave a revelation without first establishing sound rationalism as a\nbasis. Reason may be indebted for distinct conceptions even of those\ntruths which it is able to demonstrate to an exterior instruction\ngiven immediately by Almighty God through inspiration. But it must\nhave the original idea or intuition in itself which is explicated by\nthis instruction and is its ultimate criterion of truth. If by\nrevelation is understood merely the outward assistance given to the\nmind to develop its own idea and attain the full perfection of reason,\nthere is no sense in distinguishing revelation from {432} philosophy,\nscience, or the light of reason itself, since all alike come from God.\nA revelation, properly so called, is a manifestation of truths above\nthe sphere of reason--truths which reason cannot demonstrate from\ntheir intrinsic contents. In this case, reason can only apprehend the\nevidence of the fact that they are revealed, that they are not\ncontrary to any truths already known, and that they have certain\nanalogies with truths perceived by reason. But they must be accepted\nas positively and absolutely true only on the authority of revelation.\nYou must therefore be a pure rationalist, and maintain that we have no\nknowledge of any truth beyond that which the educated intelligence of\nman evolves from its own primitive and ultimate idea; or you must\naccept revelation in the Catholic sense, as proposed by an extrinsic\nauthority. Dr. Hedge gives us no basis for either science or faith.\nThere cannot be a basis for faith without one for science; and give us\na basis sufficient for science, we will demonstrate from it the truth\nof revelation.\n\nWe conclude by quoting one or two remarkable passages, which show that\nthe author instinctively thinks more soundly and justly than his\ntheory will logically sustain him in doing:\n\n  \"The mass of mankind must receive their religion at second-hand, and\n  receive it on historical authority, as they receive the greater part\n  of all their knowledge.\"\n\n  \"We want a teacher conscious of God's inpresence, claiming attention\n  as a voice out of the heavens. We want a doctrine which shall\n  announce itself with divine authority; not a system of moral\n  philosophy, but the word and kingdom of God. Without this stamp of\n  divine legitimacy, without the witness and signature of the Eternal,\n  Christianity would want that which alone gives it-weight with the\n  mass of mankind, and the place it now holds in human things.\" (pp.\n  64, 242.)\n\nWell spoken! spoken like a philosopher, like a Christian, like a\nCatholic! Apply now Kant's and Dr. Hedge's principle of _practical\nreason_. They say, Mankind feel the need of a God, therefore there is\nand has always been a God. So we say, Mankind feel and always did feel\nthe necessity of an infallible church, of a distinct, positive,\ndogmatic faith. Therefore they exist, and always did exist. Only in\nthe Catholic Church are these wants realized; therefore the Catholic\nChurch is the true Church of God.\n\n\nTHE COMPLETE WORKS OF ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS, ETC.\nEdited by the Oblate Fathers of St. Charles. London: Longmans &\nCompany. 1864.\n\nThis is the most superb work on spiritual subjects in our English\nCatholic literature. Mr. Lewis has made his translation in such a\nmanner as to merit the highest encomium from the late Cardinal\nWiseman, who has written the preface to the edition. The paper,\ntypography, and mechanical execution are in the highest style of\nEnglish typographical art. The fathers of St. Charles deserve the\nthanks of the entire English-speaking Catholic and literary world for\nthis costly and noble enterprise which they have achieved.\n\nIt is needless to say that the works of St. John of the Cross are\namong the highest specimens of genius and spiritual wisdom to be found\nin the Spanish language or any other. St. John was a poet of the first\norder, and an equally great philosopher. In this view alone his works\nare worthy of profound study. The base of his doctrine is the deepest\nphilosophy, and its summit is ever varied and enlightened by the glow\nof poetic fervor. It is philosophy and poetry, however, elevated,\npurified, and hallowed by sacred inspiration, and derived not merely\nfrom human but from divine contemplation. As a book for spiritual\nreading and direction, it is most proper for a certain class of minds\nonly, who have difficulties and inward necessities for which they\ncannot find the requisite aid in the ordinary books of instruction. It\nis also the best guide for those who have the direction of persons of\nthis character.\n\n\n\nWe learn that the Messrs. Appleton have in press, and will soon\npublish \"The Temporal Mission of the Holy Ghost,\" by the Most Rev. H.\nE. Manning, Archbishop of Westminster, which has just been issued by\nthe Longmans, of London.\n\n----------\n{433}\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. II., NO. 10--JANUARY, 1866.\n\n----\n\nTranslated from Le Correspondant\n\nLEIBNITZ AND BOSSUET.  [Footnote 66]\n\n  [Footnote 66: \"_Oeuvres de Leibnitz, publi\u00e9es pour la pr\u00e9mi\u00e8re fois\n  d'apr\u00e8s les Manuscrits's, avec des notes et une introduction,_\" par\n  A. Foucher de Carcil. Paris: Firmin-Didot. Tomes. I. et II.]\n\nEvery friend of letters must greet with sincere pleasure the literary\nenterprise of M. de Careil in undertaking a complete edition of the\nwritings of Leibnitz, a large part of which has hitherto remained\nunpublished and even unknown, and especially to make that great genius\nlive anew for us in all his fulness and integrity. No greater literary\nundertaking ever seduced the imagination of a young erudite, is better\nfitted to attract the sympathy of the European republic, or more\ndifficult of execution. For it was precisely the peculiarity of\nLeibnitz that, while he labored to embrace with a firmness of grasp\nnever equalled the whole of moral and physical nature, all things\nreal, ideal, or possible, in one and the same system, he uniformly\nabstained from giving, in his writings, to that system its full and\nentire development. Possessing the amplest and most complete mind that\never lived, he took no care to give to any of his works the seal of\ncompleteness and perfection. The inventor of so many methods,\nmathematical and metaphysical, he never arranged his ideas in a\nmethodical order. He leads his readers, with a rapid and firm step,\nthrough a labyrinth of abstract conceptions and boundless erudition,\nbut he suffers no hand but his own to hold the guiding thread. He has\nleft us numerous tracts and fragments of great value indeed, but no\nwork that reveals the unity of his system, and gives us a summary of\nhis doctrines. There is no _summa_ of the Leibnitzian science and\nphilosophy. We might say that, by a sort of coquetry, while he sought\nto know and explain everything in nature, he took care that the secret\nof his own heart should not for a moment escape him.\n\nHence it becomes important to bring together and arrange in their\nnatural order his scattered members, so as to give them the cohesion\nthey lack, to combine his several personages, the philosopher, the\nmoralist, the geometrician, the naturalist, the erudite, the\ndiplomatist, and the courtier, in one living being, and present the\ngiant armed at all points as he came forth from the hands of his\nMaker. Hence also the difficulty {434} of the task. It requires to\naccomplish it the universality of tastes, if not of faculties,\npossessed by the model to be reconstructed. It presents one of those\ncases in which to reproduce nature it is almost necessary to equal\nnature, and to resuscitate is hardly less difficult than to create.\nOnly a Cuvier is able to collect and put in their place the gigantic\nbones and powerful fins of Leviathan.\n\n_Ab Jove principium_. M. de Careil begins with theology. These two\nvolumes placed at the head of his edition are taken up with writings\nsome of which had already been printed, others had remained in\nmanuscript, but all subjected to a careful revision and enriched by\nlearned notes, which pertain exclusively to matters of religion. If\nthe ancient classification, which gave to theology the precedence of\nall other matters, had not every claim to our respect, we might,\nperhaps, permit ourselves to find fault with this arrangement of the\nworks of Leibnitz, which will cause, I am sure, some surprise to the\nlearned public. His theological writings were his first neither in the\norder of time nor in the order of merit. He did not open his brilliant\ncareer with religious discussions, nor was it by them that he was\nchiefly distinguished, or left his deepest trace. He made in theology,\nno discoveries as fruitful as the infinitesimal calculus, and gave it\nno problems that have fetched so many and so distant echoes as his\ntheories of optimism and monadology. Why, then, open the series with\nthose writings which did not begin it, and which do not give us its\nsummary, and give the precedence to works, merely accessory and of\ndoubtful value, over so many others which earlier, more constantly,\nand more gloriously occupied his laborious life?\n\nThere is still another objection to this distribution of matters which\nM. de Careil has made. The theological writings of Leibnitz consist\nalmost exclusively in his correspondence, and are parts of the\nnegotiation for the reunion of the different Christian communions of\nwhich, for a brief time, he was the medium. Correspondences are\nadmirable means of gaining an insight into the private and personal\ncharacter of men whose public life and works are already known, but\ntaken by themselves they are always obscure and difficult to be\nunderstood. The reason is, that people who correspond are usually\nmutual acquaintances, and understand each other by a hint or half a\nword. They are familiar with contemporary events, and waste no time in\nnarrating them, or in explaining what each already knows. Facts and\nideas are treated by simple allusions, intelligible enough to the\ncorrespondents, but unintelligible to a posterity that lacks their\ninformation. The correspondence of Leibnitz, which M. de Careil\npublishes, is far from being free from this grave inconvenience.\nLeibnitz appears in it in the maturity of his age, and the full\nsplendor of his renown. He speaks with the authority of a philosopher\nin full credit, and of a counsellor enjoying the confidence of an\nimportant German court. His correspondents treat him with the respect\ndue to an acknowledged celebrity, and even a power. In the course of\nthe discussion he is carrying on he introduces many of his well known\nmetaphysical principles, but briefly, as ideas familiar to those whom\nhe addresses, and less for the purpose of teaching than of recalling\nthem to the memory.\n\nHis manner of writing, of rushing, so to speak, _in medias res_, takes\nthe inexperienced reader by surprise, and appears to conform to the\nadventurous habits of dramatic art much more than to the sound rules\nof erudition, which proceeds slowly, with measured step, marking in\nadvance the place where it is to plant its foot. Few among us are\nsufficiently acquainted with the facts in detail of the life of\nLeibnitz, or know well enough the secret of his opinions, to be able\nto render an account to {435} ourselves of the part we see him--a\nlay-citizen--playing among emperors, kings, princes, and prelates, or\nthe relation that subsists between his system of monads and scholastic\ntheology. Hence it often happens that we neither know who is speaking,\nnor of what he is speaking. This frequently causes us an embarrassment\nto which M. de Careil is himself too much a stranger to be able\nsufficiently to compassionate it. He has lived ten years with Leibnitz\nin the Library of Hanover, his habitual residence, and he knows every\nlineament of the face of his hero, and--not the least of his\nmerits--deciphers at a glance his formless and most illegible scrawl.\nWe are not, therefore, astonished that in his learned introductions\nand his notes, full of matter, he makes no account of difficulties\nwhich we in our ignorance are utterly unable to overcome.\n\nBut we are convinced that the knowledge the editor has acquired by his\ninvaluable labors would have been far more available to his readers if\nhe had condensed it into a detailed biography, such as he only could\nwrite, than as he gives it, scattered at the beginning of each volume,\nor in a note at the foot of each page. An historical notice,\ncomprising the history of the intellect as well as of the life of\nLeibnitz, an exposition of ideas as well as of facts, and the\narrangement of the didactic works according to the order of their\nsubjects and their importance, followed by the fragments and\ncorrespondence, the order adopted by nearly all collectors of great\npolygraphs, would, it seems to us, have been much better, and simply\nthe dictate of reason and experience. Introduced by M. de Careil into\nthe monument he erects not by the front, through the peristyle, but by\na low, side door, we run at least great risk of not seizing the whole\nin its proportions.\n\nI confess that I have also a personal reason for regretting the\narrangement adopted by M. de Careil. I had occasion formerly, among\nthe sins of my youth, to examine, with very little preparatory study I\nadmit, and in documents by no means so abundant and so exact as those\nwhich are now placed within our reach, the negotiations pursued by\nLeibnitz for the union of Christian communions, which take up the\nwhole of these two volumes. From that examination, along with that of\na small tract naturally attached to it, I came, on the religious\nopinions of the great philosopher, to certain conclusions which I set\nforth in the 32d number of the first series of this periodical, which\nM. de Careil, even then deeply engaged in this study of Leibnitz, has\nfelt it his duty, in a discussion marked by great urbanity, to combat.\nIt is my misfortune to persist in those conclusions, and more\nstrenuously than ever in consequence of the new light which seems to\nme to be furnished by this publication, and to which I cannot dispense\nmyself from briefly recurring. In so doing I fear that I shall appear\nto some readers to have sought or to have accepted too readily an\noccasion for resuming a discussion of little importance, and which\nprobably few except myself remember. M. de Careil, I hope, will do me\nthe justice to acquit me of a thought so puerile. Nobody would have\nbeen more eager than myself to admire, in the picture he presents us,\nthe figures which naturally occupy the foreground; but if the eye is\nforced to pause at first on some insignificant detail, it perhaps is\nnot a defect of taste in the spectator; may it not be a defect of\nskill in the artist?\n\n\nI.\n\nThese reserves made, we proceed to examine, with some care, the\nchanges rendered necessary, by this new and complete edition, in the\nopinion previously adopted by the biographers of Leibnitz in regard to\nthe religious negotiation of which he was for a moment the accredited\nmedium, and in which we find mingled the great name of Bossuet.\nSeveral important {436} points are much modified by the documents now\nbrought to light for the first time.\n\nWe learn, in the outset, that the negotiation for the union of the\nProtestant communions with the Holy See was far more important than is\ncommonly thought, and was continued for a much longer time. The\nearliest documents in relation to it published by M. de Careil date\nfrom 1671, whilst the previous editors of Leibnitz and Bossuet suppose\nthat the first overtures were made only in the year 1690, a difference\nof twenty years; and it appears from these documents, hitherto\nperfectly unknown, that it was precisely during those twenty years\nthat success came the nearest being obtained, and that the highest\ninfluences were employed to obtain it.\n\nDuring this period, from 1670 to 1690, the Catholic revival of the\nseventeenth century was at its apogee, and nearly all the German\nsovereigns were animated by a strong desire to effect the religious\npacification of their subjects. The wounds caused by the Thirty Years'\nWar were hardly closed by the peace of Westphalia, and every one felt\nthe mortal blow which religious dissension had struck to the Germanic\npower by breaking the old unity of the empire. Beside, all eyes were\nturned toward France, where religion and royalty seemed to move on\ntogether in perfect harmony, and displayed an unequalled splendor.\nFrance, under her young monarch, Louis XIV., was at once the object of\nenvy and of dread; and the re-establishment of religious unity in\nGermany, torn by mutually hostile communions, seemed to the sovereign\nprinces the only means of resembling France, and at the same time of\nresisting her power.\n\nWhen, therefore, Rogas Spinola, confessor to the empress, the wife of\nLeopold I., at first Bishop of Tina, afterward of Neustadt, a man of\nmild temperament and sound sense, became the intermediary agent of the\ngeneral desire for peace, and after having sounded the leading\nProtestant theologians, went to Rome to ascertain the extent of the\nconcessions to which the maternal authority of the Church could\nconsent, he was warmly supported not only by his own sovereign, the\nemperor, but also by fourteen other reigning sovereigns of Germany,\nsome of them Catholic and others Protestant. Such was the strange\nreligious confusion in the German States that in more than one the\nsovereign was Catholic and the nation Protestant, or the sovereign was\nProtestant and the nation Catholic. In the former condition was the\nElector of Hanover, John Frederic of Brunswick, of whom Leibnitz was\nlibrarian and private secretary. This prince could not fail to enter\nwith zeal into a plan which promised to fill up the gulf between him\nand his Protestant subjects.\n\nIf the propositions of which Spinola was the bearer were warmly\nsupported in Germany, they were no less warmly supported at Rome. The\ninterest which the chief of the Church could not fail to take in the\nre-establishment of Catholic unity, was greatly enhanced at the time\nby the special need which that wise and prudent pontiff, Innocent XI.,\nfelt of creating in Europe allies for the Holy See against the\noffensive pretensions of France. At Rome as in Germany Louis XIV. was\nthe target and the bugbear. That most Christian king, who consented to\nprotect the faith in his own kingdom on the condition of tacitly\nsubjecting it to his royal will, took strange liberties, as everybody\nknows, with the common Father of the faithful. Innocent XI., almost\nbesieged in his palace by the arms of France, and seeing his bulls\nhanded over, by magistrates sitting on _fleurs de lis_, to the common\nhangman to be publicly burned, was strongly tempted to seek in\nconverted schismatics, and in prodigal sons returning to the fold, a\nsupport against the arrogant pretensions of the _elder_ son of the\nChurch. {437} Spinola, therefore, was everywhere well received. Rome\nlistened to him, entered into his views, even annotated the bases of\nthe negotiation he was charged to transmit, and for several years the\nwinds on both sides of the Alps blew in favor of peace.\n\nLeibnitz, holding relations with both Spinola and the principal\nProtestant doctors, serving as the medium of intercommunication\nbetween them, and frequently taking his pen to give precision to their\nrespective views, was already the king-bolt of the negotiation, and\nvery early in its prosecution. Bossuet's name began to be mentioned.\nThe controversies of this great prelate with the French Protestants,\nhis writings, strongly marked by a doctrine at once so firm and\nenlightened, and which placed Catholic truth on so broad and so solid\na foundation, were more than once used to smooth the way to reunion,\neither by solving difficulties or by reconciling differences. Twice he\nwas even directly solicited to give his advice, and to put his own\nhand to the work; but he gave vague and embarrassed answers, and\nrefused to accept the overtures made to him. Wherefore? Is it\nnecessary to think, as M. Foucher de Careil leaves it to be\nunderstood, that the King of France viewed with an evil eye a reunion\nnot likely to turn to his profit, or to strengthen his influence, and\nthat as on other occasions the submission, a little blind, of the\nsubject to his sovereign, arrested with Bossuet the accomplishment, I\nwill not say of the duty, but of the desire of the Catholic bishop?\n\nSuch was the first phase of this remarkable negotiation, related, or\nmore properly exhumed, with details very curious and perfectly new.\nThe characters, the parts, the motives, of the various actors in the\nscene are fairly set forth and analyzed by M. de Careil, and we\ncongratulate him on having added a new and piquant page to the\ndiplomatic history of the seventeenth century. A single gap, however,\nvery important and very easy to fill he has left, which renders his\nexposition a little obscure and uncertain. We nowhere find the text of\nthe propositions, the instruments, to speak the language of cabinets,\nwhich made during twenty years the bases of the negotiation. They were\nin great number, M. de Careil informs us, drawn up under different\ncircumstances, and by different authors. The Protestant theologians\nassembled at Hanover, and especially the most illustrious of them,\nGerard Molanus, abbot of Lockum, drew up, collectively or\nindividually, complete plans or _methods_, as they called them, of\nreunion, in which they expressed at the same time their views and\ntheir wishes, the sacrifices which they believed their communions\nwould consent to make, and those which they expected from Rome in\nreturn for the re-establishment of unity. The Bishop of Neustadt, on\nhis part, produced several compositions of the same kind, the titles\nof which, as given by M. de Careil, are, _Regulae circa Christianorum\nomnium eccesiasticam reunionem--Media conciliatoria incitantia,\npraestanda ad conciliationem._ And, in fine, under the name of\n_Propositiones novellorum discretiorum et praecipuorum_, he himself\nmade a methodical abstract, in twenty-five propositions, or heads of\nchapters, of the views and wishes of Protestants, a capital document,\nwhich was discussed and corrected at Rome in a congregation of\ncardinals, and sent back to Germany with an approbatory brief of His\nHoliness. Leibnitz had it under his eye, and copied it with his own\nhand at Vienna, carefully marking the corrections and additions made\nby the Sacred College, and we understand M. Foucher de Careil to have\nhad personal knowledge of the copy taken by Leibnitz.\n\nIt is difficult, therefore, to explain why M. de Careil has thought it\nnecessary to subject our curiosity to the veritable punishment of\nTantalus by simply mentioning the existence of a document of such\ngreat importance {438} without reproducing it. That he should believe\nit his duty not to swell his volume--though the previous editors of\nLeibnitz and Bossuet did it--by inserting the private lucubrations of\nProtestant theologians, we can, in rigor, comprehend, but not approve.\nAs in almost all the letters he has published, especially those of\nMolanus, these writings are discussed and commented on, it would, we\nthink, have much facilitated the clear understanding of the subject,\nto have given at least the more important of them _in extenso._ But\nafter all, the reformed doctors the most accredited spoke only in\ntheir own private names, for themselves alone, without any authority\nto bind their contemporary co-religionists, and _a fortiori_ without\nany authority to bind their Protestant posterity. Little imports it to\nknow what Molanus or any other Protestant in 1680 thought of the\npoints in controversy between the Church and the Reformation. But an\nact of the Court of Rome, discussed in a congregation, and clothed\nwith the pontifical sign-manual--an official decision defining the\nmaximum of concessions either as to language or practice which the\nChurch could make to her separated children in order to bring them\nback to her bosom, Protestant propositions in their origin, indeed,\nbut, as says M. de Careil--in a note written, I know not wherefore, in\nItalian--_accommodate secundo il gusto di Roma_(modified to suit the\ntaste of Rome), is a document of a value very different, and yields in\nhistorical interest only to its dogmatic importance. It would be a\ndocument to place by the side of the most celebrated Professions of\nfaith, and even above them, and to present, along with the excellent\n_Exposition_ by Bossuet, to all those troubled souls, so numerous in\nProtestant communions, who discern the truth only through the mists of\nprejudice, or misconceive it when stated to them in terms the real\nsense of which has for them been distorted or perverted from their\nchildhood.\n\nWhat Leibnitz in various places, and M. de Careil after him, show us\nof the propositions submitted to Rome, increases not a little our\ndesire to know precisely what she replied to them. It seems from all\nthat is told us, that the process or method of affecting reunion\nuniformly, or very nearly so, indicated by the Protestant doctors, was\nto place in two distinct categories the several points of difference\nwhich separate the Protestant communions from the Catholic Church;\nthen place in the first category all the questions on which agreement\nmay be hoped either by way of accommodation, if matters of simple\ndisciplinary usage, if susceptible of modification; or by way of\nexplanation, if points of dogmatic dispute turning on words rather\nthan on ideas. On all these, agreement being easy, it should be\nimmediately effected and proclaimed. In the second category must be\nplaced all disputed questions too important, or on which minds are too\nembittered, to admit of their settlement by previous explanation.\nThese must not be treated immediately, but be left in suspense, and\nreserved for discussion and final settlement in a future council.\nMeanwhile the Protestant doctors, pastors, ministers, and their flocks\nmust be received into the Roman communion on the simple declaration\nthat they acknowledge the infallibility of the Church in matters of\ndogma, and the promise, beforehand, that when she has freely decided\nwith certainty, clearness, precision, and without ambiguity or\nequivocation, the several points reserved for adjudication, they will\naccept her decisions and offer no resistance to her decrees.\n\nSuch was the method proposed, which Leibnitz calls by turns the method\nof _mutual tolerance, abstraction, suspension,_and to which he reverts\nso frequently, and on which he insists with so much complaisance,\nunder so many forms, and in so many different writings, that it is\nhardly possible not to regard him as its inventor. In his {439} view,\nthis method has the merit of cutting off with a single stroke the\ninterminable debates in which the sixteenth century was consumed, and\nof making the peace of nations no longer depend on the quibbling\nspirit of theologians. We shall soon briefly examine whether this\nabridgment of controversies might not have the inconvenience of\nleaving out the truth, or of spurning it aside; but for the moment we\nwould simply remark that the method suggested or eagerly adopted by\nLeibnitz involved, with him, a grave consequence, so obvious that\nnobody can mistake it.\n\nThe questions proposed to be placed in the second category, or the\npoints of controversy too important to be treated in advance, and to\nbe reserved for discussion and settlement in a council to be convoked\nand held after reunion, had every one of them already been examined,\none by one, discussed, and determined without appeal, in the\ncelebrated assembly whose fame still filled all Europe, and whose\ndecrees were read from the pulpits of more than half of Christendom.\nDuring twenty-five years, athwart the intrigues of courts, the ravages\nof war, and even the unchained plagues of heaven, three times\ninterrupted, but as often resumed, the whole cause of the Reformation,\ndogmas and discipline, had been presented and argued at Trent.\nJudgment was there rendered on all the counts in the indictment, and\nthe Reformation was henceforth _res judicata_. Consequently, to\npropose to reserve and open anew for discussion, were it only the\nleast point of doctrine, was to forfeit the whole work of Trent, and\nto declare that great assembly illegal and all its decrees vacated.\nThe Protestant proposition amounted, then, simply to this: Annul the\nCouncil of Trent, and convoke a new council in which Protestants _en\nmasse_ will have the right to sit!\n\nUnder what form was such a proposition presented to Rome? What\nimpression on Rome did it make? Was there really found a Catholic\nbishop to support it? Was it really discussed in a Congregation of\nCardinals? Was it really included in the list of propositions admitted\nto discussion by the Papal brief whose existence is enigmatically\nrevealed to us? If we understand certain phrases of M. de Careil, all\nthese questions must be answered in the affirmative. He himself firmly\nbelieves that this project was accepted by the Bishop of Neustadt; he\neven believes that it was not discouraged at Rome; and that, the\nsuspension of the Council of Trent was counted among the concessions\nwhich the bishop returned from Rome authorized to lead the\nProtestants, who had charged him with their interests, to hope would\nbe granted.\n\nIt is certainly very embarrassing for us to question an assertion by\nM. de Careil, who seems to speak with the documents before him, while\nwe, in the darkness in which he leaves us, can reason only from\nconjecture. We can only express our deep surprise, and ask him, if he\nis quite sure of having carefully read what he relates, or duly\nreflected on what he asserts? What, the Court of Rome authorized a\nbishop to promise Protestants, in its name, the suspension of the\nCouncil of Trent! Rome, with a stroke of the pen, pledged herself to\npermit the destruction of the work to which she had, during four\nglorious pontificates, devoted the persistent perseverance which she\nowed to the Holy Ghost, and all the traditional resources of her\npolicy--the work which, in reaffirming the immovable foundations of\nthe Christian faith, had at the same time drawn tighter, to the profit\nof the Holy See, the loosened bonds of the hierarchy! Rome exposed\nherself to see effaced, on the one hand, those dogmatic decrees in\nwhich the magnificence of the language rivals the depth of the ideas,\nand which have taken rank in the admiration of the world by the side\nof the Nicaean symbol, and on the other, those canons of discipline\nfor which she had {440} maintained with the great Catholic powers a\npersistent struggle from which nothing could divert her, no, not even\nthe fear of seeing France follow in the footsteps of England! And for\nwhat this condescension? For a negotiation of doubtful success, and\nthe success of which, were it certain, would have restored to her\ncommunion only Germany, leaving outside of Catholic unity the\nProtestant centres of London, Geneva, and Amsterdam! Moreover, under\nwhat form would such a concession be made? By a confidential act, by a\nsecret power given to an obscure agent! The Council of Trent would\nhave been thus disavowed in the shade by one Congregation of\nCardinals, whilst another, instituted expressly to give it vigor,\ncontinued, as it does still at Rome itself, to comment and develop it\nin public, and while at the foot of all altars the decisions of that\ngreat council received the solemn adhesion of all those whom the\nepiscopal investiture raised to the rank of judges of the faith!\n\nM. de Careil must not think us too difficult, if we hesitate to admit\non his bare word, or even on that of Leibnitz, the reality of so\nstrange a fact. Leibnitz was a party interested, and very deeply\ninterested, in the success of a project for which he had a paternal\naffection, and his testimony is here too open to suspicion of at least\ninvoluntary illusion for us to receive it as conclusive proof.\nLeibnitz, beside, whatever was his intimacy with the Bishop of\nNeustadt, doubtless did not know thoroughly the confidential\ninstructions of the plenipotentiary with whom he negotiated. The\nslightest affirmation of the bishop himself would have incomparably\nmore weight with us, but that prelate, from whom M. de Careil\npublishes several documents, so far from ever mentioning any such\nengagement, takes special care, on the contrary, to avoid giving any\npersonal opinion of his own on any of the plans presented to him. He\ntakes care to remark to Leibnitz, in a special letter, that in the\nwhole matter he acts only as a simple reporter, guards himself from\nsupporting any proposition made to him, and simply promises the\nProtestant theologians to labor to secure a favorable reception to any\novertures they might make consistent with Catholic principles. _Ego_,\nsays he, _nullibi causae susceptae agam doctorem, sed simplicem apud\nutramque partem solicitatorum. . . Nihil aliud polliceor quam quod . .\nego theologicam et tam favorabilem ac principia nostra patiantur,\napprobationem procurare laborabo_. Such a promise, which lends itself\nindeed to everything, engages assuredly to nothing, and if it in some\nmeasure explains the hopes which Leibnitz cherished, it is far from\nsufficing to remove our doubts.\n\nTill a contrary proof--and I mean by a contrary proof an authentic and\nofficial document, not such or such an allusion, or _it is said_,\ncollected at random from a private correspondence--I shall continue\nto believe that the suspension of the Council of Trent, all though\nmaking an essential part, and constituting, as it were, the keystone\nof the Protestant plan of pacification, was never conceded in\nprinciple at Rome, probably was never entertained; that Bishop Spinola\nwas never authorized to treat on that basis, and that if he did not\nwholly refuse to converse on that point, it was in order not to\ndiscourage benevolent dispositions which he judged it wise to manage.\nHe also may have hoped that when the Protestants had taken the great\nstep of admitting the infallibility of Catholic authority, they would\nbe led easily, by means of some historical explanations, to agree that\nthe aid of the Holy Ghost did not fail the sessions of Trent, any more\nthan any of the grand assizes of the Christian Church. If I am\ndeceived in this negative conclusion, nothing would have been more\neasy for M. de Careil than to prevent my error by a more complete\npublication.\n\nThe sequel of events will show why I attach so much importance to the\n{441} establishment of the truth on this point. Let us resume,\ntherefore, with M. de Careil the thread of the narrative. In spite of\nthe general desire in 1670 to effect an understanding between\nProtestants and Catholics, and perhaps because of the ardor of that\ndesire, all parties avoided explaining themselves fully on delicate\npoints, and the negotiation and the _ir\u00e9nique_, as M. de Careil calls\nit, dragged itself along and reached no result. Twenty years after it\ncontinued still, languishing, indeed, but not abandoned. The Bishop of\nNeustadt was still living, hoping, laboring, and travelling\nconstantly, intent on effecting peace; the Protestant doctors\ncontinued to pile up notes upon notes, and blackened any quantity of\npaper; but if in the theological world the affair remained on foot,\nthough not advancing, in the political world the favor which had\nsustained it was singularly cooled. The spirit of resistance to the\npreponderating influence of Louis XIV., more determined than ever, had\nsuddenly changed its course, and sought no longer its support in\nCatholicity, but, on the contrary, in the most advanced party of the\nReformation, which suddenly raised up a champion of European\nindependence. The Protestant chief of a petty maritime republic,\nelevated by a daring movement to the throne of a great monarchy--the\ngrandson of William the Taciturn, became master of the heritage of the\nStuarts, rallied around his standard all the hopes of national freedom\nand all the animosities caused by oppression. Beside, from the fatal\nedict of 1685, which brutally thrust out of France a whole peaceable\npeople, brought up under the shelter of the laws in the ignorance of\nan hereditary error, the armies, the councils, and the large\nindustrial towns of all Europe became gorged with French exiles, who\nunited in the same execration Louis XIV. and the Church in which they\nsaw only the bloody image of her implacable minister. On this stormy\nsea of excited passion and intense hatred the humble project of union,\nwhich Spinola and Leibnitz had so much difficulty in keeping afloat in\ncalm weather, had little chance of surviving.\n\nThe princes abandoned it as no longer serving their political\ninterests. But other auxiliaries, however, offered themselves, endowed\nwith less power indeed, but hardly less brilliancy. These were no\nother than great ladies, delighting in the commerce of the learned,\nand retaining in their convents or the interior paths of piety the\nhabits of a cultivated education, and sometimes pretensions to\npolitical ability. In the seventeenth century, especially in France\nafter the Fronde, it is well known that theology often became the\nrefuge of those high-born beauties whom scruples or repentance kept\naloof from the pleasures of the court, whilst the jealous despotism of\nthe sovereign would no longer permit them to make a figure on the\ntheatre of public affairs. Several of these elegant, noble, and even\nroyal lady-theologians were attracted by the report of the negotiation\nin which Leibnitz took part, and perhaps by the renown of that\nnegotiator himself, and in the hope either of aiding in dressing the\nwounds of Europe, or at least of securing so precious a conquest in\nthe net of faith, opened communications and displayed in their\ncorrespondence with him those severe graces of which their piety had\nnot despoiled them. The Abbess of Maubuisson; Louise Hollandine,\nsister of the palatiness, Anne of Gonzaga; that celebrated princess\nherself; the sprightly Madame de Brinon, for a long time the confidant\nof Madame de Maintenon at Saint-Cyr, but whose enterprising spirit\ncould not be anywhere contented with a subordinate part; in fine, the\nqueen of the _Pr\u00e9cieuses_, Mademoiselle Scud\u00e9ry, who neglected no\nopportunity of shining in an epistolary correspondence, and who was by\nno means sorry to show that her merit could surpass the limits of the\nCarte de him, such are the {442} unexpected figures which M. de Careil\nmakes pass before us, and in painting them he borrows some colors from\nthe palette of the great philosopher of our days, M. Cousin, who has\ndevoted himself to the good fame of the ladies of the seventeenth\ncentury. In the train of the ladies appear the literary gentlemen of\ntheir society, accustomed to make with them, in courteous jousts, the\nassaults of wit. As the friend of Madame de Brinon, for instance, we\nsee intervene the historian of the French Academy, the best pen of the\nroyal cabinet, the celebrated Pellisson. All these epistles, very\nnumerous, in which the variety of tone relieves the monotony of\nsubject, form the most agreeable part of the new publication--too\nagreeable, indeed, for seriousness is sadly wanting, and more still in\nLeibnitz himself than in his graceful correspondents. A tone of subtle\nbadinage, a mistimed display of literary and philosophical erudition,\nthe pleasure of discussing without care to conclude, are, unhappily,\nbut too apparent in everything that emanates from his pen during this\nsecond period. We might say that he took pleasure in prolonging a\nsituation which procured him advances so flattering, and in which,\nwithout pledging himself to any one, he could let himself be lulled by\nsweet compliments from the most beautiful mouths in the world.\n\nHowever that might be, this slumber, sustained by such sweet words,\nwas all at once rudely broken. Madame de Brinon, the most active brain\nof the feminine congress, seeing that after all they talked much and\nsaid nothing, and that, by a supple and undulating argumentation,\nLeibnitz always escaped at the decisive moment, and retarded more than\nhe advanced a solution, formed the project of calling to her aid a\nmore vigorous athlete, who could grapple with him body to body. She\naddressed herself to Bossuet, and this time the Bishop of Meaux found\nmore leisure and more freedom of action. The political situation had\nchanged. Coming out from that cold distrust in which he intrenched\nhimself in the beginning, he requested to have communicated to him the\ndocuments of the negotiation, especially the writings of Molanus, and\nmade it his duty to give his own views of the matter. The entrance of\nthis great man upon the scene, a long time announced, a long time\nexpected, and who appeared, as in certain tragedies, as the hero of\nthe third act, has, in M. de Careil's publication, all the effect of a\ntheatrical surprise.\n\nNo sooner, in fact, has he opened his mouth, than a puff of his stiff,\nstrong speech tumbles down the frail scaffolding on which Leibnitz had\nplaced his hopes of the peace of Christendom. Placing his finger at\nonce on the weak spot in the system, he has no difficulty in showing\nthat, however disguised, the real proposition returns always to the\ndemand that the Church shall suffer to be called in question points\nalready adjudicated, and tolerate doubt where she has already defined\nthe faith. Now, if such condescension is possible in the order of\nhuman decrees, which, providing for local and transitory interests,\nmay and ought to yield to differences of time and place, it would be\nabsurd to suppose it possible in the order of eternal truths,\nproclaimed by an authority conceded to be infallible. Infallibility\ncarries with it immutability as a necessary consequence. The mirror of\nan unalterable truth can reflect only a single image; the echo can\nrepeat only a single sound. Comment, explain, as much as you please,\nclothe the old faith with new forms if you will, smooth the paths\nwhich conduct to it by removing all offensive terms which are a\nstumbling-block to the weak, save self-love the humiliation of a\nposition disavowed by treating error as a misunderstanding which is\nnow enlightened, even charity exacts in this respect all that dignity\npermits; but to alter, attenuate, or {443} merely to debate the truth\ntransmitted can in no sense be permitted without killing with the same\nblow both the Church and the truth, without either denying the truth\nor that the Church has always been its interpreter.\n\nSuch was the reasoning, perfectly simple, and the principle of the\ninfallibility of the Church once admitted, unanswerable, which Bossuet\nwith his well known majesty, and from the height of his episcopal\ndignity, urged in reply to the method supported by Leibnitz. Was\nLeibnitz taken by surprise? Had he seriously thought of becoming a\nCatholic without submitting in the process to this consequence? Such a\ndefect of logic in a rival of Newton is not supposable. But he was\nneither accustomed to be treated so loftily, nor in a humor to march\nso directly to the point. A cry of astonishment and despite\ninvoluntarily escaped him, sharp complaints of _the haughtiness of M.\nde Meaux, of the tone of superiority which eloquence and authority\ngive to great men,_and bitter denunciations of the exclusive spirit\nand obstinacy of theologians, betray this sentiment, very natural, and\nas it would seem even in some measure contagious, for M. de Careil,\nnow and then making himself one with his hero, suffers himself to be\ngained by it. All good Catholic as he would be, he himself also in his\ntwo introductions regrets that the conciliating spirit and eclectic\nmethods of Leibnitz were not accepted. Conciliation is an excellent\nthing, and pleases me much, some say, pleases me too much, and I have\nbeen more than once accused of carrying in religious matters my love\nfor it a little too far; but there are limits fixed in the very nature\nof things, and which a little common sense will always, I hope,\nprevent me from transgressing. Who says _Church_, says permanence in\nthe truths of faith; and who says _Catholics_, says a union of men who\nthink alike of those truths. Now what, stripped of all ambiguity of\nlanguage, would have been the practical effect of the proposition of\nLeibnitz, if it had been carried into execution? The points of\ndoctrine (and what points! the most important not only for faith but\nalso for reason, affecting the basis as the supreme destiny of the\nsoul) touching the accord of grace and free will, the conditions of\neternal salvation, the mysterious operations of the sacraments, taught\nin the Christian pulpit from the very cradle of Christian antiquity,\nand for more than a hundred years clothed in new and more precise\nforms, would have been at a single dash erased from the catechism and\nsuspended in doubt till the uncertain action of a future council! The\nChurch would have suffered an interrogation point to be placed\nindefinitely before affirmations which she had only the day before\nimposed on the faithful under sanction of an anathema! Meanwhile, the\nfaithful, divided on the very foundations of their belief, would have\nmet before the same altar to repeat the same prayers while\nunderstanding them in contradictory senses, and to receive the same\nsacraments while holding entirely different views of their value and\nefficacy! What in this strange _interim_ would have become of the\ndignity and stability of Catholic doctrine? And what were the utility\nof an external and nominal union which could only cover a real\ninternal difference?\n\nTo sustain himself, if not his firm and piercing genius, in an\nillusion which held him captive and would not relax its grasp,\nLeibnitz had two, only two, arguments in his repertory; but he had the\nart to make them take so many different forms, and to make with these\ntwo arms so many passes and counter-passes of logic and erudition,\nthat more than an entire volume is taken up by M. de Careil with the\nwritings which contain them, and which may be read even now without\nother fatigue than that produced by their continual dazzle. Faithful\nto our task of reporter, we must strip these two arguments of the\nbrilliant garments with which his luxurious {444} eloquence adorns\nthem. Divested of their flesh, so to speak, stripped naked, and\nsubjected to the treatment to which the scholastics subject all\narguments to ascertain their value, these two arguments are very\nsimple and easily comprehended. In the first place, they consist in\ndenying the antiquity, and therefore the authority, of the Council of\nTrent. Leibnitz in this respect only repeats the allegations of all\nProtestant doctors, and which were old even in his time. The number of\nprelates present at that assembly was relatively small, and were taken\nalmost exclusively from the churches of Spain and Italy, and as\nseveral Catholic sovereigns refused to publish the council in their\nrespective states, because some of its disciplinary canons appeared to\nstrike at their temporal rights, there had been no opportunity to heal\nits original defect by the assent of the Church dispersed.\n\nIn the second place, granting that the Council of Trent had the\ncharacter and authority which are questioned, it was in good faith and\nin the sincerity of their hearts that Protestants refused to\nacknowledge them. They in whose names Leibnitz was charged to\nnegotiate gave manifest proofs of that good faith in adhering\nbeforehand to the decision of a future council, and consequently in\nrendering full homage to the principle of ecclesiastical authority.\nNow error, if sincere, is not heresy, and has only its appearance. It\nis only voluntary, deliberate, and obstinate rebellion that makes the\nheretic. A man who submits in advance to the authority of truth, and\nwaits only a knowledge of it to arrange himself under its banner,\ncounts from that moment among those to whom the Church may open her\nmaternal bosom.\n\nThese few sentences embrace--every attentive reader will be convinced\nof it--the substance of the whole argumentation, extended by Leibnitz,\nenriched and enlivened by a thousand piquant expressions, through many\nyears, in a series of more than a hundred letters. It needs fewer\nwords still, after Bossuet, to expose in its poverty and nakedness the\nground-work concealed by the richness and splendor of the ornaments.\n\nWhat mattered it, in reality, to examine whether the Council of Trent\nin its origin or at any moment of its duration had united a full\nrepresentation of the universal Church? To what good to seek if it had\nreceived in its text and in every part official promulgation by the\npolitical power in each sovereign state? One fact was certain, and\nthat was enough. At the time when Leibnitz was writing, the doctrine\ndefined by the Fathers of Trent on all the points controverted between\nCatholics and Protestants was, without a single exception, the law in\nall the churches of the Catholic world. From the basilica of Michael\nAngelo to the humblest village church, under the purple as under the\nserge soutane, every pontiff, every cardinal, every bishop, every\nparish priest, in the confessional as in the pulpit, scrupulously\nconformed to its language. If the consent of the Church is not\nrecognizable by such signs, by what signs could it be recognized? Only\nthey whom Trent condemned persisted in withholding their adhesion to\nits decrees. But Arius protested also against Nicaea, and it has never\ndepended on a few voices raised by spite or chagrin to disturb the\nharmony of symbols with which the concert of nations makes resound the\nvaults of the universal Church.\n\nWhat, again, avails it to allege the good faith, the involuntary\nignorance, of Protestants in resisting the Council of Trent? That good\nfaith, if real, may excuse them in the eyes of God, who reads the\nheart; it opens not the doors of the visible Church, which can admit\nto her external communion only those who make an explicit profession\nof her doctrine. Where, in fact, should we be, what chimera would be\nthe authority of the {445} Church, and in what smoke would vanish the\nobedience of the faithful, if every man could at pleasure retrench\nthis or that article from the _Credo_, under the pretext that he could\nnot in his conscience recognize in it the marks of divine revelation?\nCertainly it is obstinacy in error that makes the heretic, for a just\nGod can punish only the adhesion of the will to error. So in that\nterrible and solemn day which will rend the veil which covers the\ninmost human conscience, not only of those in separated Christian\ncommunions, but even those in the darkness of paganism and idolatry,\nmany souls may be discovered who for their constant fidelity to the\nfeeble gleams of light vouchsafed them, will have deserved to have\napplied to them the merits of the sacrifice of the Son of God. More\nthan one Queen of Saba will come up from the desert to accuse the\nchildren of Abraham of a want of faith, and in that supreme moment the\nChurch will recognize more than one\n\n  \"Enfant qu'en sol sein elle n'a point port\u00e9.\"\n  (Child which she has not brought forth.)\n\nBut it is given to no one to anticipate that hour of mystery and\nrevelation, and so long as here below, and knowing one another only by\nwords and external acts, it is, by our beliefs that we must, at least\nexternally, as to the body, if not to the soul, separate ourselves.\nSole certain guide to salvation, sole confidant of the mysteries of\ngrace, the Church damns not in advance all those whom she excludes,\nany more than she saves all those whom she admits; but she can\nrelinquish to nobody a single one of the articles of faith, nor\nknowingly allow a single farthing to be subtracted from the deposit\nconfided to her keeping.\n\nAgainst these two fixed points, imperturbably sustained by the hand of\nBossuet, the inexhaustible dialectics of Leibnitz, always repulsed,\never returning anew to the charge, beats and breaks, without\nrelaxation, precisely as the waves of the ocean against the rock. The\ncontrast between the flexibility of one of the adversaries and the\nimmobility of the other is about all the interest that, in the midst\nof continual repetitions, is offered by this interminable debate. We\nsubjoin, however, to conclude our analysis, the recital of two\ninventions of doubtful loyalty imagined by Leibnitz to give the change\nto his adversary, and which out of respect for the memory of so great\na man we will call not artifices, but with M. Foucher de Careil simply\nexpedients.\n\nThe first consisted in passing over the head of Bossuet, in order to\ncrush him with the heavy hand of his sovereign, Louis XIV.\n\nEurope knew, or at least believed that it knew, both Bossuet and Louis\nXIV. It knew that the one suffered from temperament, and the other\nfrom principle, hardly any limit to the royal authority. The\nsusceptibility of the monarch and the conscience of the subject being\nof one accord, Leibnitz thought that by disquieting the monarch he\ncould easily bring the subject to reason. So in a note, ably and\nskilfully drawn up, addressed to the Duke of Brunswick, who was to\nsend it to the French king, he represented that the work of peace at\nthe point reached was arrested by an obstacle in reality more\npolitical than religious; that the Council of Trent, which was the\nreal stumbling-block, interested Rome in her struggle with the\ntemporal powers far more than in her controversies with heresy. Hence\nan intervention of the royal authority to remove that obstacle, so far\nfrom being an invasion of the domain of faith, would be only a very\nproper act defensive of the legitimate attributes of the temporal\nauthority, only a continuation and a consequence of the struggle\nagainst ultramontane pretensions instituted and sustained by all the\nparliaments of France, and for the clergy something like a\nsupplementary article to the declaration of 1682. Let the king make\nfelt in this languishing {446} negotiation that hand which nothing in\nEurope can resist. Let him pronounce one of those sovereign words\nwhich have so often fetched an echo even in the sanctuary, or let him\nsimply join to the theologians and bishops, too submissive by their\nquality to the spiritual authority, an ordinary representative of the\nregalian rights--a lawyer, a statesman, or a magistrate, and all will\nspeedily return to order, and march rapidly toward a solution.\nNumerous adulations of the wisdom of the king, and even of his\ntheological knowledge, followed by honeyed insinuations against the\nBishop of Meaux, terminate this singular appeal to the secular arm,\nthe discovery of which will hardly count among the titles to glory of\nphilosophy, and which, moreover, was no more successful than\nestimable.\n\nThe king, old, weary of those religious discussions which were the\nplague of his reign, and even to his last days the chastisement of his\nintolerable despotism, communicated the note to Bossuet without\ncomment, perhaps even without having paid it the least attention.\nBossuet, strong in the solidity of his arguments, declared himself\nperfectly willing to receive such lay associate as should be chosen,\nand Leibnitz, having no reason after that to desire what Bossuet so\nlittle dreaded, the proposition fell through, and left no trace.\n\nThe other snare was not less adroit, but more innocent. In his\nattachment to his favorite plan, Leibnitz could not persuade himself\nthat it could possibly be resisted by any reasons drawn from\nconscience alone. The party taken, the point of honor, scholastic\nobstinacy, were, it seemed to him, the principal reasons for rejecting\nhis plan. It was with Catholics a matter of vanity not to yield to\ndemands made by Protestants. But what they refused from the hand of a\nstranger, they would, perhaps, accept more willingly from the hand of\na friend, a member of their own communion. A pious fraud would relieve\nthe plan of all suspicion of heresy. A consultation, for example, of a\nsupposed Catholic doctor, who should show himself favorable to it,\nwould, perhaps, be all that was required to disarm prejudice, and the\nflag would pass the merchandise. The great philosopher, therefore, set\nhimself at work. Assuming the paternal tone and authoritative air of a\nCatholic priest, taking care that no expression smacking of heresy\nshould escape his lips, playing a part, so to say, with all the\ngravity in the world, and, without a single smile, produced in eight\nor ten pages that little document which he entitled _Judicium Doctoris\nCatholici_, and which, proceeding from principles in appearance the\nmost Catholic, and advancing in ways the most orthodox, arrived at the\nfoot of the Council of Trent itself, to mine in silence its very\nfoundation. If M. de Careil had not this time conscientiously printed\nthe entire text of this discovery, we should find it very hard to\nbelieve that a mind so great could descend to such a puerile game, and\nof which we seek in vain the fruit he evidently hoped. With whom,\nthen, did Leibnitz imagine he had to do? Do people disguise their\nideas, as they counterfeit their voices? Is the Church a citadel so\npoorly guarded that one can enter it by stratagem, by simply turning\nhis cockade or dissembling his uniform? Took he Bossuet for an\nimbecile sentinel who could be imposed upon by passports so evidently\nforged?\n\nFor the honor of Leibnitz and of philosophy we would pass over in\nsilence this crotchet of misplaced gaiety, if M. de Careil did not\nforce us to pause on it for a moment longer before including, by\nattaching to it an undue importance, by pretending to see in it the\nsolution of a literary problem, which we formerly made a subject of\nsome observations. A few words will dispose of this incident, which\nbeside is not wholly foreign to the principal object of our present\nreflections.\n\n{447}\n\nBeyond the controversy with Bossuet, which, during the lifetime of\nLeibnitz, made, in fact, very little noise, and the partial\npublication of which was already ancient, there exists, as is known,\nwholly in the handwriting of that great man, a small work on religious\nquestions, which remained unknown up to his death and even for a long\ntime after, and which was discovered and published only at the\nbeginning of the present century. When this little work, baptized, I\nknow not by whom, _Systema Theologicum_, for the first time saw the\nlight, it was perceived, not without surprise, that on all the points,\neven those on which in his known writings Leibnitz was the furthest\nremoved from the doctrines of the Church, his conclusions conformed to\nthe purest Catholic teaching. From that arose a great discussion among\nthe learned, all astonished, some agreeably, some disagreeably, to\nfind in Leibnitz this posthumous and unexpected evidence of orthodoxy.\nCommentaries, conjectures, explanations, were called forth in\nabundance, often ingenious, but rarely impartial, each writer\ninterpreting the tract after his own manner--Protestants anxious to\nkeep Leibnitz in their ranks, and Catholics intent on conquering him\nfor theirs. I myself hazarded some conjectures on the subject, but\ntimidly, as was proper on such a matter, and without much expectation\nof making them prevail, the first to acknowledge their insufficiency,\nand persuaded that the existence of the _Systema Theologicum_, like\nthe birth-place of Homer, and the name of the author of the\n_Imitatione Christi_, would remain a sort of biblical quadrature of\nthe circle, destined to supply for ever to the learned a subject of\ndiscussion, and to students a thesis.\n\nIf we believe M. de Careil, the mystery is now unveiled; the new\ndiscovery explains the old; the _Judicium Doctoris Catholici_ is the\nkey to the _Systema Theologicum_, of which it is substantially only a\nrough sketch, and the first edition. In the one as in the other,\nCatholicity is only a borrowed vestment, momentarily worn by Leibnitz\nto disguise his uniform of a negotiator. It was a _ruse_ not of war\nbut of diplomacy. On the plan of pacification the success of which he\nwas bent on securing, Leibnitz, in order to beguile the malevolent, by\na premeditated design impressed pressed on it the Catholic seal\ninstead of the Protestant stamp. He was no more a Catholic when he\nwrote the _Systema Theologicum_ than he was when he prepared, to\ndeceive the vigilant eye of Bossuet, the _Judicium Doctoris\nCatholici_; he only wished to appear one in order to secure a full\nhearing for the conditions on which he could become a Catholic.\n[Footnote 67]\n\n  [Footnote 67: A similar view, in some respects, to this is taken and\n  urged with much plausibility by Dr. Guhrauer In his German work\n  which formed the basis of J. M. Mackie's \"Life of Godfrey William\n  von Leibnitz,\" published at Boston by Gould, Kendall & Lincoln,\n  1845; and the refutation of it, indirectly given by the Prince de\n  Broglie in the text, is by no means unwelcome.--THE TRANSLATOR.]\n\nThe natural consequence of such a supposition has been for M. de\nCareil to make the _Systema Theologicum_ figure by the side of the\n_Judicium Doctoris,_at such a date as he judged the most convenient,\nfor example, among the documents of the negotiation of which he was\ndrawing up a statement (_proc\u00e8s verbal_). But since one of these\ndocuments was, in his view, only the detailed reproduction of the\nother, it seems to us he should have placed them in face of each\nother, so as to facilitate their comparison. We regret that he has not\nso placed them, for we are convinced that even he himself, in\nre-reading them in connection for the press, would have had no\ndifficulty in perceiving that the assimilation imagined has not the\nleast foundation in fact. Although signed by the same hand, the two\ndocuments, which he would confound, do not in any manner whatever bear\nwitness to the same state of mind, or to having been both designed to\naid a common object. Everything in them differs, not merely in tone,\nwhich in one is {448} grave and full of emotion, subtle and light in\nthe other, but, above all, in the plan and very substance of the\nargument. The _Judicium_ is a series of arguments, very brief, which\ntend directly to a foregone conclusion, namely, the pacification of\nthe schism, and as the means of effecting it, the suspension of the\nCouncil of Trent. Not an idea, not a word, that does not tend directly\nto this conclusion, nor the slightest effort to dissemble it. It is a\nskilful, but adroit pleading against the Council of Trent. The\n_Systema_, on the contrary, is a detailed exposition, often eloquent,\nof the entire Catholic faith, point by point, dogma after dogma, of\nthose which Protestants reject as well as of those which they admit\nwith the Church. And what authority does this dogmatic exposition\nappeal to as its support? The oftenest is to the Council of Trent\nitself, openly invoked, on the ground that the voice of the universal\nChurch is the invariable rule of faith. The Council of Trent in every\nline is called holy, venerable, and sometimes even _the Council_, by\nway of eminence. After this, what place would M. de Careil give to\nthis writing in a negotiation, the precise object of which was to\nefface that council from the memory of the faithful, and the annals of\nthe Church? A singular pleasure assuredly Leibnitz must have found in\nbelying himself, in playing a ridiculous farce, and of doubtful\nmorality, only to end in yielding to his opponent the ground disputed\nbetween them!\n\nTill M. de Careil responds to this difficulty, to which we had\npreviously invited his attention, we must continue to guard ourselves\nagainst confounding works so dissimilar in their tone, design, and\nsubstance as the _Judicium_ and the _Systema_, and continue also to\nsee in the one only a pastime without value, which ought not to have\noccupied even the waste moments of a great man, and still less cause\nthe loss of that time so well filled by his editor; and in the other,\non the contrary, the expression of a sincere conviction, very proper\nto throw light on the nature of the beliefs of the soul that conceived\nit. It is of the state of that soul, and of those beliefs, that it\nremains for us to say a few words, by attempting to enlighten the\nconfused impressions produced by the voluminous papers of which we\nhave just finished the analysis.\n\n\n\nII.\n\nThree things, I think, must have struck those who have had the\npatience to follow me in this long exposition: 1. The singularly\nnarrow ground on which Leibnitz consented to place the negotiation; 2.\nThis perseverance in pursuing it; 3. This resistance to bringing it to\na conclusion. Cantoned in very narrow quarters, he maintained himself\nthere with obstinacy, reanimating the combat whenever it slackened,\nbut escaping from every solution whenever it approached.\n\nThey, for example, who, attracted by the antithesis of the two great\nnames, should imagine that they were about to hear debated between the\nlast of the Fathers and the ancestor of modern philosophy the great\nquestion everywhere agitated in the sixteenth century, and on which\nthe future of society depends--they who should expect to see a mortal\nstruggle in the listed field between a champion of free inquiry and a\nrepresentative of authority, would, I fear, be greatly disappointed.\nNot a word of the mutual relations of faith and reason, of the rights\nof private judgment, or of the principle of authority, is, I think,\nmet with in the whole twelve hundred pages comprised in these two\nvolumes; and for the very simple reason, that the terms to which the\ndiscussion was restricted raised no question of the sort between the\ntwo opponents. Faithful to the constant traditions of the Church, and\nimbued with the rules of the Cartesian method, Bossuet contested none\nof the prerogatives of {449} reason in the order of our natural\npowers; Christian by profession, Leibnitz recognized in faith the\nright to reveal and to impose on man knowledge superior to\nnature--pretending to become and even to be a Catholic _in potentia_\nand _in voto_, Leibnitz declared himself ready to seek the rule of\nfaith, not in the mute text of a book, but in the living voice of an\norganized Church, and this Church he distinctly acknowledged to be in\nthe hierarchy of pastors whose head is the Roman Pontiff. Consequently\nthere was and could be no debate either on the existence or the\ncomposition, the mode of action or the seat, of the ecclesiastical\nauthority. There was between them only a simple and humble question of\nfact--of history. Certainly the Church has the plenary right to be\nheard and obeyed when she speaks; but did she speak in the Council of\nTrent? The contest Leibnitz sustained went no further than this, and\nrose no higher. Persons in our day, curious in theology and\nmetaphysics, those who take an interest in reconciling free will with\ngrace, or the foreknowledge of God, those who like to carry either the\ntorch of dogma or the scalpel of analysis into the very depths of the\nsoul, will find very little satisfaction in reading them. None of the\npsychological or moral problems raised by the Reformation, and with\nwhich it had troubled men's minds, and filled the schools with the\n_serf_-will of Luther, nor the foreordination of Calvin, nor the\nsubtle distinctions in regard to the intrinsic nature of moral evil\nand the effects of original sin, obtained from Leibnitz, from first to\nlast, even so much as a simple allusion. On the concurrence of the\ndivine action and that of the human will in the work of moral progress\nand the hope of eternal salvation, he thought and spoke as the Church.\nHis criticisms affect the form of the Council of Trent rather than the\nsubstance of its decisions. It is the competency of the court to which\nhe pleads, rather than its decrees. Aside from the canon of the\nScriptures, which, for the Old Testament, he would restrict to the\nHebrew books properly so-called, and exclude therefrom the books in\nGreek transmitted only by the Septuagint, I am aware of no dogmatic\npoint, defined at Trent, which creates with him any serious\ndifficulty. And even on this subject of the canonicity of the sacred\nbooks, he has nothing that resembles that audacious criticism to which\nRichard Simon, in the seventeenth century, opened the way, and which,\na very few years after, all Germany was to rush into and level and\nbroaden. It was not the criticism of our days, which pretends to an\nimprescriptible right over the entire text of the Scriptures, and to\nserve as the ground of all certainty, moral and philosophical. The\ncriticism of Leibnitz takes not such lofty airs. It is restricted to\nsome accessory parts of the Old Testament, and presumes not to go\nbeyond. And when Bossuet, adopting a method familiar to logicians\n(though not always prudently employed), would push it to the extreme,\nto absurdity even, and prove that its principles logically carried out\nwould ruin entirely the Holy Scriptures, Leibnitz recoils, frightened\nat the last word of his own logic.\n\nLeibnitz, having never been accused of a narrow or timid mind, of any\nlack of boldness in his principles or of force in deducing from them\ntheir logical consequences, it is necessary to believe that if he\navoided the debate between the Reformation and the Church under its\ngrander aspects, it was solely because he was separated from Catholic\nbeliefs only by the narrow trench which he himself has traced, and\nbecause his own Protestantism, so to speak, was neither longer nor\nbroader. Certainly he can be very little of a Protestant who\nacknowledges all the councils _less_ one alone, and even all the\ndecrees of that one save a single exception--who speaks as a Catholic\nof the Church, of tradition, of the priesthood, and of the sacraments.\nThat to these sentiments, so near to those of a Catholic, {450}\nLeibnitz joined the sincere desire to take the final step; that,\nhaving reached the threshold, he was strongly pressed to cross it, we\nmust believe, in order not only not to throw doubt on his often\nrepeated protestations, which have every appearance of being made in\ngood faith, but to account for his perseverance, meritoriously\ndisplayed on more than one occasion to sustain or revive, against all\nhope, the flickering flame of the languishing negotiation. Neither the\ngrowing coldness of the powers of the earth, who after having started\nit abandoned it midway, nor the haughtiness of Bossuet, a little\ncontemptuous, which exposed without any mercy the vanity of his\nprojects, succeeded in discouraging him. He was proof against all\ndisgusts; he knocked at every door, and the crooked methods he adopted\nto open or turn them, not according to the rules of loyal warfare,\nattest at least an ardent desire to enter the place. Yet, in spite of\nthis agreement on principles, this heartfelt desire for union, and the\nfeeble distance which remained for him to traverse to become a\nCatholic, Leibnitz never in his life traversed it. The end of the\ndiscussion found him just where he was at its beginning, always\ndebating, never advancing. When the reasoning of Bossuet became urgent\nand victorious (and it will be admitted that with the choice of\nground, and the advantages conceded him, one needs not to be a Bossuet\nto conquer)--whenever it took a turn _ad hominem_, and passed from the\ngeneral interests of Protestantism to the particular duties of\nindividual conscience--whenever the question was no longer of\nconcluding a treaty of peace between two hostile powers, but of\narticulating the submission of a believer, Leibnitz drew back, and\nescaped. The tone becomes sharp and sour, recriminations are mingled\nwith reasoning, subterfuges retract the concessions. Broad and easy in\nregard to principles, he haggles at consequences. What are we to think\nof that alternation, of those constant advances followed by as\nconstant retreats? What was the after-thought back of the exterior\nmotives of that intermittent resistance? For no one can be persuaded\nthat a man of a serious character, and a mind which stops not at\ntrifles, admitting in the outset the necessity and the right of an\ninfallible authority in matters of faith, could remain a Protestant,\nthat is, a rebel to that acknowledged authority, because the bishops,\nunited at Trent, admitted _Ecclesiasticus_ and _Macchabees_ into the\ncanon of the Scriptures.\n\nThe moral problem being curious and complex, every one has a right to\noffer his own solution. I formerly, in this periodical, offered mine,\nand I shall hold to it till a better and a more satisfactory solution\nis discovered. In my judgment, all is explained, if we suppose that\nLeibnitz became a Catholic in intellect and by study, yet remained a\nProtestant by force of habit, interest, and self-love. The first part\nis not even a supposition, but a fact. For, waiving the disputed value\nof the _Systema Theologicum_, the documents which we have before us\ncontain alone avowals amply sufficient to prove it. When one admits\nthe concurrence of free will and the divine will in the work of\nsalvation, the mysterious virtue and efficacy of the sacraments, the\ntransubstantiation of the elements in the eucharist--when one\nrecognizes the sacred character of the priesthood, the Primacy by\ndivine right of the bishops of Rome, and, above all, the infallibility\nof the Church (and Leibnitz accords all this to Bossuet, always by\nimplication, and often under the form of explicit concession), one is\nwillingly or unwillingly a Catholic, or at least has lost all right\nnot to be one. In such a case the defect is in the will, not the\nintellect. Let nothing be said here of invincible ignorance, for never\nwas there ignorance more vincible, more completely conquered,\nsubjected, drowned in floods of light, than in the case of Leibnitz.\n\n{451}\n\nRemains, then, only the second part of the hypothesis, which I confess\nis less clearly demonstrated, as well as less charitable; but it\nperfectly meets the facts in the case, and perhaps, when the first\npart is once conceded, it, better than any other explanation, saves\nthe dignity and loyalty of Leibnitz.\n\nIf it was true, as we hold, that Leibnitz, agreeing with the Church in\nall the fundamental principles of the Catholic faith, was retained\noutside of her communion by the fear of losing the high position which\nhe had gained in the ranks of Protestants and with their princes,\nnothing more simple than that, to satisfy at the same time his\nconscience and his interests, he should labor earnestly and\nperseveringly to effect a reconciliation of his party and his\nprotectors with the Church. If it was true that he felt himself bound\nby strong and respectable ties which attach men to the monuments, and\nto the forms of worship, which received their first vows and dictated\ntheir first prayers, it is very natural that he should hesitate to go\nalone, to take his seat in churches unknown to his childhood, and that\nhe should, instead, seek at first to reconstruct the broken down\naltars of the temples of the middle ages which had seen his birth. If\nfinally the _proud weakness_ attached to the royalty of science as to\nevery other royalty, made him dread to change the part of an\naccredited doctor of one party for that of a penitent and neophyte of\nanother, who can be astonished that, to spare himself the painful\ntransition, he should wish to pass out with arms, baggage, and all the\nhonors of war, instead of submitting to conditions, and enter into the\nChurch with head erect, followed by a retinue of nations, and have\ntherefore a right to as much gratitude as he gave of submission?\n\nThe persistence of Leibnitz in a forlorn negotiation finds in this at\nleast a probable explanation. His insistence on points of little\nimportance is less easy to understand. These points, of which he knew\nwell what to think, are those without which, according to his\nknowledge of the Protestant courts and schools, no peace was possible\neither to be concluded or even proposed. He knew how completely and\nirrevocably Protestant princes and doctors were pledged by their word\nand their self-love (_amour-propre_) against the Council of Trent,\nfrom which they fancied they had been unjustly excluded. Many of them\nwere on the point of reaching by their own reason and study dogmatic\nconclusions analogous to those of Trent; but the date and seal of that\ncouncil affixed to any formulary presented for their signature made\nthem instinctively recoil. It was in their name much more than in his\nown, or rather to manage their pretensions much more than to\ntranquillize his own conscience, as he allows us in more than one\nplace to perceive, that he insisted with invincible obstinacy that\nthis obstacle to peace must be removed. He acted as a negotiator who\nfollows his instructions and speaks for others, much more than as a\ndoctor who decides, or a philosopher who discusses, on his own\naccount. In the new council whose convocation he called for, he\nthought all low in himself, the dogmas of Trent, after an apparent\ndiscussion, would be re-established on the more solid basis of a more\ngeneral agreement, and not having that quick sense of the dignity of\nthe Church which belongs only to her children, he felt no repugnance\nto the adoption of expedients borrowed from political prudence, and\nwholly out of place in the Church of God.\n\nThus may be resolved, it seems to me, in the most simple manner in the\nworld, the apparent contradictions in the conduct of Leibnitz, and be\ndiscovered the secret of his obstinacy in protracting a fruitless\ndiscussion, instead of either candidly breaking it off or boldly\nbringing it to its logical conclusion. He had postponed the day of his\npersonal conversion to the day constantly hoped, constantly announced\nas near, of a general reconciliation. {452} It would have cost him too\nmuch to move before that day came; but it cost him hardly less to own\nto himself that come it would not. Hence, with him, a prolonged state\nof indecision, which, as human life is short, and death always takes\nus by surprise, had naturally no termination but that of his life\nitself. We in this have, I think, explained that other problem\npresented by the _Systema Theologicum_. If we have rightly seized his\nstate of mind, nothing was more natural than that we should find among\nthe papers of Leibnitz a profession of Catholic faith, and there can\nbe nothing astonishing in the fact that it remained unfinished and\nunpublished. From the moment in which the doctrines contained in that\ntract became his real belief, it was very natural that he should\nreduce them to writing, and, from the moment when he had subjected the\npublication of his conversion to a condition always hoped for, but\nnever realized, it was more natural still that he should keep the\nwriting by him as the witness of the fact of his conversion. At what\npoint of his life, therefore, did he confide to paper the interior\nstate of his mind? It is impossible, but at the same time wholly\nunimportant, to determine. Probably it was in one of those moments of\nsincerity and recollection in which the soul, detaching herself from\nall worldly considerations, places herself face to face with the\nproblems of her eternal destiny; or, indeed, may have been at a time\nwhen, in the vein of hope, and believing that he was on the eve of\nconcluding ecclesiastical peace, he wished to draw up before-hand, in\nreadiness for the event, its manifesto and programme. Little imports\nit. As soon as he thought as a Catholic, there were a thousand\ncircumstances in his life in which he must have spoken and written as\nhe thought. The moment in which he would have expressed himself with\nthe least frankness was most likely that in which, being made the\nplenipotentiary of the Protestants, and charged to treat for them, he\nfelt it his duty to put forth in their name pretensions to which in\nhis own heart he attached no importance. Leibnitz the negotiator must\nnecessarily have been more difficult, and set a higher price on his\nsubmission, than Leibnitz the philosopher, so that, in opposition to\nthe assertion of M. de Careil, his sincere work would be the _Systema\nTheologicum:_ his diplomatic work would be the correspondence of which\nwe have made the analysis.\n\nThe advantage of Bossuet in the debate is that in his case no such\nquestions can be raised, and no such subtle distinctions be called\nfor. Bossuet the bishop and Bossuet the diplomatist are one and the\nsame person, and speak one and the same language. Knowing perfectly\nwhence he starts, whither he can go, what he is permitted to abandon,\nand what he must hold fast; very liberal in the part which he gives to\nreason, very precise in what he asserts in the name of authority;\nmarking with a steady hand the limits of what can be changed in the\nChurch, and what is as immutable as she herself, he has no occasion,\nwhen he has once laid down his principles, to withdraw any concession,\nor to shrink from any logical consequence; possessing an erudition\nless varied, an argumentative ability less flexible than that of\nLeibnitz, Bossuet, in his letters, carries the day by his rectitude\nand precision. We say, however, and without wrong to the great\nprelate, that his cause was too nearly gained in advance. All the\nprinciples are conceded him in the outset, and the slightest logical\npressure suffices to force out the necessary conclusions. Leibnitz\nfound at times his hand heavy, and complained of it; but he himself\narmed that powerful hand with the instrument which it set at work,\nwithout management indeed, but also without forcing its action.\n\nThis privileged situation, which gives to Bossuet his preponderance in\nthe struggle, takes, however, from that struggle a large part of the\ninterest which otherwise it might have had for {453} us, and deprives\nus of the instruction that might have been derived from it. We\nassuredly have little chance of seeing pitted against each other\ncombatants of their stature, and less still, if it be possible, of\nseeing a debate carried on under like conditions. There is no longer a\nBossuet in the Church; but still less, perhaps, are there Protestants\nand philosophers who, like Leibnitz, recognize infallibility in\nprinciple, and the inspiration of three-fourths of the canon of\nScripture. That kind of enemies is gone, and left no heirs. Those whom\nwe now encounter make to our forces a less stiff resistance. The very\nimage and shadow of authority have disappeared from the Protestantism\nof our age, each day more and more dissipated in the thousand shades\nof private judgment. With unbounded free inquiry and unbridled\ncriticism, controversy can no longer find a starting-point in any\ndogma or in any text, and, in fact, has ceased to be possible. The\nenemy escapes by the want of a body to be grappled with. Happily,\nanother sort of combat can be waged, another sort of victory be hoped\nfor. Doctrines, remote from one another, to be disputed in their\nprinciples, may still be compared in their effects. It is henceforth\nby their respective fruits, rather than by arguments, by their\nrespective action on society and on souls, that, before an uncertain\npublic, must be judged the principle of authority in matters of faith\nand that of private judgment. On this new soil, as on that of pure\nintelligence, God permits the efforts of man to concur in the triumph\nof his cause. If he wills, then, for the honor of his Church, to raise\nup Bossuets to take his cause in hand, there ought to be, for the\nhonor of her nature, Leibnitzes to meet them, and measure themselves\nwith them.\n\nPRINCE ALBERT DE BROGLIE.\n\n--------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\n\nSAINTS OF THE DESERT.\n\nBY THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D.\n\n\n1. Abbot Antony said: I saw the nets of the enemy lying spread out\nover the earth; and I cried out, \"Alas, who shall escape these?\" And a\nvoice answered, \"Humility.\"\n\n\n2. It is told of Blessed Arsenius, that on Saturday evening he turned\nhis back on the setting sun, and, stretching out his arms toward\nheaven, did not cease to pray till the sun rose before his face in the\nmorning.\n\n\n\n3. Abbot Agatho was zealous to fulfil every duty.\n\nIf he crossed a ferry, he was the first to take an oar.\n\nIf he had a visit from his brethren, his hand was first, after prayer,\nto set out the table.\n\nFor he was full of divine love.\n\n\n4. The novice of Abbot Sisoi often had to say to him, \"Rise, father;\nlet us eat.\" He used to make answer, \"Are you sure we did not eat just\nnow, my son?\"\n\nThe novice replied, \"Quite sure, my father.\" Then the old man said,\n\"Well, if we did not eat, come, let us eat.\"\n\n\n5. A president came to see Abbot Simon; and some clerks, who got to\nhim first, said to him, \"Now, father, get ready! Here comes the\npresident for your blessing; he has heard a great deal about you.\"\n\n\"_I_ will get ready,\" said the abbot. So he took some bread and\ncheese, and began munching at the door of his cell.\n\n\"So _this_ is your solitary!\" said the president, and went away again.\n\n------\n{454}\n\n\nFrom St. James's Magazine.\n\n'TIS BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.\n\n  Has sorrow cast thy spirit down,\n    And crush'd thy hopes Elysian?\n  Be not disheartened by her frown.\n    Nor heedless of thy mission.\n  But go forth gaily on thy way--\n    The bonds of care dissever,\n  And pluck the roses while you may;\n    'Tis better late than never!\n\n  Doth love consume with pensive woe\n    Thy heart whence hope has fleeted--\n  As sunbeams melt away the snow\n    They never could have heated?\n  Come, wreathe thy brow with laurel-leaf--\n    Be wise as well as clever,\n  And learn a nobler lore than grief;\n    'Tis better late than never!\n\n  For life's a stand-up fight, I ween.\n    With poverty and labor,\n  And many a hero there has been\n    Who never drew a sabre.\n  So buckle bravely to the strife.\n    How perilous soever.\n  And win some glory for thy life;\n    'Tis better late than never!\n\n  Or hast thou, worn in folly's wars,\n    Forgot the land that bloometh\n  Beyond the cedars and the stars.\n    Where sorrow never cometh?\n  Oh, do not for a phantom fly\n    From Paradise for ever,\n  But turn thy trusting eyes on high;\n    'Tis better late than never!\n\n  GREAT LORD OF HEAVEN! CREATION'S KING!\n    Whose vineyard open lies,\n  Thou deemest not a worthless thing\n    Man's tardy sacrifice;\n  Still sanctify the work we've wrought,\n    And every fond endeavor.\n  This blessed creed thyself hast taught--\n    'TIS BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!\n\n--------\n{455}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nCONSTANCE SHERWOOD:\n\nAN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.\n\nBY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nMy first thought, when Muriel had announced to me the coming of the\npursuivants in search of Mistress Ward, was to thank God she was\nbeyond their reach, and with so much prudence had left us in ignorance\nof her abode. Then making haste to dress--for I apprehended these\nofficers should visit every chamber in the house--I quickly repaired\nto my aunt's room, who was persuaded by Muriel that they had sent for\nto take an inventory of the furniture, which she said was a very\ncommendable thing to do, but she wished they had waited until such\ntime as she had had her breakfast. By an especial mercy, it so\nhappened that these officers--or, leastways, two out of three of\nthem--were quiet, well-disposed men, who exercised their office with\nas much mildness as could be hoped for, and rather diminished by their\nbehavior than in any way increased the hardships of this invasion of\ndomestic privacy. We were all in turns questioned touching Mistress\nWard's abode except my aunt, whose mental infirmity was pleaded for to\nexempt her from this ordeal. The one officer who was churlish said,\n\"If the lady's mind be unsound, 'tis most like she will let the cat\nout of the bag,\" and would have forced questions on her; but the\nothers forcibly restrained him from it, and likewise from openly\ninsulting us, when we denied all knowledge of the place she had\nresorted to. Howsoever, he vented his displeasure in scornful looks\nand cutting speeches. They carried away sundry prayer-books, and\nnotably the \"Spiritual Combat,\" which Mrs. Engerfield had gifted me\nwith, when I slept at her house at Northampton, the loss of which\ngrieved me not a little, but yet not so much as it would have done at\nanother time, for my thoughts were then wholly set on discovering who\nhad betrayed Mistress Ward's intervention, and what had been Mr.\nWatson's fate, and if Basil also had been implicated. I addressed\nmyself to the most seemly of the three men, and asked him what her\noffence had been.\n\n\"She assisted,\" he answered, \"in the escape of a prisoner from\nBridewell.\"\n\n\"In what manner?\" I said, with so much of indifferency as I could\nassume.\n\n\"By the smuggling of a rope into his cell,\" he answered, \"which was\nfound yet hanging unto his window, and which none other than that\npestilent woman could have furnished him with.\"\n\nAlas! this was what I feared would happen, when she first formed this\nproject; but she had assured us Mr. Watson would let himself down,\nholding the two ends of the cord in his hands, and so would be enabled\nto carry it away with him after he had got down, and so it would never\nbe discovered by what means he had made his escape.\n\n\"And this prisoner hath then escaped?\" I said, in a careless manner.\n\n\"Marry, out of one cage,\" he answered; \"but I'll warrant you he is by\nthis time lodged in a more safe dungeon, and with such bracelets on\nhis hands and feet as shall not suffer him again to cheat the\ngallows.\"\n\nI dared not question him further; {456} and finding nothing more to\ntheir purpose, the pursuivants retired.\n\nWhen Mr. Congleton, Muriel, and I afterward met in the parlor, none of\nus seemed disposed to speak. There be times when grief is loquacious,\nbut others when the weight of apprehension doth check speech. At last\nI broke this silence by such words as \"What should now be done?\" and\n\"How can we learn what hath occurred?\"\n\nThen Mr. Congleton turned toward me, and with much gravity and unusual\nvehemency,\n\n\"Constance,\" quoth he, \"when Margaret Ward resolved on this bold\naction, which in the eyes of some savored of rashness, I warned her to\ncount the cost before undertaking it, for that it was replete with\nmany dangers, and none should embark in it which was not prepared to\nmeet with a terrible death. She told me thereupon that for many past\nyears her chief desire had been to end her life by such a death, if it\nshould be for the sake of religion, and that the day she should be\nsentenced to it would prove the joyfullest she had yet known. This she\nsaid in an inflamed manner, and I question not but it was her true\nthinking. I do not gainsay the merit of this pining, though I could\nwish her virtue had been of a commoner sort. But such being her aim,\nher choice, and desire, I am not of opinion that I should now disturb\nthe peace of my wife's helpless days or mine own either (who have not,\nI cry God mercy for it, the same wish to suffer the pains reserved to\nrecusants, albeit I hope in him he would give me strength, to do so if\nconscience required it), not to speak of you and Muriel and my other\ndaughters, for the sake of unavailing efforts in her so desperate\ncase, who hath made her own bed (and I deny it not to be a glorious\none) and, as she hath made it, must lie on it. So I will betake myself\nto prayer for her, which she said was the whole scope of the favor she\ndesired from her friends, if she fell into trouble, and dreaded\nnothing so much as any other dealings in her behalf; and if Mr. Roper,\nor Brian Lacy, or young Rookwood, have any means by which to send her\nmoney for her convenience in prison, I will give it; but other\nmeasures I will not take, nor by any open show of interest in her fate\ndraw down suspicions on us as parties and abettors in her so-called\ntreason.\"\n\nNeither of us replied to this speech; and after that our short meal\nwas ended, Muriel went to her mother's chamber, and I set myself to\nconsider what I should do; for to sit and wait in this terrible\nignorance of what had happened seemed an impossible thing. So taking\nmy maid with me, albeit it rained a little, I walked to Kate's house,\nand found she and her husband had left it an hour before for to return\nto Mr. Benham's seat. Polly and Sir Ralph, who slept there also, were\nyet abed, and had given orders, the servant said, not to be disturbed.\nSo I turned sorrowfully from the door, doubting whither to apply\nmyself; for Mr. Roper lived at Richmond, and Mr. and Mrs. Wells were\nabroad. I thought to go to Mr. Hodgson, whose boatman had drawn Basil\ninto this enterprise, and was standing forecasting which way to turn,\nwhen all of a sudden who should I see but Basil himself coming down\nthe lane toward me! I tried to go for to meet him, but my legs failed\nme, and I was forced to lean against my maid till he came up to us and\ndrew my arm in his. Then I felt strong again, and bidding her to go\nhome, walked a little way with him. The first words he said were:\n\n\"Mr. Watson is safe, but hath broke his leg and his arm. Know you\naught of Mistress Ward?\"\n\n\"There is a warrant out against her,\" I answered, and told him of the\npursuivants coming to seek for her at our house.\n\n\"God shield,\" he said, \"she be not apprehended! for sentence of death\nwould then be certainly passed upon her.\"\n\n{457}\n\n\"Oh, Basil,\" I exclaimed, \"why was the cord left?\"\n\n\"Ah, the devil would have it,\" he began; but chiding himself, lifted\noff his hat, and said, \"Almighty God did so permit it to happen that\nthis mishap occurred. But I see,\" he subjoined, \"you are not fit to\nwalk or stand, sweetheart. Come into Mr. Wells's house. Albeit they\nare not at home, we may go and sit in the parlor; and it may be more\nprudent I should not be  seen abroad to-day. I pray God Mr. Watson and\nI will sail to-night for Calais.\"\n\nSo we rang the bell at the door of Mr. Wells's house; and his\nhousekeeper, who opened it, smiled when she saw Basil, for he was a\ngreat favorite with her, as, indeed, methinks he always was with all\nkinds of people. She showed us into Mr. Wells's study, which she said\nwas the most comfortable room and best aired in the house, for that,\nfor the sake of the books, she did often light a fire in it; and\nnothing would serve her but she must do so now. And then she asked if\nwe had breakfasted, and Basil said i' faith he had not, and should be\nvery glad of somewhat to eat, if she would fetch it for him. So when\nthe fire was kindled--and methought it never would burn, the wood was\nso damp--she went away for a little while, and he then told me the\nhaps of the past night.\n\n\"Tom Price (Hodgson's boatman) and I,\" he said, \"rowed his boat close\nonto the shore, near to the prison, and laid there under the cover of\nsome penthouses which stood betwixt the river and the prison's wall.\nWhen the clock struck twelve, I promise you my heart began to beat as\nany girl's, I was so frightened lest Mr. Watson should not have\nreceived the cord, or that his courage should fail. Howsoever, in less\nthan one minute I thought I perceived something moving about one of\nthe windows, and then a body appeared sitting at first on the ledge,\nbut afterward it turned itself round, and, facing the wall, sank down\nslowly, hanging on by a cord.\"\n\n\"Oh, Basil!\" I exclaimed, \"could you keep on looking?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" he answered; \"as if mine eyes should start out of my head. He\ncame down slowly, helping himself, I ween, with his feet against the\nwall; but when he got to about twenty or thirty feet, I guess it to\nhave been, from the roof of the shed, he stopped of a sudden, and hung\nmotionless. 'He is out of breath,' I said to Tom. 'Or the rope proves\ntoo short,' quoth he. We watched him for a moment. He swung to and\nfro, then rested again, his feet against the wall. 'Beshrew me, but I\nwill climb on to that roof myself, and get nigh to him,' I whispered\nto Tom, and was springing out of the boat, when we heard a noise more\nloud than can be thought of. 'I'll warrant you he hath fallen on the\nplanks,' quoth Tom. 'Marry, but we will pick him up then,' quoth I;\nand found myself soon on the edge of the roof, which was broken in at\none place, and, looking down, I thought I saw him lying on the ground.\nI cried as loud as I durst, 'Mr. Watson, be you there? Hist! Are you\nhurt? Speak if you can.' Methinks he was stunned by the fall, for he\ndid not answer; so there remained nothing left to do but to leap\nmyself through the opening into the shed, where I found him with his\neyes shut, and moaning. But when I spake to him he came to himself,\n'and tried to rise, but could not stand, one of his legs being much\nhurt. 'Climb on to my back, reverend sir,' I said 'and with God's help\nwe shall get out.' Howsoever, the way out did not appear manifest, and\nmostly with another beside one's self to carry. But glancing round the\ninside of the shed, I perceived a door, the fastening of which, when I\nshook it, roughly enough I promise you, gave way; and the boat lay,\nGod be praised, close to it outside. I gave one look up to the prison,\nand saw lights flashing in some of the windows. 'They be astir,' I\nsaid to Tom. 'Hist! lend a hand, man, and take the reverend gentleman\nfrom off my back and into {458} the boat.' Mr. Watson uttered a groan.\nHe most have suffered cruel pain; for, as we since found, his leg and\nalso his arm were broken, and he looked more dead than alive.\n\n\"We began to row as fast as we could; but now he, coming to himself,\nfeels in his coat, and cries out:\n\n\"'Oh, kind sirs--the cord, the cord! Stop, I pray you; stop, turn\nback.'\n\n\"'Not for the world,' I cried, 'reverend sir.'\n\n\"Then he, in a lamentable voice:\n\n\"'Oh, if you turn not back and bring away the cord, the poor\ngentlewoman which did give it unto me must needs fall into sore\ntrouble. Oh, for God's sake, turn back!'\n\n\"I gave a hasty glance at the prison, where increasing stir of lights\nwas visible, and resolved that to return should be certain ruin to\nourselves and to him for whom Mistress Ward had risked her life, and\nlittle or no hope in it for her, as it was not possible there should\nbe time to get the cord and then escape, which with best speed now\ncould with difficulty be effected. So I turned a deaf ear to Mr.\nWatson's pleadings, with an assured conscience she should have wished\nno otherwise herself; and by God's mercy we made such way before they\ncould put out a boat, landing unseen beyond the next bridge, that we\ncould secretly convey him to the house of a Catholic not far from the\nriver on the other side, where he doth lie concealed. I promise you,\nsweetheart, we did row hard. Albeit I strove very much last year when\nI won the boat-match at Richmond, by my troth it was but child's play\nto last night's racing. Poor Mr. Watson fainted before we landed, and\nneither of us dared venture to stop from pulling for to assist him.\nBut, God be praised, he is now in a good bed; and I fetched for him at\ndaybreak a leech I know in the Borough, who hath set his broken limbs;\nand to-night if the weather be not foul, when it gets dark, we will\nconvey him in a boat to a vessel at the river's mouth, which I have\nretained for to take us to Calais. But I would Mistress Ward was on\nboard of it also.\"\n\n\"Oh, Basil,\" I exclaimed, \"if we can discover where she doth lodge, it\nwould not then be impossible. If we had forecasted this yesterday, she\nwould be saved. Yet she had perhaps refused to tell us.\"\n\n\"Most like she would,\" he answered; \"but if you do hit by any means\nupon her abode to-day, forthwith despatch a trusty messenger unto me\nat Mr. Hodgson's, and I promise you, sweetheart, she shall, will she\nnill she, if I have to use force for it, be carried away to France,\nand stowed with a good madame I know at Calais.\"\n\nThe housekeeper then came in with bread and meat and beer, which my\ndear Basil did very gladly partake of, for he had eat nothing since\nthe day before, and was greatly in want of food. I waited on him,\nforestalling housewifely duties, with so great a contentment in this\nquiet hour spent in his company that nothing could surpass it. The\nfire now burned brightly; and whilst he ate, we talked of the time\nwhen we should be married and live at Euston, so retired from the busy\nworld without as should be most safe and peaceful in these troublesome\ntimes, even as in that silent house we were for a short time shut out\nfrom the noisy city, the sounds of which reached without disturbing\nus. Oh how welcome was that little interval of peace which we then\nenjoyed! I ween we were both very tired; and when the good housekeeper\ncame in for to fetch away his plate he had fallen asleep, with his\nhead resting on his hands; and I was likewise dozing in a high-backed\nchair opposite to him. The noise she made awoke me, but not him, who\nslept most soundly. She smiled, and in a motherly manner moved him to\na more comfortable position, and said she would lay a wager on it he\nhad not been abed at all that night.\n\n{459}\n\n\"Well, I'll warrant you to be a good guesser, Mistress Mason,\" I\nanswered. \"And if you did but know what a hard and a good work he hath\nbeen engaged in, methinks you would never tarry in his praise.\"\n\n\"Ah, Mistress Sherwood,\" she replied, \"I have known Master Basil these\nmany years; and a more noble, kindly, generous heart never, I ween,\ndid beat in a man's bosom. He very often came here with his father and\nhis brother when both were striplings; and Master Hubert was the\nsharpest and some said the most well-behaved of the twain. But beshrew\nme if I liked not better Master Basil, albeit he was sometimes very\ntroublesome, but not techey or rude as some boys be. I remember it\nwell how I laughed one day when these young masters--methinks this\none was no more than five years and the other four--were at play\ntogether in this room, and Basil had a new jerkin on, and colored hose\nfor the first time. Hubert wore a kirtle, which displeasured him, for\nhe said folks should take him to be a wench. So he comes to me,\nhalf-crying, and says, 'Why hath Baz that fine new suit and me not the\nsame?' 'Because, little sir, he is the eldest,' I said. 'Ah,' quoth\nthe shrewd imp, 'the next time I be born methinketh I will push Baz\naside and be the eldest.' If I should live one hundred years I shall\nnever forget it, the little urchin looked so resolved and spiteful.\"\n\nI smiled somewhat sadly, I ween, but with better cheer when she\nrelated how tender a heart Basil had from his infant years toward the\npoor, taking off his clothes for to give them to the beggars he met,\nand one day, she said, praying very hard Mrs. Wells for to harbor a\nstrolling man which had complained he had no lodging.\n\n\"'Mistress,' quoth he, 'you have many chambers in your house, and he\nhath not so much as a bed to lie in tonight;' and would not be\ncontented till she had charged a servant to get the fellow a lodging.\nAnd me he once abused very roundly in his older years for the same\ncause. There was one Jack Morris, an old man which worked sometimes in\nMr. Wells's stable, but did lie at a cottage out of the town. And one\nday in winter, when it snowed, Master Basil would have me make this\nfellow sleep in the house, because he was sick, he said, and he would\ngive him his own bed and lie himself on straw in the stable; and went\ninto so great a passion when I said he should not do so, for that he\nwas a mean person and could not lie in a gentleman's chamber, that my\nyoung master cries out, 'Have a care. Mistress Mason, I do not come in\nthe night and shake you out of your own bed, for to give you a taste\nof the cold floor, which yet is not, I promise you, so cold as the\nstreet into which you would turn this poor diseased man.' And then he\nfell to coaxing of me till I consented for to send a mattress and a\nwarm rug to the stable for this pestilent old man, who I warrant you\nwas not so sick as he did assume to be, but had sufficient cunning for\nto cozen Master Basil out of his money. Lord bless the lad! I have\nseen him run out with his dinner in his hand, if he did but see a\nragged urchin in the streets, and gift him with it; and then would\nslug lustily about the house--methinks I do hear him now--\n\n  'Dinner, O dinner's a rare good thing\n  Alike for a beggar, alike for a king.'\"\n\nBasil opened then his eyes and stared about him.\n\n\"Why, Mistress Mason,\" he cried, \"beshrew me if you are not rehearsing\na rare piece of poesy!--the only one I ever did indite.\" At the which\nspeech we all laughed; but our merriment was short; for time had sped\nfaster than we thought, and Basil said he must needs return to the\nBorough to forecast with Mr. Hodgson and Tom Price means to convey Mr.\nWatson to the ship, which was out at sea nigh unto the shore, and a\nboat must be had to carry them there, and withal such appliances\nprocured as should ease his broken limbs.\n\n\"Is there not danger\" I asked, \"in moving him so soon?\"\n\n{460}\n\n\"Yea,\" he said, \"but a less fearful danger than in long tarrying in\nthis country.\"\n\nThis was too true to be gainsayed; and so thanking the good\nhousekeeper we left the house, which had seemed for those few hours\nlike onto a harbor from a stormy sea, wherein both our barks,\nshattered by the waves, had refitted in peace.\n\n\"Farewell, Basil,\" I mournfully said; \"God knoweth for how long.\"\n\n\"Not for very long,\" he answered. \"In three months I shall have crept\nout of my wardship. Then, if it please God, I will return, and so deal\nwith your good uncle that we shall soon after that be married.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" I answered, \"if so be that my father is then in safety.\"\n\nHe said he meant not otherwise, but that he had great confidence it\nshould then be so. When at last we parted he went down Holborn Hill\nvery fast, and I slowly to Ely Place, many times stopping for to catch\none more sight of him in the crowd, which howsoever soon hid him from\nme.\n\nWhen I arrived at home I found Muriel in great affliction, for news\nhad reached her that Mistress Ward had been apprehended and thrown\ninto prison. Methinks we had both looked for no other issue than this,\nwhich she had herself most desired; but nevertheless, when the\ncertainty thereof was confirmed to us, it should almost have seemed as\nif we were but ill-prepared for it. The hope I had conceived a short\ntime before that she should escape in the same vessel with Basil and\nMr. Watson, made me less resigned to this mishap than I should have\nbeen had no means of safety been at hand, and the sword, as it were,\nhanging over her head from day to day. The messenger which had brought\nthis evil news being warranted reliable by a letter from Mr. Hodgson,\nI intrusted him with a few lines to Basil, in which I informed him not\nto stay his departure on her account, who was now within the walls of\nthe prison which Mr. Watson had escaped from, and that her best\ncomfort now should be to know he was beyond reach of his pursuers. The\nrest of the day was spent in great heaviness of spirit. Mr. Congleton\nsent a servant to Mr. Roper for to request him to come to London, and\nwrote likewise to Mr. Lacy for to return to his house in town, and\nconfer with some Catholics touching Mistress Ward's imprisonment.\nMuriel's eyes thanked him, but I ween she had no hope therein and did\nresign herself to await the worst tidings. Her mother's unceasing\nasking for her, whose plight she dared not so much as hint at in her\npresence, did greatly aggravate her sufferings. I have often thought\nMuriel did then undergo a martyrdom of the heart as sharp in its kind\nas that which Mistress Ward endured in prison, if the reports which\ndid reach us were true. But more of that anon. The eventful day, which\nhad opened with so much of fear and sorrow, had yet in store other\nhaps, which I must now relate.\n\nAbout four of the clock Hubert came to Ely Place, and found me alone\nin the parlor, my fingers busied with some stitching, my thoughts\nhaving wandered far away, where I pictured to myself the mouth of the\nriver, the receding tide, the little vessel which was to carry Basil\naway once more to a foreign land, with its sails flapping in the wind;\nand boats passing to and fro, plying on the fair bosom of the broad\nriver, and not leaving so much as a trace of their passage. And his\nboat with its freight more precious than gold--the rescued life bought\nat a great price--methought I saw it glide in the dark amidst those\nhundred other boats unobserved (so I hoped), unstayed on its course.\nMethought that so little bark should be a type of some lives which\ncarry with them, unwatched, undiscerned, a purpose, which doth freight\nthem on their way to eternity--somewhat hidden, somewhat close to\ntheir hearts, somewhat engaging their whole strength; and all the\n{461} while they seem to be doing the like of what others do; and God\nonly knoweth how different shall be the end!\n\n\"Ah, Hubert,\" I exclaimed when the door opened, \"is it you? Methinks\nin these days I see no one come into this house but a fear or a hope\ndoth seize me. What bringeth you? or hath nothing occurred?\"\n\n\"Something may occur this day,\" he answered, \"if you do but will it to\nbe so, Constance.\"\n\n\"What?\" I asked eagerly; \"what may occur?\"\n\n\"Your father's deliverance,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, Hubert,\" I cried, \"it is not possible!\"\n\n\"Go to!\" he said in a resolved manner. \"Don your most becoming suit,\nand follow my directions in all ways. Lady Ingoldsby, I thank God,\nhath not left London, and will be here anon to carry you to Sir\nFrancis Walsingham's house, where her familiar friend, Lady Sydney,\ndoth now abide during Sir Philip's absence. You shall thus get speech\nwith Sir Francis; and if you do behave with diffidency, and beware of\nthe violence of your nature and exorbitancy of your tongue, checking\nneedless speeches, and answering his questions with as many words as\ncourtesy doth command, and as few as civility doth permit, I doubt not\nbut you may obtain your father's release in the form of a sentence of\nbanishment; for he is not ill-disposed thereunto, having received\nnotice that his health is sinking under the hardships of his\nconfinement, and his strength so impaired that, once beyond seas, he\nis not like to adventure himself again in this country.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" I cried, \"mine eyes had discerned in his shrunken form and\nhollow cheeks tokens of such a decay as you speak of; and I pray God\nMr. Secretary may deal mercifully with him before it shall be too\nlate.\"\n\n\"I'll warrant you,\" he replied, \"that if you do rightly deal with him,\nhe win sign an order which shall release this very night your father\nfrom prison, and send him safe beyond seas before the week is ended.\"\n\n\"Think you so?\" I said, my heart beating with an uncertain kind of\nhope mixed with doubting.\n\n\"I am assured of it,\" Hubert confidently replied.\n\n\"I must ask my uncle's advice,\" doubtfully said, \"before I go with\nPolly.\"\n\nA contemptuous smile curled his lip. \"Yea,\" he said, \"Be directed in\nthese weighty matters, I do advise you, by your aunt also, and the\nsaintly Muriel, and twenty hundred others beside, if you list; and the\nwhile this last chance shall escape, and your father be doomed to\ndeath. I have done my part, God knoweth. If he perish, his blood will\nnot be on my head; but mark my words, if he be not presently released,\nhe will appear before the council in two days, and the oath be\ntendered to him, which you best know if he will take, and his refusal\nwithout fail will send him to the scaffold.\"\n\n\"God defend,\" I exclaimed, greatly moved, \"I should delay to do that\nwhich may yet save him. I will go, Hubert. But I pray you, who are\nfamiliar with Sir Francis, what means should be best for to move him\nto compassion? Is there a soft corner in his heart which a woman's\ntears can touch? I will kneel to him if needful, yea, kiss his\nfeet--mind him of his own fair daughter. Lady Sydney, which, if he was\nin prison, and my father held his fate in his hands, would doubtless\nsue to him with the like ardor, yea, the like agony of spirit, for\nmercy. Oh, tell me, Hubert, what to say which shall drive the edge of\npity into his soul.\"\n\n\"Silence will take effect in this case sooner than the most moving\nspeeches,\" he answered. \"Steel your soul to it, whatever he may say.\nYour tears, your eyes, will, I warrant you, plead more mightfully than\nyour words. He is as obliging to the softer but predominant parts of\nthe world as he is {462} serviceable to the more severe. To him men's\nfaces speak as much as their tongues, and their countenances are\nindexes of their hearts. Judge if yours, the liveliest piece of\neloquence which ever displayed itself in a fair visage, shall fail to\nexpress that which passionate words, missing their aim, would of a\nsurety ill convey. And mind you, Mistress Constance, this man is of\nextreme ability in the school of policy, and albeit inclined to\nrecusants with the view of winning them over by means of kindness, yet\nan extreme hater of the Pope and Church of Rome, and moreover very\njealous to be considered as such; so if he do intend to show you favor\nin this matter, make your reckoning that he will urge you to\nconformity with many strenuous exhortations, which, if you remain\nsilent, no harm shall ensue to yourself or others.\"\n\n\"And not to mine own soul, Hubert?\" I mournfully cried. \"Methinks my\nfather and Basil would not counsel silence in such a case.\"\n\n\"God in heaven give me patience!\" he exclaimed. \"Is it a woman's\ncalling, I pray you, to preach? When the apostles were dismissed by\nthe judges, and charged no longer to teach the Christian faith, went\nthey not forth in silence, restraining their tongues then, albeit not\ntheir actions when once at liberty? Methinks modesty alone should\nforbid one of your years from dangerous retorts, which, like a\ntwo-edged sword, wound alike friend and foe.\"\n\nI had no courage left to withstand the promptings of mine own heart\nand his urgency.\n\n\"God forgive me,\" I cried, \"if I fail in aught wherein truth or\nhonesty are concerned. He knoweth I would do right, and yet save my\nfather's life.\"\n\nThen falling on my knees, unmindful of his presence, I prayed with an\nintense vehemency, which overcame all restraint, that my tongue might\nbe guided aright when I should be in his presence who under God did\nhold my father's life in his hands. But hearing Polly's voice in the\nhall, I started up, and noticed Hubert leaning his head on his hand,\nseemingly more pitifully moved than was his wont. When she came in, he\nmet her, and said:\n\n\"Lady Ingoldsby, I pray you see that Mistress Constance doth so attire\nherself as shall heighten her natural attractions; for, beshrew me, if\ngrave Mr. Secretary hath not, as well as other men, more pity for a\nfair face than a plain one; and albeit hers is always fair, nature\ndoth nevertheless borrow additional charms from art.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut,\" quoth Polly. \"She is a perfect fright in that hat, and her\nruff hideth all her neck, than which no swan hath a whiter; and I pray\nyou what a farthingale is that! Methinks it savors of the fashions of\nthe late queen's reign. Come, Con, cheer up, and let us to thy\nchamber. I'll warrant you, Master Rookwood, she will be twice as\nwinsome when I have exercised my skill on her attire.\"\n\nSo she led me away, and I suffered her to dress mine hair herself and\nchoose such ornaments as she did deem most becoming. Albeit she\nlaughed and jested all the while, methinks the kindness of her heart\nshowed through this apparent gaiety; and when her task was done, and\nshe kissed my forehead, I threw my arms round her neck and wept.\n\n\"Nay, nay!\" she cried; \"no tears, coz--they do serve but to swell the\neyelids and paint the nose of a reddish hue;\" and shaping her own\nvisage into a counterfeit of mine, she set me laughing against my\nwill, and drew me by the hand down the stairs and into the parlor.\n\n\"How now, sir?\" she cried to Hubert \"Think you I have indifferently\nwell performed the task you set me?\"\n\n\"Most excellently well,\" he answered, and handed us to her coach,\nwhich was to carry us to Seething Lane. When we were seated in it, she\ntold {463} me Hubert had disclosed to her the secret of my father's\nplight, and that she was more concerned than she could well express at\nso great a mishap, but nevertheless entertained a comfortable hope\nthis day should presently see the end of our troubles. Howsoever, she\ndid know but half of the trouble I was in, weighty as was the part she\nwas privy to. Hubert, she told me, had dealt with a marvellous great\nzeal and ability in this matter, and proved himself so good a\nnegotiator that she doubted not Sir Francis himself must needs have\nappreciated his ingenuity.\n\n\"That young gentleman,\" she added, \"will never spoil his own market by\nlack of timely boldness or opportune bashfulness. My Lady Arundel\nrelated to me last night at Mrs. Yates's what passed on Monday at the\nbanquet-hall at Whitehall. Hath he told you his hap on that occasion?\"\n\n\"No,\" I answered. \"I pray you, Polly, what befel him there?'\n\n\"Well, her majesty was at dinner, and Master Hubert comes there to see\nthe fashion of the court. His handsome features and well-set shape\nattract the queen's notice. With a kind of an affected frown she asks\nLady Arundel what he is. She answers she knows him not. Howsoever, an\ninquiry is made from one to another who the youth should be, till at\nlength it is told the queen he is young Rookwood of Euston, in\nSuffolk, and a ward of Sir Henry Stafford's.\"\n\n\"Mistaking him then for Basil?\" I said.\n\nThen she: \"I think so; but howsoever this inquisition with the eye of\nher majesty fixed upon him (as she is wont to fix it, and thereby to\ndaunt such as she doth make the mark of her gazing), stirred the blood\nof our young gentleman, Lady Arundel said, insomuch that a deep color\nrose in his pale cheek and straightway left it again; which the queen\nobserving, she called him unto her, and gave him her hand to kiss,\nencouraging him with gracious words and looks; and then diverting her\nspeech to the lords and ladies, said that she no sooner observed him\nthan she did note there was in him good blood, and she ventured to\naffirm good brains also; and then said to him, 'Fail not to come to\ncourt, sir, and I will bethink myself to do you good.' Now I warrant\nyou, coz, this piece of a scholar lacked not the wit to use this his\nhap in the furtherance of his and your suit to Sir Francis, whom he\nadores as his saint, and courts as his Maecenas.\"\n\nThis recital of Polly's worked a tumultuous conflict in my soul; for\nverily it strengthened hope touching my father's release; but methinks\nany other channel of such hope should have been more welcome. A\njealousy, an unsubstantial fear, an uneasy misdoubt oppressed this\nrising hope. I feared for Hubert the dawn of such favor as was shown\nto him by her whose regal hand doth hold a magnet which hath\noftentimes caused Catholics to make shipwreck of their souls. And then\ntruth doth compel me to confess my weakness. Albeit God knoweth I\ndesired not for my true and noble sweetheart her majesty's gracious\nsmiles, or a higher fortune than Providence hath by inheritance\nbestowed on him, a vain humane feeling worked in me some sort of\ndispleasure that his younger brother should stand in the queen's\npresence as the supposed head of the house of Rookwood, and no more\nmention made of him than if he had been outlawed or dead. Not that I\nhad then reason to lay this error to Hubert's door, for verily naught\nin Polly's words did warrant such a suspicion; but my heart was sore,\nand my spirits chafed with apprehensions. God forgive me if I then did\nunjustly accuse him, and, in the retrospect of this passage in his\nlife, do suffer subsequent events to cast backward shadows on it,\nwhereby I may wrong him who did render to me (I write it with a\nsoftened--yea, God is my witness--a truly loving, albeit sorrowing,\nheart) a great service in a needful time. Oh, Hubert, Hubert! my heart\nacheth for {464} thee. Methinks God will show thee great mercy yet,\nbut, I fear me, by such means only as I do tremble to think of.\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nWhen we reached Seething Lane, Polly bade me be of good heart, for\nthat Lady Sydney was a very affable and debonnaire lady, and Sir\nFrancis a person of toward and gentle manners, and exceedingly polite\nto women. We were conducted to a neat parlor, where my Lady Sydney was\nawaiting us. A more fair and accomplished lady is not, I ween, to be\nfound in England or any other country, than this daughter of a great\nstatesman, and wife at that time of Sir Philip Sydney, as she hath\nsince been of my Lords Essex and St. Albans. Methinks the matchless\ngentleman, noble knight, and sweet writer, her first husband, who did\nmarry her portionless, not like as is the fashion with so many in our\ndays carrying his love in his purse, must have needs drawn from the\nfair model in his own house the lovely pictures of beauteous women he\ndid portray in his \"Arcadia.\" She greeted us with so much heartfelt\npoliteness, and so tempered gay discoursing with sundry marks of\ndelicate feeling, indicative, albeit not expressive, of a sense of my\nthen trouble, that, albeit a stranger, methinks her reserved\ncompassion and ingenious encouragements served to tranquillize my\ndiscomposed mind more than Polly's efforts toward the same end. She\ntold us Lord Arundel had died that morning; which tidings turned my\nthoughts awhile to Lady Surrey, with many cogitations as to the issue\nof this event in her regard.\n\nAfter a short space of time, a step neared the door, and Lady Sydney\nsmiled and said, \"Here is my father.\" I had two or three times seen\nSir Francis Walsingham in public assemblies, but his features were\nnevertheless not familiar to me. Now, after he had saluted Polly and\nme, and made inquiry touching our relatives, while he conversed with\nher on indifferent topics, I scanned his face with such careful\nindustry as if in it I should read the issue of my dear father's fate.\nMethinks I never beheld so unreadable a countenance, or one which bore\nthe impress of so refined a penetration, so piercing an\ninquisitiveness, so keen a research into others' thoughts, with so\nclose a concealment of his own. I have since heard what his son-in-law\ndid write of him, that he impoverished himself by the purchase of dear\nintelligence; that, as if master of some invisible spring, all the\nsecrets of Christendom met in his closet, and he had even a key to\nunlock the Pope's cabinet. His mottoes are said to be _video et\ntaceo_, and that knowledge can never be bought at too high a price.\nAnd verily methinks they were writ in his face, in his quick-turning\neyes, his thin, compressed lips, and his soft but resolved accents,\nminding one of steel cased in velvet. 'Tis reported he can read any\nletter without breaking the seal. For mine own part, I am of opinion\nhe can see through parchment, yea, peradventure, through stone walls,\nwhen bent on some discovery. After a few minutes he turned to me with\na gracious smile, and said he was very glad to hear that I was a young\ngentlewoman of great prudence, and well disposed in all respects, and\nthat he doubted not that, if her majesty should by his means show me\nany favor, I should requite it with such gratitude as should appear in\nall my future conduct.\n\n\"God knoweth,\" I stammered, mine eyes filling with tears, \"I would be\ngrateful to you, sir, if it should please you to move her majesty to\ngrant my prayer, and to her highness for the doing of it.\"\n\n\"And how would you show such gratitude, fair Mistress Constance?\" he\nsaid, smiling in an encouraging manner.\n\n{465}\n\n\"By such humble duty,\" I answered, \"as a poor obscure creature can pay\nto her betters.\"\n\n\"And I hope, also,\" he said, \"that such dutifulness will involve no\nunpleasing effort, no painful constraint on your inclinations; for I\nam assured her majesty will never desire from you anything but what\nwill well accord with your advantage in this world and in the next.\"\n\nThese words caused me some kind of uneasiness; but as they called for\nno answer, I took refuge in silence; only methinks my face, which he\ndid seem carefully to study, betrayed anxiety.\n\n\"Providence,\" Sir Francis then said, \"doth oftentimes marvellously\ndispose events. What a rare instance of its gracious workings should\nbe seen in your case, Mistress Constance, if what your heart doth\nsecretly incline to should become a part of that dutifulness which you\ndo intend to practice in future!\"\n\nBefore I had clearly apprehended the sense of his words, Lady Sydney\nsaid to Polly:\n\n\"My father hath greatly commended to Sir Philip and me a young\ngentleman which I understand. Lady Ingoldsby, to be a friend of yours,\nMr. Hubert Rookwood, of Euston. He says the gracefulness of his\nperson, his excellent parts, his strong and subtle capacity, do\nexcellently fit him to learn the discipline and garb of the times and\ncourt.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" then quoth Sir Francis, \"he hath as large a portion of gifts and\nendowments as I have ever noticed in one of his age, and I'll warrant\nhe proves no mere vegetable of the court, springing up at night and\nsinking at noon.\"\n\nPolly did warmly assent to these praises of Hubert, for whom she had\nalways entertained a great liking; but she merrily said he was not gay\nenough for her, which abhorred melancholy as cats do water.\n\n\"Oh, fair lady,\" quoth Sir Francis, \"God defend we should be\nmelancholy; verily 'tis fitting we should be sometimes serious, for\nwhile we laugh all things are serious round about us. The whole\ncreation is serious in serving God and us. The holy Scriptures bring\nto our ears the most serious things in the world. All that are in\nheaven and hell are serious. Then how should we be always gay?\"\n\nPolly said--for when had she not, I pray you, somewhat to say?--that\ncertain things in nature had a propensity to gaiety which naught could\nquell, and instanced birds and streamlets, which never cease to sing\nand babble as long as they do live or flow. And to be serious, she\nthought, would kill her. The while this talk was ministered between\nthem, my Lady Sydney, on a sign from her father, I ween, took my hand\nin hers, and offered to show me the garden; for the heat of the room,\nshe said, was like to give me the headache. Upon which I rose, and\nfollowed her into a court planted with trees, and then on to an alley\nof planes strewed with gravel. As we entered it I perceived several\npersons walking toward us. When the first thought came into my mind\nwho should be the tall personage in the centre, of hair and complexion\nfair, and of so stately and majestic deportment, I marvel my limbs\ngave not way, but my head swam and a mist obscured mine eyes.\nMethinks, as one dreaming, I heard Lady Sydney say, \"The queen,\nMistress Sherwood; kneel down, and kiss her majesty's hand.\" Oh, in\nthe brief moment of time when my lips pressed that thin, white,\njewelled hand, what multiplied thoughts, resentful memories, trembling\nawe, and instinctive, homage to royal greatness, met in my soul, and\nworked confusion in my brain!\n\n\"Ah, mine own good Sydney,\" I heard her majesty exclaim; \"is this the\nyoung gentlewoman your wise father did speak of at Greenwich\nyesterday? The daughter of one Sherwood now in prison for popish\ncontumacy?\"\n\n{466}\n\n\"Even so,\" said Lady Sydney; \"and your sacred majesty hath it now in\nher power to show\n\n  \"The quality of mercy is not strained--'\"\n\n  \"'But droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven\n  Upon the place beneath,'\"\n\ninterrupted the queen, taking the words out of her mouth. \"We be not\nignorant of those lines. Will Shakespeare hath it,\n\n  'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes\n  The throned monarch better than his crown.'\n\nAnd i' faith we differ not from him, for verily mercy is our habit and\nthe propension of our soul; but, by God, the malice and ingratitude of\nrecusant traitors doth so increase, with manifold dangers to our\nperson and state, that mercy to them doth turn into treason against\nourselves, injury to religion, and an offence to God. Rise,\" her\nmajesty then said to me; and as I stood before her, the color, I ween,\ndeepening in my cheeks, \"Thou hast a fair face, wench,\" she cried;\n\"and if I remember aright good Mr. Secretary's words, hast used it to\nsuch purpose that a young gentleman we have of late taken into our\nfavor is somewhat excessive in his doting on it. Go to, go to; thou\ncouldst go further and fare worse. We ourselves are averse to\nmarriage; but if a woman must needs have a husband (and that deep\nblushing betokeneth methinks thy bent thereon), she should set her\nheart wisely, and govern it discreetly.\"\n\n\"Alas, madam!\" I cried, \"'tis not of marriage I now do think; but, on\nmy knees\" (and falling again at her feet, I clasped them, with tears),\n\"of my father's release; I do crave your majesty's mercy.\"\n\n\"Content thee, wench; content thee. Mr. Secretary hath obtained from\nus the order for that foolish man's banishment from our realm.\"\n\n\"Oh, madam!\" I cried, \"God bless you!\"\n\nThen my heart did smite me I should with so great vehemency bless her\nwho, albeit in this nearest instance pitiful to me, did so\nrelentlessly deal with others; and I bethought me of Mistress Ward,\nand the ill-usage she was like to meet with. And her words touching\nHubert, and silence concerning Basil, weighed like lead on my soul;\nyet I taxed myself with folly therein, for verily at this time the\nless he was thought of the greater should be his safety. Sir Francis\nhad now approached the queen, and I did hear her commend to him his\ngarden, which she said was very neat and trim, and the pattern of it\nmost quaint and fanciful. Polly did also kiss her hand, and Sir Walter\nRaleigh and Sir Christopher Hatton, which accompanied her majesty,\nwhilst she talked with Sir Francis, conversed with Lady Sydney. I ween\nmy Lord Leicester and many other noblemen and gentlemen were also in\nher train, but mine eyes took scant note of what passed before them;\nthe queen herself was the only object I could contemplate, so\nmarvellous did it seem I should thus have approached her, and had so\nmuch of her notice as she did bestow on me that day. And here I cannot\nchoose but marvel how strangely our hearts are made. How favors to\nourselves do alter the current of our feelings; how a near approach to\nthose which at a distance we do think of with unmitigated enmity, doth\nsoften even just resentments; and what a singular fascination doth lie\nin royalty for to win unto itself a reverence which doth obliterate\nmemories which in common instances should never lose their sting.\n\nThe queen's barge, which had moored at the river-side of Sir Francis's\ngarden, was soon filled again with the goodly party it had set down;\nand as it went up the stream, and I stood gazing on it, methought the\nwhole scene had been a dream.\n\nLady Sydney and Polly moved Sir Francis to repeat the assurance her\nmajesty had given me touching the commutation of my father's\nimprisonment into an order of banishment. He satisfied me thereon, and\ndid promise to procure for me permission to see {467} him once more\nbefore his departure; which interview did take place on the next day;\nand when I observed the increased paleness of his face and feebleness\nof his gait, the pain of bidding that dear parent farewell equalled\nnot the joy I felt in the hope that liberty and the care of those good\nfriends to whose society he would now return, should prolong and cheer\nthe remaining days of his life. Methinks there was some sadness in him\nthat the issue he had so resolutely prepared for, and confidently\nlooked to, should be changed to one so different, and that only by\nmeans of death would he have desired to leave the English mission; but\nhe meekly bowed his will to that of God, and said in an humble manner\nhe was not worthy of so exalted an end as he had hoped for, and he\nrefused not to live if so be he might yet serve God in obscure and\nunnoticed ways.\n\nWhen I returned home after this comfortable, albeit very sad, parting,\nI was too weary in body and in mind for to do aught but lie down for a\nwhile on a settle, and revolve in my mind the changes which had taken\nplace around me. Hubert came for a brief time that evening; and\nmethinks he had heard from Polly the haps at Seething Lane. He strove\nfor to move me to speak of the queen, and to tell him the very words\nshe had uttered. The eager sparkling of his eyes, the ill-repressed\nsmilingness of his countenance, the manner of his questioning, worked\nin me a secret anger, which caused the thanks I gave him for his\nsuccessful dealings in my father's behalf to come more coldly from\nmine heart than they should otherwise have done, albeit I strove to\nframe them in such kind terms as were befitting the great service he\nhad rendered us. But to disguise my thoughts my tongue at last\nrefused, and I burst forth:\n\n\"But, for all that I do thank you, Hubert, yea, and am for ever\nindebted to you, which you will never have reason, from my conduct and\nexceedingly kind sisterly love, to doubt: bear with me, I pray you,\nwhen I say (albeit you may think me a very foolish creature) that I\nwish you not joy, but rather for your sake do lament, the new favor\nyou do stand in with the queen. O Hubert, bethink you, ere you set\nyour foot on the first step of that slippery ladder, court favor, that\nno man can serve two masters.\"\n\n\"Marry,\" he answered in a light manner, \"by that same token or text,\npapists can then not serve the queen and also the Pope!\"\n\nThere be nothing which so chilleth or else cutteth the heart as a\njesting retort to a fervent speech.\n\nI hid my face on my arm to hide some tears.\n\n\"Constance,\" he softly said, seeing me moved, \"do you weep for me?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" I murmured; \"God knoweth what these new friendships and this\ndangerous favor shall work in you contrary to conscience, truth, and\nvirtue. Oh! heaven shield Basil's brother should be a favorite of the\nqueen!\"\n\n\"Talk not of Basil,\" he fiercely cried, \"I warrant you the day may be\nat hand when his fate shall hang on my favor with those who can make\nand mar a man, or ruin and mend his fortunes, as they will, by one\nstroke of a pen!\"\n\n\"Yea,\" I replied; \"I doubt not his fortune is at their mercy. His\nsoul, God be praised, their arts cannot reach.\"\n\n\"Constance,\" he then said, fixedly gazing on me, \"if you only love me,\nthere is no ambition too noble, no heights of virtue too exalted, no\nsacrifices too entire, but I will aim at, aspire to, resolve on, at\nyour bidding.\"\n\n\"Love _you_!\" I said, raising mine eyes to his, somewhat scornfully I\nfear, albeit not meaning it, if I judge by his sudden passion.\n\n\"God defend,\" he cried, \"I do not arrive at hating you with as great\nfervency as I have, yea, as even yet I do love you! O Constance, if I\nshould one day be what I do yet abhor to think {468} of, the guilt\nthereof shall lie with you if there be justice on Earth or in heaven!\"\n\nI shook my head, and laying my hand on his, sadly answered:\n\n\"I choose not to bandy words with you, Hubert, or charge you with\nwhat, if I spoke the truth, would be too keen and resentful reproaches\nfor your unbrotherly manner of dealing with Basil and me; for it would\nill become the close of this day, on which I do owe you, under God, my\ndear father's life, to upbraid where I would fain only from my heart\nyield thanks. I pray you, let us part in peace. My strength is\nwell-nigh spent and my head acheth sorely.\"\n\nHe knelt down by my side, and whispered, \"One word more before I go.\nYou do hold in your keeping Basil's fate and mine. I will not forsake\nthe hope that alone keepeth me from desperation. Hush! say not the\nword which would change me from a friend to a foe, from a Catholic to\nan apostate, from a man to a fiend. I have gone well-nigh into the\ngate of hell; a slender thread yet holds me back; snap it not in\ntwain.\"\n\nI spoke not, for verily my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, and a\nfainting sensation of a sudden came over me. I felt his lips pressed\non my hand, and then he left me; and that night I felt very ill, and\nfor nigh unto a fortnight could by no means leave my bed.\n\nOne morning, being somewhat easier, I sat up in a high-backed chair,\nin what had once been our school-room; and when Muriel, who had been a\nmost diligent nurse to me in that sickness, came to visit me, I\npressed her for to tell me truly if she had heard aught of Basil or of\nMistress Ward; for every day when I had questioned her thereon she had\ndenied all knowledge of their haps, which now began to work in me a\nsuspicion she did conceal from me some misfortune, which doubt, I told\nher, was more grievous to me than to be informed what had befallen\nthem; and so constrained her to admit that, albeit of Basil she had in\ntruth no tidings, which she judged to be favorable to our hopes, of\nMistress Ward she had heard, in the first instance, a report, eight or\nten days before, that she had been hung up by the hands and cruelly\nscourged; which torments she was said by the jailors, which Mr. Lacy\nhad spoken with, to have borne with exceeding great courage, saying\nthey were the preludes of martyrdom, with which, by the grace of God,\nshe hoped she should be honored. Then Mr. Roper and Mr. Wells, who was\nnow returned to London, had brought tidings the evening before that on\nthe preceding day she had been brought to the bar, where, being asked\nby the judges if she was guilty of that treachery to the queen and to\nthe laws of the realm of furnishing the means by which a traitor of a\npriest had escaped from justice, she answered with a cheerful\ncountenance in the affirmative; and that she never in her life had\ndone anything of which she less repented than of the delivering that\ninnocent lamb from the wolves which should have devoured him.\n\n\"Oh, Muriel,\" I cried, \"cannot you see her dear resolved face and the\nlighting up of her eyes, and the quick fashion of her speech, when she\nsaid this?\"\n\n\"I do picture her to myself,\" Muriel answered in a low voice, \"at all\nhours of the day, and marvel at mine own quietness therein. But I\ndoubt not her prayers do win for me the grace of resignation. They\nsought to oblige her to confess where Mr. Watson was, but in vain; and\ntherefore they proceeded to pronounce sentence upon her. But withal\ntelling her that the queen was merciful, and that if she would ask\npardon of her majesty, and would promise to go to church, she should\nbe set at liberty; otherwise that she must look for nothing but\ncertain death.\"\n\nI drew a deep breath then, and said, \"The issue is, then, not\ndoubtful.\"\n\n\"She answered,\" Muriel said, \"that {469} as to the queen, she had\nnever offended her majesty; that as to what she had done in favoring\nMr. Watson's escape, she believed the queen herself, if she had the\nbowels of a woman, would have done as mach if she had known the\nill-treatment he underwent; and as to going to church, she had for\nmany years been convinced that it was not lawful for her so to do, and\nthat she found no reason now for to change her mind, and would not act\nagainst her conscience; and therefore they might proceed to the\nexecution of the sentence pronounced against her; for that death for\nsuch a cause would be very welcome, and that she was willing to lay\ndown not one life only, but many, if she had them, rather than act\nagainst her religion.\"\n\n\"And she is then condemned to death without any hope?\" I said.\n\nMuriel remained silent.\n\n\"Oh, Muriel!\" I cried; \"it is not done? it is not over?\"\n\nShe wiped one tear that trickled down her cheek, and said, \"Yesterday\nshe suffered at Tyburn with a wonderful constancy and alacrity.\"\n\nI hid my face in my hands; for the sight of the familiar room, of the\nchair in which she was sitting what time she took leave of us, of a\nlittle picture pinned to the wall, which she had gifted me with, moved\nme too much. But when I closed mine eyes, there arose remembrances of\nmy journeying with her; of my foolish speeches touching robbers; of\nher motherly reproofs of my so great confidence, and comfort in her\nguidance; and I was fain to seek comfort from her who should have\nneeded it rather than me, but who indeed had it straight from heaven,\nand thereby could impart some share of it to others.\n\n\"Muriel,\" I said, resting my tired head on her bosom, \"the day you say\nshe suffered, I now mind me, I was most ill, and you tended me as\ncheerfully as if you had no grief.\"\n\n\"Oh, 'tis no common grief,\" she answered, \"no casting-down sorrow, her\nend doth cause me; rather some kind of holy jealousy, some over-eager\npining to follow her.\"\n\nA waiting-woman then came in, and I saw her give a letter to Muriel,\nwho I noticed did strive to hide it from me. But I detected it in her\nhand, and cried, \"'Tis from Basil; how hath it come?\" and took it from\nher; but trembling so much, my fingers could scarce untie the strings,\nfor I was yet very unwell from my sickness.\n\n\"Mr. Hodgson hath sent it,\" quoth Muriel; \"God yield it be good news!\"\n\nThen my eyes fell on the loved writing, and read what doth follow:\n\n\"DEAR HEART AND SWEET WIFE\nsoon to be--God be praised, we are now safe in port at Calais, but\nhave not lacked dangers in our voyage. But all is well, I ween, that\ndoth end well; and I do begin my letter with the tokens of that good\nending that mine own sweet love should have no fears, only much\nthankfulness to God, whilst she doth read of the perils we have\nescaped. We carried Mr. Watson--Tom and I and two others--into the\nboat, on the evening of the day when I last saw you, and made for the\nDutch vessel out at sea near the river^s mouth. The light was waning,\nbut not yet so far gone but that objects were discernible; and we had\nnot rowed a very long time before we heard a splashing of oars behind\nus, and turning round what should we see but one of the Queen's\nbarges, and by the floating pennon at the stem discerned her majesty\nto be on board! We hastily turned our boat, and I my back toward the\nbank; threw a cloak over Mr. Watson, who, by reason of his broken\nlimbs, was lying on a mattress at the bottom of it; and Tom and the\nothers feigned to be fishing. When the royal barge passed by, some one\ndid shout, railing at us for that we did fish in the dark, and a storm\ncoming up the river; and verily it did of a sudden begin to blow very\nstrong. Sundry small craft were coming from the sea into the river for\nshelter; and as they did meet as, expressed marvel we {470} should\nadventure forth, jeering us for our thinking to catch fish and a storm\nmenacing. None of us, albeit good rowers, were much skilled in the\nmariner's art; but we commended ourselves to God and went onward all\nthe night; and when the morning was breaking, to our unspeakable\ncomfort, we discovered the Dutch vessel but a few strokes distant at\nanchor, when, as we bethought ourselves nearly in safety, a huge\nrolling wave (for now the weather had waxed exceedingly rough) upset\nour boat.\"\n\n\"O Muriel,\" I exclaimed, \"that night I tossed about in a high fever,\nand saw Basil come dripping wet at the foot of my bed: I warrant you\n'twas second sight.\"\n\n\"Read on, read on,\" Muriel said; \"nor delude yourself touching\nvisions.\"\n\n\"Tom, the other boatman, and I, being good swimmers, soon regained the\nboat, the which floated keel upwards, whereon we climbed, but\nwell-nigh demented were we to find Mr. Watson could nowhere be seen.\nIn desperation I plunged again into the sea, swimming at hazard, with\ndifficulty buffeting the waves; when nearly spent I descried the good\npriest, and seized him in a most unmannerly fashion by the collar, and\ndragging him along, made shift to regain the floating keel; and Tom,\nclimbing to the top, waved high his kerchief, hoping to be seen by the\nDutchman, who by good hap did espy our signal. Soon had we the joy to\nsee a boat lowered and advance toward us. With much difficulty it\nneared us, by reason of the fury of the waves; but, God be thanked, it\ndid at last reach us; and Mr. Watson, insensible and motionless, was\nhoisted therein, and soon in safety conveyed on board the vessel. I\nmuch feared for his life; for, I pray you, was such a cold, long bath,\nsucceeding to a painful exposed night, meet medicine for broken limbs,\nand the fever which doth accompany such hurts? I wot not; but yet, God\nbe praised, he is now in the hospital of a monastery in this town,\nwell tended and cared for, and the leeches do assure me like to do\nwell. Thou mayest think, sweetheart, that after seeing him safely\nstowed in that good lodgment, I waited not for to change my clothes or\nbreak my fast, before I went to the church; and on my knees blessed\nthe Almighty for his protection, and hung a thank-offering on to our\nLady's image; for I warrant you, when I was fishing for Mr. Watson in\nthat raging sea, I missed not to put up Hail Marys as fast as I could\nthink them, for beshrew me if I had breath to spare for to utter. I do\nnow pen this letter at my good friend Mr. Wells's brother's, and Tom\nwill take it with him to London, and Mr. Hodgson convey it to thee.\nThy affectionate and humble obedient (albeit intending to lord it over\nthee some coming day) servant and lover, BASIL ROOKWOOD.\n\n\"Oh, how the days do creep till I be out of my wardship! Methinks I do\nfeel somewhat like Mrs. Helen Ingoldsby, who doth hate patience, she\nsaith, by reason that it doth always keep her waiting. I would not be\npatient, sweet one, I fear, if impatience would carry me quicker to\nthy dear side.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Muriel, sweetly smiling when I had finished reading this\ncomfortable letter, \"the twain which we have accompanied this past\nfortnight with our thoughts and prayers have both, God be praised,\nescaped from a raging sea into a safe harbor, albeit not of the same\nsort--the one earthly, the other heavenly. Oh, but I am very glad,\ndear Constance, thou art spared a greater trial than hath yet touched\nthee!\" and so pure a joy beamed in her eyes, that methought no one\nmore truly fulfilled that bidding, \"to rejoice with such as rejoice,\nas well as to weep with such as weep.\"\n\nThis letter of my dear Basil hastened my recovery; and three days\nlater, having received an invitation thereunto, I went to visit the\nCountess of Surrey, now also of Arundel, at Arundel House. The trouble\nshe was in by {471} reason of her grandfather's death, and of my Lady\nLumley's, who had preceded her father to the grave, exceeded anything\nshe had yet endured. The earl her husband continued the same hard\nusage toward her, and never so much as came to visit her at that time\nof her affliction, but remained in Norfolk, attending to his sports of\nhunting and the like. Howsoever, as he had satisfied her uncles, Mr.\nFrancis and Mr. Leonard Dacre, Mr. James Labourn, and also Lord\nMontague, and his own sister Lady Margaret Sackville, and likewise\nLord Thomas and Lord William Howard, his brothers, that he put not in\nany doubt, albeit words to that effect had once escaped him, the\nvalidity of his marriage, she, with great wisdom and patience, and\nprudence very commendable in one of her years, being destitute of any\nfitting place to dwell in, resolved to return to his house in London.\nAt the which at first he seemed not a little displeased, but yet took\nno measures for to drive her from it. And in the ordering of the\nhousehold and care of his property manifested the same zeal, and\nobtained the same good results, as she had procured whilst she lived\nat Kenninghall. Methought she had waxed older by some years, not\nweeks, since I had seen her, so staid and composed had become the\nfashion of her speech and of her carriage. She conversed with me on\nmine own troubles and comforts, and the various and opposite haps\nwhich had befallen me; which I told her served to strengthen in me my\nearly thinking, that sorrows are oftentimes so intermixed with joys\nthat our lives do more resemble variable April days than the cloudless\nskies of June, or the dark climate of winter.\n\nWhilst we did thus discourse, mine eyes fell on a quaint piece of work\nin silk and silver, which was lying on a table, as if lately unfolded.\nLady Arundel smiled in a somewhat sad fashion, and said:\n\n\"I warrant thou art curious, Constance, to examine that piece of\nembroidery; and verily as regards the hands which hath worked it, and\nthe kind intent with which it was wrought, a more notable one should\nnot easily be found. Look at it, and see if thou canst read the\ningenious meaning of it.\"\n\nThis was the design therein executed with exceeding great neatness and\nbeauty: there was a tree framed, whereon two turtle-doves sat, on\neither side one, with this difference, that by that on the right hand\nthere were two or three green leaves remaining, by the other none at\nall--the tree on that side being wholly bare. Over the top of the tree\nwere these words, wrought in silver: \"Amoris sorte pares.\" At the\nbottom of the tree, on the side where the first turtle-dove did sit by\nthe green leaves, these words were also embroidered: \"Haec ademptum,\"\nwith an anchor under them. On the other side, under the other dove,\nwere these words, in like manner wrought: \"Illa peremptum,\" with\npieces of broken board underneath.\n\n\"See you what this doth mean?\" the countess asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" I answered; \"my wit is herein at fault.\"\n\n\"You will,\" she said, \"when you know whence this gift comes to me.\nMethought, save by a few near to me in blood, or by marriage\nconnected, and one or two friends--thou, my Constance, being the\nchiefest--I was unknown to all the world; but a sad royal heart having\nhad notice, in the midst of its own sore griefs, how the earl my\nhusband doth, through evil counsel, absent and estrange himself from\nme, partly to comfort, and partly to show her love to one she once\nthought should be her daughter-in-law, for a token thereof she sent me\nthis gift, contrived by her own thinking, and wrought with her own\nhands. Those two doves do represent herself and me. On my side an\nanchor and a few green leaves (symbols of hope), show I may yet\nflourish, because my lord is alive; though, by reason of his absence\nand unkindness, I mourn as a {472} lone turtle-dove. But the bare\nboughs and broken boards on her side signify that her hopes are wholly\nwrecked by the death of the duke, for whom she doth mourn without hope\nof comfort or redress.\"\n\nThe pathetic manner in which Lady Arundel made this speech moved me\nalmost to tears.\n\n\"If Philip,\" she said, \"doth visit me again at any time, I will hang\nup this ingenious conceit where he should see it. Methinks it will\nrecall to him the past, and move him to show me kindness. Help me,\nConstance,\" she said after a pause, \"for to compose such an answer as\nmy needle can express, which shall convey to this royal prisoner both\nthanks, and somewhat of hope also, albeit not of the sort she doth\ndisclaim.'\"\n\nI mused for a while, and then with a pencil drew a pattern of a like\ntree to that of the Scottish queen's design; and the dove which did\ntypify the Countess of Arundel I did represent fastened to the branch,\nwhereon she sat and mourned, by many strings wound round her heart,\nand tied to the anchor of an earthly hope, whereas the one which was\nthe symbol of the forlorn royal captive did spread her wings toward\nthe sky, unfettered by the shattered relics strewn at her feet. Lady\nArundel put her arm round my neck, and said she liked well this\ndesign; and bade me for to pray for her, that the invisible strings,\nwhich verily did restrain in her heavenward motions, should not always\nkeep her from soaring thither where only true joys are to be found.\n\nDuring some succeeding weeks I often visited her, and we wrought\ntogether at the same frame in the working of this design, which she\nhad set on hand by a cunning artificer from the rough pattern I had\ndrawn. Much talk the while was ministered between us touching\nreligion, which did more and more engage her thoughts; Mr. Bayley, a\nCatholic gentleman who belonged to the earl her husband, and whom she\ndid at that time employ to carry relief to sick and poor persons,\nhelping her greatly therein, being well instructed himself, and\nhaunting such priests as did reside secretly in London at that time.\n\nAbout the period when Basil was expected to return, my health was\nagain much affected, not so sharply as before, but a weakness and\nfading of strength did show the effects of such sufferings as I had\nendured. Hubert's behavior did tend at that time for to keep me in\ngreat uneasiness. When he came to the house, albeit he spake but\nseldom to me, if we ever were alone he gave sundry hints of a\npersistent hope and a possible desperation, mingled with vague\nthreats, which disturbed me more than can be thought of. Methinks\nKate, Polly, and Muriel held council touching my health; and thence\narose a very welcome proposal, from my Lady Tregony, that I should\nvisit her at her seat in Norfolk, close on the borders of Suffolk,\nwhither she had retired since Thomas Sherwood's death. Polly, who had\na good head and a good heart albeit too light a mind, forecasted the\ncomfort it should be to Basil and me, when he returned, to be so near\nneighbors until we were married (which could not be before some months\nafter he came of age), that we could meet every day; Lady Tregony's\nseat being only three miles distant from Euston. They wrote to him\nthereon; and when his answer came, the joy he expressed was such that\nnothing could be greater. And on a fair day in the spring, when the\nblossoms of the pear and apple-trees were showing on the bare\nbranches, even as my hopes of coming joys did bud afresh after long\npangs of separation, I rode from London, by slow journeys, to Banham\nHall, and amidst the sweet silence of rural scenes, quiet fields, and\na small but convenient house, where I was greeted with maternal\nkindness by one in whom age retained the warmth of heart of youth, I\ndid regain so much strength and good looks, that when, one day, a\n{473} horsemen, when I least thought of it, rode to the door, and I\nturned white and red in turns, speechless with delight, perceiving it\nto be Basil, he took me by both hands, looked into my face and cried:\n\n\"Hang the leeches! Suffolk air was all thou didst need, for all they\ndid so fright me.\"\n\n\"Norfolk air, I pray you,\" quoth my Lady Tregony, smiling.\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" quoth Basil. \"It\ndoth blow over the border from Suffolk.\"\n\n\"Happiness, leastways, bloweth thence,\" I whispered.\n\n\"Yea,\" he answered; for he was not one for to make long speeches.\n\nBut, ah me! the sight of him was a cure to all mine ailments.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nIt is not to be credited with how great an admixture of pleasure and\npain I do set myself to my daily task of writing, for the thought of\nthose spring and summer months spent in Lady Tregony's house doth stir\nup old feelings, the sweetness of which hath yet some bitterness in\nit, which I would fain separate from the memories of that happy time.\n\nBasil had taken up his abode at Euston, whither I so often went and\nwhence he so often came, that methinks we could both have told (for\nmine own part I can yet do it, even after the lapse of so many years)\nthe shape of each tree, the rising of each bank, the every winding of\nthe fair river Ouse betwixt one house and the other. Yea, when I now\nsit down on the shore, gazing on the far-off sea, bethinking myself it\ndoth break on the coast of England, I sometimes newly draw on memory's\ntablet that old large house, the biggest in all Suffolk, albeit homely\nin its exterior and interior plainness, which sitteth in a green\nhollow between two graceful swelling hills. Its opposite meadows\nstarred in the spring-tide with so many daisies and buttercups that\nthe grass scantily showeth amidst these gay intruders; the ascending\nwalk, a mile in length, with four rows of ash-trees on each side, the\ntender green of which in those early April days mocked the sober tints\nof the darksome tufts of fir; and the noble deer underneath the old\noaks, carrying in a stately manner their horned heads, and darting\nalong the glades with so swift a course that the eye could scarce\nfollow them. But mostly the little wooden bridge where, when Basil did\nfish, I was wont to sit and watch the sport, I said, but verily him,\nof whose sight I was somewhat covetous after his long absence. And I\nmind me that one day when we were thus seated, he on the margin of the\nstream and I leaning against the bridge, we held an argument touching\ncountry diversions, which began in this wise:\n\n\"Methinks,\" I said, \"of all disports fishing hath this advantage, that\nif one faileth in the success he looketh for, he hath at least a\nwholesome walk, a sweet air, a fragrant savor of the mead flowers. He\nseeth the young swans, herons, ducks, and many other fowls with their\nbroods, which is surely better than the noise of hounds, the blast of\nhorns, and the cries the hunters make. And if it be in part used for\nthe increasing of the body's health and the solace of the mind, it can\nalso be advantageously employed for the health of the soul, for it is\nnot needful in this diversion to have a great many persons with you,\nand this solitude doth favor thought and the serving of God by\nsometimes repeating devout prayers.\"\n\nTo this Basil replied: \"That as there be many men, there be also many\nminds; and, for his part, when the woods and fields and skies seemed\nin all one loud cry and confusion with the earning of the hounds, the\ngallopping of the horses, the hallowing of the huntsmen, and the\nexcellent echo resounding from the hills and valleys, he did not think\nthere could be a {474} more delectable pastime or a more tuneable\nsound by any degree than this, and specially in that place which is\nformed so meet for the purpose. And if he should wish anything, it\nwould be that it had been the time of year for it, and for me to ride\nby his side on a sweet misty mornings to hear this goodly music and to\nbe recreated with this excellent diversion. And for the matter of\nprayers,\" he added, smiling, \"I warrant thee, sweet preacher, that as\nwholesome cogitations touching Almighty God and his goodness, and\nbrief inward thanking of him for good limbs and an easy heart, have\ncome into my mind on a horse's back with a brave westerly wind blowing\nabout my head, as in the quiet sitting by a stream listing to the\nfowls singing.\"\n\n\"Oh, but Basil,\" I rejoined, \"there are more virtues to be practised\nby an angler than by a hunter.\"\n\n\"How prove you that, sweetheart?\" he asked.\n\nThen I: \"Well, he must be of a well-settled and constant belief to\nenjoy the benefit of his expectation. He must be full of love to his\nneighbor, that he neither give offence in any particular, nor be\nguilty of any general destruction; then he must be exceeding patient,\nnot chafing in losing the prey when it is almost in hand, or in\nbreaking his tools, but with pleased sufferance, as I have witnessed\nin thyself, amend errors and think mischances instructions to better\ncarefulness. He must be also full of humble thoughts, not disdaining\nto kneel, lie down, or wet his fingers when occasion commands. Then\nmust he be prudent, apprehending the reasons why the fish will not\nbite; and of a thankful nature, showing a large gratefulness for the\nleast satisfaction.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut,\" Basil replied, laughing; \"thinkest thou no patience be\nneedful when the dogs do lose the scent, or your horse refuseth to\ntake a gate; no prudence to forecast which way to turn when the issue\nbe doubtful; no humility to brook a fall with twenty fellows passing\nby a-jeering of you; no thankfulness your head be not broken; no love\nof your neighbor for to abstain in the heat of the chase from treading\ndown his corn, or for to make amends when it be done? Go to, go to,\nsweetheart; thou art a dextrous pleader, but hast failed to prove thy\npoint. Methinks there doth exist greater temptations for to swear or\nto quarrel in hunting than in fishing, and, if resisted, more\nexcellent virtues then observed. One day last year, when I was in\nCheshire, Sir Peter Lee of Lime did invite me to hunt the stag, and\nthere being a great stag in chase and many gentlemen hot in the\npursuit, the stag took soil, and divers, whereof I was one, alighted\nand stood with sword drawn to have a cut at him.\"\n\n\"Oh, the poor stag!\" I cried; \"I do always sorely grieve for him.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he continued, \"the stags there be wonderfully fierce and\ndangerous, which made us youths more eager to be at him. But he\nescaped us all; and it was my misfortune to be hindered in my coming\nnear him, the way being slippery, by a fall which gave occasion to\nsome which did not know me to speak as if I had failed for fear; which\nbeing told me, I followed the gentleman who first spoke it, intending\nfor to pick a quarrel with him, and, peradventure, measure my sword\nwith his, so be his denial and repentance did not appear. But, I thank\nGod, afore I reached him my purpose had changed, and in its stead I\nturned back to pursue the stag, and happened to be the only horseman\nin when the dogs set him up at bay; and approaching near him, he broke\nthrough the dogs and ran at me, and took my horse's side with his\nhorns. Then I quitted my horse, and of a sudden getting behind him,\ngot on his back and cut his throat with my sword.\"\n\n\"Alack!\" I cried, \"I do mislike these bloody pastimes, and love not to\nthink of the violent death of any living creature.\"\n\n{475}\n\n\"Well, dear heart,\" he answered, \"I will not make thee sad again by\nthe mention of the killing of so much as a rat, if it displeaseth\nthee. But truly I mislike not to think of that day, for I warrant\nthee, in turning back from the pursuit of that injurious gentleman,\nsomewhat more of virtue did exist than it hath been my hap often to\npractice. For, look you, sweet one, to some it doth cause no pain to\nforgive an injury which toucheth not their honor, or to plunge into\nthe sea to fish out a drowning man; but to be styled a coward, and yet\nto act as a Christian man should do, not seeking for to be revenged,\nwhy, methinks, there should be a little merit in it.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" I said, \"much in every way; but truly, sir, if your thinking is\njust that easy virtue is little or no virtue, I shall be the least\nvirtuous wife in the world.\"\n\nUpon this he laughed so loud that I told him he would fright all the\nfishes away.\n\n\"I' faith, let them go if they list,\" he cried, and cast away his rod.\nThen coming to where I was sitting, he invited me to walk with him\nalongside the stream, and then asked me for to explain my last speech.\n\n\"Why, Basil,\" I said, \"what, I pray you, should be the duty of a\nvirtuous wife but to love her husband?\"\n\nSo then he, catching my meaning, smiled and replied,\n\n\"If that duty shall prove easy to thy affectionate heart, I doubt not\nbut others will arise which shall call for the exercise of more\ndifficult virtue.\"\n\nWhen we came to a sweet nook, where the shade made it too dark for\ngrass to grow, and only moss yielded a soil carpet for the feet, we\nsat down on a shelving slope of broken stones, and I exclaimed,\n\n\"Oh, Basil, methinks we shall be too happy in this fair place; and I\ndo tax myself presently with hardness of heart, that in thy company,\nand the forecasting of a blissful time to come, I lose the sense of\nrecent sorrows.\"\n\n\"God doth yield thee this comfort,\" he answered, \"for to refresh thy\nbody and strengthen thy soul, which have both been verily sorely\nafflicted of late. I ween he doth send us breathing-times with this\nmerciful intent.\"\n\nBy such discourses as these we entertained ourselves at sundry times;\nbut some of the sweetest hours we spent were occupied in planning the\nfuture manner of our lives, the good we should strive to do amongst\nour poor neighbors, and the sweet exercise of Catholic religion we\nshould observe.\n\nForeseeing the frequent concealing of priests in his house, Basil sent\none day for a young carpenter, one Master Owen, who hath since been so\nnoted for the contriving of hiding-places in all the recusants' houses\nin England; and verily what I noticed in him during the days he was at\nwork at Euston did agree with the great repute of sanctity he hath\nsince obtained. His so small stature, his trick of silence, his\nexceeding recollected and composed manner filled me with admiration;\nand Basil told me nothing would serve him, the morning he arrived,\nwhen he found a priest was in the house, but to go to shrift and holy\ncommunion, which was his practice, before ever he set to work at his\ngood business. I took much pleasure in watching his progress. He\nscooped out a cell in the walls of the gallery, contriving a door such\nas I remembered at Sherwood Hall, which none could see to open unless\nthey did know of the spring. All the time he was laboring thereat, I\ncould discern him to be praying; and when he wot not any to be near\nhim, sang hymns in a loud and exceeding sweet voice. I have never\nobserved in any one a more religious behavior than in this youth, who,\nby his subtle and ingenious art, hath saved the lives of many priests,\nand procured mass to be said in houses where none should have durst\nfor to say or hear it if a refuge of this kind did not exist, wherein\na man may lie ensconced for years, and none can find him, if he come\nnot forth himself.\n\n{476}\n\nWhen he was gone, other sort of workmen were called in, for to make\nmore habitable and convenient a portion of this large house. For in\nthis the entire consenting of our minds did appear, that neither of us\ndesired for to spend money on showy improvements, or to inhabit ten\nchambers when five should suffice. What one proposed, the other always\nliked well; and if in tastes we did sometimes differ, yet no\ndisagreement ensued. For, albeit Basil cared not as much as I did for\nthe good ordering of the library, his indulgent kindness did\nnevertheless incline him to favor me with a promise that one hundred\nfair, commendable books should be added to those his good father had\ncollected. He said that Hubert should aid us to choose these goodly\nvolumes, holy treatises, and histories in French and English, if it\nliked me, and poetry also. One pleasant chamber he did laughingly\nappoint for to be the scholar's room, in the which he should never so\nmuch as show his face, but Hubert and I read and write, if we listed,\nour very heads off. The ancient chapel was now a hall; and, save some\ncarving on the walls which could not be recovered, no traces did\nremain of its old use. But at the top-most part of the house, at the\nhead of a narrow staircase, was a chamber wherein mass was sometimes\nsaid; and since Basil's return, he had procured that each Saturday a\npriest should come and spend the night with him, for the convenience\nof all the neighboring Catholics who resorted there for to go to their\nduty. Lady Tregony and her household--which were mostly Catholic, but\nhad not the same commodities in her house, where to conceal any one\nwas more hard, for that it stood almost in the village of Fakenham,\nand all comers and goers proved visible to the inhabitants--did repair\non Sundays, at break of day, to Euston. How sweet were those rides in\nthe fair morning light, the dew bespangling every herb and tree, and\nthe wild flowers filling the air with their fresh fragrance! The pale\nprimroses, the azure harebell, the wood-anemone, and the dark-blue\nhyacinth--what dainty nosegays they furnished us with for our Blessed\nLady's altar! of which the fairest image I ever beheld stood in the\nlittle secret chapel at Euston. Basil did much affection this image of\nBlessed Mary; for as far back as he could remember he had been used to\nsay his prayers before it; and when his mother died, he being only\nseven years of age, he knelt before this so lively representation of\nGod's Mother, beseeching of her to be a mother to him also; which\nprayer methinks verily did take effect, his life having been marked by\nsingular tokens of her maternal care.\n\nIn the Holy Week, which fell that year in the second week of April, he\nprocured the aid of three priests, and had all the ceremonies\nperformed which do appertain to that sacred season. On Wednesday,\ntoward evening began _Tenebrae_, with the mysterious candlestick of\nfifteen lights, fourteen of them representing, by the extinguishing of\nthem, the disciples which forsook Christ; the fifteenth on the top,\nwhich was not put out, his dear Mother, who from the crib to the\ncross, was not severed from him. On Thursday we decked the sepulchre\nwherein the Blessed Sacrament reposed with flowers and all such jewels\nas we possessed, and namely with a very fair diamond cross which Basil\nhad gifted me with, and reverently attended it day and night. \"God\ndefend,\" I said to Basil, when the sepulchre was removed, \"I should\nretain for vain uses what was lent to our Lord yester eve!\" and\nstraightway hung on the cross to our Lady's neck. On Friday we all\ncrept to the crucifix, and kissing, bathed it with our tears. On\nSaturday every fire was extinguished in the house, and kindled again\nwith hallowed fire. Then ensued the benediction of the paschal candle,\nand the rest of the divine ceremonies, till mass. At mass, as soon as\nthe priest pronounced \"Gloria in excelsis,\" a cloth, contrived by Lady\nTregony and me, {477} and which veiled the altar, made resplendent\nwith lights and flowers, was suddenly snatched away, and many little\nbells we had prepared for that purpose rung, in imitation of what was\ndone in England in Catholic times, and now in foreign countries. On\nEaster Sunday, after mass, a benediction was given to divers sorts of\nmeat, and, in remembrance of the Lamb sacrificed two days before, a\ngreat proportion of lamb. Nigh one hundred recusants had repaired to\nEuston that day for their paschal communion. Basil did invite them all\nto break Lent's neck with us, in honor of Christ's joyful\nresurrection; and many blessings were showered that day, I ween, on\nMaster Rookwood, and for his sake, I ween, on Mistress Sherwood also.\nThe sun did shine that Easter morning with more than usual brightness.\nThe common people do say it danceth for joy at this glorious tide. For\nmy part, methought it had a rare youthful brilliancy, more cheering\nthan hot, more lightsome than dazzling. All nature seemed to rejoice\nthat Christ was risen; and pastoral art had devised arches of flowers\nand gay wreaths hanging from pole to pole and gladdening every\nthicket.\n\nVerily, if the sun danced in the sky, my poor heart danced in my\nbosom. At Basil's wishing, anticipating future duties, I went to the\nkitchen for to order the tansy-cakes which were to be prizes at the\nhand-ball playing on the next day. Like a foolish creature, I was\nready to smile at every jest, howsoever trifling; and when Basil put\nin his head at the door and cried, \"Prithee, let each one that eateth\nof tansy-cake to-morrow, which signifieth bitter herbs, take also of\nbacon, to show he is no Jew,\" the wenches and I did laugh till the\ntears ran down our cheeks. Ah me! when the heart doth overflow with\njoy 'tis marvellous how the least word maketh merriment.\n\nOne day late in April I rode with Basil for to see some hawking, which\nverily is a pleasure for high and mounting spirits; howsoever, I wore\nnot the dress which the ladies in this country do use on such\noccasions, for I have always thought it an unbecoming thing for women\nto array themselves in male attire, or ride in fashion like a man, and\nBasil is of my thinking thereon. It was a dear, calm, sun-shiny\nevening, about an hour before the sun doth usually mask himself, that\nwe went to the river. There we dismounted and, for the first time, I\ndid behold this noble pastime. For is it not rare to consider how a\nwild bird should be so brought to hand and so well managed as to make\nus such pleasure in the air; but most of all to forego her native\nliberty and feeding, and return to her servitude and diet? And what a\nlesson do they read to us when our wanton wills and thoughts take no\nheed of reason and conscience's voices luring us back to duty's perch.\n\nWhen we had stood a brief time watching for a mallard, Basil perceived\none and whistled off his falcon. She flew from him as if she would\nnever have turned her head again, yet upon a shout came in. Then by\ndegrees, little by little, flying about and about, she mounted so high\nas if she had made the moon the place of her flight, but presently\ncame down like a stone at the sound of his lure. I waxed very eager in\nthe noticing of these haps, and was well content to be an eye-witness\nof this sport. Methought it should be a very pleasant thing to be\nBasil's companion in it, and wear a dainty glove and a gentle tasel on\nmy fist which should never cast off but at my bidding, and when I let\nit fly would return at my call. And this thought minded me of a\nfaithful love never diverted from its resting-place save by heavenward\naspirations alternating betwixt earthly duties and ghostly soarings.\nBut oh, what a tragedy was enacted in the air when Basil, having\ndetected by a little white feather in its tail a cock in a brake, cast\noff a tasel gentle, who never ceased his circular motion till he had\nrecovered his place. Then suddenly {478} upon the flushing of the cock\nhe came down, and missing of it in that down-come, lo what working\nthere was on both sides! The cock mounting as if he would have pierced\nthe skies; the hawk flying a contrary way until he had made the wind\nhis friend; what speed the cock made to save himself! What hasty\npursuit the hawk made of the fugitive! after long flying killing of\nit, but alack in killing of it killing himself!\n\n\"Ah, a fatal ending to a fatal strife!\" exclaimed a known voice close\nunto mine ear, a melodious one, albeit now harsh to my hearing. Mine\neyes were dazzled with gazing upward, and I confusedly discerned two\ngentlemen standing near me, one of which I knew to be Hubert. I gave\nhim my hand, and then Basil turning round and beholding him and his\ncompanion, came up to them with a joyful greeting:\n\n\"Oh, Sir Henry,\" he exclaimed, \"I be truly glad to see you; and you,\nHubert, what a welcome surprise is this!\"\n\nThen he introduced me to Sir Henry Jemingham; for he it was who,\nbowing in a courteous fashion, addressed to me such compliments as\ngentlemen are wont to pay to ladies at the outset of their\nacquaintanceship.\n\nThese visitors had left their horses a few paces off, and then Sir\nHenry explained that Hubert had been abiding with him at his seat for\na few days, and that certain law-business in which Basil was concerned\nas well as his brother, and himself also, as having been for one year\nhis guardian, did necessitate a meeting wherein these matters should\nbe brought to a close.\n\n\"So,\" quoth he then, \"Master Basil, I proposed we should invade your\nsolitude in place of withdrawing you from it, which methought of the\ntwo evils should be the least, seeing what attractions do detain you\nat Euston at this time.\"\n\nI foolishly dared not look at Hubert when Sir Henry made this speech,\nand Basil with hearty cheer thanked him for his obliging conduct and\nthe great honor he did him for to visit him in this amicable manner.\nThen he craved his permission for to accompany me to Lady Tregony's\nhouse, trusting, he said, to Hubert to conduct him to Euston, and to\nperform there all hospitable duties during the short time he should be\nabsent himself.\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" quoth Sir Henry, \"but, with your license, Master Basil, we\nwill ride with you and this lady to Banham Hall. Methinks, seeing you\nare such near neighbors, that Mistress Sherwood lacketh not\nopportunities to enjoy your company, and that you should not deprive\nme of the pleasure of a short conversation with her whilst Hubert and\nyou entertain yourselves for the nonce in the best way you can.\"\n\nBasil smiled, and said it contented him very much that Sir Henry\nshould enjoy my conversation, which he hoped in future should make\namends to his friends for his own deficiencies. So we all mounted our\nhorses, and Sir Henry rode alongside of me, and Basil and Hubert\nbehind us; for only two could hold abreast in the narrow lane which\nled to Fakenham. A chill had fallen on my heart since Hubert's\narrival, which I can only liken to the sudden overcasting of a bright\nsun-shiny day by a dark, cold cloud.\n\nAt first Sir Henry entered into discourse with me touching hawking,\nwhich he talked of in a merry fashion, drawing many similitudes\nbetwixt falconers and lovers, which he said were the likest people in\nthe world.\n\n\"For, I pray you,\" said he \"are not hawks to the one what his mistress\nis to the other? the objects of his care, admiration, labor, and all.\nThey be indeed his idols. To them he consecrates his amorous ditties,\nand courts each one in a peculiar dialect. Oh, believe me, Mistress\nSherwood, that lady may style herself fortunate in love who shall meet\nwith so much thought, affection, and solicitude from a lover or a\nhusband as his birds do from a good ostringen.\"\n\n{479}\n\nThen diverting his speech to other topics, he told me it was bruited\nthat the queen did intend to make a progress in the eastern counties\nthat summer, and that her majesty should be entertained in a very\nsplendid manner at Kenninghall by my Lord Arundel and also at his\nhouse in Norwich.\n\n\"It doth much grieve me to hear it,\" I answered.\n\nThen he: \"Wherefore, Mistress Sherwood?\"\n\n\"Because,\" I said, \"Lord Arundel hath already greatly impaired his\nfortune and spent larger sums than can be thought of in the like\nprodigal courtly expenses, and also lost a good part of the lands\nwhich his grandfather and my Lady Lumley would have bequeathed to him\nif he had not turned spendthrift and so greatly displeased them.\"\n\n\"But and if it be so,\" quoth he again, \"wherefore doth this young\nnobleman's imprudence displeasure you, Mistress Sherwood?\"\n\nI answered, \"By reason of the pain which his follies do cause to his\nsweet lady, which for many years hath been more of a friend to my poor\nself, than unequal rank and, if possible, still more unequal merit\nshould warrant.\"\n\n\"Then I marvel not,\" replied Sir Henry, \"at your resentment of her\nhusband's folly, for by all I have ever seen or heard of this lady she\ndoth show herself to be the pattern of a wife, the model of high-born\nladies; and 'tis said that albeit so young, there doth exist in her so\nmuch merit and dignity that some noblemen confess that when they come\ninto her presence they dare not swear, as at other times they are wont\nto do before the best of the kingdom. But I have heard, and am verily\ninclined to believe it, that he is much changed in his dispositions\ntoward his lady; though pride, it may be, or shame at his ill-usage of\nher, or fear that it should seem that, now his favor with the queen\ndoth visibly decline, he should turn to her whom, when fortune smiled\nupon him, he did keep aloof from, seeking her only when clouds gather\nround him, do hinder him from showing these new inclinations.\"\n\n\"How much he would err,\" I exclaimed, \"and wrong his noble wife if he\nmisdoubted her heart in such a case! Methinks most women would be\nready to forgive one they loved when misfortune threatened them, but\nshe beyond all others, who never at any time allowed jealousy or\nnatural resentments to draw away her love from him to whom she hath\nvowed it. But is Lord Arundel then indeed in less favor with her\nmajesty? And how doth this surmise agree with the report of her visit\nto Kenninghall?\"\n\n\"Ah, Mistress Sherwood,\" he answered, \"declines in the human body\noften do call for desperate remedies, and the like are often required\nwhen they occur in court favor. 'Tis a dangerous expedient to spend\ntwo or three thousands of pounds in one or two days for the\nentertainment of the queen and the court; but if, on the report of her\nintended progress, one of such high rank as Lord Arundel had failed to\nplace his house at her disposal, his own disgrace and his enemies'\ntriumph should have speedily ensued. I pray God my Lord Burleigh do\nnot think on Cottessy! Egad, I would as lief pay down at once one\nyear's income as to be so uncertainly mulcted. I warrant you Lord\nArundel shall have need to sell an estate to pay for the honor her\nmajesty will do him. He hath a spirit will not stop half-way in\nanything he doth pursue.\"\n\n\"Then think you, sir,\" I said, \"he will be one day as noted for his\nvirtues as now for his faults?\"\n\nSir Henry smiled as he answered, \"If Philip Howard doth set himself\none day to serve God, I promise you his zeal therein will far exceed\nwhat he hath shown in the devil's service.\"\n\n\"I pray you prove a true prophet, sir,\" I said; and, as we now had\nreached the door of Lady Tregony's house, I took leave of this\ncourteous gentlemen, and hastily turned toward {480} Basil--with an\nuneasy desire to set him on his guard to use some reserve in his\nspeeches with Hubert, but withal at a loss how to frame a brief\nwarning, or to speak without being overheard. Howsoever, I drew him a\nlittle aside, and whispered, \"Prithee, be silent touching Owen's work,\neven to Hubert.\"\n\nHe looked at me so much astonished, and methought with so great a look\nof pain, that my heart smote me. We exchanged a brief farewell; and\nwhen they had all ridden away, I felt sad. Our partings were wont to\nbe more protracted; for he would most times ask me to walk back with\nhim to the gate, and then made it an excuse that it should be\nunmannerly not to see me home, and so three or four times we used to\nwalk to and fro, till at last I did laughingly shut the door on him,\nand refused to open it again. But, ah me! that evening the chill I\nspoke of had fallen on our simple joys like a blight on a fair\nlandscape.\n\nOn the next day two missives came to me from Euston, sent by private\nhand, but not by the same messenger. I leave the reader to judge what\nI felt in reading these proofs of the dispositions of two brothers, so\nalike in features, so different in soul. This was Basil's letter:\n\n\"MINE OWN DEAR HEART--\nThe business which hath brought Sir Henry and Hubert here will, I be\nfrightened, hold me engaged all to-morrow. But, before I sleep, I must\nneeds write thee (poor penman as I be) how much it misliketh me to see\nin thee an ill opinion of mine only and dear brother, and such\nsuspicion as verily no one should entertain of a friend, but much less\nof one so near in blood. I do yield thee that he is not as zealous as\nI could wish in devout practices, and something too fond of worldly\npleasures; but God is my witness, I should as soon think of doubting\nmine own existence as his fidelity to his religion, or his kindness to\nmyself. So, prithee, dear love, pain me not again by the utterance of\nsuch injurious words to Hubert as that I should not trust him with any\nsecrets howsoever weighty, or should observe any manner of restraint\nin communicating with him touching common dangers and interests.\nMethinks he is very sad at this time, and that the sight of his\npaternal home hath made him melancholy. Verily, his lot hath in it\nnone of the brightness which doth attend mine, and I would we could\nanyways make him a partaker in the happiness we do enjoy. I pray God\nhe may help me to effect this, by the forwarding of any wish he hath\nat heart; but he was always of a very reserved habit of mind, and not\nprone to speak of his own concernments. Forgive, sweetheart, this\nloving reproof, from thy most loving friend and servant,\"\n\"BASIL ROOKWOOD.\"\n\nHubert's was as followeth:\n\n\"MADAM--My presumption toward you hath doubtless been a sin calling\nfor severe punishment; but I pray you leave not the cause of it\nunremembered. The doubtful mind you once showed in my regard, and of\nwhich the last time I saw you some marks methought did yet appear,\nshould be my excuse if I have erred in a persistency of love, which\nmost women would less deserve indeed, but would more appreciate than\nyou have done. If this day no token doth reach me of your changed\nmind, be it so. I depart hence as changed as you do remain unchanged.\nIt may be for mine own weal, albeit passion deems of it otherwise, if\nyou finally reject me whom once you did look upon with so great favor,\nthat the very thought of it works in me a revived tenderness as should\nbe mine own undoing if it prevailed, for this country hath laws which\nare not broken in vain, and faithful loyal service is differently\nrequited than traitorous and obstinate malignity. I shall be the\ngreater for lacking your love, proud lady; but to have it I would\nforego all a sovereign can bestow--all that ambition can desire.\nThese, then, are my last words. If we meet not to-day, God {481}\nknoweth with what sentiments we shall one day meet, when justice hath\novertaken you, and love in me hath turned to hatred!\"\n\n\"HUBERT ROOKWOOD.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" I bitterly exclaimed, laying the two letters side by side before\nme, \"one endeth with love, the other with hate. The one showeth the\nnoble fruits of true affection, the other the bitter end of selfish\npassion.\" Then I mused if I should send Basil, or show him later\nHubert's letter, clearing myself of any injustice toward him, but\ndestroying likewise for ever his virtuous confidence his brother's\nhonor. A short struggle with myself ensued, but I soon resolved, for\nthe present at least, on silence. If danger did seem to threaten\nBasil, which his knowledge of his brother's baseness could avert, then\nI must needs speak; but God defend I should without constraint pour a\npoisoned drop into the dear fount of his undoubting soul. Passion may\ndie away, hatred may cease, repentance arise; but the evil done by the\nrevealing of another's sin worketh endless wrong to the doer and the\nhearer.\n\nThe day on which I received these two letters did seem the longest I\nhad ever known. On the next Basil came to Banham Hall, and told me his\nguests were gone. A load seemed lifted from my heart But, albeit we\nresumed our wonted manner of life, and the same mutual kindness and\naccustomed duties and pleasures filled our days, I felt less secure in\nmy happiness, less thoughtless of the world without, more subject to\nsudden sinkings of heart in the midst of greatest merriment, than\nbefore Hubert's visit.\n\nIn the early part of June, Mr. Congleton wrote in answer to Basil's\neager pressings that he would fix the day of our marriage, that he was\nof opinion a better one could not be found than that of our Lady's\nVisitation, on the 2d of July, and that, if it pleased God, he should\nthen take the first journey he had made for five-and-twenty years; for\nnothing would serve Lady Tregony but that the wedding should take\nplace in her house, where a priest would marry us in secret at break\nof day, and then we should ride to the parish church at Euston for the\npublic ceremony. He should, he added, carry Muriel with him, howsoever\nreluctant she should be to leave London; but he promised us this\nshould be a welcome piece of constraint, for that she longed to see me\nagain more than can be told.\n\nVerily, pleasant letters reached me that week; for my father wrote he\nwas in better health, and in great peace and contentment of mind at\nRheims, albeit somewhat sad, when he saw younger and more fortunate\nmen (for so he styled them) depart for the English mission; and by a\ncypher we had agreed on he gave me to understand Edmund Genings was of\nthat number. And Lady Arundel, to whom I had reported the conversation\nI had with Sir Henry Jemingham, sent me an answer which I will here\ntranscribe:\n\n\"MY WELL-BELOVED CONSTANCE\n--You do rightly read my heart, and the hope you express in my regard,\nwith so tender a friendship and solicitous desire for my happiness,\nhath indeed a better foundation than idle surmises. It hath truly\npleased God that Philip's disposition toward me should change; and\nalbeit this change is not as yet openly manifested, he nevertheless\ndoth oftentimes visit me, and testifies much regret for his past\nneglect of one whom he doth now confess to be his truest friend, his\ngreatest lover, and best comfort. O mine own dear friend! my life has\nknown many strange accidents, but none greater or more strange than\nthis, that my so long indifferent husband should turn into a secret\nlover who doth haunt me by stealth, and looking on me with new eyes,\nappears to conceive so much admiration for my worthless beauty, and to\nfind such pleasure in my poor company, that it would seem as if a new\nface and person had been given to me wherewith {482} to inspire him\nwith this love for her to whom he doth owe it. Oh, I promise thee this\nhusbandly wooing liketh me well, and methinks I would not at once\ndisclose to the world this new kindness he doth show me and revival of\nconjugal affection, but rather hug it and cherish it like a secret\ntreasure until it doth take such deep root that nothing can again\nseparate his heart from me. His fears touching the queen's\nill-conception of him increase, and his enemies do wax more powerful\neach day. The world hath become full of uneasiness to him. Methinks he\nwould gladly break with it; but like to one who walketh on a narrow\nplank, with a precipice on each side of him, his safety lieth only in\nadvancing. The report is true--I would it were false--of the queen's\nprogress, and her intended visit to Kenninghall. I fear another fair\nestate in the north must needs pay the cost thereof; but avoidance is\nimpossible. I am about to remove from London to Arundel Castle, where\nmy lord doth will me for the present to reside. The sea-breezes on\nthat coast, and the mild air of Sussex, he thinks should improve my\nhealth, which doth at this time require care. Touching religion, I\nhave two or three times let fall words which implied an increased\ninclination to Catholic religion. Each time his countenance did very\nmuch alter, and assumed a painful expression. I fear he is as greatly\nopposed to it as heretofore. But if once resolved on what conscience\ndoth prescribe, with God's help, I hope that neither new-found joys\nnor future fears shall stay me from obeying its voice.\n\n\"And so thou art to be married come the early days of July! I' faith\nthy Basil and thou have, like a pair of doves, cooed long enough, I\nween, amidst the tall trees of Euston; which, if you are to be\nbelieved, should be the most delectable place in the whole world. And\nyet some have told me it is but a huge plain building, and the country\nabout it, except for its luxuriant trees, of no notable beauty. The\nsunshine of thine own heart sheddeth, I ween, a radiancy on the plain\nwalls and the unadorned gardens greater than nature or art can bestow.\nI cry thee mercy for this malicious surmise, and give thee license,\nwhen I shall write in the same strain touching my lord's castle at\nArundel to flout me in a like manner. Some do disdainfully style it a\nhuge old fortress; others a very grand and noble pile. If that good\nbefalleth me that he doth visit me there, then I doubt not but it will\nbe to me the cheerfullest place in existence. Thy loving servant to\ncommand,\n    \"ANN ARUNDEL AND SURREY.\"\n\nThis letter came to my hand at Whitsuntide, when the village folks\nwere enacting a pastoral, the only merit of which did lie in the\ninnocent glee of the performers. The sheep-shearing feast, a very\npretty festival, ensued a few days later. A fat lamb was provided, and\nthe maidens of the town permitted to run after it, and she which took\nhold of it declared the lady of the lamb. 'Tis then the custom to kill\nand carry it on a long pole before the lady and her companions to the\ngreen, attended with music and morisco dances. But this year I\nransomed the lamb, and had it crowned with blue corn-flowers and\npoppies, and led to a small paddock, where for some time I visited and\nfed it every day. Poor little lamb! like me, it had one short happy\ntime that summer.\n\nIn the evening I went with the lasses to the banks of the Ouse, and\nscattered on the dimpling stream, as is their wont at the lamb-ale, a\nthousand odorous flowers--new-born roses, the fleur-de-luce,\nsweet-williams, and yellow coxcombs, the small-flowered\nlady's-slipper, the prince's-feather and the clustered bell-flower,\nthe sweet-basil (the saucy wenches smiled when they furnished me with\na bunch thereof), and a great store of midsummer daisies. When, with\ndue observance, I threw on the water a handful of these golden-tufted\nand {483} silver-crowned flowerets, I thought of Master Chaucer's\nlines:\n\n  \"Above all the flowers in the mead\n  These love I most--these flowers white and red.\n      And in French called _la belle Marguerite_.\n  O commendable flower, and most in mind!\n  O flower and gracious excellence!\n      O amiable Marguerite.\"\n\nThe great store of winsome and graciously-named flowers used that day\nset me to plan a fair garden, wherein each month should yield in its\nturn to the altar of our secret chapel a pure incense of nature's own\nfurnishing. Basil was helping me thereto, and my Lady Tregony smiling\nat my quaint devices, when Mr. Cobham, a cousin of her ladyship,\narrived, bringing with him news of the queen's progress, which quickly\ndiverted us from other thoughts, and caused my pencil to stand idle in\nmine hand.\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n----------\n\nFrom The Sixpenny Magazine.\n\nTHE SIEGE OF MALTA.\n\n\nWhen Solymon, sultan of Turkey, had resolved to extirpate the Knights\nof Malta, pursuant to his ultimate design of taking vengeance on\nPhilip II. of Spain for the loss which he had suffered in the\nreduction of the (as he supposed) impregnable Penon de Valez, and for\nthe hostility which the Spaniards had visited upon the Morescoes, to\nwhich may be added the incentive of radical religious differences, for\nthe depredations which those famous warriors had visited upon his\ncommerce, he gave the command of his fleet to Piali, and that of his\nland forces to Mustapha. Having equipped all of the ships in his\nempire, to which were united the corsairs of Hascem and Dragut,\nviceroys of Algiers and Tripoli, he ordered them to repair to the\nsiege of Malta.\n\nThe Christian powers on the Mediterranean, having heard of his\nextensive preparations, were in doubt as to the destination of the\nTurkish fleet; but it appearing from the report of spies that it was\nbound for Malta, the grand master called immediately upon the Catholic\nking, the Pope, and the other Christian princes for their aid in\nwithstanding their common enemy, the infidels. These powers were under\nno small obligation to the Knights, who had made it a part of the\nfaith which they held in unity with these powers, to destroy them upon\nevery occasion which presented the opportunity. But, to their\ndisgrace, these powers discovered an ungrateful hesitancy in\nresponding to this demand, save Philip, and even he, the historian\nrelates, was actuated by motives not wholly engendered by a sense of\nhonor, and whose tardiness was well-nigh fatal to the cause which he\nprofessed to zealously espouse, and upon which the Knights of Malta\nrelied for success.\n\nAbout the middle of May, three hundred years ago, the Turkish fleet\narrived in sight of Malta, with a strength of upward of 40,000,\ncomposed chiefly of janissaries and serapis, the bravest troops of the\nOttoman empire.\n\nJohn de la Valette, the master-spirit of the defence, commands our\nhighest admiration for his intrepid efforts in inspiring every aspect\nwith the buoyancy of hope. The troops at his disposal to stay this\ntide of destruction, which set so furiously against his little\nsea-washed isle, amounted to only 700 knights and 8,500 soldiers,\nwhich flattered Solymon into the egregious error that it was an easy\nconquest to {484} His janissaries and serapis, who, under their\ndistinguished commanders, were accustomed to victory.\n\nThe Turks landed at some distance from Il Borgo, and, unresisted,\ndevastated the defenceless territory; but they now drew near a goal\nwhich was calculated to deceive those who entertained the fantasy that\nan easy victory waited them.\n\nMustapha, in view of the Spanish forces daily expected to relieve the\nenemy, counselled an immediate attack upon St. Elmo. This was a fort\nderiving much of its strength, as well as importance, from its natural\nadvantages. It was situated on a narrow neck of land which was washed\non either side by important harbors; it was accessible only over a\nroad which was either bare rock or thinly covered with gravel, and, in\nthe rear, communications with Il Borgo were protected by the forts St.\nAngelo and St. Michael.\n\nThe basha, to secure himself a safer approach to St. Elmo, caused to\nbe erected a parapet of heavy timber, covered toward the fort with a\nmixture of earth, straw, and rushes, to receive the enemy's missiles.\nHere he planted his heaviest guns and prepared for the siege.\n\nThe governor of St. Elmo delegated a member of the fort to convey\nintelligence to La Valette, the grand master, that the place could not\nsustain an action for a great length of time; the messenger\nrepresented, in exaggerated coloring, the information that the fort\ncould not withstand the siege for more than a week. La Valette, in his\nreply, administered a rebuke, although convinced that it could not,\nwith its limited capacity for sustaining troops, remain long in the\npossession of the order; but he was none the less impressed with the\npolicy of holding it, even at a great sacrifice, till the arrival of\nthe Viceroy of Sicily, who had been instructed by the King of Spain to\nrepresent the kingdom, in response to the call of the grand master. He\nconcluded, in view of the necessities of the case, to head in person a\nbody of reinforcements; but being dissuaded by the importunities of\nthe Knights, he consented to intrust its charge to De Medran, in whom\nhe placed implicit confidence.\n\nStung by the rebuke, and encouraged by their new accessions, the\ngarrison sallied forth upon the offensive, dealing consternation to\nthe unwarned foe; but having recovered from their surprise, the Turks\nturned upon their assailants, who were discomfited by a perverse wind\nwhich blew the smoke so as to obscure the enemy, and drove them within\nthe walls. When the smoke cleared away, what was the dismay of the\nKnights to discover that the Turks had planted a battery in such\njuxtaposition as to compromise much the security of the fort. It was,\nunquestionably, a doubtful advantage which the Christians obtained by\nquitting their works, as they now found it necessary for a greater\nvigilance to be called into action.\n\nThe tireless infidels having discovered a gun-port but a few feet from\nthe ground, well-nigh made themselves masters of the cavaliers by\nmeans of ladders. But after slaughtering many Christians, the\ngarrison, aroused from sleep and inspired by their sense of danger,\ncompelled, by the fury of their assault, the Turks to retire into the\nravelin. The conflict was now renewed upon the part of the\njanissaries, and the contest raged with unabated vigor from daylight\ntill noon, when the besiegers were forced to withdraw. About a hundred\nand twenty soldiers and Knights were killed, at a cost of nearly three\nthousand to the enemy.\n\nThe situation of the fort was now grown critical. Mustapha held the\nravelin, and, conscious of its significance to the foe, whose attempts\nto regain it were strenuous, filled up the ranks as fast as the\ndesperate struggles thinned them. La Valette sent reinforcements;\nstill the infidels persevered in battering breaches in the walls.\nFearing lest Mustapha would attempt to effect his purpose by {485}\nstorming, the faltering Knights applied a second time to the grand\nmaster, recommending a desertion of the works.\n\nLa Valette, in opposition to the majority of his council, held, though\nregretting the fate which awaited his brothers in the order, that the\nplace must not be evacuated, and called upon the defenders to execute\ntheir vow, if necessary, which bound them to sacrifice their lives for\nthe welfare and perpetuity of the order. He also determined to follow\nsoon his reply in person, and fall in the common cause of\nChristianity. Such was the grand master who withstood, alone and\nunsupported, as we might say, the whole infidel forces, and who\ndeclared his fealty to the cause in so determined a manner--a manner\nnot weakened by faltering acts--as to inspire courage into the most\ncraven heart.\n\nSome murmured at this response, and fifty-three of the malcontents\naddressed him a letter, in which they expressed the purpose that,\nunless on the next night he sent boats to take them away, they would\nseek sudden death without the shelter of the fort. To this letter he\nreplied by sending three commissioners to examine the tenability of\nthe works, and explaining to the disaffected soldiery their paramount\nduty to the organization, and the futility of sacrificing their lives\nto no good end, which were now so needful to sustain the defence\nagainst the enemies of their holy faith. Two of these commissioners\nconcurred in pronouncing it untenable, but the third, Constantine\nGastriot, esteemed the fort far from being reduced. To guarantee his\ngood faith he offered to attempt its defence with what soldiers the\ndangerous post would voluntarily command.\n\nLa Valette gladly accepted the offer, and, with consummate address,\ninformed the hitherto clamorous Knights that they might now obtain\ntheir discharge; that he would relieve them by another garrison; and\nalso promising them facilities for transportation to II Borgo. \"You my\nbrethren,\" concluded he, \"may be in greater safety here, and I shall\nthen feel less anxiety for the preservation of the fort.\"\n\nConscious of the infamy that would await them upon their return, and\nstung by the latent expression of the letter, they resolved to only\nquit the fort when called to face the enemy. The grand master, to try\ntheir feelings, intimated that willing troops were preferable to those\nwho were mutinous. This answer greatly affected the Knights, and they\nhumbled themselves still more till La Valette gladly receded from his\nrigor.\n\nHaving now consecrated themselves for the immolation, and more troops\nhaving come to their relief, operations were resumed. An invention\nproductive of great mischief to the enemy was resorted to by the\nfertile genius of the besieged. Hoops were constructed of very\ncombustible material, and ignited and thrown among the Turks as they\nwere crowding to the assault. These were calculated to clasp a few of\nthem together, and, in confusion, to render relief impossible, and a\nhorrid death probable.\n\nFor a month the engagement was daily renewed, and Mustapha was as\nfrequently repulsed. On the 16th of July, intent upon a grand,\noverwhelming assault, the Turkish fleet was drawn up near the fort,\nsupported by 4,000 musketeers and archers in the earthworks. The Turks\nattempted to rush in at the breaches, now filled up with the\ninvincible Christian soldiery. But the immense number of the former\ndefeated the end they sought by so great a force. The cannon belched\nforth a broad-sweeping desolation among the assailants for six hours;\nthe enemy were terrified almost beyond control of the officers, till,\nat length, Mustapha was mortified in having, without gaining any\nadvantage by the slaughter which his command had sustained, to recall\nthem.\n\nMustapha despairing, after this sanguinary resistance to his arms, of\nsubduing the garrison so long as communication was kept open with the\ntown, by which the attenuated ranks were {486} supplied with fresh\ntroops, resolved, as his surest resort, to extend his works across the\nneck and connect with the harbor in the rear. This work was executed\nwith much difficulty and loss. At this time Dragut, the most\naccomplished naval officer of the Ottoman empire, was killed. Great as\nwas this loss, Mustapha did not hesitate, but seemed with every new\nadversity to strengthen in his purpose of encompassing the Christians\nwith ruin.\n\nHaving rendered, by this precautionary expedient, the reception of\nsupplies from the town impossible, he again renewed the assault. The\nfour spirited attacks which were made upon the 31st of July were\nrepulsed by the Knights and soldiers, displaying, in the words of our\nauthor (Watson), \"a degree of prowess and fortitude which almost\nexceeds belief, and is beyond the power of description.\"\n\nIntelligence having been conveyed to the grand master of the perilous\nsituation of the fortress, troops were despatched to the rescue; but\nthey were forced to return, leaving the little garrison weak but\ndetermined, faced with certain destruction, yet prepared to meet it\nheroically. It commands our deepest admiration to see, even through\nthe film of distance, that little band, undaunted, cooped up within\nthat fiery furnace awaiting that doom which was drawing nearer and\nnearer, and which heralded its dreadful approach with a pageantry at\nonce terrible and sublime; to see them with the blazing canopy\nshowering death down upon their uncovered heads; to see them, having\nonly to regret their former cowardice, adding to their already\nresplendent laurels. A prouder moment does not come to the\nhistorian--a moment more replete with the fulness of joy than can ever\nbe known to the fictionist, as he lingers with enchanted pen upon such\nscenes; and yet, when followed by those which are revolting to our\nmore refined sense of enlightenment, he painfully discharges his duty.\n\nHaving spent the night which witnessed the blasting of every hope of\nrelief in prayer, they bade each other affectionate adieus, and\nrepaired to their death posts. To throw themselves upon the mercy of a\nfoe which indeed knew no mercy, was not for a moment entertained by\nthose who were wedded to the Catholic Church. The wounded and\ndisabled, at their request, were placed where sure death might meet\nthem. St. Elmo was attacked upon the 23d of July, 1505, which day saw\nthe infidel flag flaunting triumphantly over its ramparts, so soon to\nbe struck in disgrace and be replaced by the standard of St. John. The\nresistance which its handful of defenders made provoked rather the\nrage of the Turks than incited their admiration, and, after an\nunparalleled struggle of four hours, nothing was left but the broken\nwalls to urge resistance to the overwhelming foe. Supremely grand was\nthe terrific display which its heights commanded amidst the fiercest\nof the strife! A multitude of swaying human beings, actuated by a\nmaddened revenge, hurtling one against the other, stretching away,\nwhilst those more closely drawn to its sides were in numbers joined in\nfiery chains, and in the embrace of their blazing bonds expired with\nthe wildest shrieks of agony! St. Elmo, wrapped in fire, arrayed in\nits funereal pall of lowering smoke, became the prey of the Turks.\n\nMustapha surveyed the scene of his dear-bought victory with feelings\nno doubt adverse to those which flattered him upon his arrival.\nBrutal, indeed, were the means by which he sought to carry\nconsternation to Il Borgo; all that had been found yet alive were\nripped open, and, with the holy symbol of their faith gashed upon\ntheir bodies, they were thrown into the harbor, and winds and tides\ninvoked to beat these messengers to the gates, to inform the town of\nthe fall of St. Elmo.\n\nBut a period awaited the siege of Malta which reflected more disgrace\nupon Mustapha than one hundred victories could efface.\n\nLa Valette looked out upon the harbor now filled with the floating\nbodies, {487} horribly gashed, of the gallant defenders of St Elmo,\nbut no one could read his reflections as he viewed those\ndead-freighted waves depositing their burden upon the beach; no matter\nwhat his acts may have been when suggested by such an inspiration, for\nthey were no index by which to read his heart.\n\nWe are informed by the historian that he dissembled his true feelings\nthat the Knights and soldiers might not see in him a cowardly\nexemplar. But it is not impossible that the grand master looked\nunmoved upon those whose dress and sacred wounds alone betrayed them\nto have been bound to him by the endearing ties of the order. His\nretaliation, however, is not in accordance with our finer conceptions\nof right, but who will question the justness of _war_-expedients? La\nValette was the master-spirit of the defence, and he evinced himself\nnot unworthy his station. For had he been less decided, and succumbed\nto the importunities of his subordinates, indeed the siege of Malta\nwould have been of short duration; no Spanish forces that would have\nbeen sent could have retrieved the advantages that would have been\nlost by a cowardly precipitation. And thus to him may we ascribe the\nglory of the long masterly defence which kept an enemy, thirsting for\nChristian blood, at bay, and which made an ultimate recovery\npracticable; which, indeed, made the Turkish triumph but preparatory\nto an indelible disgrace. La Valette's emotions of sorrow soon\nhardened, and he ordered his captives to be decapitated and their\nheads shot from the cannon's mouth into the enemy's camp. The\nsignificance of this act, in part, may justify its commission, though\nit would be more in harmony with our ideal to believe him incapable of\nperpetrating such an offence. The object which Mustapha aimed to\naccomplish in forwarding those ghastly dead to Il Borgo was to\nintimidate the place into submission; the return which La Valette made\nwas designed to bespeak an unwavering disposition, and to hurl\ndefiance in the face of the infidels.\n\nMustapha, incensed at the undaunted response made to his white flag,\nand the message sent back by his Christian slave, that they hoped soon\nto bury him and his janissaries in the only ditch which they could\nconsistently surrender, immediately invested the town and re-commenced\nthe carnage. Subsequent to the fall of St. Elmo, the basha had been\nstrengthened by the arrival of Hascem with the bravoes of Alters,\namounting to 2,500 choice troops.\n\nIl Borgo and St. Michael were now continuously under fire; but, to\nexpedite his purposes, Mustapha adopted the suggestion of Piali, to\nmake the Christian slaves draw their shipping across the neck upon\nwhich stood St. Elmo, into the harbor, that there might be a\nsimultaneous charge from both land and Naval forces. This hardship was\nrendered necessary because the grand master had caused a heavy chain\nto be swung across the mouth of the harbor, to which impediment were\nadded the resources of St. Angelo, which commanded its entrance.\n\nHaving mastered this difficulty, Mustapha consented to the pompous\ndemands of Hascem to intrust to him the assault of St. Michael,\npromising to support him if necessary. Hascem shared his command with\nCandelissa, an experienced corsair, who was to sustain the attack by\nsea.\n\nWith much display Candelissa proceeded to perform his part. Meeting\nwith unexpected resistance in the staccato which had been erected to\nperplex his landing, he suffered great loss from the fort, which did\nnot delay in improving so cardinal an advantage, He resolved to\nabandon this and attempt the intrenchments under the care of Gulmaran;\nthe Christians reserved their fire until it might be spent\neffectively, and, at their first discharge, cut down 400 of the\nassailants. Candelissa pushed vigorously on whilst Gulmaran was\nreloading, and gained the shore; the latter, having prepared {488} for\nsuch an emergency, now threw from his cannon grapeshot, which did\noverwhelming execution, and Candelissa, seeing with dismay his\nwavering troops, ordered his boats to be put off a little from the\nshore.\n\nThe Algerines, seeing no avenue of escape, were conscious that through\nsuccess alone could they secure their safety. They therefore marched\nforward with maddened resolution upon the earthworks. Before their\nirresistible charge the Knights fell back in confusion. But stung with\nshame upon seeing the infidel colors planted upon their works, they\nrushed to the rescue, having been reinforced; the ardor of their\ncharge struck terror to the hearts of the assailants, and Candelissa\nwas among the first that fled. Of 4,000 only a fifth escaped. The\nChristians continued firing upon the boats, sinking many, and covering\nthe waters with wrecks. Amidst this vast devastation, dying and dead\nbodies were mingled in the wildest confusion. This defeat was decided,\nand Candelissa's untimely exultation, which characterized his\nreparation to the contest, was of a marked contrast to his inglorious\nreturn as his craft ploughed their way through the thickly strewn\nwaters. The Knights were in nowise discouraged in this sudden turn in\nthe fortunes of the day.\n\nIn the meantime the attack was also going on by land. Hascem had\nwell-nigh expiated in disgrace his taunting threat; having led his\ntroops to the charge, he was confounded with the confusion which the\nfearful havoc wrought among the ranks. Being driven back, he renewed\nthe assault in the face of the belching cannon roaring defiance to his\narms in vindication of the sanctity of invaded rights, but to no\npurpose. His mortification was extreme in being compelled by the\nintrepid garrison to sound a retreat. The basha now advanced with his\njanissaries, and the united forces compelled the Knights to retire\nfrom the beach, where, with undaunted spirits, they had proceeded to\nmeet the fresh troops. But they did not yield without the most\nstrenuous exertions, and the invaders had paid a dear price for the\ndreadful spot. Though exhausted by fatigue, their  determination knew\nno abatement, and they awaited within the breach the renewal of the\nconflict. Their hopes were now reinspired by the addition of those\nforces which had contributed so largely to the discomfit of\nCandelissa. The janissaries, unable to withstand their onslaught, were\nforced to retire amidst the showering missiles and cheers of the\ngallant Christians.\n\nMustapha, enraged beyond control by the obstinate defence, employed\none-half of his troops under Piali against the town, and with the\nremainder resolved to reduce the fort at any cost. To secure every\nchance of success he raised more batteries, dug new trenches, sprung\nmines, and prepared in every way possible to facilitate his design.\nBut upon every hand did the valiant Christians, animated by the\npresence of the grand master, baffle his arms. Mustapha's principal\nengineer constructed a machine, upon the efficacy of which they\nentertained high hopes; it was a huge cask, firmly made, and filled\nwith powder, chains, bullets, and everything calculated to work\nmischief which the place could command. This was projected into the\nmidst of the Christians, who, ere it exploded, managed to roll it back\nupon its artificers, which did fearful execution among them. Whilst\nyet the Turks were paralyzed by the effect of its report, the Knights\nrushed out and engaged them hand to hand. Many of the infidels were\nkilled, and the remainder made good their escape. But Piali was not\nidle. Though coping with superior strength, he was more successful\nagainst Il Borgo than his rival against St. Michael. He had gained\ngreat advantages, and, as night terminated his operations, he prepared\nthe minds of his intimates for the glorious entry which he proposed to\nmake on the morrow. He had, by a piece of stratagem in calling off the\n{489} attention of the garrison by a furious assault, managed in\nanother and important position to erect a platform of earth and\nstones. It was upon this that night closed his work, and which\ninflamed within his breast lively hopes of speedily terminating the\nsiege, and of reaping new laurels.\n\nA council of the Knights was now held, and an abandonment of the works\nadvised by the principal part; but La Valette was inexorable, and\ndefeated every such proposition by his superior wisdom. He employed\nall available hands in digging trenches during the night, and by a\nmaster-stroke gained possession of the cavalier which had so excited\nthe exultation of the Turkish basha. He detailed a select body of\ntroops to steal along the foot of the wall, and who, when arrived at\nthe spot designated, raised a loud shout and rushed upon the guard;\nthese, supposing that the whole garrison were upon them, precipitately\nfled. The Christians were not slow in securing this advantage beyond\nany hope of recovery which the Turks might entertain.\n\nThe delay of the Spanish troops was inexplicable to La Valette, who\nattributed it to the treachery of the Viceroy of Sicily, but which\nhistorians impute to the infidelity of Philip. Now, the grand master\nwas aware that their only hope was to hold out till they brought\nrelief; and the bashas were fearful lest they should arrive after so\nlong a delay at this very opportune moment.\n\nPiali, receiving intelligence that the Spanish forces were to be\nlanded at St. Angelo, lay in wait there, after interposing every\nobstacle practicable to impede their progress. Resolved to urge every\npossible resistance, the infidels awaited the Spanish sail, and were\nill prepared for the tidings which came, to the effect that they were\nalready landed in another part of the island. Thus was accomplished by\nthe duplicity of the Catholic king a result which was not anticipated;\nhis object in landing his forces at the extreme of the island was to\nshield, as far as possible, his subjects from the rigors of the siege.\nBut Mustapha no sooner learned of their approach than he withdrew all\nof the Turkish forces into the shipping. In his haste he had deserted\nSt. Elmo, manned with his best cannon. Ere long he was informed by a\ndeserter that he had thus disgracefully fled before a force of 6,000\npoorly officered Spaniards, the same being only little more than\none-third of his own numbers. His rage knew no bounds. From this\nindelible disgrace he knew his only escape was to disembark and\nretrieve his fallen fortunes; but his command was shared by those\nwhose personal considerations and jealousies prevented them from\nextending any sympathy to him.\n\nLa Valette improved the interim in taking every precaution to prevent\nthe fort from again falling into the hands of the Turks. The grand\nmaster was now looked upon as the one to whom too much credit could\nnot be given, and whose orders were obeyed with cheering alacrity by\nall who were able in any way to assist. A stronger affection was\ngenerated toward him, to which his merits entitled him, as the most\nfitting reward which the Knights could return.\n\nMustapha having convened a council of his principal officers, they\ndetermined with little dissent to land and renew the siege. The\nsoldiery, greatly disheartened at their late reverses, were very\nreluctant to obey, and frequently force was resorted to to compel\nthem. But it must have been patent to the commanders that thus, being\nforced to use compulsory means, they could not expect them to effect\nwhat willing and eager troops could easily accomplish. Mustapha was\nunable to stay the current of flying soldiers, and was hurled along\nwith it; twice was he jostled from his horse, and was with difficulty\nrescued from being captured. Such was the overwhelming defeat visited\nupon Mustapha's command, who, we doubt not, would have welcomed even\ncaptivity rather than face the sultan, whose arms he had {490} thus\nsignally disgraced. What the reflections were that this destiny\nanimated in his mind, we are left to infer--a destiny so different\nfrom what he anticipated for the thousands who were to destroy the\nKnights of Malta, only as an insignificant incident collateral to the\nbrilliant career which awaited them at the hands of the larger\nChristian powers. When he saw the mere skeleton of his army returning,\nhe might well be impressed with the vanity of human calculations.\n\nThe siege of Malta continued four months, and it, amid the general\ndestruction, worked no little benefit to the Knights of Malta. This\nsuccess created joy throughout Christendom, which was expressed in the\nmost gratifying manner. If they were left to fight their battles\nalone, it was only to achieve the greater glory. And thus ended the\nfamous siege of Malta, whose valorous defence is unparalleled in the\nrecords of history.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Literary Workman.\n\nA SONG OF THE YEAR.\n\n  Solemnly comes thy last hour, Old Year,\n  Mercy and love were thy dower, Old Year;\n  Though with thy gifts came the sigh or tear.\n  Parting, we'll bless thee, Old Year, Old Year.\n\n  With thy best gifts in thy hand, Old Year!\n  Dying while blessing the land, Old Year!\n  Welcoming Christians again, again.\n  Joyous Old Year, how we loved thee, then!\n\n  Softly thou com'st in the night, New Year!\n  Robed all in pure virgin white, New Year!\n  Deeds all unknown of shall fill thy days.\n  Songs now unheard of will sound thy praise.\n\n  Meeting, we fear thee almost, New Year,\n  Welcome might sound like a boast, New Year\n  When thou art old, like the year just past,\n  Then let us bless thee, New Year, at last.\n\n{491}\n\nTranslated from the Civilt\u00e0 Cattolica.\n\nTHE RELIGIOUS STATISTICS OF THE WORLD.\n\n1. NUMBER OF CATHOLICS IN FIVE DIVISIONS OF THE WORLD.\n\n2. CLASSIFICATION OF THE INHABITANTS OF THE EARTH AFTER THE\nDIFFERENT RELIGIONS.\n\n3. PROGRESS OF CATHOLICITY IN GREAT BRITAIN.\n\n4. IN HOLLAND.\n\n5. IN THE UNITED STATES.\n\n6. MISSIONS OF ASIA.\n\n7. ITALIAN MISSIONARIES.\n\n\nI. Let us, at first, take a comprehensive view of the number of\nCatholics scattered over the globe. In this very year some writers\nhave limited their number to _one hundred and fifty millions_, with\nthe remark that the figure is rather above a real census. Mr. Balbi, a\nwriter of fame in statistics and in geography, gave, as far back as\n1827, in his work published in Paris, his own estimate of the various\npopulations of the world, classifying them under the heading of\nReligions Professed; and, according to his calculations, he allotted\nto the Catholic Church only _one hundred and thirty nine\nmillions_(139,000,000), his figures exceeding those of many\ngeographers who had preceded him. The _eleven millions_ by some\nauthors allowed this day to the Catholic denomination, are rather a\nrestitution than an augmentation. The  former reckoning was a mistake,\nand new statistics, when accurately put together, have exhibited a far\nlarger number both of inhabitants and of Catholics. But we still take\nthis restitution as very inadequate. From an accurate investigation of\nthe matter, we aver that the _minimum_ of Catholics, over the world,\namounts to _two hundred millions_ (200,000,000). To afford the reader\nthe means of testing the accuracy of our opinion, we shall here give\nthe number of Catholics found in the different states of every part of\nthe world. We have taken for our guide official statistics, either\ncivil or ecclesiastical, whenever we could obtain them, or, otherwise,\nstatements of modern geographers and of most trustworthy national\nwriters. We have only omitted such fractions which were under _five\nhundred_ (500); but when they were above the _half thousandth_ we have\nset them down at _one thousand_. Thereby, in a computation, which\ncannot be but approximate, omissions will counterbalance the\nadditions, and the final result will not undergo any material change.\nLet it, moreover, be borne in mind that we have not been actuated by\nany desire to attain large figures. We have only aimed at fixing the\nsurest, or, at least, the most probable amount. Thus, for example, we\nhave accepted only _six hundred and ninety thousand_ (690,000)\nCatholics for the Portuguese possessions in Africa, although national\nauthors, by no means exaggerating, have reckoned them at _two\nmillions_.\n\nWith such preamble, here is the result of our investigations:\n\n[Transcriber's note: View these tables with a fixed pitch font.]\n\nNUMBER OF CATHOLICS.\n\nI. EUROPE.\n\nPapal States                     900,000\nTwo Sicilies                   9,500,000\nTuscany                        1,900,000\nSardinian States and Lombardy  7,700,000\nModena                           660,000\nParma                            560,000\nMonaco and San-Marino             10,000\nSpain                         17,000,000\nPortugal                       4,300,000\nAndorra                           12,000\nSwitzerland                    1,120,000\nGreat Britain                  7,500,000\nFrance                        36,000,000\n\nCarried forward               89,462,000\n\n{492}\n\nBrought forward  89,462,000\n\nBelgium  4,800,000\nNetherlands  1,300,000\nAustrian Empire  30,000,000\nBavaria  3,500,000\nPrussia  7,000,000\nBaden                     960,000\nBrunswick                   6,000\nBremen                      5,000\nFrankfort                 12,000\nHamburg                     8,000\nGrand Duchy of Heese      240,000\nHesse Electoral           200,000\nW\u00fcrtemberg                580,000\nMecklenburg-Schwerin  +\n   Mecklenburg-Strelitz     4,000\nNassau                    226,000\nOldenburg                  86,000\nLesser Duchies of\n  Sachsen-Weimar,\n  Sachsen-Coburg,\n  Sachsen-Altenburg, etc.  60,000\nLubeck                      3,000\nHanover                   256,000\nLuxemburg                 209,000\nSaxony                     65,000\nDenmark                     5,000\nSweden and Norway           7,000\nPoland                  4,000,000\nRussia                  3,000,000\nEuropean Turkey\n   and Montenegro       1,000,000\nGreece                    100,000\n\nCatholic population\n  in Europe           147,194,000\n\n\n\nH. ASIA AND OCEANIA.\n\nAsiatic Turkey           600,000\nMoldavia and Wallachia   130,000\nAsiatic Russia           100,000\nBritish India          1,100,000\nNetherland India          25,000\nFrench India             170,000\nPortuguese India,\n  Islands, and Macao     546,000\nSpanish India and\n  Philippine Islands   4,750,000\nPersia                   120,000\nAnam                     600,000\nSiam                      25,000\nChina                  1,000,000\nNew Holland              300,000\nTasmania                  40,000\nNew Zealand               60,000\nNew Caledonia and\n  adjoining islands       70,000\nSandwich Islands          80,000\n\nCatholic population in Asia and Oceania 9,666,000\n\n\nIII. AFRICA.\n\nEgypt                            172,000\nAbyssinia                      2,000,000\nTripoli, Tunis, and Morocco       30,000\nSpanish Possessions               25,000\nCanaries                         260,000\nPortuguese Possessions           690,000\nMadeira and islands              260,000\nContinental French Possessions   250,000\nReunion and other islands        180,000\nContinental British Possessions   30,000\nMauritius and other islands      150,000\nLiberia                            4,000\nMadagascar                        10,000\nGallas                            10,000\n\nCatholic population in Africa  4,071,000\n\n\nIV. AMERICA.\n\nUnited States  5,000,000\nMexico                  8,500,000\nGuatemala               1,200,000\nSan Salvador              700,000\nHonduras                  400,000\nNicaragua                 500,000\nCosta Rica + Panama       200,000\nNew Granada             3,000,000\nVenezuela               2,000,000\nEcuador                 1,500,000\nBolivia                 2,200,000\nPeru                    2,800,000\nChili                   1,800,000\nArgentine Republic      1,500,000\nParaguay                1,600,000\nUruguay                   360,000\nBrazil                  3,500,000\nBritish Guiana             60,000\nNetherland Guiana\n   and Islands             40,000\nFrench Guiana\n  and Islands             305,000\nJamaica, Trinidad,\n and other British Isles  150,000\nSpanish Islands         2,260,000\nDanish Islands             34,000\nCanada and British\n   Possessions          1,560,000\nHayti                     800,000\n\nCatholic population\n  in America           46,970,000\n\n\nRECAPITULATION.\n\nI. Catholic population in Europe            147,194,000\n\nII. Catholic population In Asia and Oceania   9,666,000\n\nIII. Catholic population in Africa            4,071,000\n\nIV. Catholic population in America           46,930,000\n\nCatholic population in the four\nparts of the globe                          207,801,000\n\n\nThus we reach the sum of nearly _two hundred and eight millions_; nor\ndo we fear exaggeration in the number. But were even some one\nreluctant to accept our results, such attenuating doubts could never\ndiminish our total  beyond _eight millions_. Thus when we asserted\nthat there are _two hundred millions_ of Catholics in the world, we\ngave a figure far under our calculations, in order to place it above\nall doubt.\n\nII. We will now exhibit, in very simple tables, the grand division of\nthe inhabitants of the world, according to the different religious\ncreeds:\n\n\n_Christianity_                      344,000,000\nCatholic Church                     208,000,000\nEastern Churches,\n  schismatic or heretical            70,000,000\nProtestantism                        66,000,000\nTotal                               344,000,000\n\n{493}\n\n_Judaism_                               4,000,000\n_Islamism_                            100,000,000\n_Brahminism_                         60,000,000\n_Buddhism_                          180,000,000\n_Worship of Confucius, Sinto,\n  of Spirits_, etc.                 152,000,000\n\nTotal of inhabitants of the world   840,000,000\n\n\nThese  results are not from data as certain as those which we were\nenabled to obtain for the Catholic Church; yet they are founded on\ngreat probability. There is a remarkable increase in all, owing to the\nfact that more reliable researches have given a larger number of\ninhabitants on the globe.\n\nLet us now compare our own results with those of the most celebrated\ngeographers. Malte-Brun wrote in 1810, Pinkerton and Balbi in 1827,\nand yet, although so near to one another, they are not of one accord\nas to the inhabitants of the earth, and consequently they do not agree\nin their divisions. More recent geographers admit a number far larger\nthan that allowed by Balbi, and seem to hesitate between _eight\nhundred and a thousand millions_. We are of opinion that the grand\ntotal cannot, with any good reason, be reckoned beyond _eight hundred\nand forty millions_ (840,000,000); at the same time it cannot be set\nat any figure much below it. The following figures represent\n_millions_:\n\n\nMalte-Brun.   Pinkerton.  Balbi.  Civ. Catt's.\n\n_Christianity_   228   235   260   344\n_Judaism_          5     5     4     4\n_Islamism_       110   120    96   100\n_Brahminism_      60    60    60    60\n_Buddhism_       150   108   170   180\n_Other creeds_   100   100   147   152\nTotal            653   700   737   840\n\n\nIII. A glance at some particular countries will show how much the\nCatholic Church has gained in numbers and influence within a few\nyears. Let us begin from two Protestant countries in Europe.\n\nThe \"Catholic Directory,\" annually issued in England for the last\nhundred years, will, by comparing a few data, exhibit the progress of\nCatholicity in Great Britain's most Protestant sections--we mean\nEngland and Scotland. We limit ourselves to the official returns given\nwithin the last nine years. We mass them in two tables, which will\nplace our assertion upon the strongest basis of truth. The _first_\nwill show that in these two kingdoms, so totally averse to\nCatholicity--nay, intensely hostile to it--England and Scotland, the\nnumber of clergymen has increased, within _twenty-five_ years, at the\nrate of 137 per centum; that of churches 30; religious houses for men\n222, for women 105. The _second_ table will give the same numbers, but\ndivided in the various dioceses, in varied ratio indeed, but\neverywhere with the same tokens of increase:\n\nGENERAL STATISTICS OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND.\n\nYears |Clergymen|  Churches | Relig Men | Relig Women | Colleges\n                   &Chapels\n1856    1142          849        17           91          12\n1857    1162          894        23          106          11\n1858    1204          902        27          109          11\n1859    1222          926        34          110          11\n1860    1236          950        37          123          12\n1861    1342          993        47          155          12\n1862    1388         1019        50          162          12\n1863    1417         1065        55          177          12\n1864    1445         1098        56          186          12\n\nBut if we draw our figures from earlier dates, the comparison will be\neven more striking. Behold the result within the last twenty-five\nyears:\n\n1839    610   513   0   17  10\n1849    897   612  13   41  10\n1864   1445  1098  56  186  12\n\nLimiting our researches only to England, we find the increase within\n_eight_ years, between 1856 and 1864, stated in the official returns\nof the several dioceses, at the following rates:\n\n              Churches   Clergyman   Convents   Monasteries\nDioceses    1856  1864  1856  1864  1856  1864  1856 1864\nWestminster  56   117   129   214     5    15    18   31\nBeverly      75    90    93   116     3     6     7   19\nBirmingham   96   100   132   141     3     3    19   27\nClifton.     37    49    50    62     2     3     5   13\nHexham       63    81    72    99   --    1     4   11\nLiverpool    94   110   166   195     2     5    12   25\nNewport      35    42    29    47   --    3     3    6\nNorthampton  30    36    25    31   --  --    2    5\nNottingham   42    52    47    59     3     5     5    5\nPlymouth     26    35    28    34   --  --    3    8\nSalford      47    70    72   107     1     5     9   14\nShrewsbury   53    59    52    71     1     3     3    7\nSouthwark    79   100    90   147     3     9    10   15\n\nTotal       730   941   985  1321    23    58   100  187\n                -730      -985         -23      -100\n\nIncrease          211        336           35         87\n\n{494}\n\nIV. Let us now step over to the Continent, and investigate the\nincrease of Catholicity in a province where Protestantism has had it\nall its own way since the beginning of the Reformation--we allude to\nHolland. To understand the progressive development of Catholicity in\nthe Low Countries, we need only compare the figures of two years, with\nan interval of half a century intervening between them:\n\nYears      |Catholic population   | Parishes  | Clergyman  |  Churches\n1864           1,300,000              941         1725         976\n1814             850,000              814         1216         898\nIncrease\n  in 50 years    450,000              127          310          78\n\nThe amount expended in repairing the old and building new churches is\nreckoned, during this lapse of time, at _thirty_ millions of Dutch\nflorins, a little more than _sixty-four_ millions of francs [over\n$18,560,000--Ed. CW.] All that government has contributed of its own\ntoward this sum amounts only to _two_ millions of florins. In the\nabove sum of _thirty_ millions no account is taken of what has been\nexpended in churches and chapels belonging to religious communities,\nor for convents, hospitals, charitable institutions, orphan asylums,\nand the like. Add to this what has been contributed for the endowments\nof those places, and the original sum of sixty-four millions of francs\nbecomes well-nigh double its amount.\n\n\nV. But nowhere has the Catholic Church increased so prosperously,\nwithin the last fifty years, as in the United States of America. Above\ntwo thousand churches and chapels built; an increase of one thousand\nand eight hundred clergymen; one hundred and sixty schools\nestablished, for the Catholic training of 18,000 boys and 34,600\ngirls. Moreover, there existed in 1857 _sixty-six_ asylums, with 4,963\norphans of both sexes; _twenty-six_ hospitals, with _three thousand_\nbeds; _four_ insane asylums, with _eighty-two_ patients, beside many\nother charitable institutions, all established and supported by the\nprivate charity of Catholics. Here we copy a comparative table from\nthe \"Metropolitan Catholic Almanac\" of 1857:\n\n\n\nYear  Dioceses  Vicariates  Bishops  Clergyman  Churches   Ecclesiastic  Colleges  Schools\n                Apostolic                      & Stations  Institutions            for Girls\n1808     1      --           2        68         80         2              1         2\n1830    11      --          10       232        230         9              6        20\n1840    16      --          17       482        812        13              9        47\n1850    27      --          27      1081       1578        29             17        91\n1854    41        2           39      1574       2458        34             20       112\n1857    41        2           39      1872       2882        35             29       134\n\n1861    43        3           45      2317       3795        49            --      -- [Ed. Cath. World]\n\n\nVI. Canon Joseph Ortalda, in a work of great value,  [Footnote 68] the\nresult of much labor and accurate investigations, supplies us with two\nvery interesting documents. One is a _Synoptic Table_ of the\n_missions_ in Asia, exhibiting both the number of Catholics in each\n_mission_ and that of missionaries employed in them; a number, by the\nway, generally very inadequate, especially when we take into\nconsideration the vast territories over which every mission is\nextended.\n\n  [Footnote 68: \"Italian Apostolic Missionaries in the Foreign\n  Missions, over the Four Parts of the World.\" Turin: G. Marietti,\n  1864. Ortalda's intent is to prove before the Senate of the Kingdom\n  of Piedmont how the suppression of religious orders would be\n  injurious to the Church and to civilization, whilst from their\n  bosoms go forth so many missionaries to all parts of the world.]\n\nAPOSTOLIC VICARATES         MISSIONARIES   CATHOLICS\nAleppo                            25         80,000\nAsia Minor                        70        100,000\n\nChina and adjacent kingdoms:\nXensi                             16         30,000\nXansi                             12         20,000\nHu-p\u00e8, in the Hu-quang,\n   native missionaries, 14        11         15,865\nHu-nan, in the Hu-quang            7         10,000\nSut-chuen, North-west vicariate   15         23,000\nSut-chuen, Eastern Vicariate      12         17,000\nSut-chuen, Southern Vicariate     14         20,000\nKonein-kon                         7         10,000\nLassa                              5          7,000\nJun-nan                            6          8,000\nTo-chien                          14         30,000\nNankin                            36         73,000\nPekin, Western Vicariate          17         30,000\nPekin, Southwestern Vicariate     15         26,600\nPekin, Eastern Vicariate          12         13,000\nTse-Kiang                          6          5,000\nKiang-si                           8         10,000\nLenotung                           9         11,000\nMongolia                           8         10,000\nXan-tung                          11         12,000\nHo-nan                             6         5,000\nSiam, Western Vicariate           12        10,000\nSiam, Eastern Vicariate           20        30,000\nCochin, Eastern Vicariate         29        32,000\nCochin, Northern Vicariate        21        25,000\nCochin, Western Vicariate         19        30,000\nCamboge, and the people of Laos   10        15,000\nTonchin,  Eastern Vicariate       13        54,000\nTonchin,  Western Vicariate       85       135,000\nTonchin,  Southern Vicariate      49        80,000\nTonchin,  Central Vicariate       62       150,000\nCorea                             12        15,000\n\nEast Indies:\nJapan                             10        12,060\nAva and Pegu                      11         8,000\nBombay, South Mission             20        15,000\nBombay, North Mission             15        13,000\nBengal, Western Vicariate\n   (Calcutta)                     12        15,000\nBengal, Eastern Vicariate          6         9,000\nCeylon--Colombo                   18        84,900\nCeylon--Safnapatam                17        60,000\nMadras                            18        44,880\nHyderbad                           7         4,000\nVisagapatam                       15         7,130\nPondicherry                       53       100,000\nMayssour                          16        17,110\nCoimbatour                        11        17,200\nSardhana                          12        15,000\nAgra                              25        20,000\nPatna                             10         4,000\nVerapolis--native priests,\n  Latin rite 28, Syriac 340        7       330,000\nCanara, or Mangalor--\n   Native priests 24               7        40,000\nQuilon--Native priests 17          8        50,000\nMadura                            37       140,000\n\nAPOSTOLIC DELEGATIONS\n\nPersia, Mesopotamia,\n  Kurdistan, and Armenia Minor    30        25,000\nSyria--Holy Land alone counts    54        28,986\n\nAPOSTOLIC PREFECTURES\nAden, in Arabia                    3         1,300\nHong-Kong, in China                7         5000\nHai-noou, Quan-tong,\n  Quan-si, China                  31        40,000\nFor the French colonies in India  12         7,000\nFor the Dutch colonies in\n   India and Oceania               7         1,000\nLaboan and adjacent places         6         3,000\n\n{495}\n\nVII. The chief object of Ortalda's work is to show how many\nmissionaries Italy gives to the Catholic Church. He gives the name,\nthe grade in the hierarchy, and the residence of each, adding such\nitems of information as will aid him in the object he has in view. We\ndraw from his laborious work the following table, which, by way of\nconclusion, gives the final result of all his researches:\n\n\n\n_Italian Apostolic Missionaries in\nForeign Missions over the Whole World._\n\nMISSIONARIES                  Europe Asia Africa America Oceania Total\n\nBishops                         14     21     4      2      --    41\nSecular priests                 33     45    11     65        8    162\nBenedictines                     7      9   --     5        3     24\nMinor Conventuals                9      2   --     2      --    13\nMinor Observants                31    115    30    184        8    368\nMinor Capuchins                369    108    35    130        5    447\nMinor Reformed                  60     58    29     67        1    215\nDominicans                      22     11   --     1      --    34\nCarmelites                     --    39   --   --     --    39\nAugustinians                     1    --  --     1      --     2\nJesuits                        106    118    46    207       13    490\nLazarists                        8     22     9     12      --    51\nAlcantarines                   --   --  --     1      --     1\nBarnabites                      24     12     3     10        8     57\nFriars of St. Bonaventure        5      6   --   --     --    11\nRedemptorists                  --   --  --   --       3      3\nServite                        --   --  --   --       1      1\nOblates                        --    16   --   --     --    16\nPallottines (of A. Pallotta)     2    --  --   --     --     2\nRosminians                      16    --  --     4      --    20\nFrom the Seminary of Milan       4     22   --   --       3     29\nFrom the seminary\n  of Brignole Sale              17      6   --     5      --    23\n                               529    610   167    696       53   2055\n\n----------\n\nBOOKS.\n\n  Welcome, my books, my golden store!\n  Your leaves my eyes, my hands explore;\n  With you my sweetest hours have flown--\n  My best of life with you alone.\n  When none in the wide world could cheer,\n  Your wisdom dried the bitter tear;\n  When summer skies were fresh and blue,\n  None could rejoice with me like you.\n  What living voice may speak among\n  Your silent and time-hallowed throng?\n  For you, the best of every age,\n  I quit the world's degenerate stage.\n           _Translation from Ranzan._\n\n\n------\n{496}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nTHE ANCIENT FACULTY OF PARIS.\n\n\nAt the corner of the Rue de la B\u00fbcherie and the old Rue des Rats, now\nknown by the more dignified appellation of the Rue de l'H\u00f4tel Colbert,\nmay still be seen, unless the unsparing hand of \"modern improvement\"\nhas very recently swept it away along with so many other memorials of\nthe past, a dirty, dilapidated building topped by a round tower, which\nyou might take for some old pigeon-house. The half-obliterated\ninscription upon an escutcheon on one of the facades of the edifice\nindicates, however, some heretofore high and venerable\ndestination--_Urbi et orbi salus_. If curiosity lead you to penetrate\ninto the interior of this dismal edifice, you find yourself, after\nmounting a damp staircase, in a great circular hall, divided into four\nirregular compartments. Above some empty niches hollowed in the\nthickness of the wall runs a wide cornice, the now-defaced sculptures\nof which represent alternately the cock--Esculapius's bird and emblem\nof vigilance--and the pelican nourishing its young, the type of\nself-sacrifice--watchfulness and unselfish charity, the two great\nduties incumbent on the professor of the healing art. You stand, in\nfact, in the midst of the ancient amphitheatre of the Faculty of\nMedicine. There studied, and there, in their turn, taught, the great\nanatomists of the seventeenth century, Bartholin, Riolan, Pecquet,\nLittre, Winslow. This building was an old adjunct to a large and\nhandsome hotel belonging to the medical body, containing their chapel,\nlibrary, laboratory, a vast hall for solemn disputations, with minor\nsaloons for the daily lectures, etc., with the addition of a large\ncourt and botanical garden. It was abandoned long before the\nRevolution, and not a trace of all this corporate glory of the medical\nfaculty now remains. The quarter of Paris in which it stood, known\nformerly as the Latin quarter, long preserved a peculiar stamp and\nphysiognomy. Here were the colleges of St. Michel, of Normandy and\nPicardy, of Laon, Presles, Beauvais, Cornouailles, and that long\nsuccession of churches, convents, colleges, and high toppling houses,\nfilled with a studious youth, which formerly crowded the Rue St.\nJacques and the Rue de la Harpe. All these and many other sanctuaries\nof religion and of science, so intimately connected in the middle\nages, clustered around the faculty. Here, in fact, was the centre of\nthe university of Paris, whose origin is lost in the obscurity\ninvesting the early mediaeval period. The methodical classification\nunder the head of faculties of the different studies pursued at that\ncelebrated institution dates, however, from the close of the twelfth\ncentury. These faculties formed independent companies, attached to\ntheir common mother, the university, like branches to the parent stem.\n\nDisregarding all apocryphal pretensions to antiquity, we cannot assign\nan earlier date for the formation of the medical body into an\nindependent corporation than the year 1267. About that time we find\nthe faculty in possession of its statutes, keeping registers and\naffixing to documents its massive silver seal. The term Faculty of\n_Medicine_, it must be observed, is modern. The title _Physicorum\nFacultas_, or _Facultas in Physica_, was long preserved. Whatever we\nmay think of the empirical practice and dogmatic character of the\nmedical art in those times, we cannot but see in this an {497}\nindication that natural science was even then the recognized basis of\nmedicine. We have here, if not a principle clearly understood and\nhabitually followed, at least an intuition and a kind of programme of\nthe future. A memorial of the old designation survives in our own\ncountry in the title of physician, while in the land where it\noriginated it has been discontinued.\n\nBorn in the cloister, medicine long retained an ecclesiastical\ncharacter. Most of the doctors in early times were canons; and those\nwho were neither priests nor even clerks were still bound to celibacy;\na regulation which remained in force long after councils had decreed\nthe incompatibility of the exercise of the medical profession with the\necclesiastical state.\n\nThe general assemblies of the faculty were held sometimes round the\nfont of Notre Dame, sometimes at St. Genevi\u00e8ve des Ardents, sometimes\nat the Priory of St. Eloi; while, for the ordinary purposes of\ninstruction, it shared fraternally with the faculty of theology the\nalternate use of some common room with a shake-down of straw in the\nQuartier St. Jacques. But by-and-bye riches began to pour in, chiefly\nthrough the means of the legacies of members of the medical corps or\nother well-wishers; and, thanks to the liberality of Jacques Desparts,\nphysician to Charles VIl., the corporation of doctors was finally\ninstalled in the abode we have just described. To the general worth\nand respectability of the body in the fifteenth century we have the\ntestimony of Cardinal d'Estoutteville, who, in 1452, was deputed by\nthe Pope to reorganize the university of Paris, and who found less to\nreform in the faculty of medicine than in any other department.\nIndeed, no change of much importance was introduced, with the\nexception of the revocation of the law of celibacy, which the cardinal\npronounced to be both \"impious and unreasonable.\"\n\nIndependence of spirit and great reverence for its own traditions were\ncharacteristic of the medical body from its earliest beginnings. It\nloved to describe itself as _veteris disciplinae retentissima._ In\nthose days men gloried in their respect for antiquity. In common with\nall the different bodies which composed the university of Paris, the\nmedical corporation possessed great privileges--exemption from all\ntaxation, direct or indirect, from all public burdens, from all\nonerous services or obligations. When we sum up all the advantages\nenjoyed by this and other favored bodies and classes in the middle\nages, the reflection naturally suggests itself--what must have been\nthe condition of the poor, who possessed no privileges and bore all\nthe financial burdens? In the days, however, when standing armies in\nthe pay of government had no existence, when the king himself was a\nrich proprietor with large personal domains, when national debt and\nits interest were things unheard of, the ordinary imposts, as\ndistinguished from all arbitrary and accidental exactions, were, of\ncourse, very much lighter than those of modern times. Liberty in those\ndays assumed the form of privilege; and its spirit was nursed and kept\nalive within the bosom of these self-ruling corporations, and in none\nmore remarkably than in that of medicine. The _esprit de corps_\nnaturally existed with peculiar strength in a body not merely\norganized for purposes of instruction, but exercising a liberal\nprofession, of which it had the monopoly.   [Footnote 69] Hence a\nminute internal legislation imposed upon all its members, and\nwillingly accepted in view of the interests of the body. Its _alumni_\nwere aspirants to a life-long membership; whereas with us the medical\nman's dependence upon the faculty virtually ceases the day he takes\nhis doctor's degree. He has nothing more to ask or to receive from it;\nhis affair is now with the public; {498} and the sense of brotherhood\nwith his colleagues in the profession is lost, it is to be feared, not\nunfrequently in a feeling of rivalry. But it was otherwise in the\nolden time. The day which now sends forth the full-fledged doctor to\nhis independent career drew the tie closer which bound him to his\norder, in which then only he began to take his solemn place. The honor\nand the interest of each member thus became common property, and\nunworthy conduct was punished by summary exclusion from the body.\n\n  [Footnote 69: It is probably this peculiarity which caused the\n  medical to be considered as pre-eminently _the_ faculty. Its\n  practice brought it into intimate contact with the world at large;\n  and this has also doubtless led to the exclusive retention, in this\n  instance, of a designation common in its origin to other departments\n  of learning.]\n\n\nUnfortunately this _esprit de corps_ had its bad as well as its good\nresults. It produced a certain narrowness of mind, a love of routine,\nand no slight attachment to professional jargon. It is not that the\nfaculty was actually the enemy of all progress, but progress must come\nfrom itself. As no association of men, however, can enjoy a monopoly\nof genius, useful and brilliant discoveries emanating from other\nquarters had to encounter the hostility of the chartered body. This\nspirit was exemplified in its animosity toward surgery, long a\nseparate profession, in its prejudice against the doctrine of the\ncirculation of the blood, because an English discovery; against\nantimony, because it originated with the rival Montpelier school;\nagainst quinine, because it came from America. To these subjects we\nmay hereafter recur; in the meantime we note them as instances of\nmedical bigotry, which exposed the profession to just ridicule, but\nwhich has drawn down upon it censure and disesteem of perhaps a\nsomewhat too sweeping character. It would be unfair to judge the\nancient faculty solely from its exhibitions of foolish pedantry and\nblind prejudice; and it is our object on the present occasion to give\na slight sketch of its constitution and internal government, such as\nmay enable the reader to form a juster and more impartial view both of\nits faults and of its substantial merits. Indeed, without some solid\ntitles to general esteem, it would seem improbable that the faculty\nshould have attained to the high position which we find it occupying\nin the seventeenth century.\n\nOne accidental cause, no doubt, of the importance of the doctors\nduring the whole period which we are considering was their small\nrelative number. From a computation made by a modern member of the\nmedical profession in France,  [Footnote 70] to whom we are indebted\nfor our facts, the average number of doctors in the capital from the\nyear 1640 to the year 1670 did not exceed 110. Compared with the\npopulation of Paris, which is reckoned at 540,000 souls, this gives\none doctor for every 4,900 of the inhabitants. The medical corps is\nnow 1,830 strong, while the population has risen only to 1,740,000.\nGreat as is this increase of population, greater, we see,\nproportionally has been that of the medical practitioners, who are at\npresent as 1 to 940. If sickness was as prevalent in the seventeenth\ncentury as it is now, and recourse to physic and physicking as\nfrequent, we can imagine that the faculty must have necessarily\noccupied a distinguished position. Many offices now undertaken by\npublic institutions or by government devolved, also, at that time on\nthe faculty, which to the best of its ability supplied the want of\nsanitary regulations, and exercised a kind of medical police,\nincluding the supervision of articles of diet. All this must have\nhelped to swell their importance. A large proportion of the doctors\nreceived during this selected period of thirty years were Parisians;\nand nothing is more common than the perpetuity of the profession in\ncertain families. This circumstance must have combined with the\ncorporate reverence for their traditions to intensify their attachment\nto a received system, and to strengthen that spirit of union which is\na source of power. The respect which the lower bench paid to the\nupper, and the young to the ancient {499}--and by \"young\" we mean\nyoung in their degree, not in years--must have contributed toward the\nsame result. It required ten years of doctorate to qualify a man to\ntake his place amongst this venerable class; and the statutes are\nprolix on the subject of the respect due to the ancients from their\njuniors on the bench; a respect which was to be marked by every\nexternal act of deference.\n\n  [Footnote 70: Maurice Raynaud, Docteur en M\u00e9decine, Docteur \u00e8s\n  Lettres. _Les M\u00e9decins au temps de Moli\u00e8re.--Moeurs, Institutions,\n  Doctrines_. Paris, 1862.  Didler.]\n\nBut the first and great tie which bound all the members together was\nreligion. To profess the Catholic faith was long an essential\ncondition of admission to the examinations. The faculty gave an\nenergetic proof in 1637 of the importance it attached to this\nfundamental rule, when it withstood the pressing solicitations of the\nking's brother, the Duke of Orleans; in favor of a certain Brunier,\nthe son of his own physician and a Protestant, although the prince\ncondescended to address a flattering letter to the dean of the\nfaculty, signing himself \"Votre bon ami, Gaston,\" and although his\nrequest was backed by a royal injunction. The sovereign must needs bow\nto the authority of the statutes, respectfully but firmly urged in\ncontravention of his regal pleasure. Yet this would seem to have been\na closing effort, for in 1648 we find four Protestant doctors on the\nlists. Every year there was a solemn mass on St. Luke's day, at which\nall the members were bound to be present, and which even at the\ncommencement of the seventeenth century was still sung by the doctors\nof the faculty. After mass the statutes were publicly read. There was\na like obligation, with a penalty for its neglect, to attend an annual\nmass for deceased doctors, and another for benefactors, as also to\naccompany the bodies of their brethren to the grave.\n\nThe head of the corporation was the dean. His powers were extensive,\nand the honor paid to him unbounded. He was the \"guardian of the\ndiscipline and statutes\" of the faculty, _vindex disciplinae et custos\nlegum_; he was at once its foremost champion and its highest\ndignitary. He was also its historian, entering in its great registers\nall facts interesting to the corporation which occurred during the\ncourse of his administration. The account of each diaconate is headed\nthus:\n\n  [Illustration: Latin Cross]\n\n\"_In Nomine Omnipotentis Dei, Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.\nIncipit commentarius rerum in decanatu . . . gestarum._\"\n\nAmongst other topics judged worthy of registration is a necrologic\nnotice of members deceased during the period. Take as a specimen,\nwhich marks at the same time the high estimation in which the\ndiaconate was held, the account given of Merlet's death in 1663. He\nwas the \"ancient of the company,\" and had been remarkable for the zeal\nhe exercised in its behalf. The then dean, the illustrious Antoine\nMorand, pays the venerable doctor a visit just before he expires; and\nthe dying man breaks out in a kind of _Nunc dimittis_--\"Now I can die\ncontented, since it has been given me to behold once more the dean of\nthe faculty.\" Valot, the king's physician, who had come to see the\npatient, expresses in language of much reverence his hope that Merlet\nmay still live to illustrate the supreme dignity in which he stands\namongst them. The \"patriarch\" with his last breath energetically\nrefuses such excessive honors. He confesses that he holds a high rank\nas ancient of the school, but not the highest. \"To the dean alone,\" he\nsays, \"belongs supreme honor.\" \"Sublime words,\" observes Morand in his\nfuneral notice: \"veritable song of the dying swan, proceeding from a\nman truly wise and endowed with all perfection! May he rest in the\npeace of the Lord.\" Of course, it is a dean who is speaking. The\ncharge was indeed a weighty one, both externally and internally; for\nin spite of general respect, the medical corporation, like most\nprivileged bodies, had active enemies. Every two years a fresh\nelection took place on the first Saturday after All Saints'. The dean\ndeposed the insignia of his dignity and gave a report of the state of\naffairs to {500} the assembled doctors, who, as usual on all solemn\noccasions, had previously attended mass. All their names were then\nplaced in two urns; one containing those of the ancients, the other\nthose of the juniors. The dean shook the urns, and drawing three names\nfrom the first and two from the second, proclaimed them aloud. The\nfive doctors thus chosen by lot as electors, and, as such, themselves\nineligible, swore to nominate the worthiest, and retired to the chapel\nto implore the divine aid. They then elected by a majority of their\nnumber three doctors, two ancients and one junior. Amidst solemn\nsilence, the dean once more drew the lot, and the name which came\nforth was proclaimed dean for the next two years. The professors, who\nfor long years were but two in number, were also chosen biennially,\nand by a similar combination of lot and election. Some good must have\narisen from the liability under which every practitioner of the\nmedical art lay of being called on to teach it. Another not unwise\nregulation was that which, reversing the order observed in the case of\nthe dean, placed in the professional urn two junior names against one\nancient. Long practice of teaching is apt to wear out the powers of\nthe most able. Considering the times, the elements of instruction were\nabundantly supplied. The bachelors were not permitted to do more than\ncomment upon and expound the ancients, and their programme was\nfurnished to them. The professors took the higher and more original\nbranches; they alone could dogmatize from the great pulpit of the\namphitheatre (_ex superiore cathedr\u00e2_). The teaching embraced,\naccording to the quaint phraseology of the day: 1. natural things,\nviz., anatomy and physiology; 2. non-natural things--hygiene and\ndietetics; 3. things contrary to nature--pathology and therapeutics.\nIn the year 1634 a course of lectures on surgery, delivered in Latin,\nand exclusively for the medical students, was added--a practical\ncourse of surgery in French already existed for the barber\napprentices; and the faculty began to perceive that if they would keep\ntheir supremacy over the barber-surgeons, it would be as well to know\nas much as their disciples.\n\nThe oath taken by the professors is remarkable, especially the\nexordium: \"We swear and solemnly promise to give our lessons in long\ngowns with wide sleeves, having the square cap on our heads, and the\nscarlet scarf on our shoulders.\" This we see was their first duty.\nTheir second engagement was to give their lessons uninterruptedly, and\nnever by deputy, save in case of urgent necessity; each lecture to\nlast an hour at least, and to be delivered daily, except in vacation\ntime, which extended from the vigil of St. Peter and St. Paul, the\n28th of June, to that of the exaltation of the cross, the 13th of\nSeptember, and on festival days, which were pretty numerous, including\nalso certain other solemnities, as well as the vigils of the greater\nfeasts, when the schools were closed, _causa confessionis_, as the\nstatutes have it.\n\nPractical instruction was much more meagre than the oral, but this is\nhardly to be imputed as a fault. Anatomy cannot be learned except by\ndissection, and no bodies but those of criminals were procurable. The\nfaculty had to look to crime to help on its progress in this study.\nWhen an execution took place, the dean received formal notice, and\nconvoked the doctors and students on the occasion \"to make an\nanatomy,\" as it was called. When the faculty was at peace with the\nsurgeons, the latter were favored with an invitation. By a strange\nprejudice, theory and practice, as we have noticed, were kept\ndistinct. The learned professor would have demeaned himself by\nbecoming an operator, while the acting surgeon was condemned to be a\nmere intelligent machine, and was formally interdicted from being\ninitiated in the higher mysteries of the profession. It was a barber\nwho generally filled this inferior office, and he not unfrequently\nwould display more knowledge than his masters; for which {501} offense\nhe was sure to be severely reprimanded. \"_Doctor non sinat dissectorem\ndivagari, sed contineat in officio dissecandi_\"--\"Let not the doctor\nsuffer the dissector to stray beyond his province, but keep him to his\nduty of dissecting.\" This is one of the rules laid down in the\nstatutes. He was to work on and hold his tongue. But not only was the\nbarber condemned to silence--a hard sentence, some will say, on one of\nhis loquacious profession--but he was to receive no pay. For\nremuneration he was to look to his brethren of the razor. There were\nmore facilities for the study of botany than for any other practical\nbranch of the medical science. Beside the garden in the Rue de la\nB\u00fbcherie, the doctors had afterward the use of the Jardin Royal\nfounded by Richelieu; and these advantages do not seem to have been by\nany means neglected. Clinical instruction was peculiarly defective.\nAbsorbed by erudition, philosophy, and the interminable disquisitions\nof the schools, our medical forefathers seem to have forgotten that\nexperimental knowledge can be obtained only by the bedside of the\nsick. Most of the students had never seen a single patient before they\nreached the honors of the baccalaureate. After this they attached\nthemselves to some doctor, whom they followed on his rounds, in order\nto learn the application of what they had theoretically mastered, and\nwere by him introduced to his clients, much as was the practice in the\ndays of ancient Rome. The poor sufferer's room was thus not\nunfrequently turned into a pedantic lecture-hall. We instinctively\nrecall to mind Moli\u00e8re's two Diafoiruses, father and son, stationing\nthemselves each on one side of the unhappy patient, and discoursing in\npompous medical phraseology of the character of his pulse and of the\nhumors of his body.  [Footnote 71] The practical and, as such, the\nmost important department of medical science received, it must be\nconfessed, the least attention. All the prizes, whether of honor or\nemolument, which the future held out, tended to concentrate zeal and\nemulation on dialectics. It seemed as if the medical art were designed\nfor the benefit of the doctors rather than the doctored, and that it\nwas of more importance to be able to descant learnedly upon a malady\nthan to cure it. To figure advantageously at one of those solemn\npublic sittings of the medical body, which were often graced with the\npresence of members of the high aristocracy and of the magisterial\nbody; to be able to deliver a brilliant harangue, and confound an\nopponent by a well-timed and well-chosen quotation--such was the\nhighest ambition of the student. To preside with distinction over the\ndiscussion of a thesis--such was the battle-field on which the doctor\nhoped to win his laurels. If he acquitted himself with applause, he\nhad gained a victory which raised him higher in his own esteem, and in\nthat of the world at large, than the most successful practice of his\nprofession could possibly do. The first two articles of the statutes\ncontain this spirit in a condensed form, and may be regarded as the\nabridged decalogue of the faculty, summing up their duty toward God\nand toward man: 1. the divine offices shall be celebrated with the\ncustomary forms, and in the usual places, at the same hours and on the\nsame days as heretofore; 2. the medical students shall frequently\nattend public disputations and dissertations.\n\n  [Footnote 71: \"_Duriuscule repoussant, et m\u00eame un peu capricant.\"\n  \"L'intemp\u00e9rie de son parenchyme spl\u00e9nique et l'\u00e9tat de ses m\u00e9ats\n  cholidoques_.\"]\n\nThe process through which the student had to pass in order to make his\nway to his degree of licentiate was a trying ordeal. The examination\nfor the bachelor's degree, after a few previous solemnities, including\nthe usual attention first to religion, next to dress and formal state,\nlasted a week, during which the candidate might be questioned not only\nby the regular examiners on the usual round of the natural, the\nnon-natural, and the unnatural, but by any doctor present, each having\nthe right to propose a certain number of questions. In conclusion, the\naspirant {502} had to comment on some aphorism of Hippocrates. When\nthe examiners gave in their report, votes were taken, and a favorable\nmajority, secured to the aspirant his degree. The new bachelors swore\nto keep the honorable secrets, and observe all the practices, customs,\nand statutes of the faculty; to pay homage to the dean and to all the\nmasters; to aid the faculty against all opponents and all illicit\npractitioners, and to submit to the punishments which it might\ninflict; to assist in gown at all the masses ordered by the faculty,\ncoming in at least before the epistle, and remaining till the end;\nand, finally, to assist at all the academic exercises and disputations\nof the schools during two years, where they were to maintain some\ntheses on medicine or hygiene, observing good order and decorum in\nconducting their argument.\n\nTheir great ordeal was now to come. One is amazed to read of the\nsuccession of tilts they had to run in the intellectual tourney of\nthese two probationary years; how from St. Martin to the Carnival they\nhad to maintain, always in full dress and before a large assembly,\ntheir _quodlibetary_   [Footnote 72] theses of physiology or medicine;\nhow from Ash-Wednesday to vacation time it was the turn of the\nCardinal theses, so called from their institution by Cardinal\nd'Estoutteville. These chiefly related to hygienic questions. It is\nfrom among these latter that most of those puerile and absurd queries\nhave been extracted which have drawn down so much ridicule on the\nfaculty. It is scarcely possible to imagine that such questions as the\nfollowing can have been intended for serious discussion: Are heroes\nthe children of heroes? Are they bilious? Is it good to get drunk once\na month? Is woman an imperfect work of nature? Is sneezing a natural\nact? It is only fair, however, to remember that by far the greater\nnumber of the subjects proposed were of a very different character,\nand such as might profitably be considered at the present day. But if\nthe frequent occurrence of these intellectual jousts was trying to the\ncombatant, their interminable length was perfectly appalling. From six\no'clock to eight he had to stand a preliminary skirmish with the\nbachelors. For the next three hours he had to encounter nine doctors,\nwho successively entered the lists, each bringing his fresh vigor to\nbear on the exhausted candidate. The sitting ended with a general\nassault, in which all present had liberty to take a share and\noverwhelm the poor bachelor with a very hail-storm of interrogatories,\nto which he had to reply single-handed. During the Cardinal theses the\ndebate was still hotter and more prolonged. From five in the morning\ntill midday, the candidate was plied with questions by the bachelors,\nall ready to pounce upon him at the slightest flaw in his argument or\nthe merest slip of his tongue. As a climax of cruelty, during the\n_quodlibetary_ examinations he was bound to furnish his persecutors\nwith refreshment in an adjoining apartment, of which he alone was\nforbidden to partake. The sound of the great clock striking twelve\nmust have been a joyful reprieve to the athlete in the ring; the\nwonder is that any constitution could stand the probationary two years\nduring which this process was energetically kept up.\n\n  [Footnote 72: So called because selected at pleasure.]\n\nAt the close of this period the candidates were subjected to private\nexamination before the doctors, in order to ascertain their practical\ncapacity and personal qualifications for exercising the medical art.\nGreat strictness prevailed on all points which nearly concerned the\nhonor and interests of the faculty; and if the candidate had ever\npracticed any manual art, including surgery, he was bound on oath to\nrenounce it for the future. Then followed a separate private\nexamination by each individual doctor as to a thousand personal\ndetails affecting the competence of the applicant. A secret scrutiny\nthen decided on the admissibility, not as yet the admission, of {503}\nthe candidates to the honors and privileges of actual members of the\nfaculty. The spirit of the old days was preserved even in the\nseventeenth century, and the licentiates had to receive ecclesiastical\nsanction and a quasi-ordination. They proceeded accordingly in\nprocession to the house of the chancellor of the academy, to whom they\nwere presented by the dean, who, on their request, fixed a day for\ntheir reception. This form was one of the most cherished traditions of\nthe university. Gallican as was the spirit of that body, it gloried in\ntracing its privileges and constitution to the Holy See; a cheap\nhomage, which entailed no inconvenience, and of which at times it knew\nhow to avail itself in its contests with the king and the parliament.\nThe chancellor, who was a canon of the metropolitan see of Paris, had\nlong enjoyed sovereign jurisdiction over the schools; and although in\nthe seventeenth century his power was purely nominal, no one disputed\nhis right upon this occasion to represent the sovereign Pontiff, the\nsupreme teacher of the Catholic world. Other curious ceremonies\nattended the solemn admittal to the licentiate. All the high\nfunctionaries of state, and other important personages, were invited\nto attend the schools on an appointed day, in order to learn from the\nparanymph the names and titles of the medical practitioners whom the\nfaculty were about to present to the city--nay, to the whole world:\n\"_Quos, quales, et quot medicos urbi, alque adeo universo orbi,\nmedicorum collegium isto biennio sit suppeditaturum._\" The paranymph,\nas is well known, was, among the Greeks, the friend of the bridegroom,\nwho accompanied him in his chariot when he went to fetch home the\nbride. Now it was held that the new licentiate was about to espouse\nthe faculty, much as the Doge of Venice married the sea. The friend of\nthe spouse, the paranymph, was in fact the dean, who presented the\nyoung spouses to the chancellor with a complimentary address. That\ndignitary invited the assembly to repair on a fixed day to the great\narchiepiscopal hall, which upon this occasion was thrown open to all\nthe notabilities of the capital, who attended to add honor to the\nsolemnity. Then the list of the candidates was read out in their order\nof merit, as previously decided after a strict inquiry by the doctors.\nThey immediately fell on their knees, bareheaded, in an attitude of\ndeep recollection, to receive the apostolic benediction given by the\nchancellor in these terms: \"_Auctoritate Sanctae Sedis Apostolicae,\nqua fungor in hoc parte, do tibi licentium legendi, interpretandi, et\nfaciendi medicinam hic et ubique terrarum, in nomine Patris, et Filii,\net Spiritus Sancti_.\" A question was then proposed by this dignitary\nto the licentiate first in the order of merit, who was bound to give\nproof of his competency by solving it on the spot. As the chancellor\nwas not a doctor, and as the assembly was miscellaneous, this query\nwas usually religious or literary, and, to judge from the recorded\nquestions, rather curious and subtle than profitable. The whole\nassembly forthwith repaired in a body to the cathedral to thank our\nBlessed Lady for the happy conclusion of a work begun under her\nauspices. With his hand stretched over the altar of the martyrs, the\nchancellor murmured a short prayer, the purport of which was\ncalculated to remind the newly-elected that, belonging henceforth as\nthey did specially to the Church, they ought to be prepared to\nsacrifice themselves in all things, even to their very life: _usque ad\neffusionem sanguinis_. It depended entirely upon the licentiates\nthemselves whether or no they were ultimately decorated with the\ndoctor's cap, which conferred the full privileges at once of the\nmedical corporation and of the university to which it belonged; and\nalthough a few, from modesty or other causes, declined to aim at this\nhonor, with by far the greater number it was the consequence and\ncomplement of the licentiate. The degree of licentiate introduced the\nrecipient to the public; {504} that of doctor admitted him into the\nvery sanctuary of the faculty. Accordingly it was conferred, not less\nceremoniously, but more privately. It was, so to say, a family affair.\nAlthough, as we have said, there was no further examination respecting\nmedical competency, another minute inquiry was made into the life and\nmorals of the applicant, which was followed, if the scrutiny proved\nsatisfactory, by a preparatory act called the Vesperie, because it\ntook place in the afternoon. At this sitting, the president addressed\nthe candidate in a solemn discourse, intended to impress him with a\nhigh sense of the dignity of the healing art, and of the maxims of\nhonor and probity which ought to guide its professors. The ordeal of\nquestions was not altogether closed; for we find the president\nproposing a query, and entering into a discussion with the candidate,\nwho had thus still something to undergo before he passed on from the\nclass of the questioned to the more enviable rank of the questioners.\n\nUpon the great day, the doctor in _posse_, preceded by the\nmace-bearers and bachelors, with the president on his left, and\nfollowed by the doctors _in esse_ selected to argue with him,\nproceeded to the hall of the great school. The grand apparitor then\naddressed him thus: \"Sir candidate for the doctorate, before you are\ninitiated, you have to take three oaths,\"--\"_Domine doctorande,\nantequam incipias, habes tria juramenta_.\" The three oaths were: 1. to\nobserve the rights, statutes, laws, and venerable customs of the\nfaculty; 2. to assist the day following the feast of St. Luke at the\nmass for deceased doctors; 3. to combat with all his strength against\nthe illicit practitioners of medicine, whatever might be their rank or\ntheir condition in life. \"Will you swear to observe these\nthings?\"--\"_Vis ista jurare?_\"--asked the grand apparitor; and the\ncandidate replied with that memorable _Juro_ (\"I swear\") which was\nMoli\u00e8re's last word.   [Footnote 73] The president, after a brief\naddress, turned toward him with the doctorial square cap in his hand,\nand making with it the sign of the cross in the air, placed it on the\nhead of the candidate, to which he then administered a slight blow\nwith two of his fingers, and forthwith bestowed upon him the\n_accolade_. The recipient was now duly dubbed doctor. He made\nimmediate use of his new powers by asking a question of one of the\ndoctors present. The president had then a tilt with the doctor who had\npresided at the Vesperie, and the sitting was closed by the new\ndoctor's delivering a discourse of thanksgiving to God, to the\nfaculty, and to his friends and relations present. The statutes enjoin\nthat this speech should be _elegant_. We may conceive that the notion\nof elegance entertained by the faculty differed considerably from that\nwhich the word suggests to our minds. On the St. Martin's Day\nfollowing the recently-chosen doctor did the honors of his new grade\nby presiding over a _quodlibetary_ thesis. This was a sort of bye-day,\nbeing out of course. It was called the \"_acte pastillaire_,\" in\nallusion probably to the sugary wafers presented to the dean stamped\nwith his likeness, or to the _bonbons_, of which there was a general\ndistribution on the occasion. The next day the new doctor was entered\non the registers, and took his place on the junior bench for ten\nyears.\n\n  [Footnote 73: The great comic dramatist played the part of Argan on\n  the first representation of his play of the _Malade Imaginaire_, now\n  always performed on the anniversary of his death. He had probably\n  long had within him the seeds of a mortal complaint; and after\n  pronouncing the word _Juro_ in his character of Bachelor of Medicine\n  taking his degree, which is the object of the famous ceremonial\n  ballet succeeding the comedy, he was seized with a suffocating\n  attack, and left the playhouse only to expire shortly afterward.]\n\nEvery one must be struck with the close resemblance which the famous\nceremony in Moli\u00e8re's _Malade Imaginaire_ bears to those scholastic\nsolemnities. Who, indeed, would now remember these antiquated customs\nof an age from which we are drifting more rapidly in habits of thought\nand {505} in manners than even the stream of time is carrying us, if\nthe comic dramatist had not conferred upon them the immortality of\nridicule? Yet it may well be questioned if it were not for Moli\u00e8re's\nludicrous picture, from which we have formed our notions and judgment\nof the old faculty, whether, did we now for the first time discover in\nsome old forgotten document the record of these proceedings, our\nimpression might not be widely different; whether we might not see as\nmuch in them to command our respect as to provoke us to laughter.\nOld-fashioned ways--that is, ways which no longer reflect the ideas\nand feelings of the day--always lend themselves specially to ridicule.\nIn Moli\u00e8re's time society was beginning to divest itself of its\nmediaeval garb, and men's minds were being formed, not always to their\nadvantage, on a new type. The old type, however, was so strongly\nimpressed on the medical corporation--in which the traditionary spirit\nwas peculiarly powerful--that the garb, which, as we know, follows\nrather than precedes a change, still sat naturally on the venerable\nbody of doctors. So entirely was this the case, that where, as\nindividuals, they were more or less under the influence of the Spirit\nof the day, in their professional capacity they had as it were a\nsecond self, clinging tenaciously in all that concerned the faculty to\nancient ideas and forms. Of this combination the well-known Guy Patin,\nto whom we may hereafter have occasion to allude, was a curious\nexample. It is difficult to look upon men performing acts, to them\nmost serious, however absurd in our eyes, as purely ridiculous.\nAssuredly they have their respectable side. Neither is it easy to\nbelieve that all these good doctors, indefatigable as we have seen\nthem, and enthusiastically devoted as they were to their calling, were\nall such pedantic idiots as Moli\u00e8re has painted them. It is a\nwell-known fact that the inimitable piece of buffoonery to which we\nhave alluded was concocted in the salon of Madame de la Sabli\u00e8re, a\nnoted rendezvous of the \"_beaux esprits_\" of the day. Moli\u00e8re\nfurnished the canvas and laid-in the colors of the first painting; but\nhis witty friends had each some lively touch to contribute. It is\nprobable that two or three of the medical profession--men who were\nmore or less sceptical as to the perfection of every saying and doing\nof the faculty, and with whom Moli\u00e8re is known to have lived in habits\nof intimacy--were present at these meetings, and supplied many of the\ntechnical expressions. It does not follow that these physicians were\nactuated by any spite against their order, any more than Cervantes\nhated chivalry, to which, while quizzing its eccentricities and\nexaggerations, he unwittingly gave a fatal blow.\n\nOne remark forcibly suggests itself, when we consider the hyperbolical\npraise which the medical body so liberally administered to itself, and\nwith which Moli\u00e8re has made us familiar in passages of his comedies\nwhich can scarcely be considered as caricatures. We are apt severely\nto censure as grossly servile and almost idolatrous the flattery with\nwhich the men of letters and courtiers of Louis XIV.'s reign dosed the\nmonarch. But some abatement must be made of this harsh judgment when\nwe find the reception of an obscure bachelor to his degree made the\noccasion of a prodigal expenditure of the most exaggerated metaphors.\nHe is a new star, a pharos destined to shed its light on the latest\nposterity; he is the compendium of all virtue, talent, and glory; he\nequals, if he does not surpass, all the heroes of antiquity. And if\nsuch were the eulogies bestowed on a successful candidate for the\nhonors of the faculty, what was the laudation reserved for the faculty\nitself, the source of all this splendor? Hyperbole went mad. We find,\nfor instance, an orator taking as his text, \"The physician is like to\nGod.\" He sets forth this resemblance in the attributes of power,\nbeneficence, mercy: physicians are {506} the ministers and the\n\"colleagues\" of God. But this is not enough. The orator kindles as he\nproceeds: all comes from God; _ergo_, evil as well as good. \"But from\nyou, medical gentlemen,\" he exclaims, \"comes nothing but good.\nDoubtless God is just in afflicting us, and has his reasons. But still\nevil is evil, and medicine is always salutary.\" (Rather a bold\nassertion!) The conclusion is, that we should owe more to the\nphysician than to God, seeing that, while the Lord wounds, the\nphysician heals, did we not after all owe to him the physician\nhimself.\n\nOne lost trait to complete this sketch of the old customs of the\nfaculty. Moli\u00e8re has hinted at it in the closing line of the exordium\nof his comic president:\n\n  \"Salus, honos, et argentum,\n  _Atque bonum appetitum_.\"\n\nThe culinary and gastronomic side of the medical physiognomy is not\nthe least curious. Brillat-Savarin, who has made a classified\ncatalogue of gourmands, places physicians under the head of gourmands\nby virtue of their profession. It is, he says, in the nature of\nthings. Everything contributes to make them gluttons. The hopes and\nthe gratitude of patients combine to pamper them. They are crammed\nlike pigeons, and at the end of six months have become irretrievable\ngourmands. There seem to be reasonable grounds for this accusation. In\nwhat may be called the heroic age of the faculty--the palmy days of\nmedical ceremonial, which had already begun to decline in Moli\u00e8re's\ntime, although the ancient forms were in the main\npreserved--corporation repasts were frequent. After every examination\nthe doctors dined; after every thesis they dined--on this latter\noccasion at the expense of the successful candidate. On St. Luke's Day\nthey dined; and again when the accounts were given in, and when a dean\nwas elected. When a chair of botany was erected; a \"botanic banquet\"\nensued as a matter of course. But it would be too tedious to enumerate\nall these feastings, since almost everything furnished the pretext for\nan entertainment. At one time, the faculty even officially appointed\ntwo of their number to taste the wines before their repasts. Under the\npretence of hygienic considerations, questions appertaining to what\nmay be styled transcendental cookery were of frequent occurrence; and\nit was gravely debated whether salad ought to be eaten at the first\ncourse, and potatoes at the second; whether it were good to eat nuts\nafter fish, cheese after meat, etc.\n\nWe will conclude with some reflections of a more pleasing character as\nto the spirit which animated the old faculty. Some of its statutes are\nmemorials of the virtuous principles which, in spite of all\nabsurdities of form, were held in honor by their body. For instance,\nthe doctors were enjoined to cultivate friendship with one another.\nThey were never to visit a patient without an express invitation. The\njuniors were always to rise before the ancients, and the ancients were\nto protect the juniors, and treat them with kindness. The secrets of\nthe sick were sacred; and no one was to reveal what he had seen,\nheard, or so much as suspected in a patient's house. Gravity,\nmildness, and decorum were to reign in their assemblies, where each\nwas to speak in his proper order and without interrupting others.\nDisorderly behavior, recriminations, and abusive language are to be\nbanished for ever from the faculty. These regulations are admirable;\nand at any rate bear witness to the sound views of the body of whose\ncollective wisdom they were the expression. Indeed the great strength\nof the faculty resided in its attachment to its salutary moral laws.\nMere formalism would never have possessed such vitality and endurance.\nWhen we penetrate into the life of this old society, we meet with a\ntone of genuine uprightness, manliness, and candor quite refreshing to\nthe mind. We may add that {507} most of the great liberal\nprofessions--the bar, the magistracy, and the educational bodies of\nthe seventeenth century--make the same favorable impression upon us.\nThey exhibit the _bourgeoisie_ of the day in a respectable light, as\nmanifesting in no ordinary degree the qualities of probity,\ndisinterestedness, and the family spirit, with all the sober virtues\nand homely charities which appertain to it.\n\nWe naturally know less of the life of the students; but it was\nprobably moulded upon that of their elders and superiors. Even\nMoli\u00e8re's pompous Thomas Diafoirus, with whose rejection by Ang\u00e9lique\nfor the handsome, rich, and agreeable Cl\u00e9ante the reader of course\nheartily sympathizes, is by no means a contemptible personage; and\nwhen divested of his priggish solemnity, and of all those ludicrous\naccidental qualities which go to make up the caricature, it cannot be\ndenied that he is a well-principled, sober, and industrious youth. It\nis, therefore, no unreasonable conclusion to draw, that such was the\ngeneral character of the body of aspirants to the honors of the\nvenerable doctorate.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.\n\nBY ROBERT CURTIS.\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nFor many hundred yards total silence prevailed among our pedestrians.\nEven Kate Mulvey seemed at a loss what first to say, or whether she\nought to be the first to say anything.\n\nWinny, seeing that her poor dog was getting on famously, was rather\npleased, \"since the thing did happen,\" that it had been brought to so\nsatisfactory an end after all; and by whom? Her poor dog might have\nbeen killed, and would, undoubtedly, but for Emon-a-knock's fortunate\narrival at the last moment, and his prompt and successful assistance.\nThere was poor Bully-dhu now, walking to all appearances almost as\nwell as ever, and tied up in _his_ handkerchief. She was glad that the\nroad had become by this time comparatively deserted, for she was timid\nand frightened, she knew not why. Perhaps she was afraid she might\nmeet her father. She was thinking with herself, too, how far Emon\nwould come with them, and who they might meet who knew them, before he\nturned back. Emon-a-knock's heart was wishing Kate Mulvey at \"_Altha\nBrashia_,\" but his head was not sorry that she was one of the party,\nfor common-sense still kept his heart in subjection.\n\nThus it was that silence prevailed for some time. Bully-dhu was the\nfirst to break it. Whether it was that the whiskey had got into his\nhead, or, as the present fashion would say, that he was \"screwed,\" I\nknow not; but he felt so much better, and had so far recovered his\nstrength and spirits, that he had almost pulled the handkerchief from\nEmon's hand, and cut an awkward sort of a rigadoon round Winny,\nbarking, and looking up _triumphantly_ in her face. Could it have been\nthat while the others had been thinking of these other things, he had\nbeen deluding himself with the notion that he had been the victor in\nthe battle?\n\n\"Poor fellow,\" said Winny, patting him on the head, \"I do think\nthere's nothing very bad the matter with you {508} after all. Emon, I\nam beginning to believe you.\"\n\n\"I hope you will always believe me, Winny Cavana,\" was his reply, and\nhe again sunk into silence.\n\nShe could not think why he called her Cavana, and \"yet her color\nrose;\" I believe that is the way your experienced novelists would\nexpress it in such a case.\n\nA longer silence now ensued. None of the three appeared inclined to\ntalk--Emon less than either. Kate Mulvey, who had always plenty to\nsay for herself, seemed completely dumb--foundered, I was going to\nadd, but I find the word will do as well, perhaps better, in its\npurity. But, notwithstanding their silence, they were shortening the\nroad to Rathcash. Winny was framing some pretty little speech of\nthanks to Emon for the _trouble_ he had taken, and for his _kindness_;\nbut she had so often _botched_ it to her own mind, that she determined\nto leave it to chance at the moment of parting. Kate had no such\nexcuse for her silence, and yet she was not without one, which to\nherself quite justified it.\n\nSome few desultory remarks, however, were made from time to time,\nfollowed by the still \"awkward pause,\" until they had now arrived at\nthe turn in sight of Kate Mulvey's house.\n\nEmon was determined to go the whole way to the end of the lane turning\nup to Winny Cavana's. He had not sought this day's happiness; he had\nstudiously avoided such a chance; but circumstances had so far\ncontrolled him, that he could not accuse himself of wilful imprudence.\nEmon knew very well that if a fair opportunity occurred, he would in\nall probability betray himself in an unequivocal manner to Winny, and\nhe dreaded the result. Up to the present he was on friendly and\nfamiliar terms with her; but once the word was spoken, he feared a\nbarrier would be placed between them, which might put an end to even\nthis calm source of happiness. That he loved Winny with a\ndisinterested but devoted love, he knew too well. How far he might\nhope that she would ever look upon his love with favor, he had never\nyet ventured to feel his way; and yet his heart told him there was\nsomething about herself, which, if unbiassed by circumstances, might\nbid him not despair. But her rich old father, who had set his heart\nupon a marriage for his daughter with Tom Murdock, and a union of the\nfarms, he knew would never consent. Neither did he believe that Winny\nherself would decline so grand a match when it came to the point.\n\nEmon had argued all these matters over and over again in his mind; and\nthe fatal certainty of disappointment, added to a prudent\ndetermination to avoid her society as much as possible, had enabled\nhim hitherto to keep his heart under some control.\n\nKate Mulvey, though \"book-sworn\" by Winny, if she did not exactly\nrepeat any of the confidential chat she had with her friend about Tom\nMurdock and himself, felt no hesitation in \"letting slip\" to Emon, for\nwhom she had a very great regard, a hint or two just casually, as if\nby accident, that Tom Murdock \"was no great favorite\" of Winny\nCavana's--that the neighbors \"were all astray\" in \"giving them to one\nanother\"--that if she knew what two and two made, it would all \"end in\nsmoke;\" and such little gossiping observations. Not by way of\n_telling_ Emon, but just as if in the mere exuberance of her own love\nof chat. But they had the desired effect, now that Emon was likely to\nhave an opportunity of a few words with Winny alone, for Kate was\nevidently preparing to turn up to her own house when they came to the\nlittle gate.\n\nEmon had heard, even in his rank of life, the aristocratic expression\nthat \"faint heart never won fair lady;\" and a secret sort of\nself-esteem prompted him to make the most of the fortuitous\ncircumstances which he had not sought for, and which he therefore\nargued Providence might have thrown {509} in his way, \"What can she\ndo,\" thought he, \"but reject my love? I shall know the worst then; and\nI can make a start of it. I'm too long hanging about here like a fool;\na dumb priest never got a parish; and barring his acres and his\ncash--if he has any--I'm a better man than ever he was, or ever will\nbe.\"\n\nThese were his thoughts as they approached the gate, and his heart\nbegan to tremble as Kate Mulvey said:\n\n\"Winny, dear, I must part with you here. I saw my father at the door.\nHe came to it two or three times while we were coming up the road; and\nhe made a sign to me to go in. I'm sure and certain he's half-starved\nfor his dinner, waiting for me!\"\n\n\"Well, Kitty, I suppose I can't expect you to starve him out-and-out,\nand I'll bid you good-bye. I'm all as one as at home now, I may say.\nEmon--I--won't bring you any further.\"\n\n\"You're not bringing me, Winny; I'm going of my own free will.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Emon, you have been very kind, and I'm entirely obliged to\nyou for all your trouble; but I won't ask you to come any further\nnow.\"\n\nKate's father just then came to the door again; and she, thinking that\nmatters had gone far enough between Emon and her friend in her\npresence, bid them a final good-bye, and turned up to her father, who\nstill stood at the door, and who really did appear to be starving, if\none could judge by the position of his hands and the face he made.\n\nThe moment had now arrived when Emon must meet his fate, or call\nhimself a coward and a poltroon for the remainder of his natural life,\nbe it long or short.\n\nHe chose the least degrading and the most hopeful alternative--to meet\nhis fate.\n\nAs Winny held out her hand to him, and asked him to let out the dog,\nhe said:\n\n\"No, Winny; I'll give him up to you at the end of the lane; but not\nsooner.\"\n\nWinny saw that remonstrance would be no use. She did not wish to\nquarrel with Emon, and she knew that at all events that was no time or\nplace to do so.\n\nThey had not advanced many yards alone, when Winny stopped again, as\nif irresolute between her wishes and her fears. She had not yet spoken\nunkindly to Emon, and she had tact enough to know that the first\nunkind word would bring out the whole matter, which she dreaded, in a\nflood from his heart, and which she doubted her own power to\nwithstand.\n\n\"Emon,\" she said, \"indeed I will not let you come any further--don't\nbe angry.\"\n\n\"Winny, you said first you would not ask me, and now you say you will\nnot let me. Winny Cavana, are you ashamed of _any_ one about Rathcash,\nor Rathcash_more_, seeing you walking with Emon-a-knock?\"\n\n\"You are very unjust and very unkind, Emon, to say any such thing. I\nnever was ashamed to be seen walking with you; and I'm certain sure\nthe day will never come when you will give me reason to be ashamed of\nyou, Emon-a-knock;--there now, I seldom put the two last words to your\nname, except when I wish to be kind. But there is a difference between\nshame and fear, Emon.\"\n\n\"Then you are afraid, Winny?\"\n\n\"Yes, Emon, but it is only of my father--take that with you now, and\nbe satisfied, but don't fret me by persevering further. Let the dog\ngo--and good-bye.\"\n\nAll this time she was counting the pebbles on the road with her eyes.\n\n\"No, Winny, I'll not fret you willingly; but here or there it is all\nthe same, and the truth must come out. Winny, you have been the\nwoodbine that has twined itself and blossomed round my heart for many\na long day. Don't wither it, Winny dear, but say I may water and\nnourish it with the dew {510} of your love;\" and he would have taken\nher hand.\n\n\"Not here, Emon,\" she said, releasing it; \"are you mad? Don't you see\nwe're in sight of the houses? and gracious only knows who may be\nwatching us! Untie your handkerchief and give be the dog. For goodness\nsake, Emon dear, don't come any further.\"\n\n\"No, Winny, I'd die before I'd fret you. Here's the dog, handkerchief\nand all: keep it as a token that I may hope.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Emon, I cannot--don't ask me.\"\n\nEmon's heart fell, and he stooped to untie the handkerchief in\ndespair, if not in chagrin, at Winny's last words.\n\nBut Bully-dhu appeared to know what his mistress ought to have done\nbetter than she did herself. It was either that, or Emon's hand shook\nso, that when endeavoring to untie the knot, the dog got loose,\n\"handkerchief and all,\" and, turning to his mistress, began to bark\nand jump up on her, with joy that he had gained his liberty, and was\nso near home. Winny became frightened lest Bully-dhu's barks might\nbring notice upon them, and she endeavored to moderate his ecstacy,\nyet she felt a sort of secret delight that she was in for the\nhandkerchief in spite of herself. She was determined, therefore, not\nto send poor Emon-a-knock away totally dejected.\n\n\"There, Emon dear; for God's sake, I say again, be off home. I'll keep\nit in memory of the day that you saved my poor dog from\ndestruction--there now, will that do?\" and she held out her hand.\n\n\"It is enough, Winny dear. This has been the happiest day of my life.\nMay I hope it has only been the first of a long life like it?\"\n\n\"Now, Emon, don't talk nonsense, but be off home, if you have any wit\n--good-bye;\" and this time she gave him her hand and let it lie in\nhis.\n\n\"God bless you, Winny dearest, I oughtn't to be too hard on you. Sure\nyou have raised my heart up into heaven already, and there is\nsomething now worth living for.\" And he turned away with a quick and\nsteady step.\n\n\"She called me 'dear' twice,\" he soliloquized, after he thought she\nhad fairly turned round. But Winny had heard him, and as she took the\nhandkerchief from Bully-dhu's neck, she patted him upon the head,\nsaying, \"And you _are_ a dear good fellow, and I'm very fond of you.\"\n\nEmon heard every part of this little speech except the first word, and\nWinny managed it to perfection; for though she had used the word \"and\"\nin connection with what she had heard Emon say, she was too cunning to\nlet him hear that one small word, which would have calmed his beating\nheart; and the rest she would fain have it appear had been said to the\ndog, for which purpose she accompanied the words with those pats upon\nhis head. She spoke somewhat louder, however, than was necessary, if\nBully-dhu was alone intended to hear her.\n\nEmon saw the transaction, and heard some of the words--only some. But\nthey were sufficient to make him envy the dog, as he watched them\ngoing up the lane, and into the house.\n\nIt might be a nice point, in the higher ranks of life, to determine\nwhether, in a \"breach of promise\" case, the above passages could be\nrelied on as unequivocal evidence on either side of a promise; or\nwhether a young lover would be justified in believing that his suit\nhad been successful upon no other foundation than what had then taken\nplace. But in the rank of life in which Winny Cavana and Edward Lennon\nmoved, it was as good between them as if they had been\n\"book-sworn\"--and they both knew it.\n\nBefore Winny went to her bed that night she had washed and ironed the\nhandkerchief, and she kept it ever after in her pocket, folded up in a\npiece of newspaper. It had no mark {511} upon it when she got it, but\nshe was not afraid, after some time, to work the letters E. A. K. in\nthe comer, as no one was ever to see it but herself, not even Kate\nMulvey.\n\nOld Ned Cavana, after returning from prayers, determined to rest\nhimself for some time before taking a tour of the farm, and lay down\nupon an old black sofa in the parlor. There is no shame in the truth\nthat an old man of his age soon fell fast asleep. The servant-girl\nlooked in once or twice to tell him that the spotted heifer had cut\nher leg jumping over a wall, as Jamesy Doyle was turning her out of\nthe wheat; but she knew it would not signify; and not wishing, or\nperhaps not venturing, to disturb him, she quietly shut the door\nagain. He slept so long, that he was only just getting the spotted\nheifer's leg stuped in the farm-yard while the scene already described\nwas passing between Winny and young Lennon upon the road. Were it not\nfor that same heifer's leg he would doubtless have been standing at\nthe window watching his daughter's return. Upon such fortuitous\naccidents do lovers' chances sometimes hang! This was what Winny in\nher ignorance of her father's employment had dreaded; and hence alone\nher anxiety that Emon should \"be off home, if he had any wit.\"\n\nOn this point she found, however, that all was right when she entered.\nHer father was just coming in from the farm-yard, \"very thankful that\nit was no worse;\" a frame of mind which we would recommend all persons\nto cultivate under untoward circumstances of any kind.\n\nOf course Winny told her father of the mishap about poor Bully-dhu's\nbattle; she \"nothing extenuated, nor set down aught in malice,\" but\ntold the thing accurately as it had occurred; and did not even hide\nthat young Lennon--she did not call him Emon-a-knock--had ultimately\nrescued the poor dog from destruction. She did not think it necessary\nto say how far he had accompanied them on their way home.\n\n\"He's a smart young fellow, that Lennon is, an' I'm for ever obliged\nto him, Winny, for that same turn. There would be no livin' here but\nfor Bully-dhu. I believe it was Emon himself gev him to us, when he\nwas a pup.\"\n\n\"It was, father; and a very fine dog he turned out.\"\n\n\"The sorra-betther, Winny. If it wasn't for him, as I say, betune the\nfox an' the rogues, we wouldn't have a goose or a turkey, or a duck,\nor a cock, or a hen, or so much as a chikin, in the place, nor so\nmuch, iv coorse, as a fresh egg for our breakfast. Poor Bully, I hope\nhe's not hurt, Winny;\" and he stooped down to examine him. \"No, no,\"\nhe cried, \"not much; but I'm sure he's thirsty. Here, Biddy, get Bully\na dish of _bonnia-rommer_, and be sure you make him up a good mess\nafther dinner. That Emon-a-knock, as they call him, is a thundering\nfine young man; it's a pity the poor fellow is a pauper, I may say.\"\n\n\"No, father, he's _not_ a pauper, and never will be; he's well able to\nearn his living.\"\n\n\"I know that, Winny, for he often worked here; an' there's not a man\nin the three parishes laves an honester day's work behind him.\"\n\n\"And does not spend it foolishly, father. If you were to see how\nnicely he was dressed to-day; and--beside all the help he gives his\nfather and mother.\"\n\nShe was about to add a remark that work was just then very slack, as\nit was the dead time of the year, but that there was always something\nto be done about the farm; but second thoughts checked the words as\nthey were rising to her lips; and second thoughts, they say, are best.\n\nOld Ned here turned the conversation by \"wondering was the dinner near\nready.\"\n\nWinny was not a little surprised, and a good deal delighted, to hear\nher father talk so familiarly and so kindly {512} of Emon. There never\nwas a time when her father's kind word of him was of more value to her\nheart. Perhaps it would be an unjust implication of hypocrisy on the\nold man's part to suggest that he might have only been \"pumping\" Winny\non the subject. She felt, however, that she had gone far enough for\nthe present in the expression of her opinion, and was not sorry when a\ntouch of the _faire gurtha_ put her father in mind of \"the dinner.\"\n\nWe, who, of course, can see much further than any of our _dramatis\npersonae,_and who are privileged to be behind the scenes, could tell\nWinny Cavana--but that we would not wish to fret her--that Tom Murdock\nwas looking on from his own window at the whole scene between her and\nyoung Lennon on the road; and that from that moment, although he could\nnot hear a word that was said, he understood the whole thing, and was\ngenerating plans of vengeance and destruction against _one_ or both.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nMatters were now lying quiet. They were like a line ball at billiards\nwhich cannot be played at, and there was nothing \"to go out for\" by\nany of the players in this double match. But occasionally something\n\"comes off,\" in even the most remote locality, which creates some\nprevious excitement, and forms the subject of conversation in all\nranks. Sometimes a steeple-chase, \"five-sovereigns stakes, with fifty\nor a hundred added,\" forms a speculation for the rich; with a farmer's\nclass-race for twenty pounds, without any stakes, for horses _bona\nfide_ the property, etc.\n\nA great cricket-match once \"came off\" not very far from the locality\nof our story, when Major W--n lived at Mount Campbell, between the\nofficers of the garrison at Boyle and a local club. We belonged to the\nmajor's province of constabulary at the time, and, as members, were\nprivileged to take part therein. The thing was rather new in that part\nof the world at the time, but had been well advertised in the\nnewspapers for the rich, and through the police for the poor; and the\nconsequence was--the weather being very fine--that a concourse of not\nless than a thousand persons were assembled to witness the game. There\ncan be little doubt that some of the younger portion, at least, of our\n_dramatis personae_ in this tale were spectators upon the occasion. It\nwas within their county, and not an unreasonable distance from the\nhomes we are now writing of.\n\nJanuary and February had now passed by in the calm monotony of nothing\nto excite the inhabitants of the Rathcashes. Valentine's Day, indeed,\nhad created a slight stir amongst some of the girls who had bachelors,\nor thought they had; and many a message was given to those going into\nC.O.S., to \"be sure and ask at the post-office for a letter for me,\"\n\"and for me,\" \"and for me.\" A few, very few indeed, got valentines,\nand many, very many, did not.\n\nIt was now March, and even this little anxiety of heart had subsided\non the part of the girls; some from self-satisfaction at what they\ngot, and others from disappointment at what they did not.\n\nDuring this time Tom Murdock had seen Winny Cavana occasionally. It\nwould be quite impossible, with one common lane to both houses, and\nthose houses not more than three hundred yards apart, that any plan of\nWinny's, less than total seclusion, could have prevented their\nsometimes \"coming across\" one another; and total seclusion was a thing\nthat Winny Cavana would not subject herself to on account of any man\n\"that ever stepped in shoe-leather.\" \"What had she to him, or to be\nafraid of him for? Let him mind his own business and she'd mind hers.\nBut for one half hour she'd never shut herself up {513} on his\naccount. Let him let her alone.\"\n\nTom Murdock was not without a certain degree of knowledge of the\nfemale heart, nor of a certain amount of tact to come round one, in\nthe least objectionable way; at all events, so as not to foster any\ndifference which might have taken place. He did not appear to seek her\nsociety, nor did he seek to avoid it. When they met, which was really\nalways by accident, he was civil, and sufficiently attentive to show\nthat he harbored no ill-will against her, and respected her enough to\nmake it worth his while not to break with her. He was now certain of a\nwalk home with her on Sundays from mass. On these occasions her father\nwas generally with her, but this Tom considered rather to be wished\nfor than otherwise, as he could not venture, even if alone, to renew\nthe forbidden subject. But he knew the father had approved of his\nsuit, and his wish was now to establish a constant civility and\nkindness of manner, which would keep him at least on his side, if it\ndid not help by its quietness to make Winny herself think better of\nhim.\n\nWhat had passed between Winny and Emon was not likely in a human heart\nto keep up the constrained indifference which that young man had\nburdened himself with toward her. He had, therefore, upon two or three\nSundays ventured again to go to the chapel of Rathcash.\n\nIt is not very easy to account for, or to explain how such minor\nmatters fall out, or whether they are instinctively arranged\nimpromptu; but upon each occasion of Emon having re-appeared at\nRathcash chapel, Tom Murdock's walk home with Winny was spoiled; more\nparticularly if it so happened that her father did not go to prayers.\n\nEmon-a-knock was never devoid of a considerable portion of self-esteem\nand respect. Though but a daily laborer, his conduct and character\nwere such as to have gained for him the favorable opinion and the good\nword of every one who knew him; and apart from the innate goodness of\nhis disposition, he would not lose the high position he had attained\nin the hearts of his neighbors for the consideration of any of those\nequivocal pleasures generally enjoyed by young men of his class. He\nfelt that he could look old Ned Cavana or old Mick Murdock straight in\nthe face, rich as they were. He felt quite Tom Murdock's equal in\neverything, mentally and physically. In riches alone he could not\ncompare with him, but these, he thanked God, belonged to neither mind\nnor body.\n\nThus far satisfied with himself, he always stopped to have a few words\nwith Winny, when chance--which he sometimes coaxed to be propitious--\nthrew him in her way. Even from Rathcash on Sundays he felt entitled\nnow, perhaps more than ever, to join her as far as his own way home\nlay along with hers, and this although her father was along with her.\nIf Tom Murdock had joined them, which was only natural, living where\nhe did, Emon was more determined than ever to be of the party,\nchatting to them all, Tom included; thus showing that he was neither\nafraid of them nor ashamed of himself.\n\nThe first Sunday after the dog-fight was the first that Emon had gone\nto the chapel of Rathcash for a pretty long time. But, as a matter of\ncourse, he must go there on that day to inquire for poor Bully-dhu,\nand to ascertain if Winny Cavana had recovered her fright and fatigue.\nWe have seen that Winny had told her father sufficient of the\ntransaction of poor Bully's mishap to make it almost a matter of\nnecessity that he should allude to it to Emon, if it were merely to\nthank him for \"the trouble he had taken\" in saving the dog. When Winny\nheard the words her father had used, she thought them cold--\"the\ntrouble he had taken!\" her heart suggested that he might have said,\nand said truly, \"the risk he had run.\"\n\nBut, Winny, there had really been no risk; and recollect that you had\n{514} used the very same word \"trouble\" to Emon yourself, when you\nknew no more of his mind than your father does now.\n\nTom had walked with them on this occasion, and old Ned's civility to\n\"that whelp\"--a name he had not forgotten--helped to sour his temper\nmore than anything which had passed between Winny Cavana and him. But\nall these things he was obliged to bear, and he bore them well, upon\n\"the-long-lane-that-has-no-turning\" system.\n\nBut now a cause of anticipated excitement began to be spoken of in the\nneighborhood; how, or why, or by whom the matter had been set on foot,\nwas a thing not known, and of no consequence at the time. Yet Tom\nMurdock was at the bottom of it--and for a purpose.\n\nThere existed not far from about the centre of the locality of our\nstory a large flat common, where flocks of geese picked the short\ngrass in winter, and over which the peewit curled with a short\ncircular flap, and a timid little hoarse scream, in the month of May.\nIt consisted of about sixty acres of hard, level, whitish sod,\nadmirably adapted for short races, athletic sports, and manly\nexercises of every kind. It formed a sort of amphitheatre, surrounded\nby low green hills, affording ample space and opportunity for\nhundreds, ay thousands, of spectators to witness any sport which might\nbe inaugurated upon the level space below.\n\nUpon one or two occasions, but not latterly, hurling-matches had come\noff upon Glanveigh Common. At one time these hurling-matches were very\ncommon in Ireland, and were considered a fair test of the prowess of\nthe young men of different parishes. Many minor matches had come off\nfrom time to time, but they were of a mixed nature, got up for the\nmost part upon the spot, and had not been spoken of beforehand--they\nwere mere impromptus amongst the younger lads of the neighborhood. The\nlove of the game, however, had not died out even amongst those of\nriper years; and there were very many men, young and old, whose hurls\nwere laid up upon lofts, and who could still handle them in a manner\nwith which few parts of Ireland could compare. Amongst those Tom\nMurdock was pre-eminent. He had successfully led the last great match,\nwhen not more than twenty years of age, between the parishes of\nRathcash and Shanvilla, against a champion called \"Big M'Dermott,\" who\nled for the latter parish. He was considered the best man in the\nprovince to handle a hurl, and his men were good; but Tom Murdock and\nthe boys of Rathcash had beaten them back three times from the very\njaws of the goal, and finally conquered. But Shanvilla formally\nannounced that they would seek an early opportunity to retrieve their\ncharacter. The following Patrick's Day would be three years since they\nhad lost it.\n\nTom Murdock thought this a good opportunity to forward a portion of\nhis plans. A committee was formed of the best men in Rathcash parish\nto send a challenge to the men of Shanvilla to hurl another match on\nGlanveigh Common upon Patrick's Day. Tom Murdock himself was not on\nthe committee; he had too much tact for that. \"Big M'Dermott\" had\nemigrated, leaving a younger brother behind him--a good man, no doubt;\nbut as the Shanvilla boys had been latterly bragging of Emon-a-knock\nas their best man, Tom had no doubt that the challenge would be\naccepted, and that young Lennon, as a matter of course, would be\nchosen as their champion. Had he doubted this last circumstance, he\nmight not have cared to originate the match at all. He had not\nforgotten the poker-and-tongs jig about four months before. His\nhumiliation on that occasion had sunk deeper into his heart than any\nperson who witnessed it was aware of; and although never afterward\nadverted to, had still to be avenged. If, then, at the head of his\nhundred men, he could beat back young Lennon with an equal number\ntwice out of thrice before the assembled parishes, it would in {515}\nsome degree wash out the humiliation of his defeat in the dance.\n\nUpon the acceptance of this challenge not only the character of the\nShanvilla boys depended, but their pride and confidence in\nEmon-a-knock as their best man.\n\nAt once, upon the posting of the challenge, with the names of the\ncommittee, upon the chapel-gate of Rathcash, a counter-committee was\nformed for Shanvilla, and, taking a leaf from their opponents' book,\ntheir best man's name was left out. But he at the same time accepted\nthe leadership of the party, which was unanimously placed upon him.\n\nThus far matters had tended to the private exultation of Tom Murdock,\nwho was determined to make Patrick's Day a day of disgrace to his\nrival, for since the scene he had witnessed with the dog and the\nhandkerchief he could no longer doubt the fact.\n\nThe whole population of the parishes were sure to be assembled, and\nWinny Cavana, of course, amongst the rest. What a triumph to degrade\nhim in her eyes before his friends and hers! Surely he would put forth\nall his energies to attain so glorious a result. He would show before\nthe assembled multitude that, physically at least, \"that whelp\" was no\nmatch for Tom Murdock--his defeat Pat the poker-and-tongs jig was a\nmere mischance.\n\nThe preliminaries were now finally settled for this, the greatest\nhurling-match which for many years had come off, or was likely to come\noff, in the province. Rathcash had been victorious on the last great\noccasion of the kind, just three years before, when Tom Murdock had\nled the parish, as a mere stripling, against \"Big M'Dermott\" and his\nmen. The additional three years had now given more manliness to Tom's\nheart, in one sense at least, and a greater development to the muscle\nand sinew of his frame than he could boast of on that occasion. He was\nan inch, or an inch and a half, over Emon-a-knock in height, upwards\nof a stone-weight heavier, and nearly two years his senior in age. His\nmen were on an average as good men, and as well accustomed to the use\nof the hurl, as those of Shanvilla--their hurls were as well seasoned\nand as sound, and their pluck was proverbially high. What wonder,\nthen, if Tom Murdock anticipated a certain, if not an easy, victory?\n\nAs hurling, however, has gone very much out of fashion since those\ndays, and is now seldom seen--never, indeed, in the glorious strength\nof two populous parishes pitted against each other--it may be well for\nthose who have never seen or perhaps heard of it, to close this\nchapter with a short description of it.\n\nA large flat field or common, the larger the better, is selected for\nthe performance. Two large blocks of stone are placed about fifteen or\ntwenty feet apart toward either end of the field. One pair of these\nstones forms the goal of one party, and the other pair that of their\nopponents. They are about four hundred yards distant from each other,\nand are generally whitewashed, that they may the more easily catch the\nattention of the players. A ball, somewhat larger than a cricket-ball,\nbut pretty much of the same nature, is produced by each party, which\nwill be more fully explained by-and-bye. The hurlers assemble, ranged\nin two opposing parties in the centre between the goals. The hurls are\nadmirably calculated for the kind of work they are intended to\nperform--viz., to _puck_ the ball toward the respective goals. But\nthey would be very formidable weapons should a fight arise between the\ncontending parties. This, ere now, we regret to say, has not\nunfrequently been the case--leading sometimes to bloodshed, and on, a\nfew occasions to manslaughter, if not to murder. The hurl is\ninvariably made of a piece of well-seasoned ash. It is between three\nand four feet long, having a flat surface of about four inches broad\nand an inch thick, turned at the lower end. Many and close searches in\nthose days have been made through the woods. {516} and in cartmaker's\nshops, for pieces of ash with the necessary turn, grown by nature in\nthe wood; but failing this fortunate chance, the object was pretty\nwell effected by a process of steaming, and the application of cramps,\nuntil the desired shape was attained. But these were never considered\nas good as those grown _designedly_ by nature _for the purpose_.\n\nThe contending parties being drawn up, as we have said, in the centre\nof the ground, the respective leaders step forward and shake hands,\nlike two pugilists, to show that there is no malice. Although this act\nof the leaders is supposed to guarantee the good feeling of the men as\nwell, yet the example is generally followed by such of the opposing\nplayers as are near each other.\n\n\"A toss\" then takes place, as to which side shall \"sky\" their ball.\nThese balls are closely inspected by the leaders of the opposite\nparties, and pronounced upon before the game begins. There is no\nchoice of goals, as the parties generally set them up at the end of\nthe field next the parish they belong to. Whichever side wins \"the\ntoss\" then \"skies\" their ball, the leader throwing it from his hand to\nthe full height of his power, and \"the game is on.\" But after this no\nhand, under any circumstances, is permitted to touch the ball; an\napparently unnecessary rule, for it would be a mad act to attempt it,\nas in all probability the hand would be smashed to pieces. The game\nthen is, to puck the ball through the opponents' goal. Two\ngoal-masters are stationed at either goal, belonging one to each\nparty, and they must be men of well-known experience as such. Their\nprincipal business is to see that the ball is put fairly between the\nstones; but they are not prohibited from using their hurls in the\nfinal struggle at the spot, the one to assist, the other to obstruct,\nas the state of their party may required.\n\nSometimes a game is nearly won, when a fortunate young fellow on the\nlosing side slips the ball from the crowd to the open, where one of\nhis party curls it into the air with the flat of his hurl, and the\nwhole assembly--for there is always one--hears the puck it gets,\nsending it half-way toward the other goal. The rush to it then is\ntremendous by both sides, and another crowded clashing of hurls takes\nplace.\n\nWhen the ball is fairly put through the goal of one party by the\nother, the game is won, and the shouts of the victors and their\nfriends are deafening.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nA hurling match in those days was no light matter, particularly when\nit was on so extensive a scale as that which we are about to\ndescribe--between two large parishes. They were supposed, and intended\nto be, amicable tests of the prowess and activity of the young men at\na healthy game of recreation, as the cricket-matches of the present\nday are that of the athletic aristocracy of the land. In all these\ngreat matches, numbers of men, women, and children used to collect to\nlook on, and cheer as the success of the game swayed one way or the\nother; and as most of the players were unmarried men, it is not to be\nwondered at if there were many young women amongst the crowd, with\ntheir hearts swaying accordingly.\n\nIt had been decided by the committees upon the occasion of this great\nmatch, that a sort of distinguishing dress--they would not, of course,\ncall it uniform--should be worn by the men. To hurl in coats of any\nkind had never in this or any other parish match been thought of. The\ncommittee left the choice of the distinguishing colors to the\nrespective leaders, recommending, however, that the same manner should\nbe adopted of exhibiting it. It was agreed that sleeves of different\ncolors should be worn over the shirt sleeves, with a broad piece of\nribbon tied at the throat to match.\n\nTom Murdock had chosen green for his party, and not only that, but\n{517} with a determination to make himself popular, and to throw his\nrival as far as possible into the background, had purchased a\nsufficient quantity of calico and ribbon to supply his men gratis with\nsleeves and neck-ties.\n\nPoor Emon-a-knock could not afford this liberality, and he felt the\nobject with which it had been puffed and paraded on the other side for\na whole week previous. He was not afraid, however, that his men would\nthink the less of him on that account. They knew he was only a\nlaboring man, depending upon his day's wages; and many of those who\nwould wield the hurl by his side upon the 17th of March were\nwell-to-do sons of comfortable farmers. Many, no doubt, were laboring\nboys like himself, and many servant-boys to the farming class.\n\nA deputation of Shanvillas had waited on Emon-a-knock to ascertain his\nchoice of a color for their sleeves and ribbon.\n\nHe thought for a few moments, and then taking a red\npocket-handkerchief from his box he said, \"Boys, this is the only\ncolor I can think of. It is as good as any.\"\n\n\"I don't like it, Emon,\" said M'Dermott, the next best man in the\nparish.\n\n\"Why so, Phil?\" said another.\n\n\"Well, I hardly know why. It is too much the color of blood. I'd\nrather have white.\"\n\n\"Don't be superstitious, Phil _a-wochal_,\" said Emon; \"white is a\ncowardly color all over the world, and red is the best contrast we can\nhave to their color.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" said Phil.\n\n\"So be it,\" re-echoed the rest of the deputation; \"sure, Emon has a\nright to the choice. Lend us the handkerchief, that we may match it as\nnear as possible.\"\n\n\"And welcome, boys; here it is; but take good care of it for me, as it\nis the only one I have _now_.\"\n\nThe deputation did not know, but the readers do, that he had given the\nfellow to it--off the same piece--to Winny Cavana with the dog. Hence\nhis emphasis upon the last word.\n\nNo time was lost by the deputation when they left Emon. They had\nscarcely got out of hearing, when Phil M'Dermott said, \"Boys, you all\nknow that Tom Murdock has bestowed his men with a pair of sleeves, and\nhalf a yard of ribbon each. Now if he was as well liked as he lets on,\nhe needn't have done that; and in my opinion he done it by way of\ncasting a slur upon our man's poverty. Tom Murdock can afford a\nhundred yards of green calico and fifty yards of tuppenny ribbon very\nwell;--at least he ought to be able to do so. Now I vote that amongst\nthe best of us we bestow our man with a pair of silk sleeves, and a\nsilk cap and ribbon, for the battle. There's my tenpenny-bit toward\nit.\"\n\n\"An' I second that vote, boys; there's mine,\" said another.\n\n\"Aisy, boys, an' listen to me,\" broke in a young Solon, who formed one\nof the deputation. \"There's none of us that wouldn't give a tenpenny\nbit, if it was the last he had, to do what you say, Phil; but the\nwhole thing--sleeves, ribbon, and cap--won't cost more than a couple\nof crowns; an' many's the one of the Shanvilla boys would like to have\npart in it. I vote all them that can afford it may give a fippenny-bit\napiece, an' say nothing about it to the boys that can't afford it. If\nwe do, there isn't a man of them but what id want to put in his penny;\nand I know Emon would not like that. It wouldn't sound well, an' might\nbe laughed at by that rich chap, Murdock. Here's my fippenny, Phil.\"\n\nThere was much good sense in this. It met not only the approbation of\nthe whole deputation, but the pockets of some, and was unanimously\nadopted. The necessary amount of money was made up before an hour's\ntime; and a smart fellow--the very Solon who had spoken, and who was\nas smart of limb as he was of mind--was despatched forthwith to C.O.S.\nfor three yards of silk and two yards of ribbon, to match as nearly as\npossible {518} Emon-a-knock's handkerchief, which was secured in the\ncrown of his cap.\n\nThe very next afternoon--for Shanvilla did not sleep on its resolve--\nthere was no lion in the street for them;--the same deputation walked\nup to Emon's house at dinner-hour, when they knew he would be at home.\nHe had just finished, and was on his way out, to continue a job of\nplanting \"a few gets\" of early potatoes on the hill behind the house,\nwhen he met them near the door.\n\nM'Dermott carried a paper parcel in his hand.\n\n\"Well, boys,\" said Emon, \"what's the matter now? I thought we settled\neverything yesterday morning.\"\n\n\"You did, Emon _a-wochal_; but we had a trifle to do after we left\nyou. I hope you done nothing about your own sleeves as yet.\"\n\n\"No, Phil, I did not; but never fear, I'll be up to time. But I don't\nwish to change the color, if that's what brought you.\"\n\n\"The sorra change Emon; it is almost too late for that now. But some\nof the boys heerd that Tom Murdock is givin' his men, every man of\n'em, sleeves an' ribbon for this match. We don't expect the likes from\nyou, Emon; and we don't mind that fellow's puffery and pride. We think\nit better that the Shanvilla boys should present their leader with one\npair of sleeves than that he should give a hundred pairs to them. We\nhave them here, Emon _a-wochal_; an' there isn't a boy in the parish\nof Shanvilla, or a man, woman, or child, that won't cheer to see you\nwin in them.\"\n\n\"An' maybe some one in the parish of Rathcash,\" whispered Solon to\nPhil.\n\nHere Phil M'Dermott untied his parcel and exhibited the sleeves,\nfinished off in the best style by his sister Peggy. What would fit\nPhil would fit Emon; and she was at no loss upon that point.\n\n\"Here they are, made and all, Emon. Peggy made them on my fit; and we\nwish you luck to win in them. Faix, if you don't, it won't be your\nfault nor ours. Here's your hankicher; you see there isn't the differ\nof a _milthiogue's_ wing in the two colors.\"\n\nPerhaps it was the proximity to Boher-na-milthiogue that had suggested\nthe comparison.\n\n\"Indeed, boys, I'm entirely obliged to you, and I don't think we can\nfail of success. It shall not be my fault if we do, and I'm certain it\nwon't be yours. But I'm sorry--\"\n\n\"_Bidh a hurst_, Emon; don't say wan word, or I'll choke you. But thry\nthem on.\"\n\nEmon's coat was forthwith slipped off his back and thrown upon the end\nof a turf-stack hard by, and Phil M'Dermott drew the sleeves upon his\narms, and tied them artistically over his shoulders.\n\n\"Dam' the wan, Emon, but they were med for you!\" said Phil, smoothing\nthem down toward the wrists.\n\n\"Divil a word of lie in _that_, any way, Phil,\" said Solon. \"Tell us\nsomething we don't know.\"\n\n\"Well, I may tell them that you have too much wit in your head to have\nany room for sense,\" replied M'Dermott, seemingly a little annoyed at\nthe remark.\n\nSolon grinned and drew in his horns.\n\n\"They are, indeed, the very thing,\" said Emon, turning his head from\none to the other and admiring them. He could have wished, however,\nthat it had been a Rathcash girl who had made them instead of Peggy\nM'Dermott. \"But I cannot have everything my own way,\" sighed he to\nhimself.\n\nM'Dermott then quietly removed Emon's hat with one hand, while with\nthe other he slily placed die silk cap jauntily upon his head. There\nwas a general murmur of approbation at the effect, in which Emon\nhimself could not choose but join. He felt that he was looking the\nthing.\n\nAfter a sufficient time had been allowed for the admiration and\nverdict of the committee as to their fit and appearance, Phil\nM'Dermott took them {519} off again, and, folding them up carefully in\nthe paper, handed it to Emon, wishing him on his own part, and that of\nthe whole parish, health to wear and win in them on Patrick's Day--\n\"Every man of as will have our own colors ready the day before,\" he\nadded.\n\nEmon then thanked them heartily, and turned into the house, to show\nthem to his father, and the deputation returned to their homes.\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\nTranslated from the German.\n\nMALINES AND W\u00dcRZBURG.\n\n\nSKETCH OF THE CATHOLIC CONGRESSES HELD AT MALINES AND W\u00dcRZBURG.\n\nBY ANDREW NIEDERMASSER.\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nCHARITY\n\n\nHimioben, in a speech delivered at the convention of Salzburg,\nSeptember 24, 1857, spoke as follows: \"All grumblers and pessimists\nshould strive to understand that we live in a great age--great because\nit is destined to witness the triumph of the truth. I feel that it is\na great age, and I thank God for the happiness of living in the\nnineteenth century. Except the age of the apostles and that of\nConstantine, no period in the history of the Church can compare with\nthe present.\"\n\nNotwithstanding my frequent and intimate intercourse with some of the\nmost extreme pessimists in Germany, I own I am convinced of the\ncorrectness of Himioben's opinion. The first and principal reason of\nthis conviction is the heroic achievements of Christian charity, of\nwhich every part of the globe has been the scene in our days. Where\nsuch deeds are done as those which we have witnessed and heard of so\noften, God's kingdom on earth must flourish. The rays of Christian\ncharity illuminate the whole world.\n\nWe cannot deny that the century beginning with the year 1764 and\nclosing in 1864 has been an age of spoliation for the Church. The\nsuppression of the Society of Jesus by King Joseph Emmanuel, of\nPortugal, in 1759, was followed by a similar measure in France in\nNovember, 1764. On April 3, 1767, the Spanish, and on the 20th of\nNovember, 1767, the Neapolitan, Jesuits met with the same fate. Joseph\nII. of Austria, who was chosen Emperor of Germany in 1764, suppressed\n700 monasteries in his hereditary dominions, whilst the champions of\nthe French Revolution were still more ruthless in the work of\ndestruction. In Germany most of the Church property was secularized,\nunder circumstances of great cruelty, in 1803. On May 28, 1824, the\nKing of Portugal decreed the suppression of all religious orders in\nhis kingdom. In 1835 the Spanish government confiscated the property\nof 900 monasteries, and a royal decree, dated March 9, 1836,\npronounced the same doom on all the remaining religious houses in\nSpain. Since 1860 the Sardinians have suppressed at least 800\nconvents, and the remaining Church property will doubtless fare in the\nsame manner, for the rapacity of these sacrilegious robbers is never\nappeased. On the 28th November, 1864, the Czar of Russia ordered 125\nof the 155 Polish convents to be {520} closed, and the monks were\ntreated with great cruelty.\n\nTruly this age of enlightenment can boast of glorious exploits.\nSacrilegious robbery has been the order of the day throughout Europe,\nand civilized governments have trampled under foot rights that have\nbeen sanctioned during many successive ages. But their efforts have\nproved abortive, for the Church flourishes more and more, and develops\nnew seeds of life. The religious orders and congregations of the\nnineteenth century rival in purity, austerity, and holy zeal the monks\nof the most prosperous ages of the Church, and devoted disciples of\nChristian charity are countless as the stars of the firmament, whilst\ntheir activity cannot fail to elicit the admiration of every impartial\nwitness. Charity has engaged, in a particular manner, the attention of\nthe Catholic re-unions; it is their proper province--even more so than\nscience and art. It is the culminating point of their activity; for\nwhat is religion but practical love of God and our neighbor? Art is\nthe proper object of our fancy; science, of our intellect; and\ncharity, of the will--and free will is the distinguishing\ncharacteristic of the human soul. Art requires facility; science,\nthought; but charity supposes action, the real living act which always\nturns the balance. Truth must not only be proved, but felt; science\nand art are the necessary fruits of true religion; science is not the\nlight, but is to give testimony of the light. The object of art is the\nbeautiful; of science, the true; and of charity, the good; but the\nbeautiful, the true, and the good are the three highest\ncategories--the indispensable conditions of intellectual activity--the\nconnecting links between the intellect and God, who is the\nfountain-head and prototype of all being, as well as the last end of\nhuman investigation and aspirations. If it is true that the intellect\ncan find repose only in the unity of three relations, and that we meet\nwith the emblem of the Trinity in all places, then I know not where\nthis trinity finds a more perfect expression than in art, science, and\ncharity. Whoever has comprehended these three, has grasped everything\nof which man is capable, and an assembly of men who occupy themselves\nwith art, science, and charity is at all times of great importance,\nfor it bears a truly universal character.\n\nLet not the reader expect that I will enter into all the details of\nthe proceedings of the general conventions concerning the subject of\nChristian charity. To do this would require a book even more\nvoluminous than Bishop Dupanloup's work on Christian charity. At\nMalines alone how many great and weighty questions were discussed by\nthe first and second sections (\"OEuvres Religieuses\" and \"Economic\nChr\u00e9tienne\"), not to speak of the fifth section, which treated of\nsimilar subjects. We shall mention a few of the questions proposed.\n\"What,\" it was asked, \"can a layman do to preserve the people in the\nfaith of their ancestors, to induce them to observe the laws of God\nand the Church, and to teach them to resist strenuously every attack\nof infidelity?\" It was recommended to establish in every city\nconferences of men, and to explain for them the principal truths of\nour faith. It was further agreed that, during Lent, the people should\nhave an opportunity of following some spiritual exercises and thus\nrefreshing their souls. Good books, likewise, are to be furnished to\nthe poor at a moderate price. The assembly next debated what measures\nshould be taken to revive pilgrimages not only to Rome and Jerusalem,\nbut also to the places of pilgrimage existing in every country--\nshrines with the history of which the people should be made familiar.\nThen followed a discussion on the prevention of abuses, so that every\npilgrimage may preserve its religious and edifying character. It was\ndecided to foster all societies whose object is the assembling,\nedification, and instruction of apprentices and journeymen. How, {521}\nit was asked, are the meetings in the evenings to be carried on? how\nthe religious exercises on Sundays? how are sick members to be\nvisited? etc. The Malines congress also declared that it is the duty\nof the state to fix by law the age at which children may be allowed to\nwork in factories and mines; to procure healthy dwellings for the\nworkmen; to determine the duration of a day's work; and to see that\nmales and females work in _separate_ apartments. The congress sought\nto impress on owners of factories the obligation devolving on them to\ntake care of the children of their employees, to provide for their\nlaborers when sick, not to force women suckling infants to work--in\nshort, to treat their employees in a Christian manner. Jean Dollfus,\nof M\u00fchlhausen, and Lowell in America, were proposed as models worthy\nof imitation. Amietus Digard and Audigaime, of Paris, placed at the\ndisposition of the central committee the results of their long\nexperience. De Riancey, of Paris, was the zealous advocate of the\n\"Patronage,\" which he wishes to be founded on charity and freedom, and\nto spread over every country. It was urgently recommended to establish\nclubs for journeymen in Romanic countries. Count Lemercier and\nMarbeau, of Paris, submitted to the consideration of the central\ncommittee an elaborate paper on the amelioration of the social\ncondition of the laboring classes, insisting particularly on the\nnecessity of providing them with suitable dwellings; this paper proved\nof great value in preparing the programme. The debate on the best way\nof checking the habits of intemperance which are now unfortunately\nbecoming so general among all classes of the laborers, was unusually\ninteresting. During the present century no one has done more to attain\nthis desirable end than Father Matthew in Ireland, who has probably\nthereby conferred even greater benefits on his countrymen than the\ngreat O'Connell. Nor were the prisoners neglected at Malines; the\ncongress declared itself in favor of solitary confinement, and at the\nsame time recommended most earnestly societies for aiding discharged\nconvicts. In short, these men were occupied with all that might prove\nbeneficial to their neighbor.\n\nAmong the most prominent speakers in the second section were de\nRiancey, Count Lemercier, Perin, Jacobs, of Antwerp, Dogn\u00e9e,\nLenormant, Digard, Beslay, Jean Casier, F. de Robiano, Count Legrelle,\nde Richecourt, de Gendt, Vandenest, and especially Viscount de Melun,\nwho, together with Marbeau and Baudon, is the leading spirit of every\ncharitable undertaking in Paris.\n\nIn the first section, of which, as before mentioned, Count Villermont\nwas chairman, the proceedings were very animated, nay, at times solemn\nand grand; the most active members were de Hemptinne, of Ghent, the\njurist Wauters, of Ghent, Lamy, of Louvain, de Haulleville, of\nBrussels, O'Reilly, of Ireland, the Bollandist fathers Gay, Boone, and\nde Buck, Lemmens, Abel Le Tellier, Count Edgar du Val de Beaulieu,\nAbb\u00e9 Kestens, of Louvain, Abb\u00e9 G\u00e9andre, Abb\u00e9 Geslin, of Kersolon in\nFrance, editor of \"L'Ouvrier,\" F. Van Caloen, F. Antoine, Demulliez,\nTerwecoren, Abb\u00e9 Gaultier, of Brussels, Fassin, of Verviers, Chevalier\nVan Troyen, Bosaerts, Verspeyen, Abb\u00e9 Battaille, de Caulincourt, Paga\nSartundur, of Madrid, Malengi\u00e9, Peeters Beckers, de la Roy\u00e8re,\nViscount d'Authenaisse, Devaux, Putsaert, and some others whose names\nhave escaped my memory--all of them edifying Christians, men of strong\nand sound intellect, seeing the realities of life, and of feeling\nhearts, sympathizing with the joys and loves of their fellow-men, and\ntaking cognizance of their necessities. They will long be remembered\nand blessed by the posterity of those to whose spiritual and corporeal\nwants they have attended.\n\nThe religious orders, which in modern times have been so often mocked\nat and slandered, found many warm {522} defenders at Malines. Baron\nvon Gerlache devoted the most brilliant passage of his opening speech\nto their defence. Woeste, a lawyer of Brussels, delivered a masterly\ndiscourse on religious communities before a full meeting of the\ncongress. Many speakers touched on the same theme, and Count\nVillermont made it the special order of the day. This subject was\nexhausted by the able speeches of de la Roy\u00e8re, Verspeyen, O'Reilly,\nCount du Val de Beaulieu, Viscount d'Authenaisse, Lamy, Viscount de\nKerckhove, Ducpetiaux, and others.\n\nThe W\u00fcrzburg general convention passed a resolution in favor of\nreligious orders, and at Frankfort the \"Brosch\u00fcrenverein\" will shortly\npublish a pamphlet on this subject. The Malines congress also resolved\nto encourage popular works on the origin, the nature, and the spread\nof religious orders, and to give a fair exposition of the manifold\nbenefits they have conferred on mankind. It was also recommended to\npublish the lives of the founders of these societies, to give an\naccount of their history in schools and other educational\ninstitutions, and, by means of the pulpit and the press, to make known\nas widely as possible the principles of religious orders. In this way\nthe members of these societies will be compensated to some extent for\nthe countless slanders and calumnies which are continually heaped on\nthem. The laymen present at Malines pledged themselves to pass no\nopportunity of rendering them a service, and defending their rights;\nof showing them reverence, and of spreading more and more their\ncommunities.\n\nFor the sake of completeness, I shall mention the names of a few who\nspoke at Malines in the fifth section, Religious Liberty, where many\nimportant questions were discussed. It is impossible to enter into\ndetails concerning all, for who can be present in five places at the\nsame time? Beside, there were assembled at Malines and W\u00fcrzburg more\nthan 7,000 delegates, so that I cannot give even the names of all. In\na grand painting the artist does not represent all his figures in\nfull; he contents himself with giving us an outline of their features.\nDechamps and Neut, men of great merit and able to control the most\nanimated debate, presided in this section. Dumortier, of Brussels, and\nCoomans, of Antwerp, both veteran members of the Belgian parliament,\nmanaged admirably the details of business. Senator Della Faille and\nCount de Thenx, as well as Cardinal Sterex, made many valuable\nsuggestions from the rich fund of their experience. The young and able\njurist, Woeste, of Brussels, Digard, of Paris, and the journalist\nLasserre were the most active members of this section. Here, too,\nspoke Don Almeida, of Portugal, an orator sweet and strong as the\nwines of his native country, and one of the most handsome men in the\ncongress. Here, also, we renew our acquaintance with Ducpetiaux,\nDogn\u00e9e, of Villers, Verspeyen, Geslin, of Kersolon, and Abb\u00e9 G\u00e9andre.\nTo these names we may add those of Don Ignatio Montes de Oca, grand\nalmoner of the Emperor of Mexico, Abb\u00e9 Pacquet, professor of the\nUniversity of Quebec, in Canada, Canon Rousseau, Jalheau, Stoffelt,\nCollinet, Landrien, de Smedt, Baron von Montreuil, Chevalier\nSchouteste, Nellaroya, Wigley, of London, Ch. Thellier, of\nPoncheville, and Abb\u00e9 Huybrechts. Abb\u00e9 Mullois, of Paris, is well\nknown in Germany. In this section we also noticed Generals de\nCapiaumont, Baron Grindl, and Lamoy, whose remarks were always\nreceived with applause.\n\nLe Camus, of Paris, represented the \"Society for the Diffusion of Good\nBooks,\" founded in 1862 by Viscount de Melun. More than 12,000 good\nbooks have already been distributed. The executive committee consists\nof eighteen members, who are assisted in their charitable labors by\nanother committee of fifty.\n\nAnd now we shall bid farewell to Malines.\n\n{523}\n\nThe German conventions have called into existence many charitable\ninstitutions. Foremost among these is the Society of St. Boniface,\nfounded at Regensburg in 1849. Even long before, Count Joseph von\nStolberg had visited every part of the German empire to enlist the\nsympathies of high and low for the noble object of this society, and\nhad thus prepared the way for its establishment. At Regensburg he was\nelected president, and thus crowned his labors. Since its institution\nthe society has founded 67 missionary parishes, 114 chapels, and 98\nschools for about 100,000 Catholics in northern Europe. Forty-two of\nthese stations are entirely maintained by the association, whilst most\nof the remaining ones receive considerable pecuniary assistance. Much,\nhowever, remains to be done; many stations will go to ruin unless\nspeedy aid is afforded them. All Catholic Germany must contribute, by\nits exertions, its prayers, and its sacrifices, to bring to a\nsuccessful issue the greatest of our national undertakings, the\nreunion of all Germany in the one true faith.\n\nAn annual report of the results achieved by this society is presented\nto the general conventions. At W\u00fcrzburg Canon Bieling spoke in the\nname of Bishop Conrad Martin, of Paderborn, who by his great work has\ncreated an immense sensation among the German Protestants. Great\nexertions are making to spread the society of St. Boniface; may they\nprove successful.\n\nAt W\u00fcrzburg the Hungarian Society of St. Ladislaus was represented by\nCanon Kubinszky, and the Bavarian Missionary Society by Monsignore\nBaron von Overkamp.\n\nI must next speak of the St Joseph's Society. It was founded at\nAix-la-Chapelle for the purpose of enabling the German Catholics\nliving at Paris, London, Havre, and Lyons to secure places of divine\nworship. Canon Prisac, of Aix-la-Chapelle, is the business manager of\nthe society, and is assisted in his labors by Laurent Lingens and\nothers. During the first two years of its existence the society\naccomplished very little.\n\nThe missionaries of the poor Catholic Germans in the great emporiums\nof England and France have already been three times in our midst. For\nyears the pastor of the Germans in London, Rev. Arthur Dillon Purcell,\nhas done everything in his power to establish the German mission in\nthat city on a sure basis, and his efforts have at last been crowned\nwith success. Although an Englishman by birth, he speaks our mother\ntongue very fluently and without fault. His speeches will not inspire\nenthusiasm, but will convince and obtain their end. At\nAix-la-Chapelle, in 1862, the German mission in London was represented\nby Adler, missionary priest of the diocese of W\u00fcrzburg, and at\nFrankfort, in 1863, by B\u00f6ddinghaus, of M\u00fcnster. The Jesuit father\nModeste has thrice urged the claims of the Germans in Paris. He is a\nnative of Lorraine, and, therefore, speaks French and German equally\nwell. His speeches are carefully prepared, and produce a great\nsensation, for they are addressed not only to the mind but also to the\nheart. The Lazarist M\u00fcllijans, a native of Cologne, spoke for the\nGerman mission in the Quartier St. Marceau, which has been committed\nto his care. Abb\u00e9 Braun, who has done much for the Germans in Paris,\nwas likewise present at the W\u00fcrzburg meeting. Father Lambert, of\nHavre, a pious and devoted priest, privately represented to us the\nmisery of the German emigrants in the French seaport. But of what use\nare these cries for help, unless we are willing to make some\nsacrifice? Will not twenty-five million German Catholics do something\nfor their poor forlorn brethren?\n\nIn the third place, I must mention the journeymen associations. There\nare at present more than 400 of these in Germany, and a few in\nSwitzerland and Belgium. Of late, similar {524} societies have been\nestablished at Bucharest, Rome, Paris, London, St. Louis, Cincinnati,\nand Milwaukee. The prefects of the society at Cologne, Vienna, and\nMunich have lately received special marks of esteem from the Holy\nFather in recognition of their services, whilst the Emperor Francis\nJoseph has honored the Vienna association by his presence, and the\nyoung King of Bavaria, Louis II., has accepted the protectorship of\nall the Bavarian associations. The second general convention at\nMayence earnestly recommended these societies, but Kolping of Cologne\nwas the instrument chosen by God to undertake and carry out the great\nwork. Of Kolping it may truly be said that he has the welfare of\nmankind at heart, and thousands will bless his name. In his own way,\nhe is one of the foremost social reformers of the nineteenth century.\nAt W\u00fcrzburg he convened many of the prefects from every part of\nGermany, and secured the future of the societies by the introduction\nof the religious element. Kolping is not only a powerful speaker, but\nalso a journalist, and one of the most popular writers in Germany.\nGruscha, of Vienna, has often taken Kolping's place at the general\nconventions. As an orator, Gruscha seems to exert a magic power over\nhis hearers, and it is useless to combat his views, for he carries\neverything before him. Gruscha is general-prefect of all the\njourneymen associations in Austria. Alban Stolz, the founder of the\nFreiburg association, has spared no pains to promote Kolping's\nundertaking. He is the most eminent and successful popular writer in\nGermany. His pamphlets attract universal attention, and his almanacs\nare read by thousands. Stolz does not approve of everything done by\nthe Catholic conventions, still he has been present at several of\nthem; for instance, at Aix-la-Chapelle and Frankfort. M\u00fcller, of\nBerlin, is one of the most energetic prefects; he succeeded in\nfounding for the Catholics at Berlin a splendid club-house. He\npublishes an able religious weekly, and an excellent almanac, founds\nnew missions every day, and does all in his power to extend the\nkingdom of Christ in the north of Germany. He is a talented and\ninteresting speaker, although his style is not very harmonious or\nelegant. George Mayr, of Munich, general-prefect of more than a\nhundred associations in Bavaria, and a general favorite, has built,\nprobably, the finest club-house in Germany. The most zealous promoter\nof this enterprise was Dr. Louis Merz, of Munich, who spared neither\nlabor nor sacrifice whenever there was question of furthering the\ninterests of the Church: his memory is enshrined in the hearts of all\nhis friends.\n\nThe memorial submitted by Kolping to the German bishops was signed by\nthe following diocesan prefects: Beckert, of W\u00fcrzburg, Pohholzer, of\nAugsburg, J. Weizenhofer, of Eichst\u00e4dt, Benkcr, of Bamberg, Schaeffer,\nof Treves, G. Arminger, of Linz, B. H\u00f6lbrigl, of St. P\u00f6lten, Max\nJ\u00e4ger, of Freiburg, F. Riedinger, of Spires, F. Nacke, of Paderborn,\nand the prefects, Jos. Mayr, of Innsbruck, F. H\u00f6pperger, of Agram, and\nC. Ziegler, of Rottenburg.\n\nTo mention more names would be tedious, but I hope and trust that God\nwill reward in a special manner the prefects of these societies. For\nthe last few years the social question has occupied the attention of\nthe Catholic conventions, and Rossbach, of W\u00fcrzburg, Vosen, of\nCologne, and Sch\u00fcren, of Aix-la-Chapelle, have delivered interesting\ndiscourses on this subject.\n\nThe reading-room associations and social clubs or casinos next demand\na notice. We are justly proud of possessing four hundred Catholic\njourneymen associations, but we will have more reason to boast when\nthere will be in Germany two or three hundred casinos, all united\ntogether by the closest ties, and particularly when we will again\npossess several purely Catholic universities, and when our {525}\nscholars and educated men will form reunions such as that established\nby five hundred students of Louvain in Belgium previous to the\ncongress of 1864.\n\nAdams, a lawyer of Coblenz, has, so to say, identified himself with\nthese clubs. The affairs of the casino in his own native city are\nconducted by him with extraordinary skill, and to his exertions\nchiefly the Rhenish Casino Union, which will be shortly joined by many\ncities in the Rhenish countries, owes its existence. Adams is an able\nand pleasing speaker, full of confidence in the future and in the\npower of sound principles. May Adams become to the social clubs in\nGermany what Kolping is to the journeymen associations.\n\nFalk, of Mayence, has accomplished very much for the social club of\nhis native city. To him belongs the credit of securing for the Mayence\nReading-room Association the celebrated \"Frankfurter Hof.\" On the\ntwentieth of November, 1864, when the casino of the \"Frankfurter Hof\"\nwas solemnly inaugurated, President Falk delivered his most successful\nspeech, for Falk, although a mechanic, is an orator by no means to be\ndespised by the enemies of the Church. His words are like the blows of\na hammer, and his voice sounds like the rolling thunder. Falk's\nspeeches are not distinguished by any artistic merit, but there is\nsomething in them which calls forth immense applause, and he generally\nleaves the tribune amidst deafening cheers.\n\nIn Belgium more than twenty casinos have been established since 1863.\nAt the beginning of 1865, Germany could boast of almost fifty similar\nassociations. Let us spare no exertions to promote the welfare of\nthese clubs, and we will soon have a league of Catholic gentlemen\nextending not only from the Danube to the Rhine, but from the Adriatic\nto the German ocean.\n\nWe must also devote a few words to the Society of St. Vincent de Paul.\nAmong its most energetic members are Lawyer Lingens, of\nAix-la-Chapelle, one of the most regular and active Members of the\nGerman conventions, and Von Brentano, a merchant of Augsburg, who is a\nvery eloquent speaker. I must not forget to mention Baudon of Paris,\ngeneral-president of all the societies of St. Vincent de Paul in\nFrance; Legentil also and Meniolle, of Paris, deserve to be noticed.\n\nThe energetic and pious Capuchin, Father Theodosius of Chur, in\nSwitzerland, a powerful man of immense stature, will close this array\nof the champions of charity. He has made many attempts to solve the\nsocial question from a Christian point of view, and has displayed\nincomparable ingenuity in alleviating the miseries of his fellow-men.\nHe has founded congregations, built convents, for them, and\nestablished seminaries and colleges which are model institutions; but,\nabove all, he has brought the blessing of God on the Swiss factories,\nand has introduced contentment and happiness among the working\nclasses. His success in prevailing upon the Swiss capitalists to\nconduct their factories upon Catholic principles is certainly one of\nthe sublimest triumphs of Christian charity.\n\nThe congregation of the Sisters of the Holy Cross, founded by Father\nTheodosius about twelve years ago in Chur-Ingenbohl, numbers already\n112 houses, spread over Switzerland, Bohemia, Austria, Sigmaringen,\nand Baden.\n\nAmong the most prominent Catholics of Switzerland are Sigwart M\u00fcller,\nof Uri, the venerable Councillor Haudt, of Lucerne, Charles von\nSchmid, of B\u00f6dstein, the leader of the Catholics in Aargau, Von Moos,\nof Lucerne, Engineer M\u00fcller, of Altorf, Dean Schlumpf, of Zug, Canon\nFiala, of Solothurn, an excellent archaeologist, Canons Winkler and\nTanner, of Lucerne, both eminent theologians, P, Segesser, of Lucerne,\nCanon Keller, of St. Gall, James Baumgartner, the {526} ablest Swiss\nstatesman, F. Gallus-Morel, of Einsiedeln, the journalists Schleineger\nin Aargau, Reding and Eberle in Schwyz, the historian Kopp, of\nLucerne, Muelinen, and Burgener, the learned Dr. Schmeitzl, pastor in\nGlarus, Director Greith, of St. Gall, the painter Deschwander, and the\npublisher Benzigcr. Count Theodore von Scheerer is the leading spirit\nof the Catholic societies in Switzerland, and admirably fitted to be\nthe president of the general conventions of the Swiss \"Piusverein.\"\n'Mermillod, of Geneva, who for the past eighteen years has incessantly\ntoiled in the vineyard of the Lord, has lately been appointed bishop\nby Pope Pius IX. Bishop Marilley, of Lausanne, is a modern confessor\nof the Church, whilst Bishop Greith, of St. Gall, is an eminent\nscholar.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\nNot all the doings of the Catholic conventions deserve our\napprobation, nor is all that is said there worthy of praise. At the\nsixteen general conventions held since 1848, many absurd and trifling\nmeasures have been proposed. Silence is a virtue unknown to many\ndelegates, and conciseness is a quality not to be found in the remarks\nof many a speaker. These gentlemen should remember the wise old saw,\n\"_Ne quid nimis_,\" especially when about to address an assembly.\nBraggadocio should be mercilessly put down. Some persons there are who\nevery year regale the convention with the self-same concretions;\nothers speak when there is no occasion whatever for opening their\nmouths; whilst others again are unacquainted with parliamentary rules,\nand cannot clothe their ideas in suitable language. Many a speaker has\nbeen carried away by his enthusiasm, and exposed himself to ridicule;\nothers were mercilessly hooted from the tribune; whilst not a few\ndelivered productions which bore a strange resemblance to an _ignis\nfatuus_ or an over-done beefsteak. At Malines many words were wasted\nin mutual compliments, and there was a tendency in several of the\norators to court applause by piquant and exaggerated expressions. We\nmust expect that among several thousand delegates there will be many\ninsignificant men, whose chief merit consists in opening now and then\nthe floodgates of their trashy eloquence. Were I to permit myself to\nindulge in malicious remarks, I might enumerate a long list of\nsingular characters, who were living examples of the faults in\nquestion.\n\nFor these and other reasons the duties of the presiding officer at the\ngeneral conventions are by no means easy, still, thus far there has\nbeen no want of able presidents, and many of them were chosen from\namong the nobility. The following gentlemen were honored with this\noffice: Chevalier von Buss; Count Joseph von Stolberg; Baron von\nAndlaff, who presided both at Linz and at Munich; Baron Wilderich von\nKetteler, who was chosen chairman at M\u00fcnster and at Frankfort; Maurice\nLieber, who was elected president at Breslau and at Salzburg;\nChevalier von Hartmann presided at Mayence; Count O'Donnell, of\nVienna, at Linz and at Prague; Count Brandis, at Aix-la-Chapelle and\nFreiburg; Councillor Zell at Vienna; A. Reichensperger at Cologne; and\nBaron von Moy at W\u00fcrzburg. Germany may justly be proud of these\nmen--men of agreeable manners, distinguished not only by their social\nposition but also by their literary taste and nobility of character,\neach of whom can boast of an honorable career.\n\nIt may not be inappropriate to mention in this place some of the\nnoblemen who graced by their presence the Catholic conventions.\nProminent among these were Don Miguel, duke of Braganza, and the young\nprince, Don Miguel, Prince Charles of Loewenstein-Werthheim, and\nPrince Charles of {527} Isenburg; Count von Hompesch, of Rurich, Count\nAugustus von Spee, of Heltorf, Count Schaesberg, Baron Felix von Le\u00eb,\nof Missen, Count Hoensbroich, and Baron von Halberg-Broich, of\nAix-la-Chapelle, represented the Rhenish nobility; whilst Westphalia\nwas represented by Count von Vischering, the Counts Max and Ferdinand\nvon Galen, the Barons von Schorlemer, the Count von Stolberg, Baron\nvon Twickel, Baron von Ketteler, Baron von Hereman, Baron von Oer,\nBaron von Dr\u00fcffel, and others.\n\nOf the Austrian nobles I shall mention Count von Migazzi, Baron von\nMayerhofer, a field-marshal of the empire, Count Adolphus Lewis von\nBarth-Barthenheim, Count Maurice von Fries, Count Henry von\nHoyos-Sprenzenstein. Count Henry von O'Donnell, Chevalier von\nHartmann, Baron von Stillfried, of Salzburg, a very zealous and\nenergetic man, and Count Frederick von Thun. Count von Thun was chosen\nvice-president at W\u00fcrzburg, and delivered a speech. Tall and of a\ncommanding figure, a thorough-bred nobleman, a diplomat well\nacquainted with the ways of the world, a man of refined manners, a\nCatholic distinguished by his living faith and his ardent love for the\nChurch, as well as by his intimate knowledge of every shade of\nreligious life, Count Thun appeared as the representative of the\nAustrian nobility, which, for the most part, is still animated by\ntruly Catholic sentiments, and of the mighty empire, as a delegate\nfrom imperial Vienna, where Catholicity is daily acquiring new vigor,\nand as the bearer of an illustrious name, which reminds every Catholic\nof the concordat between Francis Joseph and the Pope, which has been\nso beneficial to the Church in its results. Among the German Church\ndignitaries Dr. Baudri, coadjutor-bishop of Cologne, is especially\ndistinguished by his zeal for the success of the conventions, many of\nwhich he has opened by a glowing discourse. Archbishop Gregory and\nBishop Ignatius, of Regensburg, spoke at Munich, and Bishop Wedekind,\nof Hildestein, at Aix-la-Chapelle. The apostolic words of Bishop von\nStahl will always ring in the memory of his hearers. The Bishop of\nLimburg, Peter Joseph Blum, was represented at Frankfort by his\nvicar-general, Dr. Klein. Dr. G\u00f6tz, dean of the cathedral at W\u00fcrzburg,\ndeserves great praise for his efficient arrangements at the last\ngeneral convention. I may still notice Buchegger, vicar-general at\nFreiburg, Canon Broix, of Cologne, Krabbe, dean of the cathedral at\nM\u00fcnster, Dean Schiedemayr, of Linz, Canon Wiery, of Salzburg, Canon\nFreund, of Passau, Schmitt, vicar-general at Bamberg, Abbot Mislin, of\nGroswardein, Provost Pelldram, of Berlin, Canon Henry Szajbely, of\nGran, Abbot Michael von Fogarasy, of Grosswardein, Canon Michael\nKubinsky, of Kalocza, Canon Dr. Molitor, of Spires, Canon Dr. Malkmus,\nof Fulda, Provost N\u00fcbel, of Soest, Dr. Stadler, dean of the Augsburg\ncathedral, Provost Kalliski, of Gnesen, Canon B\u00fcchinger, of Gratz,\nStrehle, of Freiburg, Dr. H\u00e4usle, of Vienna, and M\u00fcller, of Munich.\nThe general conventions were also attended by Bishop Mermillot, of\nGeneva, one of the best pulpit orators in Europe, and by the Roman\nprelate, Monsignore Nardi, who is able to speak in four languages. The\nCatholic congresses were marked by several grand and imposing scenes.\nIt was a glorious sight to behold 5,000 men, from every part of the\nknown world, walk in procession to the cathedral of St. Rombau at\nMalines, but it was no less edifying to see hundreds of delegates\nmaking a pilgrimage from Salzburg to Maria Plain, and paying their\ndevotions to the Mother of God. We can never forget the dedication of\nthe column erected in honor of the Blessed Virgin, which took place at\nCologne on the 8th of September, 1858, in presence of the whole\ncongress. The enthusiastic welcome extended to the Bishop of Orleans\nat Malines defies all description, but the reception of the Hungarian\nprelates by the Viennese convention (Sept. 21, 22, 1853) was still\nmore solemn. By {528} his speech delivered on the evening of Sept 2,\n1864, Father Felix produced a profound impression. D\u00f6llinger, too, at\nthe Munich convention in 1861, called forth a storm of applause by his\nwell-known declarations. Unique in its kind was the scene in the\nKaiser-saal at Aix-la-Chapelle already described. When, after the\ndiscourse of Father Felix on Sept 2, 1864, the Redemptorist father\nDechamps, and the Carmelite, F. Hermann, weeping tears of joy,\nthankfully embraced the Jesuit, and a Belgian bishop, joining the\ngroup, shook hands with the three religious, no heart remained\nunmoved. At W\u00fcrzburg, also, on the 14th Sept., 1864, a solemn,\ntouching scene took place, which joined in bonds of the sincerest\nfriendship the Catholic Hungarians and Germans. Von Majer, a Hungarian\nlawyer and land-owner, had charmed all of us; his manly and chivalrous\nappearance, the romantic costume of his country, and his able speech,\ndid not fail to produce an overpowering effect; Vice-President Adams\nexpressed the opinion of the assembly, and then followed cheer upon\ncheer for the noble Hungarian.\n\nNow and then there appears a speaker who possesses the talent of a\ndemagogue, and causes a great though transient sensation. A Tyrolese,\nGreuter, now a member of the Austrian \"Reichsrath,\" is an orator whom\nI delight to hear; he spoke at Salzburg and Aix-la-Chapelle. At\nW\u00fcrzburg, likewise, a speaker of the same class, Brummel, a lawyer of\nBaden, addressed the assembly. I transcribe an account of his speech,\nwhich I wrote at the time. \"After F. Modeste had left the tribune,\namid thundering applause, a tall, stately figure, betraying at once\nthe military career of the speaker, took the floor. The hero who now\nconfronts us fought at the side of Pimodan and La Morici\u00e8re for the\nHoly Father; distinguished himself at Castelfidardo; took part in the\ndefence of Ancona; and for six months was held a captive by the\nPiedmontese. It is Brummel, of Baden. His voice sounds like the\nclarion's shrill tones summoning an army to battle. His speech is a\nviolent attack on the shameful abuses existing in Baden. He combines\nforce of expression with warmth of feeling, unflinching bravery, and a\nburning hatred of everything base, with a childlike love for the\nChurch and the truth. He was the Tancred in the crusade against the\nself-styled saviors of the people of Baden, and nobly did battle for\nthe venerable and much persecuted Archbishop of Freiburg, Hermann von\nVicari.\"\n\nHaving thus concluded these unpretending sketches, those of my readers\nwho have been disappointed will indulgently consider that it was\nwritten to assist a Catholic congregation to build a church. But thus\nto extend the divine worship is more pleasing to the Almighty than to\nwrite a good book.\n\n------\n\n{529}\n\nFrom The Literary Workman.\n\nST. ELIZABETH.\n\n\"Inasmuch as you have done it to one of the least of these my\nbrethren, you have done it to me.\"\n\n\n  A shrill and joyous summons\n    At Wartburg's postern rang.\n  And lightly from his panting steed\n    The princely Landgrave sprang.\n  Comes forth his stately mother\n    To meet him in her pride,\n  But the quick glance of Louis seeks\n    The sweet face of his bride.\n\n  Then scornful spoke the Landgravine,\n    \"Fair son, thy lady sweet\n  Hath cares too urgent thus in haste\n    Thy coming step to greet.\n  Upon thy couch so stately,\n    Within thy chamber fair,\n  A vile and loathsome leper\n    She tends with pious care.\"\n\n  A wrathful man was Louis,\n    Yet not a word he said,\n  But up the castle's echoing stair\n    In quivering haste he sped--\n  Within her silent chamber,\n    As o'er the couch she hung,\n  Her lord's returning bugle\n    Had all unheeded rung.\n\n  In silent ecstacy she knelt,\n    Her heart so hushed in prayer.\n  It thrilled not at his longed-for step,\n    Now echoing on the stair.\n  With hasty hand young Louis tore\n    The coverlid aside--\n  The lifeless form before him lay\n    Of Jesus crucified,\n  Bleeding and pale, as in the hour\n    When for our sins he died.\n\n  \"See, mother, see the Leper\n    She brings to be our guest,\n  Whom only she prefers to me--\n    May his dear name be blest\n  Elizabeth, sweet sister.\n    Still bring such guests to me;\n  Sinful and all unworthy\n    I am of him and thee;\n  Yet train me in thy patient love\n    His guest in heaven to be.\"\n\n----\n{530}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nDR. PUSEY ON THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND.\n\n\nIt is just twenty years since the great movement in the Anglican\nChurch, which took its rise and its name from the University of Oxford\nand the \"Tracts for the Times,\" was broken, as it were, into two\nstreams of very different direction by the submission of Mr. Newman to\nthe Catholic Church. It happens that the circumstances of the last\nyear and a half have brought the history of the movement prominently\nbefore the world; and they have occasioned an interesting set of\npublications from men of eminent position, whose names were at the\ntime hardly less watchwords than at present. No one of the few most\nconspicuous Oxford leaders of thought who belonged in any sense to the\nTractarian party has yet been removed by death. Dr. Pusey is still at\nChrist Church, Mr. Keble still at Hursley; but Mr. Newman has become\nthe founder of the English Oratory of St. Philip Neri, and Archdeacon\nManning is the present Catholic archbishop of Westminster. These four\nnames were more than any others in the mouths of the adherents of the\nOxford movement twenty years ago. Archdeacon Wilberforce lived in the\ncountry, and had, we believe, hardly begun to publish that series of\ntheological treatises which soon after made his name second to none in\nthe Anglican Church as a writer on doctrine: Isaac Williams, loved and\nvenerated by all who knew him, had left Trinity and was occupied on\nhis \"Commentary on the Gospels\" without taking any further part in the\nmovement: the influence of Charles Marriott was hardly felt except by\nhis immediate acquaintance. There were of course others whose\nposition--such as that of Mr. Oakeley and Mr. Dodsworth in London\n--gave them much influence in particular places; but, speaking\nbroadly, and without reference to the actual connection of individuals\nwith the \"Tracts\"--in which, we think, Archdeacon Manning took no\npart at all--the four names we have just mentioned might be said to\nconstitute the High-Church Quadrilateral. It must be remembered,\nmoreover, that among the Anglicans, whose church had at that time not\neven so much liberty to speak in convocation as has since been allowed\nto it, and whose bishops were probably unanimous in nothing except in\nsuspicion of Tractarianism, personal influence went for far more than\nis ever the case among Catholics. Whether they liked it or not, the\nposition and responsibilities of party leaders were thrust upon the\npersons we have named; veneration and confidence haunted them, and\ntheir words were made into oracles. A little later than the time of\nwhich we are speaking, an enthusiastic admirer--now a colonial\nbishop--dedicated a volume of sermons to the three first, under the\nname of the three valiant men of David's band, who had broken through\nthe ranks of the enemy to fetch water from the well of Bethlehem, the\nfountain of ancient doctrine; one of the three, he plaintively added\nin his dedication, was taken prisoner by the enemy in the attempt!\nThis was after the submission of Dr. Newman.\n\nRecent circumstances, as we have said, have drawn from three of these\nfour distinguished persons declarations of opinion and feeling with\nregard to the Anglican establishment which it may well be worth while\nto place {531} side by side. The first in point Of time was Dr.\nNewman, in his celebrated \"_Apologia pro Vita su\u00e2_,\" in the appendix\nto which he had occasion to speak his mind about Anglicanism. The\npassage will be fresh in the memories of most of our readers; and it\nhas been preserved as part of a note in the second edition of the\n\"Apologia\" lately published by Dr. Newman as the \"History of my\nReligions Opinions.\" It contains, as a passage from Dr. Newman was\nsure to do, most that can be said for or against the establishment in\nthe happiest words:\n\n\"When I looked back upon the poor Anglican Church\" [after becoming\nacquainted with Catholicism], \"for which I had labored so hard, and\nupon all that appertained to it, and thought of our various attempts\nto dress it up doctrinally and aesthetically, it seemed to me to be\nthe veriest of nonentities.\"\n\nHe then says that, looked at as a human institution, it is great:\n\n\"I recognize in the Anglican establishment a time-honored institution,\nof noble historical memories--a monument of ancient wisdom, a\nmomentous arm of political strength, a great national organ, a source\nof vast popular advantage, and, _to a certain point, a witness and\nteacher of religious truth_: . . . . but that it is something sacred;\nthat it is an oracle of revealed doctrine; that it can claim a share\nin St. Ignatius and St Cyprian; that it can take the rank, contest the\nteaching, and stop the path of the Church of St. Peter; that it can\ncall itself 'the Bride of the Lamb'--this is the view which simply\ndisappeared from my mind on my conversion, and which it would be\nalmost a miracle to reproduce. I went by, and, lo! it was gone; I\nsought it, but its place could nowhere be found, and nothing can bring\nit back to me. And as to its possession of an episcopal succession\nfrom the time of the apostles--well, it may have it; and if the Holy\nSee ever so decide, I will believe it, as being the decision of a\nhigher judgment than my own; but for myself, I must have St. Philip's\ngift, who saw the sacerdotal character on the forehead of a\ngaily-attired youngster, before I can by my own wit acquiesce in it;\nfor antiquarian arguments are altogether unequal to the urgency of\nvisible facts.\"\n\nDr. Newman then expresses his sense of the benefits he received by\nbeing born an Anglican, not a Dissenter, and so having been baptized\nand sent to Oxford:\n\n  \"And as I have received so much good from the Anglican establishment\n  itself, can I have the heart, or rather the want of charity,\n  considering that it does for so many others what it has done for me,\n  to wish to see it overthrown? I have no such wish while it is what\n  it is, and while we are so small a body. Not for its own sake, but\n  for the sake of the many congregations to which it ministers, I will\n  do nothing against it. While Catholics are so weak in England, it is\n  doing our work; and though it does us harm in a measure, the balance\n  is in our favor\" (p. 342).\n\nHere is a plain, definite view about the establishment--giving it\ncertainly not less than its full meed of praise as a human\ninstitution, and acknowledging benefits providentially received in it\nwith all the warmth of a most affectionate heart, which never lets a\nsingle touching memory fade away. But its claim to a divine origin and\nsupernatural character is set aside as a palpably absurd one. Without\nquestioning whether it be heretical or schismatical or both, Dr.\nNewman declares that he cannot even believe its orders to be valid\nunless the Holy See declares them so to be. But Dr. Newman does not\nwish for the destruction of the establishment until the Catholic\nministry is numerous enough to supply its place as the teacher of the\nmass of the population--an office at present discharged by Anglicans,\nnot indeed adequately, not without many shortcomings and some errors,\nbut still better {532} than might be the case if no such institution\nexisted.\n\nIn expressing his own views about the establishment, Dr. Manning was\nobliged in the course of last year to speak at greater length, and to\nexplain more in detail the Catholic doctrine with regard to baptized\npersons involuntarily outside the pale of the visible Church. The\noccasion of his declaration was the judgment of the Privy Council on\nthe case of the \"Essays and Reviews.\" This last of the series of\nsimilar decisions of the same tribunal, the ultimate court of appeal\nfor Anglicans in matters of doctrine, naturally gave an opportunity\nfor reviewing the gradual retirement of the High-Church party from the\nbold ground which they had taken up in 1850, at the time of the Gorham\ncase. The facts only required to be pointed out; the mere narrative\nspoke more forcibly than any possible commentary. History, either\npolitical or ecclesiastical, scarcely contains such another example of\na set of high-minded and earnest men having so ostentatiously to\nshrink from their implied pledges, and belie their most solemn\ndeclarations. Immediately after the Gorham decision the leaders of the\nHigh-Church party published a series of resolutions, the purport of\nwhich was that the Church of England would be \"eventually\" committed\nto heresy unless she \"openly and expressly\" rejected the erroneous\ndoctrine sanctioned by the decision. The consequences were drawn out,\ninvolving the loss on the part of the Church of England of the office\nand authority to witness and teach as a member of the universal\nchurch; and it was said that she would thus become \"formally separated\nfrom the Catholic body, and be no longer able to assure to her members\nthe grace of the sacraments and the remission of sins.\" Dr. Manning's\ntask was therefore easy; here were men who had pledged themselves in\nthis way in 1850, and, as far as in them lay, pledged the party of\nwhich they were leaders. What were they doing in the Church of England\nin 1864, after fourteen years in which she had not only not cleared\nherself from the Gorham judgment, but acquiesced in it? She had spoken\nin convocation on a number of subjects, never on this; she had\nmoreover seen a controversy on the Lord's Supper within her pale, the\nissue of which was thought a triumph to the High-Church party--not\nbecause it proscribed the heretical doctrine held by the larger number\nof clergy in the Church, but because it just shielded their own\ndoctrine from being proscribed in turn; finally, the \"Essays and\nReviews\" had appeared, and their writers also had been protected from\nproscription by the crown in council. Dr. Manning might well say that\nit seemed as if Providence had been mercifully striving to open men's\neyes to the position of the Church of England. On the ground taken by\nthe resolutionists of 1850, she had forfeited whatever claim she ever\nhad to allegiance over and over again.\n\nThis is hard truth; but it was not urged by Dr. Manning in a hard way,\nnor with the intention of taunting with their inconsistencies men of\nwhom he has always spoken with respect and affection. The only\nimportant matter, after all, is, whether the High-Church party, whose\nopinions were expressed by the resolutions lately referred to, have in\nreality receded from their former ground. This is a very serious\nquestion; because, unless it can be answered in the negative, it\ninvolves an abandonment on their part, not of this or that particular\ndoctrine, but of the whole Catholic idea of a church. The resolutions\nof 1850 proceeded on the hypothesis that a church that _tolerated_\nheresy became itself guilty of it; and that the Church of England was\nresponsible for the acts of the courts to which she submitted without\nprotest. From a Catholic point of view, a very grave change must have\ncome over a set of men who held this principle, if they afterward\ncontented themselves with a church that tolerates heresy on {533} the\nground that it also tolerates orthodoxy; that its prayers are\northodox, that its formularies _admit_ of an orthodox sense. Yet it\nseems quite impossible to draw from the declarations of Dr. Pusey and\nothers anything but an acknowledgment that such a change has taken\nplace. It is not therefore a question as to their view of the present\neffect of the Gorham decision or any other, but as to their view of\nthe character of the Church in which they hope to be saved.\n\nDr. Manning's pamphlet was noticed by Dr. Pusey, in a preface placed\nby him before a legal statement as to the immediate effect of Lord\nWestbury's decision in the case of the \"Essays and Reviews.\" This\npreface, like many of Dr. Pusey's _brochures_, was marked by\nconsiderable strength of language against those whom he was assailing,\nand contained distinct threats that he and his friends might set up a\nfree church if their demands for a reconstitution of the court of\nappeal were disregarded. It was implied that the chancellor had acted\nfrom \"the pure love of the heresy, and the desire of throwing open to\nunbelief an article of faith against which rationalism rebels,\" at the\nprice \"of breaking off churches of the colonies from the Mother\nChurch\" (no colonial churches are named), \"and familiarizing devoted\nminds among us at home to thoughts of organic severance from the\nChurch whose discipline is fettered by such a tribunal;\" and so on.\n\"The Church of England has necessarily more tenacity than the Scotch\nestablishment. For, having a divine original\" [origin?], \"it is an\norganic body, and knows more of the value of intercommunion, not\n_indeed as a condition absolutely necessary_, but as the natural fruit\nof divine unity. It is then the more remarkable when members of the\nChurch of England begin to speak (_as they have_) of a free church.\nOur extension in the colonies, which has so enlarged the Church and\nits episcopate, makes such a rent possible, even though not one bishop\nin England should join it. And 'if ever there should be a rent in the\nChurch of England,' said one, 'the rent in Scotland would be nothing\nto it.'\" At the end of the preface, men were urged to league together\nas in the days of the Anti-Corn-Law agitation: no candidate was to\nreceive support at the next election who would not pledge himself to\ndo his best to bring about a change in the court of appeal. And a note\nwas appended, suggesting that \"no church should be offered for\nconsecration, no sums given for the building of churches, which by\nconsecration should become the property of the present Church of\nEngland, no sums given for endowment in perpetuity, until the present\nheresy-legalizing court shall be modified.\"\n\nIt must surely have occurred to Dr. Pusey, as it did to so many of his\nreaders, that this threatening language accorded very ill with another\npassage in his pamphlet, in which he avowed his retirement from the\nthreats he had joined in making in 1850. No fair-minded man can doubt\nthat the resolutions to which we have alluded implied a threat of\nsecession from Anglicanism, unless the Church of England cleared\nherself from the Gorham decision. Unless she cleared herself, the\nresolutionists declared she would \"eventually\" be bound. Dr. Pusey in\nexplanation says that he wished the word to be \"ultimately.\" We can\nsee no great difference between the two. He then (p. 17, note) says\nthat the resolutions were modified so as to be made acceptable to him;\nall the more, we suppose, is he responsible for their wording, having\nsigned them. He also says that the difference between the line of\naction adopted by the different persons who signed them is to be\naccounted for by the fact that some of them thought that the judgment,\nin _itself_, committed the Church of England; others, that it did not.\nSurely men must be judged by their words. We may think as we please of\nthe conduct of those who afterward left {534} the Church of England,\nor of those who remained in it; but it cannot be doubted that, as far\nas these resolutions are concerned, the former acted consistently, the\nLatter inconsistently, with them. Moreover, in the page we are\nquoting, Dr. Pusey seems to us to retire altogether from his position,\nwithout saying so openly. He tells us that when he signed the\nresolutions, \"not having a parochial cure, and worshipping mostly in a\ncathedral where baptism did not enter into the service, I felt the\nvalue of the baptismal office as a witness to truth rather than as a\nteacher of it.\" Since that time he has come to realize more distinctly\n\"the value of the Prayer-book, speaking, as it does, to the hearts of\nthe people in their own tongue, in teaching and impressing on the\npeople the doctrines which it embodies.\" This seems to us to imply,\nthat as long as the formularies used in public offices speak an\northodox language, the Church may in other ways be committed to heresy\nwithout losing her character. On the same ground, as long as the words\nof consecration are used in the \"Lord's Supper,\" any doctrine whatever\nmay be taught concerning it. At all events, this is all that Dr. Pusey\nsays as to his adherence to or disavowal of the resolutions of 1850.\nHe cannot be surprised if his threats in 1864 have been taken as worth\nno more than his declarations fourteen years ago--if the politicians\non whose will the decision of these questions depends have found out\nthat the bark of the High-Church leaders is worse than their bite.\n\n  \"Hi motus animorum, atque haec certamina tanta\n  Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescunt.\"\n\nSo long as the Bible is read and the Prayer-book used, they will\nimpress on the people the doctrines which they embody; and the\nEssayists and Reviewers and Dr. Colenso will labor so entirely in vain\nto pervert them, that no court at all will be necessary to punish the\npropagators of false doctrines. At all events, it may fairly be\npresumed that the threats about a free church are worth just as much,\nand no more, as the threats about secession.\n\nBut our immediate subject is the course of the controversy about the\nAnglican establishment. Some expressions in Dr. Pusey's preface, in\nwhich he said that some Catholics \"seemed to be in an ecstasy at this\nvictory of Satan\" (the decision of the Privy Council as to the \"Essays\nand Reviews\") appear to have suggested attacks on Dr. Manning with\nreference to his \"Crown in Council,\" in which he was said to have\nrejoiced in the troubles of his former friends, and to be merry over\nthe miseries of the Church of England. The same kind of charge has\noften been made against Catholics, especially converts; and it is in\nthe nature of things that it should be made. Every \"trouble\" in the\nChurch of England of the kind of which we are speaking, while it\nweakens it as a teacher of fragments of Catholic truth, weakens also\nits hold on the minds of many who have hitherto been in the habit of\nmaking it the object of that allegiance and that obedience which the\ninstincts of every Christian heart urge it to pay to the one mother of\nthe children of God. So far, therefore, as the Gorham case or the\nDenison case, or the question of the \"Essays and Reviews\" and the\nColenso decision, tend to expose the true and simply human character\nof the institution that calls itself the Church of England, so far,\nmany good and loyal souls are set free from a delusion, and their\naffections transferred to their right and legitimate object. This, in\nthe case of individuals, is a matter of rejoicing. On the other hand,\non the grounds stated so clearly by Dr. Newman, it is no matter of\nrejoicing that a body which has to teach so large a number of baptized\nsouls all that they will ever know of Catholic truth should have the\ntruths that it yet retains diminished in number and in certainty, and\nshould lose all power of preserving them from corruption.\n\n{535}\n\nDr. Manning's letter to Dr. Pusey contains a clear and calm statement\nof the doctrines on which the feelings of Catholics toward bodies like\nthe Church of England are based. Dr. Pusey had declared that he knew\nthat \"a very earnest body of Roman Catholics rejoice in all the\nworkings of God the Holy Ghost in the Church of England,\" and had\ncontrasted them with others who are in \"ecstasy at the victory of\nSatan.\" It became necessary therefore to state in what sense a\nCatholic can admit that the Holy Ghost works in the Church of England.\nNo Catholic, then, by denying utterly and entirely anything like the\ncharacter of a church to the Church of England, denies thereby the\nworkings of the Holy Ghost or the operations of grace among those who\nare its members; nor when these operations are affirmed and rejoiced\nin is any affirmation thereby made that the Church of England is in\nany sense whatever a church at all. Dr. Manning states in full the\nreasons why we affirm the workings of the Holy Ghost among the English\npeople; and these parts of his pamphlet--indeed, the whole of it--are\nextremely valuable, as a clear statement of truths which it is very\ndifficult to get Englishmen generally to understand, on account of\ntheir prevalent ignorance or misconception of the doctrine of grace.\nThe truths in question, we need hardly say, enable Catholics to\nrejoice heartily in the effects of grace among the Dissenters, not\nless than among Anglicans. Dr. Manning has a few pages also on the\nspecific truths that have been preserved by Anglicanism, and the fear\nwith which he regards the process of undermining the Christianity of\nEngland which is going on. He also explains how naturally he rejoices\nat conversions, which are to him the bringing of souls from the\nimperfect to the perfect knowledge of the truth; and sums up by an\nargument to prove that the Anglican establishment, instead of being,\nas Dr. Pusey had called it, \"the great bulwark against infidelity in\nthis land,\" is in reality responsible for that infidelity; as having\nbeen the source of the present spiritual anarchy in England; as having\nweakened even those truths which it retains by detaching them from\nothers and from the divine voice of the Church, which is the guarantee\nof their immortality; and as being a source of unbelief by the denial\nof the truths it has rejected and also of the perpetual and\never-present assistance of the Holy Ghost to preserve the Church from\nerror. We may add, having quoted Dr. Newman on the subject of Anglican\norders, that Dr. Manning speaks with equal clearness as to their\nentire invalidity.\n\nDr. Pusey's controversial appearances are generally rather late in the\nday: the method of his mind is inductive, and he rejoices above all\nthings in the accumulation of a vast amount of materials, which he\ndoes not always succeed in clearly arranging or lucidly epitomizing.\nHe has taken a year to answer Dr. Manning's short pamphlet of less\nthan fifty pages, or rather a part of it. The volume teems with\nundigested learning; and a very large share of it is taken up with a\nlong postscript and a set of notes. It will not be our business at\npresent to do more than state concisely in what the answer to Dr.\nManning consists, and endeavor to draw out from the pages of Dr. Pusey\nwhat _his_ idea is of the Anglican Church, and what his own position\nin her.\n\nThere is nothing in direct answer to Dr. Manning's explanation of the\ndoctrine as to the working of the Holy Ghost outside the visible\nChurch--an explanation which of course places the Anglican Church on\nthe same ground with the Dissenting sects. The satisfactory answer to\nthis would of course be some proof that the Anglicans have orders and\nsacraments, and that grace is given _through_ them, not merely to the\ndispositions of the individual who receives it. Dr. Pusey, of coarse,\nmaintains the {536} validity of Anglican orders, but he adds nothing\nto the controversy, except the remark that the form of consecration\nused in the case of Parker was taken from that used in the case of\nChichele a century before. As the controversy does not turn solely\nupon the form used in Parker's consecration, the fact adduced by Dr.\nPusey has little to do with it.   [Footnote 74]\n\n  [Footnote 74: Practically speaking, it is surely a matter of\n  surprise that so few Anglicans should have interested themselves in\n  ascertaining what is thought about their orders by others than\n  themselves. No portion of the Catholic Church (as they consider it)\n  has ever been persuaded to acknowledge them in any way. It is of\n  course their business to obtain their acceptance, not ours to\n  disprove them; all the more, as so very large a number of those who\n  have borne these orders have never believed in their sacramental\n  character. Dr. Pusey says (p. 278), \"I do not believe that God\n  maintains the faith where there is not the reality.\" He is speaking\n  directly of the real presence. By how large a proportion of the\n  bishops and clergy and laity of the Church of England since the\n  Reformation has it been believed, even with all the force of the old\n  Catholic traditions to maintain it? And as to the priesthood and its\n  correlative, the sacrifice, a strong argument, on Dr. Pusey's own\n  ground, against their existence in Anglicanism, might be found in\n  the fact that all practical belief in them has so completely died\n  out in the mass of the people. If there had been the reality, there\n  would have been the faith; and so it is with Eastern heretics and\n  schismatics.]\n\nWith regard to the other point, it is of course impossible, or very\ndifficult, to prove the connection between the effect of a supposed\nmeans of grace and that supposed means itself, independent of the\nsubjective dispositions and belief of the recipient. Dr. Pusey has no\nproofs which would not equally show that any one who thought himself a\npriest was one, and that any one who thought he received a sacrament\nfrom him would receive it. But the statement of Dr. Manning on which\nDr. Pusey fastens more particularly is that which accuses the Anglican\nestablishment of being the \"cause and spring of the prevailing\nunbelief.\" Dr. Pusey remarks first that there is plenty of unbelief\neverywhere. That is true; and everywhere it can be traced to some\ncause; the charge is, that the Reformation has produced it in England,\nwhich was free from it before. Dr. Manning's first proof--that\nAnglicanism rejects much Christian truth--is met by a statement of the\namount of truth which both communions hold. In this part of his\nargument Dr. Pusey seems to us to avoid the real question at issue.\nDr. Manning speaks of the formularies of the Church of England, no\ndoubt, as well as of her practical teaching, such as it has been for\nthe last three hundred years, and such as it is throughout the length\nand breadth of England at this day. But in a question as to the amount\nof truth with which she claims to be \"the great bulwark against\ninfidelity,\" it is obvious that her formularies must be judged\naccording to the sense commonly attached to them, and according to the\ninterpretation of them supplied by the ordinary teaching of her\nclergy. Every one knows that various senses have been applied to the\nAnglican formularies; and it was the object of the celebrated No. 90\nof the \"Tracts for the Times\" to prove that, in some cases, it was the\nintention of the compilers of the articles to allow men of various\nschools to sign them. Still, it is going far beyond this to put\nforward the so-called \"Catholic\" interpretation of the formularies as\n_the_ sense of the Church of England. It would be untrue even if we\nconsider the matter as a simply literary question; much more is it in\nthe highest degree unfair to put forward this interpretation in a\ncontroversy which turns upon what actually has been and is taught by\nher. If a foreigner--as unacquainted with the real teaching of\nAnglicanism as Dr. Pusey is with that of Catholicism--were to take up\nthis book and believe what he finds in it, he would, we venture to\nsay, derive a totally false impression of the doctrine of the English\nChurch as it lies on the face of her formularies, and as it has always\nbeen understood and acted upon by nine-tenths of her clergy and\npeople. He would find an assurance that she holds the three creeds,\nwhich would give him to understand that she interpreted them in the\nsame sense as the Catholic Church. {537} He would learn with surprise\nthat there is no difference between Anglicans and Catholics on\njustification. \"There is not one statement in the elaborate chapters\non justification in the Council of Trent which _any of us_ could fail\nin receiving,\" says Dr. Pusey. He would find that Dr. Manning had\nquite falsely said that \"the Church of England sustains a belief in\ntwo sacraments, but formally propagates unbelief in the other five.\"\nIn fact, that the Church of England holds all seven to be sacraments,\nwith only a difference in dignity. Still more to his astonishment, he\nwould read that the Church of England does not, in particular, object\nto extreme unction; she \"_only_ objects to the later abuse of it,\"\nwhich is not the Catholic practicer--namely, the custom of not\nadministering it except to the dying. Then, if some one told him that\nthe Church of England has discontinued the practice altogether, and\nthat any one would be called a simple papist who attempted to\nintroduce it in any way, he might naturally be inclined to find fault\nwith the treacherous guide who had so misled him. It is the same with\nother points. Dr. Pusey tells us that the Church of England does _not_\ndeny the infallibility of general councils or of the Church. His\nreasoning on this last head is so good a specimen of his method, that\nwe may dwell on it for a moment. One of the articles teaches, that as\nthe other churches have erred, so also the Church of Rome hath erred\n--even in matters of faith. Dr. Manning sums this up, very naturally,\nas a statement that all churches have erred. \"The article,\" says Dr.\nPusey, \"was a puzzle to me when young.\" He supposed, it seems, that\nthe condemnation must have been meant to fall on doctrinal decrees.\n\"The two clauses, being put antithetically, must correspond. On\nfurther information, I found that there were no canons of Jerusalem,\nAlexandria, and Antioch that were intended; then it followed--the\nsame principle of the correspondence of the two clauses--that neither\nwere canons of the Church of Rome spoken of. The article moreover does\nnot say that the Church of Rome _is_ in error in the present, but\n_hath_ erred in time past.\"\n\nIt is strange to see so much ingenuity wasted in a hopeless cause. Dr.\nPusey remembers perfectly that the attempt to put forward the\ninterpretations for which he contends, not as _the_ sense or teaching\nof the Church of England, but as a sense of her articles barely\ntolerated by her in certain individuals of Catholic opinions whom she\nwished to retain, as others, in her service, was met many years ago by\nan outcry such as has not been heard in our day in England, save in\nthe case of the Catholic hierarchy. And yet he thinks it fair and just\nto argue as if the Church of England not only allowed such\ninterpretations, but as if the views which they embody were her\nregular teaching, so that she has a right to claim that she has put\nforward boldly in face of the infidelity around her those portions of\nChristian truth to which they relate. Her people then are, and always\nhave been, really taught that there are seven sacraments, that there\nis a real presence on the altar, that there is a eucharistic\nsacrifice, that the Church is infallible, and so on. And as he speaks\nof her ministers being vowed to banish and drive away strange\ndoctrine, his position implies that any heresy which might contradict\nthese great Catholic truths could not be permitted within her pale.\nAnd now, suppose he was taken at his word; suppose, in consequence of\nthis so-called _Eirenicon_, negotiations were opened and emissaries\nsent from Rome to the bishops and convocation of the English Church to\ntreat of reunion. What would be the first step of the Anglican\nauthorities, those who really have a right to speak for their\ncommunion, and who would be backed by the great body of the clergy and\nlaity in the country? It would certainly be to repudiate the false\nface put upon their teaching by Dr. Pusey, and to {538} declare that\ntheir Church had always been, and meant to be, thoroughly and simply\nProtestant on the points at issue.\n\nIf, therefore, Dr. Pusey cannot answer Dr. Manning's charge except by\nattributing to the Church of England the ordinary and regular\nteaching, as against infidelity, of doctrines which she practically\ndisclaims--even if it be allowed that she does not formally proscribe\nthem--it is clear that he thinks little better of that ordinary and\nregular teaching as it is in fact than Dr. Manning himself. His book\nis in reality more a long excuse of himself and others for remaining\nin her than anything else. This is quite a different question. She\n_may_ tolerate Catholic opinions in her ministers, and Catholic\ninterpretations of her articles. Her defenders have then to give an\naccount of what sort of church it is which can compromise truth by\npurposely ambiguous formularies, and allow side by side in her pulpits\nmen who must consider each other as heretics. But Dr. Manning's\nquestion relates to her actual teaching as a \"bulwark against\ninfidelity;\" and Dr. Pusey knows very well that for every clergyman\nwho teaches more sacraments than two, or the eucharistic sacrifice,\nthere are twenty who deny them.\n\nPerhaps the most elaborate part of Dr. Pusey's volume is that in which\nhe endeavors to prove that the unity of the visible church need not be\nvisible, and that it is sufficiently secured by orders and sacraments,\n\"through its union with Christ, as head, by the sacraments, and the\nindwelling of God the Holy Ghost.\" He naively asks, How can we be said\nto deny the indissoluble unity of the Church when we cannot approach\ncommunion without repeating the Nicene Creed? Certainly, few people\ncould ever be convicted of false doctrine if the repetition of the\ncreed in public service was enough to absolve them. In this part of\nthe work, however, Dr. Pusey more than ever leaves out of sight the\nreal nature of the charge which he has undertaken to answer--the\ncharge of having denied the indissoluble unity of the Church, its\nvisible head, and its perpetual voice. The question is, whether these\ntruths can be considered as a part of the system which the Church of\nEngland teaches and defends. Here, of course, there is more divergence\nas to the doctrine between the two controversialists; and Dr. Pusey\nanswers only by a theory of his own. But in fact, even if he fairly\nrepresents Anglicanism, he cannot escape the charge, as to the unity\nof the Church, any more than that as to its infallibility. He really\nmaintains that for all practical purposes the Church _was_ infallible\nup to the division of East and West--we meet in his pages that phrase\nof which his friends are so fond, the \"Holy Undivided Church.\" _Now_\nit is difficult to find what infallible teacher Dr. Pusey\nacknowledges; to what he would submit a conclusion, we will say, as to\nthe Immaculate Conception, which he has drawn by his own reason from\nhis study of Scripture or the fathers. His position may be understood\nfrom the following passage:\n\n  \"This, I understand, is a favorite formula with Dr. Manning--'By\n  whom does God the Holy Ghost speak? By the Roman Church? or by the\n  Eastern? or by the Anglican?' I have been wont to say, by all\n  concurrently, in so far as they teach the same faith which was from\n  the beginning, which is the great body of all their teaching; and,\n  if need require, they could at this day declare concurrently any\n  truth, if it should appear that it had not as yet been sufficiently\n  defined, against some fresh heresy which should emerge\" (p. 84).\n\nThe faith of Christians is therefore proposed to them by an authority\non which they are bound to receive it; but that authority has in the\nfirst place to be tested by Christians themselves, who must decide by\ntheir own reason--for they can have no other guide--whether in any\nparticular point the three churches teach the same faith which was\nfrom the beginning. {539} Further this authority cannot speak at all\nprecisely on those points as to which Christians must most desire its\nguidance--those points on which these three churches differ. Dr.\nPusey speaks of his reciting the Nicene Creed. On what authority does\nhe believe that the Holy Ghost proceeds from the Father and the Son?\nHe may _think_ that the Eastern faith comes to much the same thing as\nthe Western; but that is a conclusion of his own reason. And we must\nleave to our readers to make out for themselves the way in which he\ntries to show that the churches could still act concurrently, if the\noccasion were to arise; especially in the very obvious and, according\nto the Anglican teaching, perfectly possible case, that one of these\nthree churches themselves should be the victim of the new heresy,\nwhich, according to him, would constitute the occasion for a new\ndefinition.  [Footnote 75]\n\n  [Footnote 75: We are not, of course, answering Dr. Pusey's book; but\n  we cannot help quoting a single passage from the treatise \"On the\n  Temporal Mission of the Holy Ghost,\" lately published by his grace\n  the Archbishop of Westminster, which simply destroys the whole\n  theory on which Dr. Pusey reasons. Few things of the kind can be\n  more refreshing than to turn from the pages of Dr. Pusey to the\n  clear, bright, simple, and precise statements of Dr. Manning. It is\n  like breathing pure country air after groping about in a London fog;\n  and the fanciful and unsubstantial images that bewilder the readers\n  of the _Eirenicon_ vanish like so much mist and vapor as the\n  majestic outlines of the Church, as sketched by the archbishop, take\n  possession of the mind. No one who reads this book will need any\n  other answer to that of Dr. Pusey. On the point before us the\n  archbishop says: \"There are some who appeal from the voice of the\n  living Church to antiquity, professing to believe that while the\n  Church was united was infallible; that when it became divided it\n  ceased to speak infallibly; and that the only certain rule or faith\n  is to believe that which the Church held and taught while yet it was\n  united, and therefore infallible. Such reasoners fail to observe\n  that since the supposed division and cessation of the infallible\n  voice there remains no divine certainty as to what was then\n  infallibly taught. To affirm that this or that doctrine was taught\n  then where it is now disputed, is to beg the question. The\n  infallible Church of the first six centuries--that is, before the\n  division--was infallible to those who lived in those ages, but is\n  not infallible to us. It spoke to them; to us it is silent. The\n  infallibility does not reach to us; for the Church of the last\n  twelve hundred years is by the hypothesis fallible, and may\n  therefore err in delivering to us what was taught before the\n  division. And it is certain that either the East or the West, as it\n  is called, must err in this, for they contradict each other as to\n  the faith before the division. I do not speak of the protests of\n  later separations, because no one can invest them with an\n  infallibility which they not only disclaim for themselves, but deny\n  anywhere to exists\" (pp. 74, 75).]\n\nIt is clear that, according to Dr. Pusey, we must ascertain what the\n\"Undivided Church\" taught for ourselves, and then receive it on her\nauthority. Far more than this in reality; for we are to find out for\nourselves negative conclusions as well as positive. There is what he\nspeaks of as a vast practical system in the Catholic Church, the honor\npaid to our Blessed Lady, and other things of that kind, which\npenetrate the daily life and the ordinary thoughts of the great mass\nof her children. On this Dr. Pusey sits in judgment, and declares it\nto be alien to the teaching of the \"Undivided Church,\" because he does\nnot find it himself in the fathers. We do not see that he places his\nobjections to it on the authority of his own Church. This leads us to\nour question, what, to him, is Anglicanism? Is he content to be its\ndutiful child, to catch its genuine spirit, to echo without further\nquestion its definitions, to \"rest and be thankful\" with whatever it\nmay give him? We believe that no one who has ever known anything about\nthe subject has suspected Dr. Pusey of any intention to secede from\nthe Anglican Church: this makes it all the more strange that he should\ngive it so wavering and niggardly an allegiance. Other people openly\navow that they simply put up with it as a convenient lodging-place for\nmen of no particular opinions; it exacts little, leaves them pretty\nmuch alone, and yet furnishes them handsomely with the outward\nparaphernalia of a church. Like the Roman Senate in the old story\nabout Tiberius, it admits the gods of all nations easily into its\nPantheon. One set of opinions alone it objects to, because they are so\nexclusive! Except in that case, its courts always shield the\npersecuted. Mr. Gorham is attacked for a heresy, and they shield him;\nMr. Denison for a truth, and they absolve him; even the \"Essays and\nReviews\" do not deprive their authors of this comprehensive\nprotection. Its toleration gives, as a statesman expressed it,\n\"general {540} satisfaction.\" Who can refuse to be loyal, when the\nyoke is so light?\n\n  \"Quod si nec nomen, nec me tua forma teneret,\n  Posset servitiam mite tenere tuum;\"\n\nand so Dr. Pusey himself seems to feel, save in those moods of\nrebelliousness which now and then come over him. We have seen how he\nonce almost pledged himself to secede if the Gorham judgment was not\ndisavowed. He was too old then to be excused on the plea of youthful\nimpetuosity; at all events, the fit passed away: the baptismal service\ncontents him. We have seen the threats he threw out more than a year\nago about a free church if the court of appeal were not modified: that\nmood too has passed away. His present book speaks in the most\ncontented manner: \"Essay and Reviewism a passing storm,\" is the title\nthat runs along the top of one of his pages; and he speaks of \"the\nbright promise of the year of ingathering which the Lord has blessed!\"\nHe has forgotten his despair of last year, and boldly proposes to the\nCatholic Church terms on which reunion may be made,--terms, we\nventure to say, which would be rejected at once by every authority of\nthe Church of England itself. Still, with all this, we do not see in\nhis book any indication that, except as to the validity of Anglican\norders, he really thinks much better of Anglicanism than Dr. Manning\nor Dr. Newman. Its authority is nothing to him; and they, on the other\nhand, do not deny that, though a mere human institution, it teaches\nmany truths which might otherwise be untaught. He is ready to leave it\nif it \"accepts heresy;\" but it seems that _what_ is heresy, and what\nis its acceptance, must be left to himself to decide. This is the\nlanguage of one party in a contract or a compromise to another; not\nthat of a pupil to a teacher, a child to a parent--above all, not that\nof a Catholic to his Church. He does not aver that \"the Church of\nEngland is the best possible bulwark against infidelity,\" but only \"as\na matter of fact, that it is at this moment, under God's providence, a\nreal and chief bulwark against it.\" He complains of Dr. Manning's\nstatement that she \"rejects _much_ Christian truth\" in a way that\nlooks very much as if he thought she rejected _some_ and he only\ndefends her even then by putting an entirely strange face upon her. He\nhoists a false flag, and fights for her under it.\n\nWe are unwilling to speak personally of an amiable and excellent man;\nbut Dr. Pusey, if there are few exactly like him, is still in his way\na representative man; and his work shows thus the position of many\nothers beside himself. It is obvious that he is really in the Church\nof England because he has nowhere else to go. He is loyal to her, not\nbecause he loves and admires her, but because he thinks he can find no\nother resting-place. Deeply versed in the Scriptures, especially of\nthe Old Testament, and with a large acquaintance with some of the\nfathers, he has studied them under that fatal disadvantage which\nconsists in the entire ignorance of the living system in which the\nauthors whom he has read lived and breathed. The fathers especially,\nif they are studied without a knowledge of the ever-living Church, are\ncertain to be misunderstood and to convey inadequate ideas of their\nown practice and belief. The Church alone explains and completes their\ntestimony. It is exactly the everyday life, the things and customs and\nideas that are too familiar to be chronicled, that must ever be\nunknown to those who have a merely literary knowledge of any system or\nany set of men. The strange thing is that any reasonable man should\nsuppose it to be otherwise. Dr. Pusey, if we may judge from the\nopening of his postscript, really seems to think that if St. Augustine\nwere to arrive to-morrow in London, he would go to worship in St.\nPaul's or Westminster Abbey, rather than at Moorfields or Warwick\nStreet--St. Augustine, who, in a well-known passage, {541} has pointed\nout the unfailing mark which the common sense of mankind has fixed\nupon the true Church by the simple popular use of the name Catholic!\n\nThe result of Dr. Pusey's thought and study may be summed up in two\nsimple heads. The first is an attitude of mind utterly and entirely\nalien from that which is the first condition of the relation of a\nCatholic to the Church. He has never been taught by a church, guided\nby a church, moulded by a church; he is self-educated and\nself-reliant; he has made his own teacher for himself, and has never\nsat at the feet of any other, except of the author of a book of which\nhe was himself the interpreter. Speaking of the possibility of\n\"secession\" in his own case, he tells us, \"I have always felt that I\ncould have gone in on no other way than that of closing my eyes and\naccepting whatever was put before me\" (p. 98). What a revolution that\nwould be! This attitude of simple, uncriticising, ungrudging docility\nand obedience, is a thing which to him is a perfect novelty. It is one\nthing to take our faith from an abstraction of our own brain; quite\nanother to receive it from a living reality, outside and independent\nof ourselves. This is the first thing that strikes us in men like Dr.\nPusey, as their minds are reflected in books such as that before us.\nThe second is an amount of misconception, misunderstanding, and\npositive ignorance of the Catholic system, which would be simply\nunintelligible did we not consider the great disadvantages under which\nany one in his position must have studied it. He is not one of the\nmore rabid school of Anglican controversialists; his character and\nhabits of mind are quite alien from wilful misrepresentation and\nconscious unfairness. And yet there is hardly a fair statement in his\nbook on matters which belong to Catholicism; and there are many most\nprovoking misstatements, as well as many most ludicrous and childish\nblunders. The book presents an easy victory to any moderately-informed\nCatholic theologian who may take the trouble to refute it. This has\nnot been our purpose at present. We have been content with pointing\nout that his defence of Anglicanism really condemns it, because it\nimplies that he cannot defend it without misrepresenting it. In a\nfuture article we may deal with him as a controversialist, and point\nout, by way of specimen, some few of the mistakes into which he has\nfallen in his attack on the Catholic Church.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Literary Workman.\n\n\nIRELAND BEFORE CHRISTIANITY.\n\n\nThe ignorance of true Irish history that prevails, and the absurdity\nof the things given as facts to a large mass of moderately educated\npeople, is painfully surprising. For instance, it is generally\nbelieved among a great number of people, and it is taught to them in\nbooks, that Ireland was a land of desolate bogs, and forests filled\nwith wolves, and inhabited by lawless savages, till converted to a\n\"sort of Christianity\" by the English, of which Christianity the\nremarkable part was that it had nothing to do with the Pope. Many\npeople believe St. Patrick to have been an Englishman; others think he\nwas a Welshman, and a few bold spirits of the present day declare that\nthey can prove him to have been an excellent Protestant. Savages,\nbogs, wolves, and desolation, having been taken {542} compassion upon\nby the English, they subjugated the people, taught them, gave them\nlaws, and in the reign of Henry II. of England attached Ireland to the\nBritish crown, when that country began to have a history. Before that\ndate, that is, before the twelfth century, for Henry II. ascended the\nthrone in 1154, Ireland had had no history worth remembering or worth\nnoting. This is a short summary of the chief points of the Protestant\nbelief on that matter. And although true knowledge concerning many\nthings has struck root and spread amazingly of late years, there is so\nmuch still to learn about Ireland, and the history of that country is\nat once so interesting and so edifying, that \"Papers on Irish History\"\nare offered to the readers of the \"Workman\" with a conviction that\nthey will find a welcome both in that country and in England.\n\nIn looking back to the earliest years of the history of Ireland, our\ninstructor is tradition. It is a very curious thing, however, to see\nthat the old tales, which have passed with many for poetic fables,\nhave assumed in these days a remarkable importance, because in so many\ninstances science is proving tradition to be truth. Speaking of\nIreland, Camden says: \"If what the Irish historians relate be true,\nthis island was not without reason called _Agygia_ or _most ancient_,\nby Plutarch. For they begin their histories from the remotest period\nof antiquity, so that compared with them all other nations are of\nmodern date, and but in a kind of infancy. They tell us that one\n_Caesarea_, granddaughter to Noah, lived here before the flood, and\nthat afterward came _Bartholanus_ (_Partholanus_), a Scythian, 300\nyears after the flood, and waged fierce war with the giants. Long\nafter this, Nemethus, the Scythian, landed, and was presently driven\noff by the giants. Afterward, Dela, with some Greeks, made themselves\nmasters of the island; then _Gaothelus_ with his wife _Scota_,\ndaughter of Pharaoh, arrived here, and called the island from her\nScotia, and from him _Gaothela_, and this at the time of the\nIsraelites' departure out of Egypt. A few ages after, _Hiberus_ and\n_Hermione_ (or as the Irish called them, _Ever_ and _Erimon_), sons of\n_Milesius_, king of Spain, led some colonies into this island, which\nhad been depopulated by a plague. These stories I neither mean to\naffirm nor refute, making all due allowance for antiquity.\" Then\nCamden gives his own opinion in these words: \"That this island was\noriginally inhabited upon the general dispersion of mankind, I have\nnot the least doubt.\" And at this date, no one who may be quoted as\nunderstanding the subject, has any doubt of the immense antiquity of\nthe Irish; an antiquity which, in fact, defies calculation. But it is\nin some measure proved by the discovery in Ireland of those weapons\nwhich are the earliest weapons of defence used by man. They are flints\nchipped into a shape like the head of a spear. They were used before\nmen knew how to use metal; and they belong to that earliest time which\ngeologists have called by the name of the stone age. Geologists have\ndivided the early ages into three: the stone, the bronze, and the iron\nperiod. In the stone age, Ireland had a people, and the celts, or\nflint stones chipped into a form like a spear head, were their\nweapons.\n\nThe debated point of whether or not Ireland was peopled from England,\nis one which is of little interest. There was a time in the history of\nman when people could have walked over from France to England, and\nwhen Ireland was joined to Wales. Strange as this may read to some\npersons, it is less strange than the greater instance of, for example,\nAustralia being found peopled, and yet parted from the rest of the\nworld by a great sea. The people of Australia had not gone there in\nvessels. They had got there by land; and whether, by the gradual work\nof time, during which the land sunk, and the sea {543} flowed in over\nit, and by this means gave islands to the world, or whether by\nenormous convulsions rocks shivered, and the land was rent apart and\nsunk, as between us and France, where the chasm may be said to be\nfilled in by the water that makes the Straits of Dover--however it was\ndone, whether suddenly or not, the researches of modern science have\nsettled that these things occurred, and that the people who were our\nforefathers in this manner were separated from each other. Accepting\nthis theory as a truth, it is idle to ask whether Ireland was peopled\nfrom this country or not. But in the presence of such a theory, no\nperson can any longer laugh at Ireland's traditional antiquity; it is\nmore reasonable to accept it, and to allow that they have proved their\nancient and hereditary intelligence by preserving history.\n\nAnd this theory of the manner in which islands were divided from\ncontinents is, in fact, constantly proving itself before our eyes. Not\nto go out of England, we may see the progress of such a change now in\nLincolnshire. The reason why the great embankments against the sea are\nnecessary there, and have become more than ever necessary of late\nyears, is, that the land is sinking; and but for the preventions that\nscience and labor effect, a part of Lincolnshire would become an\nisland.\n\nThere are now a few words to be said about the name Scotia, as applied\nto Ireland. The Romans called all the far \"western people\" Scots, or\nScythians. It meant a people who sailed--a maritime people--they\nlearnt the word in these countries, for it is _Teutonic_, or northern\nCeltic; and we use the word ourselves when we speak of a boat\n_scudding_ over the waves.\n\nThat the people from Spain came to Ireland, and that the existing\nIrish are their descendants, is not disputed. Hiberus and Hermione,\ncalled by the Irish Ever and Erimon, left their names in _Hibernia_,\nfrom the Spanish for one brother, and in the Irish _Erin_ for the\nother. But yet Hibernia is a comparatively modern name; and Ireland is\nthe ancient _Scotia_, called Ierne by the Roman poet Claudian and\nother Roman writers, and Ivvorna by Diodoms Siculus, and many beside.\n\nOne word more about the rude flint weapon called everywhere a celt. It\ntook its name undoubtedly from the people who used it. It was the\nweapon of the northern or Celtic nations. When Celts are found they\nindicate to us the existence of the men who used them, and their state\nof civilization. Wherever they are found they are called by this name,\nand their name is derived from the northern people.\n\nIreland has always been considered a most healthy country, and in\nCampbell's Philosophical Survey of Ireland, Dr. Rutty tells us, \"The\nbogs are not injurious to health, and agues are very unfrequent here.\"\nAnd again, these \"bogs are not, as may be supposed from their\nblackness, masses of putrefaction, but, on the contrary, are of such a\ntexture as to resist putrefaction above any other substance we know\nof.\" Of such assertions we have now constant proof, and the durability\nof the beautiful and often highly polished ornaments made out of Irish\nbogwood is too well known to dwell upon.\n\nThe people seem to have been, in very early times, great feeders of\nsheep, cattle, and pigs. But the richness of the soil of this\nbeautiful island yields to the labor of the scientific former great\ngain.\n\nVery curious speculations have arisen as to the gold that has been\nfound in Ireland. It remains a mystery. Mr. O'Connor, in his\ndissertations on the history of Ireland, says, \"that, soon after the\narrival of the Scots from Spain, we read of Uchadan of Cuala, who\nrendered himself famous by his skill in the fabrication of metals.\"\nThis places the civilization of Ireland very far back; and taken\ntogether with the early renown of the Irish in music, puts them at\nonce in a {544} position of their own. When a people are musicians and\nworkers in gold, Silver, and other metals, they have advanced a good\nway in what is meant by the word civilization. Their music is\ndescribed as being of the most affecting and tender kind; and they\nseem to have met together, as afterward at Tara, for such accomplished\nrecreations before anything of that kind would have been understood in\nEngland.\n\nIt will be interesting to give, from \"Gough's Additions\" to Camden's\naccount of Ireland, some notes of the buried gold that has been found:\n\n\"In the bog near Cullen, in the county of Tipperary, in 1732, a\nlaborer found a piece of worked gold, a little less than half the size\nof a small egg. It weighed 3 ozs. 4 dwts. and 7 grs.\"\n\n\"In 1739, a boy found a circular plate of beaten gold, about eight\ninches in diameter, which, lapped up in the form of a triangle,\nenclosed three ingots of gold, which they say could not weigh less\nthan a pound; for the boy no sooner brought them home than his mother,\na poor widow, gave them to a merchant, on whose land she had a cabin,\nas brass to make weights.\"\n\nThis is one of the great many instances in which large pieces of gold\nwere sold as brass. Gold was found in these lumps, and in thin plates,\nas follows:\n\n\"1742. A child found on the brink of a hole a thin plate of gold.\n1747. A girl found in the turf-dust a thin plate of gold, rolled on\nanother, which when extended was 14 inches long, and a quarter of an\ninch broad; of which a fellow standing by took about half from her;\nwhat he left weighed 6 dwts. 13 grs. Soon after, an apprentice girl\nfound 1 oz. 5 dwts. of the same kind, rolled after the same manner, in\na sod of turf as she made the fire.\"\n\nVessels of a \"yellow metal,\" as the people said, were frequently found\nin this bog. They used to sell them for brass. One was four-sided, and\n8 inches high, with a handle on each side; the sisters who possessed\nit sold it to a tinker, who mended a pot and gave thirteenpence for\nit. The page of Irish history which the sight of these vessels, and\nthe consideration of their shape and workmanship, might have revealed,\nhas been, doubtless, lost with them in the melting pot.\n\n------\n\nFrom The St. James Magazine.\n\nTHE COLOSSUS OF RHODES.\n\n\nIn the elementary works for the instruction of young people we find\nevery day frequent mention of the Colossus of Rhodes. The statue is\nalways represented with gigantic limbs, each leg resting on the\nenormous rocks which face both sides of the entrance to the principal\nport of the island of Rhodes, and ships in full sail pass easily, it\nis said, between its legs; for Pliny the ancient tells us that its\nheight was seventy cubits.\n\nThis colossus was reckoned among the seven wonders of the world, the\nsix others being, as is well known, the suspended gardens of Babylon,\ndevised by Nitocris, wife of Nebuchadnezzar; the pyramids of Egypt;\nthe statue of Jupiter Olympicus; the mausoleum of Halicarnassus; the\ntemple of Diana at Ephesus; and the pharos of Alexandria, erected in\nthe year of Rome 470, and completely destroyed by an earthquake A.D.\n1303.\n\n{545}\n\nNowhere has any authority been found for the assertion that the\nColossus of Rhodes spanned the entrance to the island, and admitted\nthe passage of vessels in fall sail between its wide-stretched limbs.\nNo old drawing even of that epoch exists, when the statue was yet\nsupposed to be standing; several modern engravings may be seen, but\nthey are mere works of the imagination, executed to gratify the\ncuriosity of amateur antiquarians, or to feed the naive credulity of\nthe ignorant.\n\nA century ago, the Comte de Cayius, a distinguished French\narchaeologist, found fault with his countrymen for admitting this\nfiction into the schoolbooks [Footnote 76] for young people; but he\nsought in vain to trace its origin.\n\n  [Footnote 76: \"_Memoires de l'Acad\u00e9mie des Inscriptions_,\" t. xxiv.,\n  p. 369]\n\nVigen\u00e8re, in his \"_Tableaux de Philostrate_,\" is supposed to have been\nthe first who ventured to make an imaginary drawing of the colossus.\nHe was followed by Bergier and Chevreau,  [Footnote 77] the latter\nadding a lamp to the hand of the statue.\n\n  [Footnote 77: \"_Histoire du Monde_,\" iv., p. 319.]\n\nThe greater number of French dictionaries, Rollin, in his \"Ancient\nHistory,\" and even some encyclopaedic dictionaries, have adopted the\nfiction of their predecessors.\n\nA fictitious Greek manuscript, quoted by the mythologist Dachoul,\n[Footnote 78] further adorns the colossus by giving him a sword and\nlance, and by hanging a mirror round his neck.\n\n  [Footnote 78: \"_Religion des Anciens Romains_,\" p. 211.]\n\nThe Comte Ghoisel-Grouffier, in his picturesque \"Journey through\nGreece,\" published about the year 1780, declares the colossus with the\noutstretched legs to be fabulous. He says: \"This fable has for years\nenjoyed the privilege so readily accorded to error. It is commonly\nreceived, and discarded only by the few who have made ancient history\ntheir study. Most people have accepted, without investigation, an\nassertion which is unsupported by any authority from ancient authors.\"\nNevertheless, the Belgian, Colonel Rottiers, and the English\ngeologist, Hamilton,  [Footnote 79] do not yield to this respectable\nauthority, but endeavor to place the site of the statue at the\nentrance to one of the smaller harbors of the island, scarcely forty\nfeet wide. Rottier goes still further, and gives a superb engraving of\nthe colossus under the form of an Apollo, the bow and quiver on his\nshoulders, his forehead encircled by rays of light, and holding a\nbeacon flame above his head.\n\n  [Footnote 79: \"Researches in Asia Minor,\" etc. London,  1842.]\n\nPolybius is the first among the ancient writers who mentions the\nColossus of Rhodes, in enumerating the donations received by the\ninhabitants of the island after the fearful earthquake they\nexperienced in 222 or 224 b.c. We quote the passage: \"The Rhodians\nhave benefited by the catastrophe which befel them, owing to which not\nonly the huge colossus, but also a number of houses and a portion of\nthe surrounding walls, were demolished.\" Then follows a list of the\nrich gifts they received from all parts. Among the benefactors\nPolybius mentions the three kings, Ptolemy III. of Egypt, Antigone\nDoson, of Macedonia, and Seleucus, of Syria, father of Antiochus. The\nancient Pliny records that the colossus, after having stood for\nsixty-six years, was overthrown by an earthquake, and that it took the\nartist Char\u00e8s de Lindos, to whom the Rhodians had intrusted its\nconstruction, twelve years to complete his task.\n\nThe tendency in art to produce grand effects by colossal works became\nperceptible twenty-five year's before Phidias; for we find that 463\nyears before Christ the inhabitants of Syracuse caused a huge statue\nto be erected to Jupiter Eleutherius, after the death of the tyrant\nThrasybulus. This tendency was an indication of the decline of art,\ntraceable during and after the period of Alexander the Great.\n\nBut to return to the colossus. One Philo-Byzantius wrote a short\ntreatise on the seven wonders of the ancient world, about 150 years\nB.C.   [Footnote 80] In it he {546} gives an explanation of the\nconstruction of the colossus, but nowhere speaks of the extended legs,\nunder which vessels in full sail entered the port. On the contrary, he\nmentions one sole pedestal, which was of white marble. Moreover, the\nstatue was said to be 105 feet in height, and the harbor entrance,\naccording to modern researches, was 350 feet wide; it could not,\ntherefore, possibly reach across this space. Lastly, if the statue had\nstood at the entrance of the port, the earthquake must have overthrown\nit into the sea; whereas Strabo and Pliny tell us that its fragments\nremained for a considerable time imbedded in the earth, and attracted\nmuch attention by their wonderful size and dimensions.\n\n  [Footnote 80: It was reprinted with a Latin translation, by J. C.\n  Orelli, at Leipzic, in 1816. Strabo also mentions the colossus as\n  one of the seven wonders of the world.]\n\nNow this is the real truth concerning the colossus:\n\nToward the year 305 B.C., Demetrius Poliorcetes laid siege to Rhodes,\nand the inhabitants defended themselves with so much bravery that,\nafter a whole year of struggle and endurance, they forced the enemy to\nretire from the island. The Rhodians, by whom the sun-god (Helios) was\nworshipped as their patron (having emerged from the waves of the\nAEgean Sea), inspired by sentiments of devotion, and excited by\nfervent gratitude for so signal a proof of the divine favor, commanded\nChar\u00e8s de Lindos to erect a colossal statue to the honor of their\ndeity. An inscription explained that the expenses of its construction\nwere defrayed out of the sale of the materials of war left by\nDemetrius on his retreat from the island of Rhodes. This statue was\nerected on an open space of ground near the great harbor, and near the\nspot where the pacha's seraglio now actually stands; and its fragments\nfor many years after its destruction were seen and admired by\ntravellers. This explanation is still further supported by the fact,\nthat a chapel built on this ground in the time of the Knights of\nRhodes is named _Fanum Sancti Joannis Colossensis_.\n\nWe have seen that Strabo, who wrote and travelled during the reigns of\nthe first two Roman emperors, was the earliest author after Polybius\nwho mentioned the fall of the Colossus of Rhodes, and that very\nconcisely. Pliny enters into somewhat fuller details, and speaks of\nthe dimensions of the mutilated limbs. \"Even while prostrate,\" says\nhe, \"this statue excited the greatest admiration. Few men could span\none of its thumbs with his arms; and each of its fingers was as large\nas an ordinary full-sized statue. Its broken limbs appeared to\nstrangers like caverns, in the interior of which enormous blocks of\nstone were seen.\"\n\nFrom this time we find no further mention whatever of these fragments;\nbut it is curious that toward the end of the second century several\nwriters speak of a colossal statue at Rhodes as still existing. It is\npossible that one was again constructed, but of smaller dimensions.\nIndeed, Leo Allazzi tells us that the Colossus of Rhodes was\nreconstructed and completed under the Emperor Vespasian; but later\nGreek authors give us nothing in support of this opinion.\n\nA long time after the fall of the Roman empire the island of Rhodes\nwas conquered by the general-in-chief of the Caliph Othman, in the\nseventh century of the Christian era; and then mention is once more\nmade of a colossus in metal. \"This last memorial of a glorious past\nwas not respected by the conqueror,\" says the Byzantine history. \"The\ngeneral took down the colossus which stood erect on the island, and\ntransported the metal into Syria, and sold it to a Jew, who loaded 980\ncamels with the materials of his purchase.\"\n\nWe should refer any who may be curious for further details on the\nColossus of Rhodes to a remarkable work on the subject by Carl\nFerdinand L\u00fcders, in which the fiction of the gigantic outstretched\nlimbs is completely disposed of; but with such an array of learned\naccessories, _more germanico_, that few will perhaps read it\nthroughout.\n\n------\n\n{547}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\n\nPUBLIC LIFE OF ST. CATHARINE OF SIENA.\n\n\nNo one can expect to find the history of the Church free from\nvicissitude; as it has its bright and glorious periods, so also it has\nits times of gloom and darkness, when a superficial observer might\nalmost interpret the disastrous character of the more salient facts\nthat meet his eye, as the evidence of a suspension of the vital\nactivity and healthy vigor of the whole body. But the life of the\nChurch is essentially internal, and depends on the free action of\ndivine grace, penetrating and animating the whole community--an action\nthat is perpetually kept up by the most common and unobtrusive\nministrations of sacramental strength, which are going on in full\nfrequency and efficacy, while the political fortunes of the hierarchy,\nor of the supreme power, are crushed by oppression or persecution; or\neven while scandals are seen in high places--when bishops become\ncourtiers, when cardinals are truckling to kings and emperors, and\npopes are in captivity or exile. And it often happens that these dark\ntimes are most prolific of the noblest fruits of the interior life;\nand that at such seasons the choicest treasures of the Church--the\nsouls on whom great and special graces have been bestowed--are\nprovidentially brought out into unusual prominence, so as to exercise\ngreat influence and give a character to the period, or a direction to\nsome of its most important transactions. Even if it be not so, at all\nevents we have only to go a little below the surface in order to find\nplentiful indications of the rich veins that are contained in no soil\nbut one. Thus, in Italy, at the time in which this paper treats, there\nwere a number of saintly souls, whose names have since taken rank in\nthe calendar of the Church. The secular historian sees little more\nthan a set of quarrelsome states, restless in their mutual discord and\naggressive ambition, and distracted, ever and anon, by the most\nfurious domestic strife, which would slake itself with nothing but\nblood. St. Andrew Corsini once showed his audience, as he was\npreaching in the Piazza of Fiesole, looking down on Florence, an\nimmense flight of hawks, kites, and other ravenous birds, battling\nwith one another over the city. They represented, he told them, the\nnumber of evil spirits that were engaged in stirring up the\ninhabitants to intestine discord. Florence was not worse, but rather\nbetter, and more thoroughly Catholic, than its neighbors; yet when we\ntake up such a life, for instance, as that of St. Giovanni Colombini,\nof Siena, the founder of the Gesuati, we find ourselves at once in an\natmosphere of calm and fresh simplicity, of happy peace, fervent\ndevotion, and loving faith; and it is only by the chance mention of\npublic calamities--the sufferings of the peasants, whose fruit-trees\nhad been cut down by the German \"company\"' of marauders, and the\nlike--that we are reminded of the Italy of the day, with its endless\ndisturbances and hopeless insecurity. We have not merely the beautiful\npicture of Giovanni himself, and his immediate followers and friends;\nof his good wife, for instance, who begged him to read her pious book\nwhile she kept him waiting a few minutes for his dinner, and who,\nthough he had at first thrown it on the floor in a fit of impatient\nanger, could not persuade him to leave it, when all was ready, till he\nhad read to the end the story of St. Mary of {548} Egypt. She had\nprayed that he might be more given to almsgiving than he was, and then\nhad to complain that she had prayed for a shower, not for a deluge,\nwhen he began to give away everything in the house; and she had to\nyield at last to his saintly fervor, and release him altogether from\nthe obligations of the married life. It is not only Francesco\nVincenti, the other rich and noble gentleman of Siena, who caught up\nthe example of Giovanni, began to give great alms, dress shabbily, and\nserve the poor, and at last joined him in giving up the world\naltogether, and placing himself under religious obedience; or\nGiovanni's cousin Catarina, the first of the nuns whom he established,\nwhom he could not persuade to embrace the state of poverty, though she\nhad given up the idea of marriage, till he called her to a little\nwindow in the wall between their two houses, one night, as she was\ngoing up to bed with her lamp lit, and talked to her in so heavenly a\nstrain that her heart was perfectly changed; and when she turned to go\naway at last, she found that she had been listening all night, and the\nmorning rays were streaming through the shutters, though, as he bade\nher observe, the little stock of oil in her lamp was unconsumed. These\nmight be accidents of piety and simple faith in particular families;\nbut we cannot so account for the great number of followers that\nenlisted themselves under Giovanni--so many, that the worthy\nmagistrates of Siena thought fit for a time to banish him and his\ncompanions from the city, lest every one should join them; nor for the\nready and enthusiastic welcome that he met with wherever he went\nthroughout Tuscany, the joy with which his preaching was received, and\nthe rapid fruit that it produced. The beautiful account of him and his\nearly followers, written in the century after his death by Feo\nBelcari, is full of details and anecdotes that seem to prove the\npowerful hold that faith and religion retained upon the mass of the\npopulation in those seemingly black and miserable days. The mere\nnumber of his followers, as we have said, is an evidence of this, the\nproofs to which the novices were put were very severe indeed; yet when\nUrban V. came from France to Italy, Giovanni went to meet him at\nCorneto with a company of seventy, all of whom had joined him within\ntwo years. The same conclusion is forced upon us when we take up the\nlife or the letters of the still more famous child of the same fair\ncity, St. Catharine of Siena, of whose public influence we hope to\ngive presently some short account. The family of religious disciples\nwhom she collected around her in the course of her short life, from\nall ranks and classes, could never have been furnished save by a\npopulation thoroughly penetrated with religious feeling, and familiar\nwith the loftiest principles of faith. Her own home, too, is a\ncharming picture. There is the good pious father, \"a man simple and\nwithout guile,\" as Father Raymond tells us, \"fearing God, and keeping\nfree from vice;\" a man so moderate in speech, that for no occasion\nwhatever, of disturbance or trouble that was given him, did unbecoming\nwords escape his lips; rather, when others of his family felt\nbitterly, and he heard them break out into angry words, he set himself\nat once, with a joyous countenance, to comfort them, saying, \"Ah, God\ngive you good luck! don't fret yourself, or say things like that,\nwhich don't befit us.\" He let himself be injured and brought to the\nbrink of ruin by a false charge, and yet would never allow any one in\nhis presence to speak against his accuser, leaving his cause entirely\nto God; and in due time all was wonderfully set right. His large\nfamily of children were brought up with so much modesty, and with so\ngreat a hatred of anything licentious, though only in word, that one\nof the daughters, whom he had given in marriage to a young man who had\nlost his parents when a child, and learnt bad language from the chance\ncompanions he had picked up, made herself ill with {549} grieving over\nher husband's bad habit in this respect, and could never be well or\nhappy till he had given it up. We hear less of the rest of the family.\nCatharine was one of twenty-five children; but though they opposed for\na while her resolution not to marry, and tried to make her give up her\nexcessive penances, they seem to have been good, fervent Christians;\nand her mother, with her natural love for her child, struggling\nagainst the sacrifice of giving her up entirely to the service of God,\nis delightful in her simplicity, and her character gives a charming\nair of truthfulness and reality to the whole picture. But there is no\nreason for supposing that the family of the good Jacomo and Lapa were\nfar above the level of their neighbors in virtue and piety, except in\nthe instance of the one chosen soul whose wonderful graces and history\nhave alone saved them from being altogether forgotten, like the mass\nof their daily companions in the streets and the churches of Siena.\nWhat we are told of them reveals that which escapes the notice of the\nsuperficial historian--the daily life of a Catholic people, however\npolitically unsettled, and subject to violent outbreaks natural to its\nhot temperament and passionate disposition--though the character of\nthe Siennese was said to be comparatively gentle and sweet--still\nthoroughly leavened and penetrated by the faith that had been handed\ndown through an unbroken succession of generations, since the city's\nfirst martyr consecrated its soil by his blood. Such, in general, was\nthe population of Italy, and, of course, of great parts of Europe, at\nthat time; and such a population constitutes a resource, as it were,\nfor the Church, that it must take, it would seem, many generations\nthoroughly to corrupt or to destroy. From the depths of such a people\nsprings ordinarily the ever-fresh crop of eminent saints, who form the\nchief glories and supports of the Church in their successive\ngenerations; and the wide extent to which the principles of Christian\nfaith and practice influence the mass from which they themselves rise,\nmakes it possible for them to gather followers around them, to touch\nthe springs of public action and thought, and to exercise the\nwonderful influence upon the men of their day which is so strange an\nenigma to the uncatholic historian.  [Footnote 81]\n\n  [Footnote 81: Thus Dr. Milman (\"Latin Christianity,\" t. v., p.\n  891-2) is fairly upset by what he calls a \"most extraordinary\n  letter\" of St Catharine. It is that in which she relates her\n  assistance of Nicola Tuldo, when under sentence of death and on the\n  scaffold. He adds at the end of his note: \"St. Catharine had the\n  stigmata. And this woman interposed between popes, princes, and\n  republics.\" We may see, perhaps, whether she \"interposed,\" or was\n  entreated to do so; whether her influence was sought by herself, or\n  forced on her by others. ]\n\nThe singularly beautiful life of St. Catharine of Siena, written by\nher friend and confessor, Raymond of Capua, gives us as perfect an\naccount as we could wish to have of the personal and, as it were,\nprivate history of the saint, and sets her character before us in the\nfreshest colors, like a picture of Fra Angelico. But it is deficient\nin that very part of her life to which it is our purpose more\nparticularly to attend. The public influence exercised by St.\nCatharine was fresh in the recollection of those for whom Fr. Raymond\nwrote: they wished to be told the antecedents, as it were, of a person\nwhom they had seen brought forward by Providence in so remarkable a\nmanner to support the papacy in an hour of severe trial. A complete\nlife of St. Catharine would have to include a great many points which\nhave been omitted by Raymond; and much that he has mentioned or\nalluded to would have to be fixed more accurately as to time and\nplace. Nor could any one hope to draw up such a work with success\nwithout the fullest acquaintance with the ample collection of her\nletters. It is from these last that many most important features of\nher public life would have to be drawn.  [Footnote 82] We owe them,\nprobably, to {550} the care with which her disciples or secretaries\ncopied them before they were sent, for it is hardly likely that they\ncould have been otherwise recovered from the persons to whom they were\naddressed.\n\n  [Footnote 82: One of the best sketches of St Catharine's action on\n  public matters with which we are acquainted is contained in the\n  introduction to M. Caltier's recent translation of her letters into\n  French. The \"_Histoire de Ste. Catharine_,\" published many years ago\n  by M. Chavin de Malan, contains a great deal of extraneous matter,\n  and does not scene to as to use the letters as they might have been\n  used. M. Christophe, in his \"_Histoire de la Papaut\u00e9 pendant le XlVe\n  Si\u00e8cle_,\" falls entirely in giving sufficient importance to the\n  saint. There is a good Italian \"_Storia di Sta. Catarina da Siena_,\"\n  by Fr. Capecelatro, an Oratorian, published a few years ago, in\n  which much use is made of the admirable notes of Fr. Buramacchi to\n  Gilgli's edition of the letters.]\n\nIt is not easy to say at what precise time the public action of\nCatharine began. She was in the twenty-fourth year of her age at the\ntime of the death of Urban V. She had already passed, for about four\nyears, from that life of prayer, mortification, and contemplation with\nwhich her saintly career had begun, to one of greater intercourse with\nothers; and she had already brought about some very wonderful\nconversions, of which Fr. Raymond has given us an account. She had in\nseveral cases been successful in obtaining reconciliations between\nfamilies hostile to one another through the hereditary feuds and\ntraditions of revenge which have always had so baneful an effect on\nItalian society; but it does not appear that she had had any personal\nintercourse with Urban V., or any of the great prelates or princes of\nthe time; and perhaps her fame had not travelled far beyond the\nfrontiers of Tuscany. Giacomo Orsini, who passed through Siena in the\nyear following the death of Urban to receive the dignity of cardinal\nfrom Gregory XI., may have made her acquaintance in her native town,\nand carried the report of her wonderful sanctity to the court of\nAvignon. The next year, 1372, we find her already in correspondence\nwith important persons. War had again broken out between the Holy See\nand the restless Barnabo Visconti. Barnabo had usurped the dominion of\nReggio, a fief of the Church, and had proceeded to other excesses,\nsuch as to force Gregory XI. to excommunicate him in 1371. War was now\ndeclared; but it was at first favorable to the Milanese tyrant. A\nleague was then organized against him, in which the emperor, the King\nof Hungary, and the Count of Savoy took part. John Hawkwood, moreover,\nwith his famous English lances, was engaged on the Pontifical side.\nThe success was now chiefly on the side of the league, and Visconti\nonce more betook himself to intrigues and negotiations at Avignon,\nwhere he obtained a truce in 1374. We find St. Catharine writing, in\n1372, to two great French prelates, the Cardinal Pierre d'Estaing, who\nhad just been appointed legate at Bologna; and the Abbot of\nMarmontier, a relation of the Pope, who was sent at the same time to\ngovern Peragia and discharge the office of nuncio in Tuscany. Her\nletters to the cardinal seem to show that she was already known to\nhim. The first contains little but spiritual exhortation, though there\nis a hint at the end to the saints favorite subject at this time, the\ncrusade against the infidels. In the second she speaks strongly for\npeace among Christians. The letter to the abbot--who afterward became\na cardinal, and died on the schismatical side--is evidently an answer\nto a letter from him, asking advice for himself and also for the Pope.\nSt. Catharine urges him to prevail on the Holy Father to put down the\nnepotism that prevailed among high ecclesiastics, to discourage the\nluxurious worldliness of the prelates, and to choose good and virtuous\nmen as cardinals. A little later we find her writing to the truculent\nBarnabo himself, the man who made papal legates eat the missives of\nexcommunication which they were charged to deliver to him--who\ndeclared that he was Pope in his own dominions, and dressed up a mad\npriest in mock vestments to excommunicate the Pope in return, and made\nthe monasteries under his rule take charge of his hounds. This letter,\nagain, was in answer to a message brought to Siena from Barnabo by\n{551} one of his servants. Catharine sets before him the crime he has\nbeen guilty of in going to war with the Pope, and exhorts him to make\namends for it by taking part in the crusade. The letter seems to have\nbeen written after the peace granted to Visconti in 1374. The same\ndate, or perhaps an earlier one, seems to belong to a long letter of\nthe saint to Beatrice della Scala, the wife of Barnabo, in which that\nlady is urged to become more religious herself, and thus to influence\nher husband, especially to peace and obedience toward the Holy Father.\nThis letter, also, is in answer to a message.\n\nCatharine's life became still more active than before about this time.\nShe was sent for to Florence by the general of her order, and seems to\nhave gone about to several other cities, such as Pisa and Lucca, and\nto have exercised great influence everywhere. Her presence had before\nthis begun to attract crowds wherever she went: they came to speak to\nher, to consult her about the affairs of their souls or their family\ntroubles; and her burning words wrought numberless conversions. The B.\nRaymond, speaking of this part of her life, tells us in his simple\nway, \"If all the limbs of my body were turned into so many tongues,\nthey would not be enough to relate the fruit of souls which this\nvirgin plant, that the heavenly Father hath planted, did produce. I\nhave sometimes seen a thousand persons or more, men and women, come at\nthe same time, as if drawn by the sound of some unseen trumpet, from\nthe mountains or from the villages in the territory of Siena, to see\nor to hear Catharine. These persons--I don't say at her words, but\neven at the mere sight of her--were suddenly struck with compunction\nfor their misdeeds, bewailed their sins, and ran to the confessors, of\nwhom I was one; and so great was the contrition with which they made\ntheir confessions, that no one could doubt that a great abundance of\ngrace had descended from heaven upon their hearts. This happened not\nonce or twice only, but very often. For this reason Pope Gregory XI.,\nof happy memory, who was both consoled and rejoiced at this great\nfruit in souls, granted letters apostolic to me and to my two\ncompanions, giving us power to absolve all those who came to see\nCatharine and to confess their sins, in all the cases for which the\nbishops of the dioceses had faculties. And that truth, that neither\ndeceives nor can be deceived, knows well that many came to find us out\nwho were laden with great sins, and who had never before made\nconfession, or never received as it ought to be received the sacrament\nof penance. We--that is, my companions and myself--often remained\nfasting till evening, and were too few to hear all those who wished to\nconfess; and indeed, to declare my own imperfection, and the influence\nof this holy virgin, so great was the throng of people wishing to\nconfess that many times I found myself quite worn out and wearied by\nthe excess of fatigue. But Catharine went on praying incessantly; and\nwhen the holy prey was won, she rejoiced fully in the Lord, as one who\nhad won a victory, ordering her other sons and daughters to wait upon\nus, who were tending the nets that she had spread. No pen can express\nthe abundance of the joy in her mind, nor even the signs of gladness\nthat she gave, which indeed gave us so much internal delight as to\nmake us forget the recollection of any sadness whatever we had to\nundergo.\"  [Footnote 83]\n\n  [Footnote 83: _Legenda_, ii. ch., 7.]\n\nGregory XI. seems before his election to have been well acquainted\nwith St. Bridget, for he was the cardinal through whom she had wished\nto communicate to Urban V. the message that she had received to\ndeliver to him. He kept up a correspondence with her as long as she\nlived, and received some tremendous warnings from her about the return\nof the Holy See to Rome. At the time of which {552} we are speaking,\n1374, in the fifth year of his reign, he sent St. Bridget's confessor\nto Catharine to recommend himself to her prayers. This may have been\nthe opening of the intercourse between them. Of the fourteen letters\nto Gregory that remain to us, none seem to bear an earlier date than\n1376.  [Footnote 84] It does not appear certain, therefore, whether\nshe had any direct influence upon the Pope's desire to set on foot a\nnew crusade, which he urged on with much vigor about the time of the\npeace granted to Visconti. But it was one of St. Catharine's three\ndarling projects; the other two being the reform of the prelacy and\nthe restoration of the papacy to Rome. The fact that her confessor and\nfriend, Fr. Raymond, was appointed to preach the crusade seems to\nimply that she had been in communication with Gregory upon the\nsubject. We have already said that she proposed to Barnabo himself to\ntake the cross. The idea of sending all the turbulent spirits in\nEurope to fight against the Turks was not a new one; Urban V. had\nproposed it to the \"companies\" who ravaged France and even insulted\nhim by exacting a ransom for Avignon; but the freebooters naturally\npreferred the less dangerous, though less glorious, life that they\nwere living in France. They were at last persuaded to enlist against\nPeter the Cruel. In St. Catharine's time there was a proposal of the\nsame kind, with regard to the \"bands\" in Italy, whom we shall\npresently see the instruments of the greatest possible mischief to\nthat unhappy country. We have a letter from her to Sir John Hawkwood,\nfrom which it appears that he and his followers had actually Engaged\nto serve in the crusade. Other letters on the subject of the same\nexpedition show that she was now in a position to address herself with\neffect to the sovereigns of great states. She writes at this time to\nQueen Joanna of Naples, and to the queen-mother of Hungary, in hopes\nof her assistance in persuading her son, King Louis. But if the peace\nwith Barnabo had made the crusade once more possible, fresh troubles\nsoon ensued in Italy which prevented it, and which occasioned the\nstill greater prominence of St. Catharine as an earnest advocate of\npeace.\n\n  [Footnote 84: Four of these letters (7-10) were written while\n  Catharine was at Avignon, and were only to be found in Latin among\n  the papers of B. Raymond, who was, it appears, interpreter between\n  the saint and the Pope, who did not understand her Tuscan dialect.\n  M. Chavin de Malan (ii., 369) conjectures that the first three of\n  them may be summaries of _conversations_ that passed at Avignon,\n  taken down afterward by B. Raymond. But internal evidence is against\n  this supposition; and it is not at all unlikely, as the opposition\n  to her influence was so strong, that the Pope preferred that she\n  should communicate with him by letter.]\n\nThe disturbances were not, this time, the work of the Visconti.\nBarnabo turned them to his own advantage, but he was not their author.\nHistorians concur in attributing a feeling of general discontent with\nthe internal administration and external policy of the pontifical\ngovernment in Italy to the conduct of the French legates. We find very\nstrong charges against them; for example, in the chronicle of St.\nAntoninus, written in the following century; but it may be questioned\nwhether he did more than repeat what he found in other Florentine\nwriters; and, in this case, the testimony of a Florentine is hardly to\nbe admitted without suspicion. But it is very likely that many of the\ncharges of tyranny, ambition, extortion, and luxury are not unfounded.\nStill, the internal administration of the States of the Church had\nbeen settled by Albornoz, and his system might have carried the\ngovernment through without an  outbreak, even under the trial of\nadministrators quite unworthy to succeed him, had it not been for the\nsuspicions that arose, in cities external to the pontifical territory,\nthat its governors aimed at the subjugation of their neighbors. It\nthus seemed to become their interest not only to defend themselves,\nbut to anticipate the danger by raising revolts in the States of the\nChurch. It is quite clear that Gregory XI. had no such design {553}\nhimself, and that he would not have tolerated it in his subordinates.\nNeither are the acts of the latter such as cannot be explained on\nother grounds. But what is clear to us at a distance was not\nnecessarily so clear to the contemporaries of St. Catharine. Certain\nmeasures of the legate at Bologna, and of the governor of Perugia, had\nan unfortunate look. In the first place, it seems that the diplomacy\nof that time did not insist, in the case of a confederacy of a number\nof powers against a common enemy, that peace should not be made by one\nmember of the league without the consent of the remainder. The peace\nwith Barnabo had been made, it appears, without the concurrence of\nFlorence, Pisa, Siena, and the other allies of the Pope. Another cause\nof soreness was a measure adopted about the same time by the Cardinal\nLegate of Bologna, which pressed hardly upon Tuscany. The last two\nyears had been years of great scarcity in that part of Italy, and he\nnow forbade the exportation of grain from the Legation. He was no\ndoubt afraid of relieving his neighbors at the risk of suffering\nhimself. But there was more to come. Sir John Hawkwood and his\nfollowers had to be discharged on account of the peace; they were no\nsooner dismissed than they invaded the Florentine territory, attempted\nto make themselves masters of Prato, and ravaged the country up to the\ngates of Florence itself. Thus soldiers, only a few days before in the\npay of the Holy See, were attacking one of its allies with fire and\nsword. It looked very like an attempt to enslave Tuscany. At the same\ntime Siena had a complaint of the same sort against the abbot of\nMontmajor at Perugia. The powerful family of the Salimbeni were at\nthat time in exile from Siena, the last revolution of which city had\nput the supreme power into the hands of the popular party. The\npontifical governor of Perugia leagued himself with the exiles, and\nthus appeared to be aiming at the destruction of the liberties of\nSiena.\n\n_Ergo omnis furiis surrexit Etruria justis._Nothing had indeed been\ndone which did not admit of explanation; And, if his legates had\nreally been guilty of aggression, Gregory XI. could, have readily\ndisavowed them. Indeed, he ordered the edict against the exportation\nof grain from the Romagna to be revoked; in which, however, the\ncardinal at Bologna refused to obey him. But this conciliatory order\ncame too late. Under such provocation men, and especially Italians,\nwould not wait for explanations. They were jealous of their liberties,\nand they hated the idea of foreign domination; the representatives of\nthe pontifical government at the time were foreigners to them, and\nseemed to be seeking to enslave them. Florence flew to arms: she had\nbeen long devoted to the Holy See; now she gave herself over to the\nrule of the faction within her, who had ever been the minority,\nbecause they were the enemies of the Pope; and these men, feeling\nthemselves still in reality the weaker party, lost no time in plunging\ninto the most frantic excesses, that they might alienate their country\nfrom the Holy Father beyond hope of reconciliation, and wreak their\nown vengeance on their personal enemies so fully as to leave them no\nchance of again recovering their power. Hawkwood was soon disposed of;\nhe was bought off for a large sum. The movement in Florence became a\nrevolution, with all its accompaniments of blood, spoliation, and\nterror. The inquisitors were massacred, the prisons destroyed; the\nprior of the Carthusians, who presented himself as papal envoy with\novertures of reconciliation, was torn to pieces, and his flesh thrown\nto the dogs. The clergy were withdrawn from the jurisdiction of the\nPope; the nomination of benefices assumed by the magistrates of the\nrepublic. These, however, were all changed; a committee of eight, a\nsort of Comit\u00e9 du Salut Publique--called, in derision, the Eight\nSaints--seized the helm of government; it was a {554} complete reign\nof terror. But they were not content with turning Florence against the\nPope; they sent envoys throughout the whole of Tuscany and Umbria,\ninviting all the cities to join in league against the pontifical\ngovernment, and bearing with them red banners inscribed with the word\n\"Libertas.\" The conduct of the French governors had but too well\nprepared the subjects of the Pope for these invitations. Citta di\nCastello led the way; Perugia, Narni, Viterbo, Montefiascone followed;\nbefore the end of 1375 nearly the whole of the pontifical territory,\nthe Patrimony, the Duchy of Spoleto, and the March of Ancona, were in\nopen revolt. All that Albornoz had done for the Holy See seemed to\nhave been done in vain. Bologna, almost alone, remained faithful; but\neven there the government of the legate was very insecure.\n\nIt was felt at Avignon that something was now to be dealt with very\ndifferent even from a war against the Visconti. Some \"companies\" of\nBretons were then ravaging or ransoming cities in the south of France,\nunder two famous captains of the day, Jean de Malestroit and Silvestre\nde Bude; they were enlisted under the flag of the Church, and prepared\nto descend on Italy. But Gregory XI. determined to try the method of\nconciliation before letting them loose. He sent envoys to Florence,\nwho offered terms to which no prudent person could make objection.\nPerugia and Citta di Castello were to be free, but the Florentines\nwere to cease in their revolutionary propaganda in the States of the\nChurch, and particularly in Bologna. The \"eight saints\" had all that\nwas reasonable and good in Florence against them, and they dared not\nopenly refuse to entertain terms such as these. But they sent secret\ninstructions to their commander in the field while the negotiations\nwere being carried on; he marched on Bologna, raised the people in\nrevolt, and made the legate a prisoner. They succeeded in their\nulterior object: the Papal envoys left Florence without concluding any\npeace.\n\nAfter this fresh provocation, nothing remained for the Pope but to\nattack the Florentines with every weapon at his disposal. The Breton\ncompanies were ordered to march, under the general command of the\nCardinal Robert of Geneva, a man, it seems, with more of the soldier\nthan the priest about him, who was to be, within three years from the\ntime that he began his expedition, the first of the miserable line of\nAntipopes who opposed themselves to the legitimate successors of\nGregory XI. His present campaign was distinguished chiefly by two\nevents, neither of which cast credit on the pontifical cause: a treaty\nhe made with Visconti (who had before allied himself with the\nFlorentines), by which the Guelfic party in the north of Italy were\nsacrificed to the enmity of the tyrant; and the awful sack and\nmassacre of Cesena by the Breton troops. But the Pope used spiritual\nweapons also against offenders like the Florentines; and in their case\nthe temporal consequences of the solemn excommunication under which\nthey fell made themselves far more swiftly and keenly felt than in\nthat of a great seigneur like Barnabo. Their merchants and agents were\nin every country of Europe: the sentence of the Pope exposed them\neverywhere to confiscation, imprisonment, and slavery; their commerce\nwas ruined, and it is said that the immediate loss to the city\namounted to three million florins. At all events, early in the year\n1376, and but a few weeks aft\u00abr they had chosen not to avail\nthemselves of the moderate overtures made by the Papal envoys, the\nFlorentines began to desire peace. It is probable that there had\nalways been but a narrow majority in favor of the violent measures of\nwhich we have spoken; now, the great misfortunes of the state made\neven its revolutionary rulers look about them for a mediator, for\ntheir first attempt at negotiation had proved a failure. They had sent\ntwo {555} ambassadors to Avignon; but instead of apologizing for their\nundeniable aggressions, they laid all the blame on the pontifical\ndelegates, and were dismissed by Gregory with a confirmation of their\nsentence. A mediator, therefore, was necessary; and instead of asking\nthe kind offices of the emperor, or the king of France, or some other\nof the sovereigns of Europe, they determined to seek the help of\nCatharine of Siena.\n\nCatharine had  been in the midst of the tumult, doing what she could\nto maintain peace. It seems that Gregory XI. had begged her to go to\nLucca, where she was held in great veneration, to keep that city from\njoining the league against the Church. She had also exerted her\ninfluence at Pisa, and seems to have succeeded in both places, though\nwith some difficulty. From Pisa she wrote the first of her series of\nletters to the Pope. She was still there when the magistrates of\nFlorence invited her to undertake their cause. She visited the city,\nconversed with the principal men of all parties, and it was agreed\nthat they should send another and a humbler embassy to Avignon, on\ncondition that she should precede the envoys, and endeavor to soften\nthe heart of the Holy Father toward his rebellious children. She was\nalready sending letters to Avignon imploring peace, and urging the\nPope to return to Rome, and to raise the standard of the crusaders, in\norder to unite all discordant elements by directing them to a common\nobject. She had sent her most intimate confidant and confessor, Father\nRaymond, to plead the cause of the Florentines; and soon followed him\nherself, accompanied by a number of her \"disciples,\" arriving at\nAvignon about the middle of June, 1376.\n\nAs is so often the case in the lives of the chosen instruments of\nProvidence, Catharine was to do a great work at Avignon, but not the\nwork for which she apparently went there. She was received by the Pope\nwith the greatest kindness and distinction; she was even intrusted by\nhim with full powers to make peace with the Florentines. But Gregory\nXI. knew the men with whom he was dealing better than she. The\ngovernment of Florence was still in the hands of the eight; they did\nnot really desire peace, at least on any terms that the Pope could\ngrant them. They had yielded to the vast majority of their\nfellow-citizens in seeming to wish for what would be in reality the\nend of their own power. The envoys delayed their journey to Avignon:\nwhen they did arrive, and Catharine proposed to use the full powers\nthe Pops had given her, they replied that they had no authority to\ntreat with _her_; nor were they more honest in their dealings with the\nPope himself. The time, then, for the particular task that Catharine\nhad undertaken was not yet come; but she was at Avignon now, at the\nside of Gregory XI., and she was to decide him to a step far more\nimportant than the granting a peace to Florence.\n\nThe character of Gregory XI. is so constantly represented in the same\ncolors by historians of every grade, that it would seem almost rash to\nsuppose that they could all have been mistaken in the picture. It has\na softness and beauty about it that are extremely touching, when\nviewed in the light of his many misfortunes and early death,\novershadowed as it was by the threats of the still greater troubles\nfrom which it saved him. He had been marked out for high\necclesiastical dignity from the very first, and was but eighteen when\nhis uncle, Clement VI., made him cardinal. His career after his\nelevation justified his premature advancement; he made himself famous\nfor learning, and even more so for his tender piety and the unsullied\npurity of his life. His humility and sweetness won all hearts: perhaps\nthe more because his frail health, his pale countenance, and evident\ndelicacy of constitution, gave a kind of plaintive charm to his very\n{556} appearance. Though he was barely forty years of age at the death\nof Urban V., he had been elected Pope after the conclave had lasted\nbut a single night. He had refused at first, but at last had been\nforced to accept the crown of St. Peter as a matter of duty. He was\nthen only in deacon's orders. No one has ever questioned the purity of\nhis aims, or even the rightness of his views and the soundness of his\njudgment. We have already said, with regard to one great paramount\nquestion of the time, that he had secretly vowed to take back the\npapacy to Rome, if he ever should be elected pope. But, inheriting as\nhe did the traditions of Clement VI., surrounded in France by noble\nand powerful relatives, and by cardinals almost exclusively his\nfellow-countrymen, and with health and constitution that were almost\nsure to be ruined at once by the air of Rome, everything seemed to\nforbid him to make the effort that was required. The earlier years of\nhis reign had passed away, not indeed without many thoughts and even\ndeclarations on the subject, but without any steps being taken to put\nthe design in execution. In 1374 he had announced his intention of\nvisiting Rome to the emperor; in the following January he had written\nin the same sense to Edward III. and to other kings of Europe. But\nthat summer and autumn saw the outbreak at Florence, and the great\nrevolution that arrayed almost the whole of the Ecclesiastical States\nin rebellion against the Church; and the advocates of the French\nresidence of the papacy must have thought themselves safe now that\nItaly had risen against Gregory. He was not, like Urban V., a pope\nelected from outside the College of Cardinals, with little sympathy\nand but few ties with them. He was of one of the great Limousin\nfamilies, the nephew of the most brilliant of the Avignon popes,\nsurrounded by powerful relatives, all of whom were interested in\nkeeping him where he was. The quiet security of Provence suited him,\nand he was one of those gentle characters, not wanting in ordinary\nfirmness and decision, which still are more fitted for tranquil times\nthan for days of disturbance, and are more capable of suffering and of\npatience than of initiating bold measures and breasting the waves of a\ngreat emergency. Family and personal influence had much weight with\nhim; not from any active ambition or spirit of nepotism, so much as\nthat it had become at Avignon a matter almost of course that many of\nthe splendid prizes in the gift of the Popes should be bestowed on\ntheir relatives. He himself owed his position originally to that\ncustom. At a time when reform was much needed in the prelacy, and many\nabuses and scandals existed which required to be sternly rebuked and\npunished, he could see what was wanting more easily than carry it out\nwith a severity alien to his nature. He was influenced by the\natmosphere around him. In the same way, notwithstanding his own strong\ninclination to grant peace on any terms to the Florentines, he seems\nto have yielded as to his actual policy to the more violent and\nrelentless counsels of the French cardinals, headed by Robert of\nGeneva, who led the Breton companies over the Alps. It might well have\nbeen thought that such a pontiff would not now act against the advice\nand the wishes of all around him, and that the actual state of Italy\nwould be enough to make him adjourn indefinitely his promised journey\nto Rome.\n\nTo such a character it is sometimes everything to have support and\ncompanionship--the mind and the voice of another, however inferior,\nthat seem to give body and life to thoughts and designs not new\nindeed, but which seemed before to belong rather to the world of\ndreams and imaginations than of possible realities; to change wishes\nand longings into practical resolutions; to chase away phantom\ndifficulties, and nerve the will to efforts and sacrifices which the\nconscience {557} has long prompted. With all of us our own ideas and\ndesigns seem sometimes to date their real existence from the moment\nthat we found they were shared by some one else. In the case of\nGregory XI., he seems, before the arrival of Catharine at Avignon, to\nhave been almost alone in his wish to return to Italy; and he had\nalready seen something of St. Bridget, and learnt from intercourse\nwith her what the personal influence of great sanctity might be.\nCatharine at once won his perfect confidence, and her presence gave\nhim the courage to follow out the course which he had long felt to be\nthe right one. It is this which makes it historically true that she\nhad so great a part in the final return of the Holy See from Avignon.\nIt is easy to find reasons why Gregory should have returned; it is\neasy to show that there was danger that an attempt might be made by\nthe Romans to give their city a bishop of their own creation; or, on\nthe other hand, that Gregory had intended to take the step long before\nhe took it. If these things are alleged to show that the influence of\nSt. Catharine has been exaggerated by her historians, they are beside\nthe point. Her providential mission at Avignon was not to put new\nconsiderations before the mind of Gregory, but to strengthen his will\nto act upon considerations already familiar to him.\n\nThe esteem in which the Pope held her was not only manifested by the\nreception he gave her, and by his inviting her even to speak in public\nas to what she thought to be required for the best interests of the\nChurch; it also shielded and defended her from the dislike with which\nher unwelcome presence was viewed by many a magnificent prelate and\nmany a brilliant official of the court of Avignon. The reforms that\nshe spoke of as so necessary, and the return to Rome that she\nrecommended, were equally distasteful to them. Three of the most\nlearned prelates asked leave of the Pope to visit her, and began to\ncatechise her most severely both as to her presumption in coming as\nthe envoy of Florence, and as to her preternatural gifts of prayer and\nher extraordinary mode of life. But they left her overwhelmingly\nconvinced of her sanctity and wonderful gifts. The fine ladies about\nthe court--the sisters, nieces, and relations of the Pope and the\ncardinals--looked on her with instinctive dread. Some of them even\ntried to patronize and make her the fashion; but she either exhorted\nthem plainly to conversion, or turned from them with that stern\nsilence with which her Master received the overtures of the\nblood-stained paramour of Herodias. One of them--a niece of the Pope--\nknelt beside her in apparent devotion, as she was rapt in prayer\nbefore communion, and plunged a needle or bodkin into her bare foot,\nto see whether she could feel it. When her state of abstraction\nceased, Catharine could hardly walk, and her sandal was full of\ncongealed blood. The French king heard of her influence with the Pope,\nand sent his brother, the Duke of Anjou, to dissuade Gregory from\nlistening to her; but Catharine won the respect and admiration of the\nduke, prevailed on him to offer himself for the crusade, and suggested\nhim to the Pope as its captain-in-chief. Then an attempt was made to\ninfluence Gregory by means of the deference that he paid to the advice\nof saintly souls. A forged letter was sent him--as it appears, in the\nname of the holy Peter of Aragon--telling him that if he went to Italy\nhe would be poisoned. Catharine showed him that the letter was not\nsuch as a servant of God would write, and that poison could be given\nhim in France as well as in Italy. After all, the Pope still\nhesitated; he made preparations and issued orders, but it was with\nslowness and reluctance; and at any time a change might come over the\nstate of affairs in Italy that might be the occasion of indefinite\ndelay. One day again he asked her opinion. She said she was a poor\nweak woman; how should she {558} give advice to the sovereign Pontiff?\n\"I do not ask you to counsel me,\" he replied, \"but to tell me what is\nthe will of God.\" Again she excused herself; and Gregory again urged\nher, commanding her at last, by virtue of her obedience, to tell him\nwhat she knew of God's will as to the matter. She bowed her head--\"Who\nknows the will of God better than your holiness, who have promised him\nby vow to return to Rome?\" Gregory had never revealed his vow to\nliving soul; and from that moment his determination was taken. Still\nthe opposition was great and powerful. The cardinals urged him with\nthe example of an excellent Pope, Clement IV., who had never done\nanything without the approval of the Sacred College. Catharine met\ntheir arguments, she even went so far as to urge the Pope to depart\nsecretly, so obstinate and so influential was the party that wished to\nretain him in France. At length, on September 13, 1376, amid the\nremonstrances of his family and the tears of his aged father, as well\nas the sullen complaints of the whole court, Gregory XI. left Avignon.\nCatharine had remained to the last, and then went on foot with her\ncompanions to Genoa, whither the Pope was to pass by sea. It seemed as\nif every kind of influence that could beat down his courage was to be\nallowed to work upon the failing heart of Gregory. Everything that\ncould be turned into a bad omen was carefully noted. His horse refused\nto let him mount; then it became so restive that another had to be\nbrought. As he passed by Novis, Orgon, and Aix to Marseilles,\neverywhere the inhabitants were in tears and gloom. Marseilles itself,\nwhen he came to embark, was the scene of a grand explosion of grief.\nThen there came the terrors of a dangerous voyage, from the extremely\nsevere weather encountered by the fleet. The grand master of the\nKnights of St. John himself took the helm of the galley in which the\nPope sailed--a weather-beaten veteran, accustomed to perils of all\nsorts, who had to exert all his skill under the storm that came on as\nthey made across toward Genoa. They were obliged to put into\nVillafranca for some days. It was not till the 18th of October,\nsixteen days after leaving Marseilles, that Genoa was reached. Here\nthe Pope was met by bad news from Rome and from Florence; the\nFlorentines, alarmed at his approach, were preparing for the most\ndesperate hostilities; the Romans seemed quite unwilling to put the\ngovernment of the city into his hands. A consistory was held (the\ngreater number of the cardinals were with the Pope), and the\nresolution was adopted not to proceed further with the journey. All\nseemed lost; but Catharine with her company was in Genoa. The Pope\nsought her out--it is said, by night; and from her calm and fervent\nwords gained fresh strength and courage to pursue his journey to the\nend.  [Footnote 85]\n\n  [Footnote 85: See Capecelatro, \"_Storia di Santa Catarina_,\" lib.\n  v., p. 222, 2d ed.]\n\nSo, after ten days spent at Genoa, the fleet once more put to sea, to\nbe driven again into Porto Fino, where the feast of All Saints was\nkept. It arrived at Leghorn on the 7th of November, and there again\nlingered ten or eleven days. As far as Piombino all went well. When\nthe galleys left that port, another storm--the most violent of all\nthey had met with--arose, and drove them back shattered and disabled;\nthree cardinals were seriously ill, one of whom died at Pisa a few\ndays later. At last Corneto was reached on December 6, more than two\nmonths after the departure from Marseilles. Gregory remained there for\nseveral weeks to regain his strength, and then sailed up the Tiber,\nlanding near the basilica of St. Paul on January 17, 1377, the day\nbefore the feast of the Roman Chair of St Peter. His entrance was a\ntriumph that seemed to promise him every security for peace and\ntranquillity; and the joy and devotion of the Romans may {559} have\ntaken away for the moment the mournful feelings with which he had\nturned his back on France. Thus, a year and a half after the\nrevolution at Florence, which, had caused so rapid and widespread a\ndefection among the cities of the Pontifical States, and seemed to\nthreaten the very existence of the temporal power of the Church, these\nvery events, which might have seemed likely to furnish reason for the\nprolonged exile of the papacy, brought about, under the providence of\nGod, the fulfilment of the resolution to return to Rome which the Pope\nhad so long delayed to accomplish. The instrument of the deliverance\nof the Holy See from its dangerous position was the envoy of its\nrebellious children, the humble maiden from Siena.\n\n------\n\nA CHRISTMAS CAROL.\n\nBY AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n\n  Primeval night had repossess'd\n    Her empire in the fields of peace;\n  Calm lay the kine on earth's dark breast;\n    The earth lay calm in heaven's embrace.\n\n  That hour, where shepherds kept their flocks,\n    From God a glory sudden fell;\n  The splendor smote the trees and rocks.\n    And lay like dew along the dell.\n\n  God's angel close beside them stood:\n    \"Fear naught,\" that angel said, and then,\n  \"Behold, I bring you tidings good:\n    The Saviour Christ is born to men.\"\n\n  And straightway round him myriads sang\n    Loud song again, and yet again,\n  Till all the hollow valley rang\n    \"Glory to God, and peace to men.\"\n\n  The shepherds went and wondering eyed,\n    In Bethlehem born, the heavenly stranger.\n  Mary and Joseph knelt beside:\n    The Babe was cradled in the manger!\n\n------\n\n{560}\n\nFrom The St. James Magazine.\n\nLAW AND LITERATURE.\n\n\nNotwithstanding the seeming incongruity, there subsists a very\nintimate connection between law and literature. To the legal\nprofession, more than any other, we are indebted for the magnitude and\nsplendor of our literature. Nor is it only with one or two branches or\ndivisions of literature that the connection exists. On the contrary,\nthere is scarcely a single department in which the legal profession is\nnot represented. History, biography, philosophy, metaphysics, poetry,\nthe drama, fiction, oratory, criticism, and even theology, have all\nbeen contributed to by men who at one time or other were connected\nwith the legal profession. Nor is the literature which has emanated\nfrom that source of a superficial or evanescent nature. Much of it has\npassed away, and is now almost unknown; but a great deal still\nremains, forming some of the best and most endurable of our classics.\nAnd these contributions have been--and still are being--made in spite\nof the opposition and discountenance of the legal profession itself.\n\nThere is an opinion very prevalent among the public generally, and the\nlegal profession in particular, that the study of literature is at\nvariance and inconsistent with the study of law; that the more the\nformer is indulged in, the more the latter will decline. In support of\nthis opinion we are told that very few men have distinguished\nthemselves in both avocations; that men of great literary attainments\nhave seldom risen to eminence in the legal profession. That is, no\ndoubt, true; but I attribute it to a very different cause. I consider\nthat the study of literature must have a beneficial effect upon a\nlawyer, provided that it is made subservient to the business of his\nprofession.\n\nThe duties which lawyers are called upon to discharge are many and\nvarious, and consequently a vast deal of general knowledge is\nindispensable to the formation of a really good lawyer. It is not\nsufficient that he is well versed in legal principles and precedents.\nWithout these he cannot succeed in his profession; but they are not\nthe only requisites. There are many cases in which legal principle and\nprecedent are only of secondary importance. It is when he is called\nupon to deal with such cases that the lawyer feels the advantages of\nvaried information. If he is ignorant of almost everything but law, he\nmust be painfully aware of his utter incompetence to do justice to his\nclient. He is compelled to grope his way like a man in the dark; he\nwanders at random, stumbling over everything that lies in his path,\nand ends, it may be, by falling into a ditch from which he vainly\nattempts to extricate himself--every attempt only causing him to sink\ndeeper--and is at last compelled to call for help. But it is different\nwith the man who, in addition to his legal knowledge, is possessed of\nmuch general and varied information. He can always see his way, and,\nif assistance is necessary, he knows where to seek for, and seldom\nfails in obtaining it. It is only to a lawyer of this latter stamp\nthat any man with his eyes open would intrust the care of interests\nwhich involved other than strictly legal questions.\n\nNow if it be true that a large amount of general knowledge is\nnecessary to the formation of a really good lawyer, then it must be\nadmitted that the study {561} of literature is an indispensable part\nof his professional education. The arts and sciences are all\nrepresented in literature; and it is only in the study of literature\nthat the requisite general information can be gained. The error\nappears to me to consist in confounding the term _literature_ with\n_amusing literature_. This confusion of terms is very common; but it\nis also very absurd. When I speak of \"literature,\" I use the word in\nits most comprehensive sense; and if I were to be understood as\nmeaning solely \"amusing literature,\" my meaning would be grossly\nperverted. There is no ground for accepting a limited interpretation\nunless the term used is expressly qualified.\n\nEase, fluency, and polish, not only in speaking, but also in writing,\nare likewise indispensable to a lawyer, particularly in the higher\nwalks of the profession. In order to attain these requisites,\nconciseness, concentration, and arrangement of thought must be\ndiligently studied. There is nothing which tends more to the\nacquirement of such qualities than the careful examination of them as\ndisplayed in the writings and speeches of others, and the frequent\nexpression of our own thoughts, both in writing and in speech. Law\ntreatises, it need scarcely be said, are not conspicuous as models of\neither ease, fluency, or polish; and therefore the lawyer who aspires\nto these accomplishments must seek elsewhere for his models. In this\nrespect, also, the study of literature is beneficial to the lawyer;\nand if attentive reading be accompanied with frequent careful writing\nand speaking, he cannot fail ultimately to gain the objects of his\ndesire. If the members of the legal profession would bestow more pains\nthan they do to the acquisition of a good style of writing and\nspeaking, the advantages which would accrue to them would greatly\noutweigh all the trouble incurred. I have seen letters and even\npleadings written, and heard speeches delivered, by men of eminence in\nthe legal profession, which displayed either the grossest carelessness\nor the most lamentable ignorance of the rules, not only of\ncomposition, but also of grammar; and such as would have been almost\ninexcusable in a schoolboy. It is a common notion that elegance is not\nrequired, and is out of place in law papers and in letters. I for one\ncannot agree in that opinion. An elegant style is always desirable. It\nis preposterous to assert--as many people do--that attention to style\nbegets a habit of neglecting the substance for the sake of the shadow.\nOn the contrary, an elegant style adds to the effect both of speech\nand writing; and therefore it ought to be cultivated by every lawyer.\n\nSo much for the general objection that the study of literature is\nincompatible with the study of law. I think I have said quite\nsufficient to show that it ought to form a part of the education of\nevery lawyer. But with reference to the proof of the assertion, that\nmen of distinguished literary attainments have seldom risen to\neminence in the legal profession, I could name many men who have\nrendered themselves conspicuous for their literary abilities, and, at\nthe same time, gained the highest honors of their profession. Yet I\nadmit that overwhelming evidence of a contrary nature might easily be\nadduced; but I do not admit the reason to be that the one profession\nis incompatible with the other. I maintain the reverse. The reason why\ncomparatively few lawyers have risen to eminence, both in literature\nand in law, appears to me to be simply this, that whenever their\nliterary leanings became known, the opportunity was denied them of\ndistinguishing themselves in their profession; the consequence of\nwhich was that they abandoned the study of law altogether, and betook\nthemselves to the more agreeable and less laborious occupation of\nliterature. And it must also be borne in mind that law is not always\nstudied with the view of engaging in its practice; but often with the\n{562} sole purpose of gaining admission to the bar for the sake of its\nsocial advantages, or with the aim of acquiring such a knowledge as\nwill be useful in legislative discussion.\n\nI now proceed to consider the causes which lead to the intimate\nconnection between law and literature. I do not think they are\ndifficult of explanation. Speaking generally, it may be said that the\nlawyers who have distinguished themselves in literature have been for\nthe most part members of the bar. Comparatively few have been members\nof the other branches of the profession. In England intending\nbarristers must be students of an inn of court for three years,\n[Footnote 86] during which time they are not permitted to engage in\nany business. In Scotland, too, every applicant for admission into the\nfaculty of advocates must have graduated either in arts or in laws; or\nundergo an examination in Latin, Greek (or in his option, in lieu of\nGreek, two of the following languages, viz., French, German, Italian,\nand Spanish), ethical and metaphysical philosophy, and logic or (in\nhis option) mathematics, beside an examination in the civil law and\nthe law of Scotland; and one year must be passed without an\noccupation. Having been called to the bar, a few years generally\nelapse before much business is intrusted to them, and often it never\ncomes at all. During all this time something must be done--An\noccupation of some kind must be found either for pleasure or to kill\ntime; or it may be to earn a means of subsistence. Literature--to\nwhich their previous training inclines them--is the only employment\nwhich is available; and accordingly literature is resorted to. A taste\nfor letters is thus fostered. Its gratification has a twofold\nadvantage, it affords both pleasure and profit. It becomes a habit,\nand is indulged in on every available occasion. There is always plenty\nof leisure, at least for many, years, and that leisure is devoted to\nliterature. The employment is so seductive that in many cases its\nlegal votaries are drawn away from their regular studies--which\nunfortunately often happen not to be profitable in a pecuniary sense--\nand adopt literature as a profession. Even lawyers with a large\npractice can occasionally find time for indulging in literary\npursuits. During vacation they have plenty of leisure, and as they are\naccustomed to constant hard work in session, they experience a want\nand a craving whenever the have nothing to do, and this they endeavor\nto satisfy by devoting themselves to literature. Many of the most\neminent men at the bar occupy the greater portion of their spare time\nin literary studies.\n\n [Footnote 86: Now, before being admitted as _students_ they must have\n passed a public examination at an university, or undergo an\n examination in Latin, English language, and English history.]\n\nThe practice of law eminently qualifies a man for attaining\ndistinction in literature. It engenders rapidity of thought,\nsystematic arrangement of arguments and ideas, and facility of\nexpression. Lawyers in the enjoyment of any considerable practice are\nalmost constantly called upon to form their opinion and give it\nexpression, apparently without time for even the most superficial\nreflection. Continual exercise renders these easy to them. In setting\nforth their arguments both in written and in oral pleadings they are\ntrained to habits of carefulness and close reasoning; because they\nknow very well that any inconsistencies or false reasoning will at\nonce be discovered by the judges whom they are addressing, or by the\nopposite counsel. What would impose upon a jury, or upon an ordinary\nreader or listener, will not impose either upon the judges or opposing\ncounsel. They are thus led to say what they wish to say in the\nclearest manner, and in the way which is most likely to succeed in\ngaining the object in view. As they are compelled to avoid false\nreasoning and inconsistencies themselves, so they are ever on the\noutlook for them on the part of {563} an opponent--it becomes, in\nfact, a habit. Again, the various duties which they are called upon to\ndischarge enable them to pass from one subject to another with ease\nand readiness, and compel them to acquire a vast amount of general\ninformation which is carefully stored up for future use. The habits\nthus engendered and constantly exercised, either in written pleading\nor in oral debate, are easily transferred to literature when that is\nindulged in. As perspicuity, arrangement, and close reasoning are the\nvery qualities which lead to literary success, and as these are more\nexercised and consequently more perfect among lawyers than among any\nother class of men, the reason why they occupy such an eminent\nposition in literature is easily understood.\n\nThere are two departments of literature to which the foregoing\nobservations are applicable only to a limited extent--poetry and\nfiction. In many respects poetry and fiction are analogous: and the\nold adage, \"_Poeta nascitur, non fit_,\" may, therefore, with almost\nequal propriety, be applied to the writer of fiction. However true it\nmay be that the poet _is born_, there can be no doubt that the\ndevelopment of the poetic faculty is quite as much a matter of hard\nstudy and practice as the development of any other inborn faculty. The\nstudy of law is the opposite of poetical; but this very antagonism\nbegets in the lawyer, by comparison, a keener relish for and\nappreciation of poetry, when he turns to it in his hours of leisure.\nAnd if he is gifted with the \"faculty divine,\" the delight taken in\nits cultivation will be greater, because it is to him a relief from\nthe dry details of his ordinary pursuits. He sees, too, so much of\nhuman life--of character and passion--in the course of his\nprofessional career, that he is enabled to delineate with truth, with\nstrict adherence to reality, the feelings and emotions which he\nattempts to exhibit in the creatures of his imagination. These,\ncombined with the habits of continuity of thought and forcible\nexpression engendered by his professional studies, must contribute in\nno slight degree to his success as a poet or novelist. I do not mean\nto say that any lawyer may write a good novel or poem if he will only\napply himself to the task. All I assert is that if he is gifted with\nthe poetic faculty, his professional studies, when properly attended\nto, will contribute materially to his success as a poet or novelist.\n\n------\n\nMISCELLANY.\n\n\n_Fossil Wood in Flint_.--An interesting specimen of this kind, which\nis in the Oxford collection, has lately been described and figured in\na paper by Professor Phillips. The nodule of flint, which, when broken\nacross, disclosed the contained wood, was of an elongated oval form,\nand had the uneven and knotted surface which frequently indicates\naggregation on a sponge. The fractured surface showed partial change\nof color by watery action from without, and many variations of tint\nwithin, arising from some original differences in the composition of\nthe mass. The color was, on the whole, somewhat lighter than is common\nin flints of the \"Upper Chalk.\" Examined with a lens, it showed traces\nof spicula and other organic bodies; but it was impossible to trace\nthrough the mass a distinct spongy structure. The wood lay in the\ncentre, and the figure of the flint was, in a general sense, conformed\nto it, and embraced it equally on all sides. There was a certain\ndistinctness of color in the flint {564} where it lay in contact with\nthe wood. The wood was a fragment worn and rounded in some of the\nprominent parts, and looked like a small portion of a pine branch\nwhich had been exposed to rough treatment, so as to present a wasted\nsurface deprived of the bark. It was entirely siliceous, and exhibited\nits vegetable structure most perfectly. Traversing the woody fibres\nwere several short, tubular masses swollen at the end, and marked more\nor less plainly with transverse rings. These Professor Phillips\nsupposed to be flint moulds of cavities left by boring shells,\nprobably _Teredinidae_. It would appear that these animals must have\nbegun their operations in a young state on the wood, when it was\nreduced to its present form and size; for the moulds which remain in\ntheir holes appear to be quite small at the surface, and to expand\ninternally. The writer of the paper becomes absolutely poetical in his\nspeculations upon the remnant of extinct vegetation which he\ndescribed. He writes: \"Far away from the Cretaceous Sea of Albion,\namong the mountains previously uplifted in the West, from which had\nflowed the great river of the Wealden, we see a forest of coniferous\ntrees. Whirled and broken to fragments by the rushing stream which\nreceived their decaying stems, the ruins of the forest reach the sea,\nand some few pieces float far from the shore beyond the area of\ndeposited mud and drifted sand. Attacked by xylophagous mollusks, and\nsinking to the ocean bed, one, at least, serves as the nucleus for\norganic growth and accretion.\" Professor Phillips does not here refer\nto ordinary accretion; he conceives of the block as first surrounded\nby organic matter, and then, when buried in the cretaceous deposit,\nserving as a centre of attraction for siliceous solutions, such as\nhave more than filled to solidity the tissues of sponges.--_Popular\nScience Review_.\n\n\n\n_The Removal of Neuralgic Pain_.--It has lately been stated in some of\nthe French journals that Dr. Caminiti, of Messina, has discovered a\nremedy for certain forms of neuralgia. A patient of his had long been\nsuffering from trifacial neuralgia; she could not bear to look at\nluminous objects, her eyes were constantly watering, and she was in\nconstant pain. Blisters, preparations of belladonna, and hydrochlorate\nof morphine, friction with tincture of aconite, pills of acetate of\nmorphine and camphor, subcarbonate of iron, etc., had been employed\nwith but partial success, or none whatever. At length Dr. Caminiti,\nattributing the obstinacy of the affection to the variations of\ntemperature so frequent in Sicily, adopted the expedient of covering\nall the painful parts with a coating of collodion containing a certain\nproportion of hydrochlorate of morphine. This treatment was perfectly\nsuccessful; the relief was instantaneous and permanent, and the\ncoating fell off in the course of one or two days.\n\n\n\n_The Maltese Fossil Elephant_.--The curious pigmy pachyderm whose\nremains were some time ago discovered in the Maltese bone-caves, has\nbeen indefatigably investigated by its original discoverer, Dr. Leith\nAdams. This gentleman has recently met with further relics of the\nfossil elephant in several new localities. He met with its teeth in\ngreat quantities in a cavern near Crendi. In a gap, evidently at one\ntime the bed of a torrent, he has discovered the teeth and bones of\nthirty more individuals. The skeletons are met with jammed between\nlarge blocks of stone in a way which shows clearly that the carcases\nmust have been hurled into their present situations by violent floods\nor freshets. Dr. Adams has now almost completed the skeleton of this\nwonderful little representative of an order which, till this discovery\nwas recorded, had been commonly termed gigantic. Dr. Adams concludes,\nfrom his numerous inquiries, that the Maltese elephant did not exceed\nthe height of a small pony.\n\n\n\n_The Volcanic District of Chili_.--Some short time since, M. Pissis,\nthe great explorer of South American geology, transmitted to M. Elie\nde Beaumont an elaborate description of the volcanic regions of Chili.\nHe found the volcano of Chillans again in a state of eruption. This is\na very rare circumstance in the volcanoes of the Andes, where the\neruptions generally succeed each other only at very long intervals.\nThe present eruption, which is much more extensive than the last one,\ncommenced toward the end of last November, at a new point, situated\nabout 200 metres below the summit of the grand cone, the new cone\nhaving toward the end of January attained a height of fifty {565}\nmetres. The lava, escaping by two apertures near the summit, had\nalready reached the vast glacier surrounding this massive volcano. The\ngrand cone, which was covered with snow during the eruption, had the\nappearance of being completely bare, yet the snow had not been melted,\nbut was covered with a great quantity of projected substances, which\nformed a layer over the snow of many decimetres in thickness. The\nalternation of glaciers with layers of scoriae are frequently met with\nin the volcanic cones of the Andes; wherever natural clefts occur, a\ngreat number of these layers may be seen successively superposed. The\nvolcano of Antuco, visited last year, had been in eruption on a small\nscale in 1863. As no solid bodies were being projected at the time of\nhis visit, M. Pissis was enabled to examine the interior of the\ncrater, and, favored by a strong westerly wind, to observe it without\nbeing annoyed by the acid vapors which escape in abundance. The\nprincipal column of vapor proceeded from an aperture nearly circular,\nbeing recognized as that through which the lava had escaped. Its\ndiameter was only from four to five feet.\n\n\n_Transferring Photographs to Metal for Printing_--Some months since we\ncalled attention to some very promising experiments in this direction,\nconducted by Mr. Woodbury, of Manchester. These have resulted in a\nprocess recently patented, which is likely to assume a very important\nposition in the arts. Mr. Fox Talbot has the merit of first pointing\nout the facta upon which it is based. This gentleman, to whom\nphotographers too often forget how much they owe, discovered in\nconnection with one of his photo-engraving processes that gelatine\nwhen dissolved in hot water, if mixed with bichromate of potash or\nammonia, dried, and exposed to the action of light, would become\ninsoluble--a result due to the decomposition of the alkaline\nbichromate and the liberation of chromic acid. It will at once,\ntherefore, be seen that a coat of the bichromated gelatine on a glass\nor metal plate placed under a negative and exposed to light, would,\nwhen subjected to the action of hot water, be dissolved away in some\nparts, and in other parts unaffected, thus producing a photographic\npositive _in relief_. Acting on these facts, Mr. Woodbury takes the\nimage in relief so produced, and either by mechanical pressure with\nsome soft metal, such as type metal, or by the usual process of\nelectrotyping, produces an _intaglio_ impression therefrom. A properly\nprepared ink, formed with gelatine and some black or other colored\npigment, is then passed over the plate, with which the impression is\nfilled up even to the surface. Of course the gradations of _relief_ in\nthe bichromatic gelatine print form gradations of _depth_ in the metal\nintaglio, in which again the ink, being transparent, forms gradations\nof blackness proportioned to its varying thicknesses. When this ink is\ntransferred to paper, delivered as a jelly is from its mold, the\ndelicate tints, the deepest shadows, and the intermediate gradations\nof the photographic negative are faithfully reproduced. In preparing\nthe relievo, two ounces of gelatine are dissolved in six of water, and\nto this is added three-quarters of an ounce of lump sugar. Four ounces\nof a solution containing sixty grains of bichromate of ammonia to the\nounce being added to this, the whole is then, while quite warm,\nstrained. A plate of glass is next covered with a sheet of talc\ntemporarily fixed by a few drops of water; the talc is coated with the\nabove, and being sensitive to light, is placed in the dark to set.\nThis done, the coated talc is removed, a negative laid over the talc,\nand exposed to light in the usual way, the only change being that of\ncausing the light to pass through a glass condenser and fall on it in\na parallel direction. The hot water is then applied as above stated.\nIn order to insure perfect flatness while the cast is being taken, the\ntalc side of the film should be again fastened to a plate of glass\nwith Canada balsam. Mr. Woodbury calculates that with three or four\npresses going, these mechanically printed photographs could be\nproduced at the rate of 120 per hour. Apart from ordinary purposes,\nthe process can be applied to glass for transparencies; to china for\nburning in with enamel colors; to the production, at a cheaper rate,\nof porcelain transparencies, etc., etc. At present the prints\nexhibited are said to lack clearness; and the high relief of the\nextreme darks is also objected to.--_Popular Science Review_.\n\n{566}\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nMEMOIR AND SERMONS OF THE REV. FRANCIS A. BAKER,\nPriest of the Congregation of St. Paul. Edited by the Rev. A. F.\nHewit. Crown octavo, 504 pp. New York: Lawrence Kehoe.\n\nNow and then, in our way through this world, we encounter persons of a\npeculiar character, so placidly gentle in their manners, so unworldly\nin all their ways, that they do not seem fairly to belong to this\nworld at all. Not that they are melancholy, reserved, and unsocial. On\nthe contrary, they play their own part in society thoroughly and well;\nso well, indeed, so thoroughly do they harmonize in every circle where\nthey may be thrown, so little they display of that roughness and\nrudeness, that froward importunity, that obstinate self-will,\nself-conceit, and self-devotion which are so common among us, although\nwe acknowledge them as blemishes upon our nature--in fine, so much\nmore perfectly do they wear the garment of humanity than we ourselves,\nand so easily, that they seem like better creatures from a better\nworld, mingling among us like good angels sent hither to exhibit\nbefore our eyes the perfect type of a true manhood. Of course, all men\nhave their temptations and imperfections, but the ordinary life of\nsome rare men is such as we have described; so they appear before the\nworld, and so they live in the memories of their friends. So will\nFather Baker long live in many memories. That joyous face, that sweet\nsmile, that gentle voice, that soft step, have passed away. One may\nvisit the Paulists still in their convent, and a thousand attractions\nlead us there, but we shall miss Father Baker. So quietly, so easily,\nso naturally he dropped into his place--and everyplace was his that\ncharity, and courtesy, and Christian zeal found open--no one could\nappreciate how much he did, what large areas he occupied on this scene\nof life, until he was taken away. Who will now make up the loss to his\nbrethren? Who will take his place in the missions? Who will comfort\nand sustain that long line of penitents? Who will guide the feet of\nthose converts? Who will supply in the churches that silver voice, now\nsoft as the flute, now thrilling like the trumpet, that roused us and\nwarned us, that pierced our hearts betimes as with a sword, and yet so\nkindly that we would not wish to escape unwounded? Our sorrow for such\na loss can find no refuge but in resignation. \"The Lord gave, And the\nLord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.\"\n\nIn this volume of memoirs F. Hewit has undertaken a far greater task\nthan merely to respond to the fond recollection of friends, or to pay\na tribute to the memory of a good priest. He has made a most valuable\ncontribution to the Catholic literature of this country. One of the\nmost pregnant periods in the history of our American Church is that\nduring which Father Baker was either a student or a Protestant\npreacher. That aspiration toward Catholicism called Puseyism\n(although, in truth, Dr. Pusey was not its chief ruling and guiding\nspirit) which swelled in the hearts of so many members of the Church\nof England, so called, who struggled for a reformation, or\nrestoration, until their great water-logged craft, timbered, and\ntinkered, and coppered by so many sovereigns and parliaments, shook\nand trembled in every joint, and which finally burst forth in a flood\nof conversions to the Catholic Church--that memorable movement gave\nbirth to a parallel agitation here, and with the same results. In no\npart of the country perhaps, New York excepted, was the storm greater\nthan in the diocese of Baltimore, where Father Baker and his\nbiographer then resided. In these memoirs we see graphically portrayed\nthe rising, the swelling, and the various fluctuations of that storm.\nAll this belongs to Catholic history, and Catholics ought to know it.\nEpiscopalians are glad to forget those days, and no writer of theirs\nwill dare to recall the stirring scenes which displayed their own\nreligion in its poverty and helplessness, and drove so many gallant\nbut tempest-weary souls into the haven of the true Church. Those,\nhowever, who like Father Hewit participated in this revival of true\nfaith, and had the courage to follow the truth which it {567}\nunfolded, have no reason to be ashamed of the history, and he gives it\nin life-like colors. This part of his task is charmingly done. We have\nhere descriptions of Baltimore and its churches, both Anglican and\nCatholic; early rambles of the author with Father Baker through the\ncity, when a secret impulse led them so often to visit the Catholic\nsanctuaries, especially that quiet little Sulpician church of St.\nMary's--sweet and holy spot it is indeed; the amusing efforts of the\nProtestant bishop and his disciples to ape Catholicism, at least in\nits exterior dress, with their long cassocks, crosses, their profound\nbows before naked altars draped in broadcloth or velvet, like\ndrawing-room tables; the very natural wrath of the Low-Churchmen--all\nthis is placed before us very naturally, and with a life-like\nsimplicity. Our biographer has had, moreover, the good judgment to\nrecognize what great questions are involved in the life of a convert\nsuch as Father Baker, and he takes them up directly and boldly. The\npretensions of Anglicanism to be a branch of the universal Church, and\na representative to the world of Catholicism, are exposed with a\nstraightforward, nervous logic which leaves poor donkey little room to\nsport the lion's skin.\n\nPerhaps the most interesting portion of these valuable memoirs is that\nwhich contains a series of letters, written by Father Baker to an\nintimate friend, during the last ten years before his conversion.\nThere are chasms in this correspondence, but they are well filled up\nby the explanations of his biographer. We have here a glimpse of his\ninner life, and a chart is given us, imperfect, of course, but deeply\ninteresting, of that pathway by which he was led to the Church. It\ncommences with the pleasing delusions of a young _Puseyite_ who looked\nupon his own insulated communion as the great Church Catholic, and his\nlittle table within the chancel as an altar of sacrifice, and his\ncross, and candlesticks, and other clandestine playthings, as\nlegitimate heirlooms of Anglican devotion. Thus he writes: \"Your\nbrother told me of his intended repairs in his church. I am delighted\nto hear it. It will not be long, I hope, before such is the universal\narrangement of our churches. Only one thing will be lacking (if he has\na cross), the candlesticks. I have come to the conclusion that we have\na perfect right to them, for they will come in by the Church\ncommon-law, as the surplice did\" (p. 71). By-and-bye comes a change.\n\"The workings of a mind and heart struggling with doubt and\ndisquietude, weary of a hollow and unreal system, weaned from all\nworldly hopes, detaching itself from all earthly ties, and striving\nafter truth and after God, become more and more manifest, until at\nlast, after seven long years, the result is reached.\" The result is\nannounced in the following brief and startling communication to his\nfriend:\n\n  BALTIMORE, April 5, 1858.\n  MY DEAR DWIGHT: The decision is made. I have resigned my parish, and\n  am about to place myself under instruction preparatory to my being\n  received into the Catholic Church. I can write no more at present.\n  May God help you. \"Your affectionate friend,\n    \"FRANCIS A. BAKER.\"\n\nThree years after this, namely, in the summer of 1856, commenced\nFather Baker's career as a Catholic priest and missionary, which\ncontinued until his death. During this time his active life was bound\nup with that of his associates, first in the Redemptorist order, and\nthen in the new congregation of St. Paul, formed by himself and his\nfellow-missionaries. His biographer, therefore, furnishes us a\ndescription of those protracted spiritual exercises called \"Missions,\"\nwith a brief history of their introduction into this country. Then\nfollows an account of those missions in which Father Baker took part,\nor rather it is a portfolio of pictures in which the more serious\nlabors of the mission are shadowed in the perspective, while gay\ngroups of various kinds and colors are made to figure in the\nforeground. Father Hewit has given himself a great latitude,\naccommodating himself to the literary tastes of our day, and his\nreaders will certainly thank him for it. When these missionary\ncampaigns were actually going on, it was hard toil all the year round,\nand little play; but in retracing their course with us our author\navoids the dry details, which would involve much repetition, and\nrecalls in preference the sunshiny hours of relaxation, and the\npleasing incidents which befel them on their way and relieved their\nlabors. Turning away, therefore, boldly from the regular highway of\nbiography, we are conducted hither and {568} thither in a professional\nramble around the United States. \"Follow my leader\" is the word, and\ndown the lanes we go, and over the fences, and into the green fields.\nNow we find ourselves in Savannah, chatting with the old negro\npreacher as he sits \"in the sun, on a little stool, holding his cow by\na rope around her horns, while she nibbles the grass that grows along\nthe streets.\" Now we are gazing on the gentleman hermit of Edgefield,\nin rags, and bare-footed, fasting on bread and water, and reading the\n\"Fathers of the Desert,\" \"Brownson's Review,\" and other ascetical\nbooks good for hermits. Now, again, we mingle with a motley company on\na coasting steamer, while the philosopher and the spiritualist are\ndiscussing the question, \"Can God annihilate space?\" The next moment\nwe are at St. Augustine, in the casemates of the old fort or castle of\nSt. Marco, and take a look at the narrow loop-hole through which,\nafter a course of rigid fasting, the Seminole chief Wild Cat was\nenabled to escape to his home in the everglades. Presently we follow\nFather Baker and his comrades to Charleston, where, then, \"all was\npeace, Sumter solitary and silent, untenanted by a single soldier.\"\nSoon, again, we are in New York, then in New Jersey, then among the\ncoal mines of Pennsylvania, and then (seriously and not profanely be\nit said) we go to Halifax. Kalamazoo, Covington, Quebec, St. Louis,\nare visited in their turn, and a host of other places huddled together\nin that small area to which these wandering apostles restrict their\nlabors. We like this seven-year trip with Father Baker and the\nPaulists, and we like the free, off-hand, and original way in which F.\nHewit curries us through it, with all his digressions. These\ndigressions may be sins against the rules of biographical composition,\nbut if so they are \"capital\" ones.\n\nThe last fifteen pages of the memoirs contain the story of Father\nBaker's sickness and death; a sad story, indeed, but sadly sweet to\nthose who knew him well. Their eyes will be watered with tears as they\nread it, but happy tears, such drops as form the rainbow when the sun\nsmiles on the summer shower. There was a light from heaven on the\ndeath-bed of Father Baker that is stronger than our grief.\n\nThe volume contains twenty-nine sermons of Father Baker, chiefly\nparochial discourses, with a few others selected from those he was\naccustomed to preach on the missions. It is unnecessary for us to make\nany comment on these. His eloquence and his style are well known. He\nwas a model preacher, as well as a model Christian and a model priest.\nThe art of sacred eloquence is little understood among us, and\ntherefore we hail this contribution to it with enthusiasm. It will\nshow the young pulpit orator how the Word of God will admit of\nlegitimate ornament, which is neither derived from the theatre, the\nlecture-room, nor the political rostrum. We never listened to a\npreacher of whom it can be more appropriately said: _\"How beautiful\nupon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, and\nthat preacheth salvation.\"_\n\nThis work is well printed on super-fine paper and handsomely bound. We\nhave no doubt that the numerous friends of Father Baker will be glad\nto obtain this delightful memoir of his life and labors.\n\n\nTHE TEMPORAL MISSION OF THE HOLY GHOST.\nBy Henry Edward Manning, D.D., Archbishop of Westminster. New York: D.\nAppleton & Co.\n\nThe Messrs. Appleton have again rendered a great service to the\nreading public, especially the Catholic portion of it, by republishing\na standard work in English Catholic literature. The author of this\nwork, Archbishop Manning, was formerly a dignified clergyman of the\nEstablished Church of England, and one of the leaders of the Oxford\nmovement. He was the Archdeacon of Chichester, a position in the\nEnglish Church next in rank to the episcopate, and conferring a\nquasi-episcopal dignity and jurisdiction. He is said to have possessed\nin the highest degree the confidence of the English government, and to\nhave been the person most frequently consulted concerning political\nmeasures relating to the interests of the ecclesiastical\nestablishment. The _London Weekly Register_ states, on what it claims\nto be authentic information, that he was marked for promotion to the\nepiscopal bench. But, far beyond the distinction conferred on him by\nhierarchical position, was the influence which he wielded by the\nsimple force of his intellectual and moral superiority. His writings,\nespecially a treatise {569} on \"The Unity of the Church,\" raised him\nto the first rank as an advocate of the principles of the High-Church\nparty. In the first stage of the Oxford movement, he was considered a\nmore safe and judicious advocate of its principles than Dr. Pusey and\nMr. Newman, and his name and opinions had more weight with the bishops\nand the superior clergy on account of the calm, moderate, and\nthoroughly ecclesiastical spirit and tone of his character and\nwritings. After Mr. Newman's conversion, Archdeacon Manning succeeded\nin a great measure to his vacant throne, and held it for about six\nyears. He led the second great movement from Oxford to Rome, and his\nconversion, which occurred in 1851, made nearly as great a sensation,\non both sides of the Atlantic, as that of Mr. Newman had done in 1845.\nSix months after his reception into the Catholic Church he was\nordained priest. Some time after he joined the \"Oblates of St.\nCharles,\" a religious congregation founded by St. Charles Borromeo,\nand established a house in London, of which he was appointed the\nsuperior. He received also the appointment of provost of the Cathedral\nof Westminster and was decorated by the Holy Father with the title of\na Roman prelate. During the thirteen years of his priesthood he has\nbeen most actively and zealously employed in laboring for the\nadvancement of the Catholic faith, chiefly by preaching, writing\nbooks, and privately instructing converts from the educated classes,\nin which latter work he has been remarkably successful. It is probably\nfor this reason that, in spite of his remarkable amenity of mind and\ncharacter, and the extreme courtesy and gentleness which characterize\nhis controversial writings, he has been regarded and spoken of by the\nEnglish in so hostile a manner, and that his appointment to the see of\nWestminster seemed to awaken a feeling of resentment. The mind and\ncharacter of Archbishop Manning are sure, however, to command, in the\nlong run, the respect of all classes of men, however widely they may\ndiffer from him in their theological opinions; and although certain\nEnglish susceptibilities may have been unpleasantly irritated by his\nelevation, yet the general verdict will agree that the Holy Father has\nplaced a most worthy successor in the vacant chair of the illustrious\nCardinal Wiseman.\n\nIn the book before us the author treats of the office of the Holy\nGhost, as sent by the Father and the Son in the temporal order; that\nis, in the order established in time, through which the principal\noperation _ab extra_ of the Blessed Trinity is accomplished, viz., the\nredemption of the human race. In a very interesting introduction he\ntakes occasion to explain in part the motives of his conversion, by\npointing out the connection between the Catholic doctrines which he\nheld as an Anglican and their complements in the full system of\nCatholicism. In the body of the work he discusses the office of the\nHoly Ghost in relation to the Church, to Reason, to Holy Scripture,\nand to the Divine Tradition of the Faith. This includes a very wide\nscope of doctrine, embracing revelation, the medium through which\nrevealed truths are proposed, explicated, and defined; the formation\nof Christian theology and philosophy; the relation of faith to\nscience, and the whole subject of the inspiration and interpretation\nof Scripture.\n\nIf we may be allowed to express a modest opinion on the subject, we\nshould say, that the principal merit of Dr. Manning, as a theological\nwriter, lies in his ability to unfold the analogy of faith, and expose\nthe _inter-communion_, so to speak, of the great truths of natural and\nrevealed religion with one another. He shows pre-eminently in his\nwritings that gift which is denominated in theology \"the gift of\nintelligence;\" that is, the gift by which the mind penetrates the\ninterior essence of the doctrines of faith, and their interior\nrelations. His exposition is in the highest degree luminous, and his\nstyle corresponds in this regard to his thought, so that his treatment\nof the great doctrines declared by the Church appears like a statement\nof self-evident propositions, or a geometrical demonstration in which\nthe problem is proved by simply describing the figure. We have never\nread anything which has given us more satisfaction than his statement\nof the four grand fundamental propositions on which the entire fabric\nof the Catholic doctrine rests. It appears to our mind that in his\nstatement of the nature of the evidence by which reason apprehends the\n{570} being of God, and the credibility of revelation, and afterward\nthe real meaning and contents of the revelation, he has marked out the\noutlines of a sound and correct philosophy of religion, which is so\nmuch needed, and without which the antagonists of revelation cannot be\nadequately refuted on rational principles. We desire to quote one\nsentence, short but pregnant, in illustration of our meaning. After\nstating that he always uses the word \"rationalism\" in an ill sense, he\nproceeds to say:\n\n  \"By rationalism, I do not mean the use of the reason in testing the\n  evidence of a revelation alleged to be divine.\n\n  \"Again, by rationalism I do not mean the perception of the harmony\n  of the divine revelation with the human reason. It is no part of\n  reason to believe that which is contrary to reason, and it is not\n  rationalism to reject it. As reason is a divine gift equally with\n  revelation--the one in nature, the other in grace--discord between\n  them is impossible, and harmony an intrinsic necessity. To recognize\n  this harmony is a normal and vital operation of the reason under the\n  guidance of faith; and the grace of faith elicits an eminent act of\n  the reason, its highest and noblest exercise in the fullest\n  expansion of its powers.\" (Introd., p. 4.)\n\nThe eliciting of this eminent act of the reason to the utmost possible\nextent is at present the great desideratum in theology. It involves\nthe exhibition of the intrinsic harmony between faith and science;\nthat is, of the conformity of revelation, not only as to its extrinsic\nmotives of credibility, but also as to the intrinsic credibility of\nits doctrines to reason. It appears to us that Dr. Manning appreciates\nthe first half of the desideratum more perfectly than the second; and\nthat, in regard to the second, he appreciates more completely what is\nnecessary to convince Anglicans and Orthodox Protestants than what is\nrequisite for rationalists, with whom the chief contest has to be\ncarried on. The main drift of his reasonings goes to establish, in an\nadmirable manner, that Christianity is credible, and that Catholicism\nis identical with Christianity. Orthodox Protestants already believe\nthe first, and whatever difficulties they may have on the subject are\neasily answered by a lucid statement of the grand external proofs of\nthat which they have been educated to accept as a first principle. Of\nthe second, they can be convinced by the exposition of the analogy and\nharmony of the special Catholic dogmas which they have not been taught\nwith those they already believe. Difficulties raised on the side of\nhuman science against the intrinsic credibility of revelation, they\ncan easily dismiss by reverting to their first principle of the\nwell-established verity of divine revelation, as resting on extrinsic\nevidence. Establish in their minds the infallible authority of the\nChurch, and they are content to receive a doctrinal exposition of all\nthat she teaches which is made by way of deduction from revealed\nprinciples, without seeking for a reconciliation of this exposition\nwith the deductions of purely rational principles. This is no doubt a\nvery sound and Christian method, and it were to be wished that all\nwould be willing to follow it. Experience has shown, however, that\nthose who have been brought up in the more advanced and rationalistic\nProtestantism, are with difficulty induced to adopt it. They exact an\nanswer to the difficulties and objections lying in their minds against\nthe intrinsic reasonableness of revealed doctrines, before they will\nattend to their extrinsic evidence. The exposition of this intrinsic\nconformity between revealed and rational principles forms for them a\npart of the requisite moral demonstration of the credibility of the\nChristian revelation. Nor is it altogether without reason that they\nrequire this. They are obliged to learn a great deal which a\nHigh-Church Anglican has already received from his early education.\nThey have the same incapacity of apprehending correctly the most\nfundamental Catholic verities which the Anglican has of apprehending\ncertain specific dogmas. Both must have these misapprehensions removed\nin the same way, only it is a shorter and more restricted process for\nthe one than for the other. The account given by our illustrious\nauthor of his own interior history shows that the extrinsic proof of\nthe claims of the Roman Church to supremacy over all portions of the\nChristian fold did not convince him before they were illuminated by\nthe discovery of the intrinsic relation between this supremacy and the\nessential spiritual unity of the Church in {571} Christ. His mind\ndemanded an apprehension of the _rationale_ of strict, external,\norganized unity of administration under one ecclesiastical head. It\nwas enough for him that this _rationale_ was made evident from\nrevealed principles, because he already possessed these principles as\na part of his intellectual life. Those who have lost in great measure\nthe Christian tradition, or who have never had, must find the\n_rationale_ further back in their reason.\n\nA Jew, for instance, apprehends the doctrines of the Trinity and the\nIncarnation as follows: \"God is divided into three portions, one of\nwhich became inclosed in human flesh.\" A Unitarian will apprehend\nthese doctrines, and others, such as original sin, atonement, etc., in\nsome form almost equally repugnant to reason. Many Protestants\napprehend the doctrine of the real presence to be that God is made a\npiece of bread, or that a piece of bread is made God. It is evident,\naccording to the rule laid down by Dr. Manning in the passage above\ncited, that it is impossible for the human mind to assent to such\nirrational propositions on any extrinsic authority. Even supposing\nthat a person admits the proofs of divine revelation and the authority\nof the Church to be irrefragable, he cannot submit to either while he\nbelieves that they require him to assent to such absurdities. Hence\nthe necessity of exhibiting the Catholic dogmas in their analogy to\nthe truths of reason, as a part of the evidence of their credibility.\nA large portion of nominal Christians are so completely imbued with\nrationalistic and sceptical notions, and so full of misconceptions of\nCatholic ideas, that they are persuaded of the validity of a thousand\nobjections derived from reason, science, history, etc., against the\nCatholic religion. They cannot be reached by a line of argument which\nlays the principal stress on the extrinsic proof of the Christian\nrevelation proposed by the Catholic Church, and rules out their\nobjections and difficulties by the principle of the obedience due to\nlegitimate authority. It seems to us, for this reason, requisite to\nmake every effort to exhibit the interior conformity between faith and\nreason, theology and science, and to prove that faith is really \"an\neminent act of reason.\" All Catholics must agree in this general\nstatement, for all the advocates of the Catholic religion have from\nthe beginning of Christian literature aimed at this result. In regard\nto the method of doing it, however, there is some diversity of\nopinion. Dr. Newman, for instance, regards the progress of theological\nscience as a movement from below upward, and from the circumference to\nthe centre. That is, science is elaborated by the reflection of\nindividual minds, especially the gifted and learned, on the dogmas of\nfaith, under the supervision and subject to the judgment of authority.\nDr. Manning, if we understand him correctly, regards the movement as\none which proceeds in a reverse order; he represents the Church as\nproceeding in a more direct, positive, and magisterial manner; not by\ncollecting the accumulated, elaborated, and clarified products of\nstudy, thought, reasoning, and meditation, and giving them her implied\nor express approbation, but by continually giving forth utterances of\ninspired wisdom received from a divine source. He apprehends that in\nadopting the other view, there is danger or subordinating the Ecclesia\nDocens to the Ecclesia Discens, and making reason a critic on divine\nrevelation. Those who adopt the latter view have a tendency to elevate\ntheological opinions and arguments which have gamed a wide acceptance\nto a species of authority binding on the mind and conscience, and\nlimiting the freedom of investigation. They desire that all arguments\non doctrine should follow the traditional track and merely emulate and\nelucidate what has been already taught by the great doctors of\ntheology. They extend the sphere of authority and infallibility to the\nutmost possible limits, and many of them seek to extend the protecting\naegis of the Church over philosophical systems. Those who adopt the\nother may often err in an opposite extreme. Yet, we think, they have a\nprinciple which is justified by sound reasons, and by the actual\nhistory of the formation of doctrine and theology in the Church. That\nprinciple is stated by M\u00f6hler in these words: \"For a time _even a\nconception of a dogma_, or an opinion, may be tolerably general,\nwithout, however, becoming an integral portion of a dogma, or a dogma\nitself. There are here eternally changing individual forms of an\nuniversal principle which may serve . . . for mastering that universal\nprinciple by way of reflection {572} and speculation.\" (Symb. Introd.,\np. 11, London Edit.)\n\nOn this principle, they seek continually to scrutinize more deeply the\ninner essence of dogmatic truths, and to investigate its relation and\nconformity to the principles and deductions of philosophy and science.\nWe think history shows that this is the way in which theology has\nactually advanced, and the Catholic Church herself attained more and\nmore to that reflective consciousness of her own dogmas by which she\nis enabled to enunciate from time to time her solemn definitions. St.\nThomas made an immense advance, beyond St. Augustine and the other\nfathers. The great Jesuit theologians, Bellarmine, Suarez, and Molina,\nstruck out a new and bold path in theology. Take, for instance, the\ngreat doctrines of original sin, predestination, and efficacious\ngrace. The conception of these dogmas, and the scientific explication\nof their contents, has been greatly modified in the process of time,\nand chiefly through the influence of a few original thinkers. These\nhave generally met with a strong opposition from the established\nschools of theology, and the most strenuous efforts have been made to\ndecry them as unorthodox and to procure their condemnation by\nauthority. The names of Catharini, Sfondrati, and Molina will serve as\na sufficient illustration. Yet, their method of stating Christian\ndoctrine on important points has gained a great predominance in the\nChurch, and the supreme authority has frequently intervened, not to\nenforce these opinions, but to protect those who hold and advocate\nthem from censure. Not only theologians, but even teachers of natural\nscience, have brought about great changes in current theological\nopinions. For instance, Galileo, and those who followed him, have, by\nthe force of scientific demonstration, compelled theologians to modify\ntheir interpretation of Scripture where it speaks of natural\nphenomena. Geology has caused a similar general change of the method\nof interpreting the Scriptural accounts, of the creation and the\ndeluge. The old Swiss proverb is verified in the perpetual effort to\ndiscover the harmony between faith and science: \"God gives us plenty\nof nuts to crack, but does not crack them for us.\" One of these hard\nnuts, not yet cracked, is the question concerning the extent of the\ninfluence of inspiration in preserving the sacred writers from error\nin matters of purely human knowledge. The well-known opinion of Holden\non this subject, it appears to us, is a little too summarily condemned\nby our learned author. The opinions of Bellarmine and Lessius were\nseverely censured in their time, but nevertheless are now acknowledged\nto be tenable and probable. We think the opinion of Holden deserves at\nleast a very thorough examination and discussion before it is put\nunder the ban. Dr. Manning admits that \"it is evident that Holy\nScripture does not contain a revelation of what are called physical\nsciences,\" and that \"no system of chronology is laid down in the\nsacred books\" (p. 165, Eng. Ed.) Nevertheless the sacred writers speak\nof physical phenomena and of chronological dates. The Holy Spirit\nallowed them to speak of the former in accordance with their own and\nthe common opinion even, when that was erroneous. He has allowed their\nstatements respecting the latter to fall into such inextricable\nconfusion, through accidental or intentional alterations either in the\nHebrew or Greek text, that we cannot tell with certainty what they\nintended to record on the subject. Does not this show that revelation\nwas not intended to teach chronology? And if it was not, how does it\nmilitate against the Catholic doctrine of inspiration to maintain that\nthe sacred writers were originally left to follow the best human\nauthority they could find in chronology as well as in science? If the\nend of revelation did not require that an infallible system of dates\nshould be _preserved_ in the sacred text, why should it have been\ngiven at first? Why are minor historical facts, relating to the\nnumbers who fell in particular battles, etc., within the cope of\ninfallibility any more than matters of science and chronology? It\nappears to us, that until some authoritative decision is made, this\nquestion is open to discussion, and the opinion of Holden tenable\nwithout prejudice to orthodoxy. Very probably the distinguished author\nmeant to express simply his judgment as to what is the sounder view of\ninspiration, without denying that the other is within the limits of\northodoxy. However this may be, this is the only instance in which\nthere is any appearance of {573} severity toward those whose\ntheological opinions on matters _extra fidem_ differ from his own. It\nwere to be wished that some other writers, who are disposed to censure\ntheir brethren severely and throw suspicion upon their loyalty to the\nChurch, on account of theological differences, would imitate the\nadmirable model placed before them by the illustrious chief of the\nEnglish hierarchy. We commend to their attention the following extract\nfrom the _London Weekly Register_, which is a portion of an excellent\nand well written review of' Dr. Pusey's _Eirenicon_. When severely\npressed by an able antagonist, one frequently finds himself driven to\ndefend the Catholic cause upon the common, certain ground where all\nCatholics stand together, and to sink domestic controversies. This is\nvery well; but the same language ought to be used _toward_ opponents\nin these domestic controversies, when they are discussed _inter nos_,\nwhich is used _respecting_ them when we are fighting the exterior\nenemy. If one takes certain ground because it is available against\nnon-Catholics, he ought to allow other Catholics to stand upon that\nground at all times in peace without having his fidelity to the Church\ncalled in question. We give the quotations now, without further\ncomment, and leave the intelligent reader to make his own reflections\non them:\n\n  \"The greater part of the remainder of the volume is taken up with\n  proving what most Catholics would be ready to admit, that many\n  exaggerated things have been said by Catholic writers of name\n  concerning the Pope's personal infallibility, on the prerogatives of\n  the Blessed Virgin, and on many other subjects. No doubt, viewed\n  from without, there is much matter for perplexity in this whole\n  subject. We know that many persons, now Catholics, have been kept\n  back from seeing the Church's claims on their absolute allegiance,\n  because of the hold these exaggerated statements had obtained on\n  their imagination, and the repugnance they felt to the aspect of\n  doctrine thus presented. This, we think, has arisen partly from\n  their having attributed to such statements an authority which they\n  did not possess, and from their not distinguishing between matters\n  of faith and matters of pious opinion. . . . . Catholics, on the\n  other hand, . . know that the Church, while requiring _unitas in\n  necesaariis_, is most free in conceding _libertas in dubiis_; . . .\n  does not aim at creating a dead and soulless level of uniformity,\n  but tolerates great liberty of opinion in matters of opinion,\" etc.\n\n  \"Even though we might ourselves hold that what are commonly called\n  the Ultramontane opinions are the more logical, the legitimate\n  deduction from Scripture, the true development of patristic\n  teaching; and however much we might wish for a union of all\n  Christians on this basis, we should nevertheless hold most strongly,\n  until otherwise taught, that a reunion on the principles of Bossuet\n  would be better than perpetuated schism.\"\n\nArchbishop Manning's work will, of course, take its place in our\nstandard Catholic literature, and we earnestly recommend it to all our\nreaders.\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. Vol lxxix.\n\nWe observe by a notice appended to its last number, for November,\n1865, that this long-established periodical has been transferred from\nBoston to New York, and will hereafter be conducted under the\neditorship of the Rev. Henry W. Bellows, D.D. This is a significant\nfact, but precisely what it signifies time only can reveal to the\nuninitiated. So far as we can conjecture its significance, the change\nof location and editorship bodes a change in its prevailing tone and\nspirit. It is, however, announced that the former editors will\nco-operate with the new one in the conduct of the Review, which leads\nus to suppose that the different schools of Unitarians will be allowed\nfair scope for expressing their views in its pages. Those who are\nacquainted with the writings of Dr. Bellows may fairly expect that if\nhe devotes his time and energies to the task of contributing articles\non the great topics which are just now occupying the attention of\nUnitarians, there will be a great improvement in the general spirit\nand tendency of the Review. It will become less extreme in its\nrationalism, and more positively Christian. Dr. Bellows has come the\nnearest to Catholic doctrine in some of the fundamental points of\nreligion of any rationalist with whose writings we have happened to\nmeet. We shall look with {574} interest for the result of the movement\nwhich has placed this powerful medium for influencing minds and\nshaping the course of events in the sphere to which he belongs under\nhis control. Meanwhile, we have some criticisms to make on certain\nportions of the number which closes the Boston series of \"The\nExaminer.\"\n\nThe first article contains a critique upon Mill's \"Examination of the\nPhilosophy of Hamilton.\" We are delighted to have that overrated and\ninconsistent disseminator of sceptical principles, Sir William\nHamilton, demolished, no matter who does it. One of his pupils, Mr.\nCalderwood, has attacked him on the side of positive philosophy,\nshowing his sceptical tendencies. Mr. Mill has countermined him by a\nmore subtle scepticism than his own, and has shown the baselessness of\nthe positive and dogmatic portion of his philosophy. Very good! The\nmost dangerous of all errors is semi-scepticism. It defends all that\nit retains of philosophical and theological truth in such an illogical\nmanner that it brings it into doubt and discredit with logical\nthinkers. It covers up its scepticism so adroitly that the unwary are\ndeceived and poisoned by it unawares. Let the contradiction between\nits two elements be shown, let both be pushed to their legitimate\nconsequences, and a great advantage is gained. Those who push through\nthe sceptical principle, like Mr. Mill, bring it to such a patent\nabsurdity, that every right-thinking mind will reject it at once.\nThose who take the other side, are forced upon a better and more solid\nbasis for both science and faith. The reviewer of Mr. Mill seems to\nhave given himself up completely to his sway, and to be unable to do\nmore than echo his thoughts. He gives up transcendentalism, the grand\nphilosophy of Boston and Cambridge which was to supersede\nold-fashioned Christianity and inaugurate a new epoch, as an exploded\nand obsolete system. This formidable iron-clad has blown up and gone\nunder, like the famous _Merrimac_; and it appears that Dr. Brownson\nneed not have levelled his artillery against her, but might have\nwaited patiently for her own magazine to be set fire to by her crew.\nWe are no longer even sure that two and two do not make five, or that\ntwo parallel lines cannot inclose a space! The writer anxiously\nendeavors to show that in spite of this Mr. Mill will still allow him\nto believe in a God, and in the difference between right and wrong.\nLet him, however, if he will persist in believing something, do it\n_with trembling_. For, if two and two might, for anything we know,\nmake five, one might possibly become equal to nothing, and then some\nday we may all find ourselves annihilated. Mr. Mill's mine can be\ncountermined as easily as Sir William Hamilton's; for, when once the\nperception of absolute and necessary truth is questioned, there is no\nstopping short of nihilism.\n\nThe article on Dr. Newman's \"_Apologia_\" is well written, and shows a\ncandid and respectful appreciation of the intellectual and moral\ngreatness of the illustrious convert. The author, however, makes a\nsweeping, wholesale charge of having adopted a system of equivocation,\nchicanery, and sophistry upon the Jesuits, and the whole Catholic\nChurch, which has nothing to sustain it but an _on dit_. The charge is\nfalse. But apart from that, in saying it the writer struck a foul\nblow, unworthy of an honorable critic. Here is a great question, on\nwhich men's minds are divided, and on which there are most weighty and\nimportant testimonies to be examined. The writer does not profess to\nenter the lists for the discussion of it, but merely to criticise the\nparticular statements of Dr. Newman. If he had anything to say about\nit, he should have taken up Dr. Newman's statements and arguments, and\nmade some rejoinder. It is always a sign that a man is either weak or\ndisingenuous, when he throws a wholesale assertion of the general\nbadness of your cause in your face, because you have successfully\ndefended it in respect to one particular item. It is also very\n_schoolboyish_ to repeat continually the stale generalities that one\nhas read in his books or in the newspapers about the Jesuits. Cannot\nour antagonists \"_invint some other little bit of truth?_\" We are\ntired of hearing this one so often.\n\nThe writer fairly admits that if any other guide to truth is\nnecessary, beside the individual reason, that guide must be the\nCatholic Church. There is no alternative except to follow your own\nlight, or be a Roman Catholic. Every man, he thinks, has for himself a\nlight, which is infallible for himself {575} alone, and only for the\ntime being. We would like to ask him whether this is a certain,\nnecessary, and universal truth, true for all times, and every\nindividual? Is it so? Then by the same process which proves it to be\nso, you can establish a complete system of universal truths, and among\nthem the universal or Catholic principles of the Catholic Church. We\nadmit the infallible light of reason, excluding his limitations, which\nare _ipso facto_ destroyed if he answers our question in the\naffirmative. If in the negative, the assertion he has made is true\nonly for himself, as a kind of provisional arrangement--a sort of dark\nlantern borrowed for the evening. It is quite probable that by-and-bye\nthe sun may rise, and the dim rays of his lantern blend with its\nbrighter beams. The infallible light within may tell him that he needs\nthe revelation of God, and the instruction of the Catholic Church.\n\nDecidedly the most valuable article in the number is the one on\n\"English Schools and Colleges.\" It is evidently written by one who is\nperfectly familiar with the English system of education, and contains\nmany valuable hints and suggestions for the improvement of our own\ncolleges. We recommend all those who are engaged in the higher\nbranches of instruction to procure and read it; and, indeed, the\nauthor would do them a great service by publishing it separately as a\npamphlet, with such additions as he might think suitable to enhance\nits value.\n\n\n\n\nOUR FAITH, THE VICTORY; OR, A COMPREHENSIVE VIEW OF THE PRINCIPAL\nDOCTRINES OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION.\nBy Rt. Rev. John McGill, D.D., Bishop of Richmond. Baltimore: Kelly &\nPiet. 1865.\n\nThis new edition of a work already noticed in our pages is well\nprinted, and, if the paper were of somewhat finer quality and the\nbinding a little better, would be a very handsome volume. The\nextravagant price of paper at present is a very fair excuse for the\nfirst defect, although we cannot help regretting that a work of such\nhigh merit and permanent value should not be brought out in a style\ncompletely worthy of it. If our copy is a fair specimen, however,\nthere is no excuse for the binding, which, though handsome enough, is\nso loosely and carelessly executed as to endanger already some of the\nleaves falling out. We recommend our Catholic publishers to show a\nlittle more of the enterprise and thoroughness requisite in\nfirst-class houses. Mr. O'Shea has given them a good example in Dr.\nBrownson's \"American Republic,\" which we trust will not be without a\ngood effect. We again recommend this admirable work to our readers as\none of the best in the English language on the great topics of which\nit treats.\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN REPUBLIC: Its Constitution, Tendencies, and Destiny.\nBy O. A. Brownson, LL.D. 8vo. New York: P. O'Shea. pp. 435. 1866.\n\nThis is a work brought out in a very superior style of typography\nwhich does great credit to the enterprise of the young publisher, Mr.\nO'Shea, and is worthy of its great subject and its equally great\nauthor. We have only had time to read the preface, which breathes the\nexalted philosophical wisdom, the noble, magnanimous spirit, and the\npure Christian faith of the illustrious Catholic publicist and\nAmerican patriot who wrote it. A more extended notice of the work\nitself will appear in our next number.\n\n\nHISTORY OF ENGLAND FROM THE FALL\nOF WOLSEY TO THE DEATH OP ELIZABETH.\nBy James Anthony Froude, M.A., late Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford.\nVols. III. and IV., 8vo. New York: Charles Scribner & Company.\n\nThe fourth volume of Mr. Froude's work ends with the death of his\nhero, Henry VIII. The portion of the history embraced in the\ninstalment now before us includes, therefore, many picturesque\nincidents, which the author narrates with his most charming and\nbrilliant pen, and with that quick eye for dramatic effect which lends\nsuch a fascination to his style. In a notice of the first and second\nvolumes we expressed with sufficient clearness our judgment of Mr.\nFroude's faults and merits, and we see no reason to modify our\nprevious statements. He professes to have originally approached his\nsubject without prejudice or any purpose of running counter {576} to\nthe commonly received opinions of the world; but he does not deny that\nhe has come to take a very different view of Henry and his times from\nthat accepted by the rest of mankind. He has this advantage over his\ncritics--that, as he makes use of state papers and other manuscript\nrecords which are not accessible to the world at large, it is not\nalways possible to test the correctness of his quotations or the\njustness of his inferences from official documents. We can only say\nthat in the few instances in which it has been in our power to follow\nhim in his researches, we have learned to distrust not only his\naccuracy but his honesty. We must wait until some other and\ndispassionate historian shall have explored the same fields before we\ncan detect all his misrepresentations and rectify all his errors.\n\n\nHUMOROUS POEMS.\nBy Oliver Wendell Holmes, with illustrations by Sol. Eytinge, Jr.\nBoston: Ticknor & Fields. 1865.\n\nA cheap but neat edition, bound in pamphlet form, forming one of a\nseries of \"Companion Poets for the People, illustrated.\" Dr. Holmes is\nour Thomas Hood, in some respects more to our taste than his English\ncompeer. His humorous poems, though steeped in the double distilled\noil of wit, have no poison in them, and are wholesome and delicious,\nwhen taken laughing in small doses.\n\n\nTHE PRACTICAL DICTATION SPELLING-BOOK,\nin which the spelling, pronunciation, meaning, and application of\nalmost all the irregular words in the English language are taught in a\nmanner adapted to the comprehension of youth. For the use of schools.\nBy Edward Mulvany. New York: P. O'Shea.\n\nThe plan of this book is excellent, and will, we have no doubt, be\ngenerally adopted in our schools. It has evidently been compiled with\nmuch care and attention. The scholar that masters its various sections\nwill not be apt to make those ridiculous mistakes in spelling and\nwriting which are so prevalent m the community. In the next edition\nthe typographical errors ought to be attended to. The present one\ncontains too many such errors.\n\n\n\nLITERARY INTELLIGENCE.\n\nMessrs. Murphy & Co., Baltimore, announce for publication at an early\nday the following works: A new improved and enlarged edition of\nArchbishop Spalding's \"Miscellanea;\" a new edition of \"The Evidences\nof Catholicity,\" by the same author; \"The Apostleship of Prayer,\" a\ntranslation from the French of the Rev. H. Rami\u00e8re, S.J.; \"The Manual\nof the Apostleship of Prayer;\" new editions of \"Ellen Middleton,\"\n\"Lady Bird and Grantly Manor,\" by Lady Fullerton; and of \"Pauline\nSeward.\"\n\nP. O'Shea, New York, announces: \"The Life of St. Anthony of Padua;\"\n\"The Life and Miracles of St. Philomena;\" \"The Christian's Daily\nGuide,\" a new prayer-book; the second volume of \"Darras' History of\nthe Church.\"\n\nP. Donahoe, Boston, announces the publication of a new illustrated\nmagazine for the young folk. It is to be called \"Spare Hours,\" and is\nto appear early in December. There is room for such a publication, and\nwe hope it will prove a success, and that Mr. Donahoe will make it\nequal to anything of the kind published in this country. A good\nmagazine for the young has been a want long felt. The subscription\nprice is two dollars per year.\n\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\nFrom THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,\nNew York: \"Aurora Floyd,\" by M. E. Braddon. 12mo., pp 372. \"The Ordeal\nfor Wives.\" A novel, by the author of \"The Morals of Mayfair.\" 12mo.,\npp. 448. \"Rebel Brag and British Bluster: A record of unfulfilled\nprophecies, baffled schemes, disappointed hopes, etc., etc. By\nOwls-Glass.\" Paper, pp. 111.\n\nWe have also received a neat little pamphlet, of twenty-four pages,\nentitled: \"Notes on Willson's Readers,\" by S. S. Haldeman.\n\nFrom the Hon. Wm. H. Seward, Secretary of State, Washington:\n\"Diplomatic Correspondence for 1864. Parts 3 and 4.\"\n\nFrom CHARLES SCRIBNER, New York: \"Plain Talks on Familiar Subjects,\" a\nseries of popular lectures. By J. G. Holland. 12mo., pp. 835.\n\nFrom P. O'SHEA, New York: Numbers 14, 15, and 16 of \"Darras' History\nof the Church.\"\n\nFrom D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York: Parts 5, 6, and 7 of\n\"D'Artaud's Lives of the Popes.\"\n\n--------\n\n{577}\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n\nVOL. II., NO. 11.--FEBRUARY, 1866.\n\n\nTranslated from Etudes Religieuses, Historiques et Litt\u00e9raires, par\ndes P\u00e8res de la Compagnie de J\u00e9sus.\n\n\nCHARLES II. AND HIS SON, FATHER JAMES STUART.\n\n\nOf all the Stuarts who reigned over Great Britain only one, if\nhistorians can be trusted, abandoned Anglicanism and became a child of\nthe Catholic Church. It is true that to the name of James II. that of\nhis elder brother, Charles II., has sometimes been added; but the\ngeneral opinion is that Charles had no religion whatever, and scoffed\nat all creeds alike. Documents, however, which have lately been\nbrought to light, enable us to prove that both the sons of Charles I.\nabandoned Protestantism, and that in their persons Catholicism\noccupied for more than an twenty years the throne of Henry VIII.\n\nTo understand how the religion of Charles II. could remain so long an\nhistorical enigma, we must recall to mind the peculiar circumstances\nin which he was placed. Surrounded by fanatical sectaries, who yielded\nhim a kind of insubordinate obedience, and kept him in continual fear\nof the axe by which his unfortunate father had suffered, he felt\nconstrained to observe in public the forms of worship which he had\nsolemnly renounced before the altar. And to this we must add another\nreason. Far from reforming the disorders of a licentious youth, he\nprolonged his excesses to the very eve of death, and his unbridled\npassions tended to extinguish in his naturally weak and timid soul all\nthe energy alike of the man and of the Christian. So, though a\nCatholic at heart, Charles never had the courage during his whole\nreign to avow his sentiments. Some thought him a zealous Presbyterian;\nothers, a devoted Anglican. Those who knew him better declared he was\nnothing but a bad Protestant, and for that declaration they had more\nreason than they supposed.\n\nThere is no question that he died in the bosom of the Church; but that\nhe had returned to it long before he died is a fact which has only\nlately {578} been established. After lying for two hundred years among\nthe dusty archives of a religious order in Rome, a remarkable\ncorrespondence has been brought to light between the sixth successor\nof Henry VIII. and Father Paul Oliva, the general of the Jesuits. The\noccasion of this singular interchange of letters between Whitehall and\nRome was the presence in the Jesuit house, in the last named city, of\na young novice whom all the fathers, even the general himself,\nbelieved to be a French gentleman. Charles informed Father Oliva who\nthis young man was. By the right of paternal authority he demanded\nthat James Stuart, the eldest of his natural sons, should be sent back\nto him. He wished to keep him for some time about his person, and by\nhis assistance to instruct himself more thoroughly in the Catholic\nfaith, and so finish the work which he had long ago commenced. After\nreading these letters, and penetrating the hidden thoughts and mental\ntortures of the conscience-stricken king, who knows his duty, and\nfears, yet wishes, to fulfil it; a crowned slave, bearing beneath his\nroyal robes a yoke of iron, and sighing in vain for liberty to believe\nand worship after the dictates of his heart, we cannot resist the\nconclusion that Charles II. was neither a deist nor a waverer; he was\na Catholic--a timid and a bad one, if you will but firm in his\nconvictions.\n\nBut, you may say, a conversion such as this is not much for the Church\nto brag of. Here you have a prince born a heretic, and becoming a\nCatholic so quietly that his people know nothing about it. The Church\ndeclares that faith without works is dead. Well, it is true that\nCharles's life was in perpetual discord with his faith. We certainly\ndo not propose our neophyte as a model penitent; it is enough if the\nreasons which led to his conversion afford his countrymen another\nproof of the divine origin of Catholicism. It is surely a startling\ncircumstance that this slave to voluptuousness should turn his back\nupon the easy-going Anglican Church, so complacent even to the\nmonstrous passions of Henry VIII., and choose the most inflexible of\nall Christian communions, the one which preferred losing her hold upon\nthe glorious and powerful Island of Saints to conniving at adultery;\nwhich defended the innocent Catharine of Aragon against her ferocious\nspouse, and might, one hundred and forty years later, have protected\nCatharine of Portugal also had a royal caprice again attempted to\ndisplace a virtuous queen in order to raise a vicious favorite to the\nthrone of England. This monarch, timid by nature, and surrounded by\nsanguinary fanatics, knew that the bare accusation of \"popery\" would\nbe enough to stir up his whole kingdom against him; yet he did not\nhesitate to become a \"papist\"--he upon whom the laws conferred the\ntitle, so much coveted by his predecessors, of supreme head of the\nEstablished Church. Do we not see in this a signal triumph of God over\nman, of truth over falsehood?\n\nShould it be asked why this correspondence has remained so long\nunpublished, we answer that it was by its nature strictly\nconfidential. So long, too, as the Stuarts maintained their\npretensions to the English crown the publication of such letters would\nhave seriously compromised them. Then came the suppression of the\nsociety, after which it would appear that all trace of the\ncorrespondence was lost, until it was recently brought to light by the\nlearned Father Boero.   [Footnote 87] The original letters form part\nof a collection of autograph manuscripts of Charles II., Father Paul\nOliva, Christina of Sweden, James II., the queen-mother, Henrietta of\nFrance, Catharine of Braganza, and other celebrated persons of the\ntime. The letters of Charles are impressed with the Royal seal.\n\n  [Footnote 87: _Istoria della conversione alla Chi?? Cattolica di\n  Carlo II., Re d'Inghilterra, caveta da ???trure autentiche ed\n  originali_.]\n\n{579}\n\nII.\n\nIt is easy enough to mention circumstances which would naturally have\nprepossessed Charles in favor of the Church. In the first place, he\nwas indebted for his life, after the defeat of Worcester, almost\nentirely to Catholics, who at great risk to themselves concealed him\nfrom the soldiers of Cromwell and enabled him to escape to France. In\nParis he must have seen many things to influence his religious\nsentiments. The most profound impression, however, was made upon him\nby the venerable M. Olier, the founder of St. Sulpice. \"God opened to\nhim,\" says his biographer, the Abb\u00e9 Faillon, \"the English monarch's\nheart. In the new conferences which he had with this prince, he showed\nhim the beauty and truth of the Catholic religion with so much grace,\nforce, and energy that Charles II. was constrained to acknowledge\nafterward to one of his friends that although many distinguished\npersons had spoken to him about these matters, there was none of them\nwho had enlightened him so much as M. Olier; that in his words he\nrecognized and felt an extraordinary virtue; in fine, that he had\nfully satisfied him. There can be little doubt that M. Olier had\npersuaded the king to abjure his errors and to take the first step\ntoward a return into the bosom of the Church; that is to say, by\nsending a secret abjuration to the Pope, who, as has been said above,\nrequired nothing more. For, in the first place, it was rumored all\nthrough France and England that Charles had sent to the Pope a secret\nabjuration; and beside, M. de Bretonvilliers, after mentioning that\nhis majesty recognized and felt an extraordinary virtue in his\nconversations with M. Olier on the truth of the Catholic religion,\nadds these significant words: 'At present, I can say no more.' This\nreticence naturally leads us to infer that Charles had taken some step\ntoward becoming a Catholic which it was not then prudent to make\nknown.\"\n\nIII.\n\nTwo years after his restoration to the throne, and under the\ninfluence, probably, of the queen-mother and the queen-consort, he\nresolved to open with the Holy See a negotiation which he hoped might\nlead to the restoration of the English people to religious unity. It\nwas necessary to proceed with the greatest caution. He chose for his\nenvoy Sir Richard Bellings--the same to whom he afterward intrusted\nthe most secret and delicate of his missions to the court of Louis\nXIV. Sir Richard set out for Italy under pretext of attending to\naffairs of his own; and as soon as he could do so safely, he quietly\nwent to Rome. His first business was to ask for a cardinal's hat for\nLouis Stuart, duke of Richmond and Lennox, better known under the name\nof the Abb\u00e9 d'Aubigny. He was a near relative of the king's, and had\nbeen summoned from Paris to fulfil the functions of grand almoner to\nQueen Catharine. Charles wished to place under his charge the affairs\nof the Church in Great Britain. A memoir on this subject was drawn up\nfor Bellings by Lord Chancellor Clarendon, and copied by Clarendon's\nson. It is dated October 25, 1662. Each leaf is authenticated by the\nroyal signature. A minute of the instructions given by Charles to his\nambassador is preserved at Rome. It can only have been drawn up by Sir\nRichard himself:\n\n  \"1. His majesty solicits this promotion for the advantage of his\n  kingdom, and in order to give the Catholic party an authorized\n  chief, intimately united with the sovereign by the ties of blood,\n  and upon whom he can depend securely under all circumstances. The\n  king, to quote his own words, sees in the elevation of the Abb\u00e9\n  d'Aubigny to the cardinalship an essential condition to the good\n  understanding which ought to exist between {580} the Pope and his\n  majesty; he deems this a measure of the last importance for the\n  welfare of his Roman Catholic subjects throughout his dominions.'\n\n  \"2. The cardinal once appointed, his majesty engages to support him\n  in the style which his dignity and his relationship to the sovereign\n  demand.\"\n\nThe Holy Father summoned a secret congregation of cardinals to\nconsider the matter, and also appointed a council of theologians, who\nwere instructed to draw up their opinion in a careful report. In this\ndocument we find a careful resume of the \"Benefits which the Catholics\nof England have received from his Britannic majesty.\"' They approved\nof the proposed appointment; but unfortunately the Abb\u00e9 d'Aubigny was\ngiven to the errors of the Port Royalists, and the Pope felt compelled\nto refuse Charles's request. He refused, however, with so much\ndelicacy, and gave such good reasons for the refusal, that the king,\ninstead of breaking off intercourse with the Holy See, as he had\nthreatened to do, ordered Bellings to proceed to the second object of\nhis mission. This was nothing less than the conversion of the king and\nthe reconciliation of his realms to the Roman Church.\n\n\nIV.\n\nSir Richard was instructed to treat directly with the Holy Father, and\nthe number of counsellors whom the Pope might call to his assistance\nwas to be strictly limited. On the side of the English there is every\nreason to believe that nobody was in the secret except the king, the\ntwo queens, the envoy, and the person--whoever he may have been--who\ndrew up the document which we shall presently have occasion to quote.\nClarendon certainly knew nothing about it; he was ready to assist in\nthe promotion of d'Aubigny; but he was a stern enemy of the Catholics,\nand even before Sir Richard's return we find him opposing in\nparliament a proposal of his sovereign's for granting liberty of\nconscience to dissenters.\n\nThere is no doubt that Charles II. himself made known to the Holy\nFather his intention of becoming a Catholic and re-establishing\nCatholicism as an authorized form of worship in his kingdom. There is,\nmoreover, no doubt that Pope Alexander VII. replied to him. This is\nall that we can now affirm with certainty; and we should not have\nknown even this if the king had not mentioned it incidentally in one\nof his letters to Father Paul Oliva.\n\nThe absence of these two letters is much to be regretted; but we have\nfortunately at hand a document of still greater value. This is the\nprofession of faith presented in the name of the English monarch as\nthe basis of a concordat:\n\n  \"Proposition on the part of Charles II., king of Great Britain, for\n  the much-to-be-desired reunion of his three kingdoms of England,\n  Scotland, and Ireland with the apostolic and Roman see.\n\n  \"His majesty, the king, and all who aspire to the unity of the\n  Catholic Church, will accept the profession of faith drawn up by\n  Pope Pius IV. after the decisions of the Council of Trent, and with\n  it all the other decrees respecting faith or discipline enacted\n  either by the aforesaid council or by any other general council, as\n  well as the decisions of the last two pontiffs in the affair of\n  Jansenius; reserving to himself, however, as is done in France and\n  some other places, certain special rights and certain customs which\n  usage has sanctioned in our own particular Church. These various\n  decrees are to be understood with the restrictions which other\n  oecumenical councils have, prudently no doubt and after mature\n  consideration, imposed upon them, as the aforesaid profession of\n  faith proves. Whence it follows that, except within these limits,\n  nothing may henceforth be imposed upon or prescribed to either the\n  king or any of his Catholic subjects; and {581} that it shall not be\n  imputed to them as a crime or a favoring of heresy should they have\n  occasion to declare their mind upon matters of this sort. Under\n  these conditions his majesty is ready to break at once with all\n  Protestant societies and all sects separated from the Roman Church,\n  and to withdraw from their communion. He declares his detestation in\n  particular of the schism and deplorable heresies originated by\n  Luther, Zwingle, Calvin, Memnon, Socinus, Browin, and other equally\n  perverse sectaries. Better than any one else, he knows by sad\n  experience in his own kingdom what a deluge of calamities, what\n  revolutions, what a Babel-confusion this pretended Reformation\n  (which might better be called a _de_formation) has entailed in\n  politics as well as in religion; so much so that these three\n  kingdoms, and especially England, are, in both secular and sacred\n  affairs, nothing but a theatre of frightful disturbances, which hold\n  the entire world chained with attention and dismay.\"\n\nThis profession of faith is followed by twenty-four \"notes\" or\n\"declarations,\" in which the king indicates more in detail the course\nwhich he proposes to follow in his difficult task of religious\nrestoration. The reconciliation with Rome once effected, he would\ngrant the Protestants complete toleration. The hierarchy should be\nre-established as it was in the time of Henry VIII., before the\nschism. Parishes should be established and seminaries founded. The\nking also described in what manner he would arrange for the\nintroduction of the Roman liturgy, the preaching of the divine word,\nthe teaching of the catechism, the administration of the sacraments,\nthe celebration of provincial synods, and the admission of the\nreligious orders of both sexes into Great Britain; he spoke of the\nfestivals, beside Sunday, which it would be possible to make days of\nobligation, and of the precautions which ought to be adopted in\nbringing the people back to the veneration of the saints and their\nrelics.\n\nIt may be suggested that Charles was not sincere; but it is difficult\nto understand what he could have hoped to gain by these\nrepresentations, made in strictest confidence to the Pope, if he did\nnot really intend to return to the bosom of the Church and hope to\nbring his people with him. Lingard says that he used to feign an\ninclination toward Catholicism, in view of the subsidies which he\nreceived from the king of France; but we must remember that at this\ntime it was Louis who made all the overtures and evinced all the\neagerness for an alliance between the two countries, and that Charles\nheld back. Louis XIV. was ready to pay almost any price for his\nneighbor's friendship, and Charles was under no necessity of periling\nhis crown and arousing all the fanaticism of his subjects in order to\nobtain what Louis was so ready to give him.\n\nJust about the time of the departure of Sir Richard Bellings for Italy\nCharles made an attempt to obtain from parliament an act of indulgence\nin favor of the Presbyterians, Independents, and Roman Catholics. He\nmet with the most violent resistance, even from his own ministers. Far\nfrom carrying this equitable measure, he soon found himself compelled,\nby the clamors of parliament, to issue a proclamation ordering all\nCatholic priests to leave the country under penalty of death.\nDisheartened by this ignominious defeat, he seems to have rushed more\nmadly than ever into debaucheries, and stifled the voice of conscience\nuntil a providential incident, in 1668, aroused his better feelings.\n\nV.\n\nAbout the month of April, 1668, the king received a piece of news\nwhich awakened in his heart at once remorse and hope. A natural son\nwhom he loved tenderly--a young man of great {582} intelligence and\nacquirements--had abjured Protestantism and consecrated himself to\nGod's service in the Society of Jesus. This personage, who was\ndestined to play a part in Charles's conversion as important as it was\nmysterious, is not unknown to our readers alone: no memoir of the time\nmakes any mention of him. We must go back a little way to find out who\nhe was.\n\nThe son of Lucy Walters, the intriguing and factious Duke of Monmouth,\nborn in 1649, is generally regarded as the first fruit of Charles's\nillicit amours; but this is a mistake. It was not in the Netherlands,\nnor in Paris, but in the isle of Jersey, that the heir to the English\ncrown began the career of licentiousness which ultimately proved so\ndisastrous to his reign. This little island, rich and populous, had\nalways remained faithful to the royal house; and it was probably with\nthe hope of obtaining succor for the royal cause that Charles, while\nPrince of Wales, went there in 1647. But unfortunately he encountered,\nunder the roof of one of the most illustrious, families of Great\nBritain, a temptation which extinguished all his warlike ardor. The\nyoung soldier reposed in the gardens of Armida, and gave not a thought\nto the terrible morrow which might follow his careless sleep.\n[Footnote 88]\n\n  [Footnote 88: In the multiplicity of more important events, English\n  historians have lost site of this abortive Jersey expedition; but if\n  they do not confirm, they at least do not contradict our statement.\n  After the battle of Naseby, Prince Charles fled to the Scilly Isles\n  and afterward to Jersey. The next three years he passed chiefly at\n  the Hague. He does not reappear in history until 1648, when he made\n  a fruitless demonstration with a royalist fleet at the mouth of the\n  Thames. In the meanwhile he used to pay occasional visits to his\n  mother at Paris, and what more likely than at her instigation he\n  should have made a trip to Jersey in the hope of doing something for\n  his father?]\n\nThe child born of this connection, who afterward was called James\nStuart, was taken, in infancy, we know not by what name, to the\ncontinent. He was educated by the best masters in France and Holland,\nand as he grew up manifested great quickness of intellect, together\nwith the most estimable qualities of the heart. Charles was proud of\nhim and loved him; but when he came to the throne he durst not\npublicly recognize him. He was afraid of his parliament and afraid of\nthe factions which encompassed him. Beside, the child's mother was\nstill living, and no doubt had obtained from the monarch a promise not\nto compromise the honor of her noble family by acknowledging the son\nuntil there should no longer be any danger of her being suspected as\nthe mother. So, when the young man, then about eighteen years of age,\nwas summoned to London in 1665, he was commanded to present himself\nunder the name of Jacques de la Cloche du Bourg de Jersey; and though\nhe received from his father the most unequivocal marks of affection,\nhe soon grew tired of his false position, and begged permission to\nreturn to the continent and resume his studies. Charles reluctantly\nconsented. He gave his son at parting a document written in French\nwith his own hand and impressed with the royal seal, which is still\npreserved at the Ges\u00f9 in Rome. It runs thus:\n\n  \"Charles, par la gr\u00e2ce de Dieu Roy d'Angleterre, de France, d'Ecosse\n  et d'Hibernie, confessons et tenons pour nostre fils naturel le\n  sieur Jacques Stuart qui, par nostre ordre et commandement a vescu\n  en France et auttres pays jusques \u00e0 mil six cent soixante cinq o\u00f9\n  nous avons daign\u00e9 prendre soin de Luy. Depuis, la m\u00eame ann\u00e9e,\n  s'\u00e9tant treuv\u00e9 \u00e0 Londres de nostre volont\u00e9 expresse et pour raison.\n  Luy avons command\u00e9 de vivre sous auttre nom encore, s\u00e7avoir, de la\n  Cloche du Bourg de Jarzais.  [Footnote 89] Auquel, pour raisons\n  importantes qui regardent la paix du Royaume que nous avons toujours\n  recherch\u00e9e, deffendons de parler qu' apr\u00e8s nostre mort [_i.e._, of\n  the secret of his birth]. En ce temps, Luy soit lors permis de\n  pr\u00e9senter au parlement cette nostre {583} d\u00e9claration que, de plein\n  gr\u00e9 et avec \u00e9quit\u00e9, nous Luy donnons \u00e0 sa requeste, et en sa langue,\n  pour lui oster occasion de la monstrer \u00e0 qui que ce soit pour en\n  avoir l'interpretation.--A Wthall, le 27 de septembre 1665. Escry et\n  sign\u00e9 de nostre main, et cachet\u00e9 du cachet ordinaire de nos lettres\n  sans auttre fa\u00e7on.\n     L. S.  CHARLES.\"\n\n  [Footnote 89: Charles wrote indifferently Jarzais, Jersais, or\n  Jers\u00e9]\n\n(TRANSLATION.)\n\n  We Charles, by the grace of God king of England, France, Scotland,\n  and Ireland, acknowledge and hold as our natural son Sir James\n  Stuart, who by our order and commandment has lived up to the year\n  1665 in France and other countries, where we have seen fit to take\n  care of him. Thence after, on the same year, he resided in London by\n  our express will and for good reasons, we having commanded him to\n  live under a new name, to wit, La Cloche du Bourg de Jarzais. Whom,\n  however, for important reasons touching the peace of the realm,\n  whereof we are ever regardful, we forbid to speak _concerning the\n  secret of does birth_ until after our death. At that time be it then\n  permitted him to present to parliament this our declaration, which\n  of our own free will and in justice we grant him at his request and\n  in his language, in order to remove all occasion of his exhibiting\n  it to any one whatsoever for its better interpretation. At\n  Whitehall, the 27th of September, 1665. Written and signed by our\n  hand and sealed with the ordinary seal of our letters, without other\n  fashion.\n       L. S. CHARLES\n\n\nWith this acknowledgment of parentage, the young man returned to the\nNetherlands; but he soon reflected that in the event of his father's\ndeath the document was not likely to be of much service to him, for it\nmentioned no provision for his support. The English Parliament would\nbe very apt, on one pretext or another, to refuse him any sum\nwhatever. So he prevailed upon Charles to give him another paper,\nassigning to him \u00a3500 a year, \"subject to the good pleasure of the\nnext successor to the crown and of the Parliament.\" Coupled with this\nlegacy were the conditions that James should live in London and remain\nfaithful to the Anglican Church. This document, dated Feb. 7, 1667, is\nalso preserved at the Ges\u00f9:\n\n  \"Charles, by the grace of God king of England, France, Scotland, and\n  Ireland. The Sieur James Stuart, whom we have heretofore recognized\n  as our natural son, living under the name of La Cloche--having\n  represented to us that, should he survive our death, he would be\n  without means of support, if not recognized by parliament, beside\n  other difficulties which might occur in this affair; for this\n  reason, bending to his entreaties, we have seen good to assign him\n  and to leave him from our domain, if such be the good pleasure of\n  our successor to the crown and of our parliament, the sum of \u00a3500\n  sterling per annum. Which legacy it will not be lawful for him to\n  enjoy, except in so far as he shall reside in London, living\n  according to the religion of his fathers and the Anglican liturgy.\n\n  At Whitehall, the 7th Feb. 1667. Written and sealed by our proper\n  hand.\n       L. S. CHARLES\"\n\nWhen the king imposed the second condition he little imagined that his\nson was already on the point of abandoning the Established Church; but\nso it was; and on the 29th of the next July he was received into the\nCatholic communion at Hamburg. Very soon afterward he determined to\nenter the Society of Jesus; but there was one great obstacle in the\nway. He could not be received without telling the secret of his birth,\nfor illegitimacy was an impediment from which it was necessary to\nobtain a dispensation. And if he told it, with no other {584} proof to\nshow than the two papers just cited, which it would be impossible for\nan Italian Jesuit to verify, who would believe him? In this perplexity\nhe had recourse to the ex-queen Christina of Sweden, who was then at\nHamburg. There was a dash of romance in the story which pleased the\neccentric princess; she was well acquainted personally with Charles\nII., and having obtained from him a confirmation of all that James\nStuart had told her, she gave the young man a letter which secured a\nready belief for the account that he gave of himself at Rome. This\nletter, written in Latin, is also among the documents lately\ndiscovered at the Ges\u00f9:\n\n  \"James Stuart, who was born in the isle of Jersey, and of his own\n  free will assumed the name of La Cloche du Bourg, is the natural son\n  of Charles II., king of England, and so much has been secretly\n  confirmed to us by his Britannic majesty. Renouncing the sect of\n  Calvin, to which his birth and education had up to this time\n  attached him, he joined the Holy Roman Church at Hamburg July 29,\n  1667. In faith of which, contrary to our custom, we have written by\n  our own hand this declaration, to the end that James Stuart can, in\n  an extraordinary circumstance, open his conscience entirely to his\n  confessor and receive from him the necessary counsels for the\n  salvation of his soul.\n      L. S. CHRISTINA ALEXANDRA.\"\n\nJames Stuart was accordingly received into the Society in April, 1668,\nunder the name of Jacques de la Cloche. The inventory of his personal\neffects, to which the novice, according to custom, affixed his\nsignature on entering, gives us a curious idea of the wardrobe of a\nking's son. Here it is: \"One hat; one ecclesiastical habit and mantle;\none pair of breeches and a waistcoat of black cloth; one vest trimmed\nwith yellow fur; a sword-belt of green leather; white silk stockings;\ntwo shirts and one undershirt; one pair of linen drawers,\" etc.\n\n\nVI.\n\nIt was on the 11th day of April, 1668, that James Stuart commenced his\nreligious life. On the 23d of April, 1668, the Marquis de Ravigny, the\nFrench ambassador at London, sent to the court of St. Germain an\naccount of a conversation he had just had with Charles II. The King of\nEngland had said to him: \"I am very desirous of effecting a strong\nunion with France, but I must have help; for there are many people\nabout me who are not of that way of thinking. As to myself, I have\nalways been so disposed, as you know better than anybody...\" Charles,\nafter having repeated these words several times, had added more than\nonce--\"Leave it to me. I will speak with you about it before many\ndays.\" M. de Ravigny, whose efforts toward the political unity of the\ntwo cabinets had, up to this time, been without result, received the\noverture with apparent coldness. Louis XIV. was equally incredulous,\nand M. de Lionne replied to the representative of France in England in\nthese terms: \"The king is of the opinion that your response was\nexceedingly judicious, when the King of Great Britain signified his\ndesire of making a strong alliance with him, and hinted to you to make\nadvances. His majesty has already made so many, and has been so poorly\nresponded to, when requested to enter into the matter, that the\nprudence and dignity of his majesty forbid his committing himself\nfurther. . . .\"\n\nCharles waited to receive the propositions of the court of St.\nGermain; but the court of St. Germain was dumb. Driven to declare\nhimself, therefore, he renewed the assurances he had already given,\nand the letter of the French ambassador, bearing date of May 21, 1668,\ndescribes the interview, and closes with these significant words: \"It\nlooks as though this will {585} come to something; for this reason I\nmost humbly beg your majesty to send further instructions.\"\n\nThus, only a few days after the humble novice of the Quirinal had\nassumed the robes of his order, Charles and Louis were busily engaged\nin cementing that family pact which broke the Triple Alliance, and\ndelayed, for many years, the formation of that formidable coalition\nunder which France finally succumbed. Are we too bold in suspecting\nsomething more than a simple coincidence in the simultaneousness of\nthese two events?\n\nHume, in his \"History of the House of Stuart,\" attributes the action\nof the English monarch to his admiration for the gaiety, wit, and\nelegance of the French court. Let those who will, accept this\nfrivolous explanation! The curious conjuncture of dates, together with\na vast assemblage of other facts looking in the same direction, have\nconvinced us that the true motive of this sudden change was the\nreligions convictions of the king. The conscience of Charles had long\nbeen troubled. Even before assuming the crown, he had resolved to\nintroduce larger religious liberty into the realm. Baffled in all his\nattempts, completely, disconcerted, he learns one day that his eldest\nson--a mind thoroughly serious and earnest--had separated himself\nutterly from the errors of Protestantism, and had deliberately devoted\nhimself to a life of prayer, of silence, and of mortification. Then\nCharles took heart, and convinced that he could not attain his object\nwithout the help of France, he resolutely set aside all the obstacles\nof national sentiment, and entered at once upon the completion of the\ncompact. While this was pending, the British sovereign was employed,\nfor the three months which followed the entrance of his son upon the\nnovitiate of the Jesuits, in strengthening himself against the\ninsurrections and the civil war to which his conversion was certain to\ngive rise. It is not, however, by political precautions alone that\nheresy is made to yield to the true faith. There must also be the\ndiscreet theologian, the wise master, the spiritual guide--assistance\ndifficult to avail one's self of when Anglican intolerance watches\nmenacingly at the gates of all the royal palaces! Such a guide, such\nan instrument of the divine pity, the prince felt that he possessed\nto-day in the novice of St. Andr\u00e9. Resuming the dress of a gentleman,\nJames Stuart, known by nobody at court, might readily obtain access to\nthe king without exciting suspicion. To him Charles would joyfully\nbecome a disciple, joyfully become a penitent; from him he could\nreceive the necessary religious instruction and absolution for his\nsins. In concert with the two queens, he therefore decided to write to\nthe father-general of the Jesuits and request the immediate return of\nthe novice to England. The prince wrote to Rome five autograph\nletters, all in French; four to P. Oliva, one to his son. The\ndifferent envelopes have perfectly preserved the stamp of the royal\nseal. It is for the reader now to determine whether the author of\nthese pages--so truthful, so ingenuous--was, as has been a thousand\ntimes asserted, only an accomplished cheat. It is for the reader to\ndeclare whether the brother of James II. merits those odious epithets\nof deist and atheist with which Protestantism has so freely\nbespattered him, doubtless in recompense for the scorn and aversion\nwhich Charles always felt in his deepest heart for the Establishment\nof Henry VIII.\n\nScarcely five months had elapsed since James Stuart began to practise\nthe rules of St. Ignatius, when a stranger placed in the hands of Paul\nOliva, father-general of the order, the following letter:\n\n  TO THE REVEREND FATHER-GENERAL OF THE JESUIT FATHERS:\n\n  REVEREND FATHER,--We write this to your reverence as to a person\n  whom we believe to be most prudent and judicious, inasmuch as the\n  {586} principal charge which you have of an institute so famous will\n  not permit us to think otherwise. We address you in French, a\n  language common to all persons of quality, wherewith we believe that\n  your reverence is not unacquainted, preferring this language to bad\n  Latin, in which we could with difficulty write so as to be\n  understood; it being our principal aim in this that no Englishman\n  may intrude himself as a translator--a thing which would otherwise\n  be exceedingly prejudicial to us, for the reason that we wish this\n  letter to be a secret between you and us.\n\n  And to commence, your reverence ought to know that for a long time,\n  amid the embarrassments of the crown, we had prayed God to grant us\n  the opportunity of finding at least one person in our realm in whom\n  we could confide touching the affair of our salvation without giving\n  our court grounds for suspecting that we are Catholic. And although\n  there have been here a multitude of priests, both in the service of\n  the queen (a portion of whom have dwelt in our palace of St. James\n  and at Somerset House) and also scattered throughout our whole city\n  of London; nevertheless we could not avail ourselves of any because\n  of the suspicion we should give to our court by conversation with\n  such people, who, whatever disguises of clothing they may assume,\n  are always known for what they are. Yet despite so many\n  difficulties, it seems as if the providence of God had provided for\n  and seconded our desires, by causing to be born to us in the\n  Catholic religion a son to whom alone we could confide ourselves in\n  an affair so delicate. And although many persons, perhaps better\n  versed than himself in the mysteries of the Catholic religion, might\n  be found for our service in this exigency; nevertheless we could not\n  make use of others as well as of him, who would be always capable of\n  administering to us in secret the sacraments of the confession and\n  of the communion which we desire to receive as soon as possible.\n\n  This our son is a young gentleman whom we know you have received\n  with you at Rome under the name of the Sieur La Cloche de Jersay,\n  for whom we have always had a peculiar tenderness, as much because\n  he was born to us when we were scarcely sixteen or seventeen years\n  old, of a young lady of the highest rank in our realm (rather from\n  the frailty of our early youth than from a bad heart), as also\n  because of the excellent nature we have ever remarked in him and of\n  that eminence in learning wherein he has advanced through our means.\n  For this makes us all the more esteem his conversion to the Catholic\n  religion, since we know that he has been led to it through judgment,\n  reason, and knowledge. Many important reasons touching the peace of\n  our realm have prevented us, up to the present time, from publicly\n  recognizing him as our son; but this will be for a brief time only,\n  because we presently design to make a kind of public recognition of\n  him ere many years, having, however, provided him, in 1665, with the\n  necessary assurances, in case we should come to die, so that he may\n  make use of them in due time and place. And as he is not known here\n  in anywise, saving by the queens--this affair having been managed\n  with great secresy--we could in all safety converse with him, and\n  exercise in secret the mysteries of the Catholic religion, without\n  exciting in any one of our court the suspicion that we are Catholic,\n  which we could not do with any other missionary; in addition to the\n  confidence that we should have in opening to him our conscience in\n  all freedom and sincerity as to a part of ourselves. Thus we see\n  that, although he was born in our tender youth against the\n  ordinances of God, the same God has seen fit to preserve him for our\n  salvation, since it pertains to himself alone to know how to bring\n  good out of evil.\n\n  We believe that the need we have {587} of him has been sufficiently\n  explained to your reverence, and if your reverence write us, you\n  will intrust your letters to our son alone, when he comes to us. For\n  although we do not doubt but that you would find secret ways enough to\n  do it, nevertheless you would disoblige us excessively by intrusting\n  your letters to anybody but to this our son, for many considerable\n  reasons whereof your reverence can conjecture apart, but especially\n  from the mischief which it would bring upon us, as we were subjected\n  to great hazard on account of our receiving a letter which we had from\n  Rome in reply to one we had written to the deceased Pope; and although\n  it was presented to us with all necessary circumspection and by a\n  Catholic person, nevertheless it could not be managed with\n  sufficient prudence to prevent the suspicion of our most\n  keen-sighted courtiers. But having found means to stifle the\n  suspicion which was abroad respecting our being Catholic, we were\n  obliged, through fear of renewing it in men's minds, to consent on\n  several occasions to many things that turned to the disadvantage of\n  numerous Catholics in our kingdom of Ireland. This is the reason\n  why--although we had written with all possible secresy to His\n  Holiness respecting our conversion to the Catholic Church at the\n  same time that we besought His Holiness to make our very dear\n  cousin, my Lord d'Aubigny, a cardinal, whereof we were refused for\n  good reasons--we have not been able to pursue our point.\n\n  And although the Queen of Sweden is very wise and discreet,\n  nevertheless it is enough that she is a woman to lead us to fear\n  that she cannot keep a secret, and, as she believes that she alone\n  knows the origin of our well-beloved son, we have written her again\n  and have confirmed her in that opinion. This is done in order that\n  your reverence shall manifest to her, upon occasion, that you have\n  no knowledge of his birth, if she should inquire of you. As also, we\n  pray your reverence not to make known to her or to anybody else, be\n  it whom it may, the design we have of becoming Catholic, or that we\n  send for our son for this object. If the Queen of Sweden asks where\n  he is gone, your reverence will find some pretext, either that he is\n  gone on a mission to our island of Jersey or to some other part of\n  our realm, or still another pretext, until we make our desires and\n  wishes in this matter again known to you.\n\n  We pray you, then, to send to us as soon as possible our very dear\n  and well-beloved son--that is to say, at the first time that this\n  season or the next permit. We believe that your reverence is too\n  zealous for the salvation of souls, and has too much respect for\n  crowned heads, not to accord to us a request so just. We had had\n  some thought of writing to His Holiness and disclosing to him what\n  we have in soul, and by the same means to pray him to send our son\n  to us. But we have believed that it would be sufficient for us this\n  time to make a declaration to your reverence, reserving for another\n  occasion--which we shall bring to pass as soon as possible--the\n  writing and declaring ourselves to the Pope by a very secret courier\n  sent post by us.\n\n  If our dear and well-beloved son, is not a priest, and if he cannot\n  become one without making publicly known his true name and origin,\n  or from other circumstances (which we say because we do not know\n  your mode of acting in these matters), in that case let him rather\n  not be made a priest at Rome than that he communicate aught of what\n  he is to the bishops or priests; but let him pass through Paris and\n  present himself to our very dear cousin the King of France, or, if\n  he prefer, to our very honored sister the Duchess d'Orleans, to whom\n  he can make manifest on our part our good desire in all safety. They\n  know well enough what is the wish of our soul, and will readily\n  recognize our very dear and well-beloved son by the tokens which we\n  gave to him in London in 1665, and, perceiving that he is Catholic,\n  they would endeavor {588} and would be able to make him a priest\n  without any one's knowing what he is, and with all possible secresy\n  as we believe. If, however, without so many crooks and turns, he\n  prefer to come to us without being a priest--which is, perhaps, the\n  better course--then we would do the same thing by means of the queen\n  our very honored mother, or of the queen-consort, who would have at\n  their service bishops, missionaries, or others to perform the\n  ceremony without any one's perceiving or knowing anything about it.\n  We say this in the event of his encountering difficulties in\n  effecting this at Rome.\n\n  And although we wish our very dear son to come to us, it is,\n  nevertheless, not our design to draw him away from your society. On\n  the contrary, we should rejoice if he remain in it all his life if\n  God inspire him to that vocation, and, after having put our\n  conscience in order by his means, we shall not prevent him from\n  returning to Rome, to live according to the society to which he has\n  attached himself; and even during the time that he shall be at our\n  service we shall not prevent him, if he so will, from pursuing, with\n  those of your body that are in our realm, the life commenced in\n  conformity with the religious vocation which he has embraced,\n  provided that it be not in London, but in some city or village not\n  far off from our city of London, to the end that when we need him he\n  can come with the greatest promptitude and facility. And the reason\n  why we do not wish him to reside in London among your people is\n  because of the danger of his being suspected as a Jesuit, from his\n  being seen to enter those places which are the residences of your\n  people, already too well known by many--a thing that would turn to\n  our prejudice. Now we are well content, after being absolved by him\n  of heresy, and after we are reconciled to God and to the Church,\n  that he return to Rome to lead the religious life which he has\n  begun, awaiting further orders from us--a scheme which seems to us\n  quite to the point, and we believe that your reverence will be of\n  our opinion and counsel in this last particular. Thus doing, when he\n  shall have been here some weeks or months, we will send him back to\n  Rome under the government of your reverence, to the end that, under\n  your care, he may the better fit himself for our service. And during\n  the short time that he shall be at London, when he speak to any one\n  of yours let him guard himself well in discoursing upon the object\n  of his coming. He can say that it is for some affair of importance\n  in our court, of which only your reverence and himself should have\n  cognizance.\n\n  In the meanwhile, though we cannot openly manifest to your\n  illustrious society the affection and the good-will we have toward\n  it, this does not prevent your reverence from making known to us, by\n  our very dear and well-beloved son, if there be any way in which we\n  can aid it, which we should do all the more willingly because we\n  know that everything which we can contribute will be employed in the\n  service of God for the remission of our offenses. For the rest, we\n  recommend to your prayers our realm and ourselves.\n\n    CHARLES, King of England.\n    At Whitehall, the 3d of August, 1668.\n\nEnclosed in the communication addressed to the father-general was a\nsecond letter of the king's, which reads as follows:\n\n  TO OUR VERY HONORED SON\n  THE PRINCE STUART,\n  RESIDENT WITH THE JESUIT FATHERS UNDER\n  THE NAME OF SIEUR DE LA CLOCHE, AT ROME:\n\n  MONSIEUR,--We have written very fully to your reverend\n  father-general; he will tell you our pleasure. The Queen of Sweden\n  has asked of us, as a loan, the sum of money that we had taken care\n  to provide for your maintenance, which was sufficient for {589} many\n  years. We have ordered what was necessary in the matter; and this is\n  a reason why you need not put yourself to the trouble either of\n  writing to her about it, or of speaking more thereof.\n\n  If the autumn season be too disagreeable to get out on your journey\n  to us, and if you cannot venture upon it without putting yourself in\n  imminent danger of falling ill, wait till the commencement of next\n  spring, having especial care for the preservation of your health,\n  and keeping yourself in all quiet, writing us nothing, for we are\n  not a little suspected of being Catholic.\n\n  The queens are very eager to see you, as we have communicated to\n  them privately the news of your conversion to the Roman religion.\n  They have counselled us to tell you that we do not forbid your\n  living in the institute to which you have attached yourself, and we\n  should be rejoiced if you remain in it all your life; but desire you\n  to measure well your powers and your constitution, which has\n  appeared to us very feeble and delicate. One can be a good Catholic\n  without being a religious, and you ought to consider that we design,\n  before many years, to publicly recognize you as our son. But as\n  neither parliament nor the state of affairs has permitted it up to\n  the present moment, we have always been constrained to defer it. You\n  ought, moreover, to consider that you can aspire to the same titles\n  from us as the Duke of Monmouth, and perhaps to more ample ones.\n  Beside, we are without children by the queen and those of the Duke\n  of York are very feeble; while, for every reason and because of the\n  rank of your mother, you can lay claim on ourselves and on\n  parliament to be preferred to the Duke of Monmouth. In that case,\n  being young, as you are, if liberty of conscience and if the\n  Catholic religion be restored to this realm, you would have some\n  hope of the crown. For we can assure you that if God permit that we\n  and our very honored brother the Duke of York die without children,\n  the crown will belong to yourself and parliament cannot legitimately\n  oppose it, unless that the fact of your being a Catholic exclude\n  you; as liberty of conscience is not yet established, and since, at\n  present, only Protestant kings are eligible. This, then, we are\n  advised by the queens to tell you. If, in the meantime, all things\n  considered, you prefer to serve God in the Society of Jesus, we do\n  not wish to offer any resistance to the will of God, whom we have\n  already grieved too much by our offences. We do not, therefore,\n  forbid your pursuing that vocation, if God inspire you to it; but we\n  desire only that you think well of it.\n\n  We do not wish to write to the Pope until we have spoken to you by\n  our own mouth. We had written to the late Pope, to the end that he\n  should make our very dear and well-beloved cousin, my Lord\n  d'Aubigny, a cardinal; whereof we have not had the satisfaction that\n  we demanded. However, we are not offended in this. His Holiness\n  having made known to us manifold reasons why he could not\n  conscientiously create a cardinal in our realm, the affairs of\n  religion and other things being as they are.\n\n  Not long since we wrote to the Queen of Sweden, and advised her not\n  to write to you, and to treat you henceforth as simply a gentleman,\n  without manifesting that she has any knowledge of your birth. This\n  is a reason why you should not take it amiss if her majesty treat\n  you after that manner. It is a no light burden to us to see you\n  always constrained to live unknown, but have patience yet a little,\n  for before many years we shall try to so conduct affairs and\n  parliament that all the world will know who you are. You will no\n  longer live in these hindrances and restraints, and it will depend\n  only on yourself to live in the liberty and the pleasure of a person\n  of your birth, unless that God strongly inspire you and that you\n  should wish to continue absolutely the {590} religious life which\n  you have commenced.\n\n  Although we cannot, and ought not, to openly show the good-will that\n  we have for the Society of Jesus, who have received you, yet in the\n  meanwhile if we cannot publicly favor them with our royal\n  munificence, there may still be some place, room, or occasion\n  wherein they might need our aid, and where we could contribute\n  somewhat. We would do it all the more because we know that all will\n  be employed for the service of God and the remission of our\n  offences, and because, also, we could desire that no one of your\n  lineage should remain with them without founding something as a\n  memorial suitable to one of your extraction. We will talk about this\n  matter in London, if you persist in your design of living with them.\n\n  In the meanwhile, believe that we have always had you in our\n  peculiar affection, not only because you were born to us in our\n  tenderest youth, when we were scarcely sixteen or seventeen, but\n  particularly because of the excellent nature that we have always\n  remarked in you, because of that eminence of knowledge in which you\n  have been advanced through our means, because you have always borne\n  yourself as a virtuous man, and because you have been especially\n  obedient to our commands: the which, joined to the paternal love\n  that we have felt toward you, strongly governs our desires in\n  wishing all kinds of benefits for you, beside the pity that moves us\n  in seeing you so unknown and disregarded--a thing which shall\n  continue as brief a space as possible.\n\n  It is not easy for us to send privately to Rome a sum of money\n  adequate for a person of your birth and sufficient to put you in the\n  condition and estate of appearing before us, being, as we are, neither\n  willing nor able to noise it abroad that we have any one at Rome with\n  whom we have communication. It is not possible that you are not\n  everywise modest enough to come to us, if not in the condition of\n  one of your rank, at least as a simple gentleman when you put foot\n  in England. Finally, pray God for ourselves, the queen, and our\n  realm.\n       I am your affectionate father,\n       CHARLES\n       King of Eng., Fr., Scot, and Ire.\n       At Whitehall, 4th of Aug., 1668.\n\nCharles II., in the letters we have just given, left his son at\nliberty to set out at the end of autumn or even at the winter season.\nTwenty-five days have not elapsed when his resolution changes. He\nwishes the novice at Rome to make haste to precipitate his departure.\nWhat was the cause of this serious disquietude? It was this: Queen\nChristina, repenting of her abdication and hating the north, resolved\nto seek an asylum for her remaining days in the shadow of the Vatican.\nCharles was informed of her intention, and at once took alarm.\nChristina would then witness the departure of James Stuart; entangling\nthe inexperienced novice in a network of cunning questions, what\nsecret could escape her? Everything would be discovered. Little by\nlittle the rumor would spread from Italy to England. Charles already\nsaw his kingdom in revolution and himself reduced to the most grievous\nextremity. Such was the object of the second letter to the\nfather-general:\n\n  TO THE REVEREND FATHER-GENERAL\n  OF THE JESUIT FATHERS AT ROME:\n\n  REVEREND FATHER,--We send, with the greatest diligence and with the\n  greatest secresy, an express to Rome charge with two letters, one to\n  your reverence to the end that our well-beloved son set out as soon as\n  possible; the other to the Queen of Sweden--having commanded the\n  messenger to await the arrival of her majesty in any Italian town\n  through which she may pass, not wishing even that the aforesaid\n  express should appear at your house, through fear of {591} being\n  recognized by some of your order who are English. As he is a person\n  of rank, we have in like manner forbidden his delaying more than one\n  day at Rome, fearing lest he should be recognized by certain\n  Englishmen who are at Rome.\n\n  We say, then, to your reverence that, since the first letter that we\n  wrote you, we have received trustworthy news that the Queen of Sweden\n  returns to Rome, contrary to the anticipations which we had\n  formed--the which has not a little embarrassed us in the matter of\n  our salvation. This is the reason that, upon this new accident,\n  having taken counsel with the queens, we have determined to write in\n  haste to the Queen of Sweden, feigning to her and persuading her\n  that our very dear and well-beloved son has represented to us that\n  he wishes assigned to him something fixed for life, to the end that\n  in case he should not pursue the religious calling he has commenced,\n  being now a Catholic, he may have something to fall back upon; and\n  that even if he should pursue it, he prays us to settle a sum of\n  money upon him which he may dispose of according to his devotion,\n  which petition we have granted him; but since this cannot be\n  effected at Rome, we have ordered him to go to Paris to find certain\n  correspondents of ours, and after that to proceed to Jersey or to\n  Hanton,  [Footnote 90] where he will receive from us forty or fifty\n  thousand crowns in total, which may be deposited in some bank; and\n  that we have instructed him not to tell his superior of his birth;\n  but that he shall simply feign to your reverence that he is the son\n  of a rich preacher, who, being deceased some time since, his mother,\n  moved with a desire of becoming a Catholic and to give him the goods\n  which belong to him, has written to him, and that your reverence,\n  desirous of the salvation of this person, and of making her a\n  Catholic, and perceiving also that he can come by his estate, has\n  readily permitted him to go. This we have arranged in order that she\n  shall thus believe that she alone has the secret, and will therefore\n  not break the matter to your reverence from the friendship she bears\n  him. Thus we counteract any suspicion she might have of your letting\n  him come to us and of our being Catholic. But above all it is\n  necessary that our very dear son do not wait, but that he set out as\n  soon as possible; for, as she needs money (and so needs it that she\n  demanded at the last Swedish diet 35,000 crowns in advance), she\n  would embarrass him in such a way that the drama which we wish to\n  play would come off but illy. This we have arranged touching the\n  Queen of Sweden.\n\n    [Footnote 90: Now Southhampton.--Ed. C. W.]\n\n  Your reverence will not be astonished then if this fear has led us\n  to dread the evils by which we are besieged; a fear all the more\n  lively in us, because these evils are greater and bear in their\n  train consequences more dangerous. Now it is a truth received\n  without dispute among our wisest statesmen, that of all the temporal\n  evils which can befal us, the proof that we are Catholic is the\n  greatest, since it would infallibly cause our death, and at the same\n  time many convulsions in our realm. Your reverence ought not,\n  therefore, to be astonished if we take so many precautions and if we\n  have judged proper to write him this second letter also, as well in\n  the matter of the Queen of Sweden as to supply omissions which we\n  made in the first, and at the same time to retract some things\n  contained therein--that our very dear and honored son do not present\n  himself to our very dear cousin the King of France, nor to our very\n  honored sister the Duchess of Orleans, as we advised before; but\n  only that he come to us, be it through France or through Paris or by\n  other ways, as it shall please your reverence to determine. He will\n  abstain during the journey from writing to the Queen of Sweden, lest\n  she see that those things are not carried out which, as we have\n  heretofore said, have been pretended to her. This we have decided\n  upon with the aid of the queens, fearing a discovery or some\n  accident.\n\n{592}\n\n  Moreover, we pray your reverence (who are secretly acquainted, as\n  are her most christian majesty the queen, and our very dear sister,\n  Madame the Duchess of Orleans, with the warm disposition for\n  becoming a Catholic which we have for a long time shown),--we pray\n  you, nevertheless, to abstain from writing to them in any fashion\n  touching these matters, but to keep everything quite secret until\n  the providence of God has otherwise disposed of affairs.\n\n  Now as we desire, with all requisite prudence in an affair of so\n  great consequence to ourselves and the peace of our realm, that our\n  very dear and well-beloved son find everything which is necessary in\n  the business of our salvation made easy for him, and to avoid the\n  inconveniences which might spring upon this side, we have taken\n  counsel with the queen to this effect, that when he shall arrive\n  alone in London--for such is our good will and pleasure--he take\n  time to clothe himself, and dress himself as quickly as possible, if\n  he be not sufficiently well-dressed--not having been willing to do\n  so for fear of soiling his garments by the bad weather and muddy\n  roads, which soil a carriage and also all who are in it; and having\n  put himself in order and rendered himself presentable, let him take\n  occasion to address himself to the reigning queen, either when she\n  is dining at our palace of St. James or when her majesty shall go to\n  visit the queen, our very dear and honored mother. To whom, without\n  causing any suspicion, he will present a sealed letter in the form\n  of a supplication, in which he will say in a few words who he is.\n  Her majesty has directions from us to manage everything which is\n  necessary for an introduction to ourselves, with all possible\n  prudence, and we are assured that there shall arise no disorder nor\n  suspicion. He has nothing else to do but to let himself be directed\n  according to what shall be advised him, and we command him to\n  observe punctually everything we have written to him, especially\n  what we have put within the envelope.\n\n  In the meanwhile, we renew to your reverence the prayer which we\n  made to you from the first, which is, not to write us, nor to make\n  any response saving by the hands of our very dear and well-beloved\n  son, whom we order to set out from Rome as soon as possible, not\n  wishing that the Queen of Sweden speak to him for the aforesaid\n  reasons. Having departed from Rome, he will take his ease in coming\n  to us. We pray, however, your reverence, if this be necessary, to\n  move him to come as soon as possible, representing to him the need\n  we have of him. For we know that he has no little repugnance to\n  England, which we attribute to the fact of his not having been\n  educated there, and also of his finding himself compelled to live\n  there alone, so that we have never been able to induce him to live\n  there more than a year. And even before that year was finished, he\n  presented us so many reasons that we were constrained to let him go\n  to Holland, where he bore himself with great praise and to our great\n  satisfaction in the belles lettres and other studies, in which he\n  made admirable progress.\n\n  We believe he has too much judgment to wish to disobey us, and not\n  come as we desire. As soon as he comes we shall endeavor, by means\n  of the queens, to have him made a priest in all secresy. And if\n  there be anything that the bishop ordinary cannot do without\n  permission of His Holiness, let him not fail to provide for it, but\n  very secretly, so that no one shall know who he is: which will be\n  done if possible before he set out from Rome. Meanwhile we beseech\n  you, reverend father, to pray God for the queens, our realm, and\n  ourselves, who are\n     CHARLES, King of England.\n     At Whitehall, the 29th Aug., 1668.\n\nYet even these numerous and urgent recommendations did not quite\npacify the timid monarch. One feature in the rule of St. Ignatius, of\n{593} which his queen's had just advised him, suddenly upset all his\nideas. He snatches up the pen. He countermands the orders he has just\ngiven. He traces a new plan of campaign in which the clearness of\nexposition, the ability of conception, the facility of execution, are\nabout on a level. This third letter, we must confess, does little\ncredit to the geographical knowledge and above all to the courage of\nCharles II. In another point of view, however, it merits the attention\nof the reader. Precisely because of the trouble which reigns in his\nthoughts, we detect more than once the cry of the soul. More than at\nany time hitherto, the unhappy prince lets us discover the cruel\nanguishes which torture his conscience, and the incontestable\nsincerity of his desires.\n\n  TO THE REVEREND FATHER-GENERAL\n  OF THE JESUIT FATHERS AT ROME:\n\n  REVEREND FATHER,--We have never felt so many embarrassments, though\n  we have had enough of them in our life, as at present, when we wish\n  to think seriously of our salvation. We have but just sealed this\n  other letter, which we pray you to read before the one which is\n  open, that you may better learn our intention and the order in which\n  we hold to the writing. The queens have advised us and counselled us\n  not to press his [our son's] coming, because they wish to arrange\n  and bring about certain very necessary and notable precautions, to\n  render the arrival of our very dear and well-beloved son to England\n  very prudent and secret.\n\n  For this end their majesties, having found means of learning\n  accurately and with judgment the ways of your society regarding\n  those who have but recently joined them, inform us that they have\n  ascertained from a good source that the novices of your holy\n  society, not less than with others, are never sent off without some\n  member of the fraternity accompanying them, as much to be advised of\n  their actions and deportment as to render an account to the\n  superior--the which we admire as a very holy prudence and which can\n  only spring from the divine spirit with which so holy a society is\n  animated. But nevertheless in this matter we beseech your reverence\n  to dispense with this companionship in the case of our very dear\n  son; because we command him absolutely, in virtue of the power which\n  God has given us over him, to come to us by himself, partly because\n  this will properly accord with the letter which we have sent to the\n  Queen of Sweden, who should believe that he has gone alone--that is\n  to say, unaccompanied by any member of the fraternity; but\n  principally because of the dangerous inconveniences whereof we\n  should be constantly in fear if he came in the company of any of the\n  fraternity. We have already, with great secresy, pretended to some\n  very safe persons in a great number of the English ports, and by\n  ways entirely concealed, that a foreign prince, of such a carriage,\n  such a mien, alone by himself, is flying to us, and much more indeed\n  which we could not explain to your reverence without going too far\n  into detail. We do this, partly that if we come to be anywise\n  suspected of being too familiar with him (Father James Stuart) we\n  may have something to say to remove the suspicion.\n\n  Your reverence can see by this that if he should bring an Italian\n  with him who was recognizable as an Italian, be it by his accent or\n  otherwise, this might be the occasion of overthrowing all our\n  designs and of interrupting the scheme which we wish to work out in\n  order to come most surely to our just desires. Even in case he can\n  have some one other than an Italian with him, we should forbid his\n  bringing any one into England, of whatever nation he might be, for\n  many very considerable reasons, which it would take too long to\n  recount.\n\n   Your reverence ought not to be surprised if we are so cautious,\n   because we learned in the time of Cromwell {594} what misery is,\n   and what are the things of this world, what it is to be prudent and\n   to hide one's self in order to succeed in our undertaking. We doubt\n   not that, as our very dear and well-beloved son is young, he is far\n   from eager for company and conversation, and that he does not\n   desire to have intercourse with any one by letter or by discourse;\n   for we know that he does not love the court any too well. But he\n   must needs have patience, inasmuch as it is not reasonable that for\n   a pleasure so brief and of so little consequence, he should put\n   himself in danger of ruining all our designs. Beside, he ought to\n   know that when he shall put foot in our palace, he is not to\n   converse with any one saving with ourselves and the queen, who will\n   give the necessary orders in the matter. Nor will he write any\n   letters saving to you, reverend father, and these letters that he\n   shall write to you we shall despatch by an express in great secresy\n   to Rome, to the end that your reverence relieve us in the\n   necessities which may arise touching our soul.\n\n  We have made inquiries respecting the seaports nearest to Rome.\n  Among many which have been named to us, we recall Civita Vecchia and\n  G\u00eanes. We command him, then, to go to G\u00eanes. We have ascertained,\n  with all necessary prudence, that your society has at that place a\n  house of your order. Being then at G\u00eanes, we wish him to seek out\n  some ship or English shallop, but in such wise that we do not wish\n  any of the fraternity to recommend him to the master nor to those\n  who manage the ship, not showing their acquaintanceship with him,\n  for very considerable reasons; but especially because these\n  seafaring men will repeat it all as soon as they come to port.\n  Moreover, we desire that he put off and lay aside his religious\n  robes in the house of his friends and brother Jesuits of G\u00eanes. He\n  will assume them again in the same place on his return to Rome, when\n  we send him back to pursue there the religious life he has\n  commenced.\n\n  He will land then in our realm solitary and in disguise. He will\n  call himself everywhere he may go Henry de Rohan, which is the name\n  of the family of a certain French prince, a Calvinist, and very well\n  known and intimate with us. We are in such fear lest some accident\n  occur, that in these different ports we at present take cognisance,\n  both very secretly and with the requisite prudence, of ships which\n  have arrived or are due, and even so far as we can of persons, under\n  pretence of a zeal for the well-being of our realm, and under\n  pretence of maintaining the Protestant religion, to which we pretend\n  to be attached more than ever, although, before God, who knows the\n  heart, we abhor it as very false and pernicious.\n\n  Moreover, we forbid our very dear and honored son to pass through\n  France and by the other passages and ports which lie in that part,\n  for he could not bring about our intentions with sufficient secresy\n  sailing from that coast, and therefore we have found no place more\n  proper than G\u00eanes for his embarkation. And, in the meanwhile,\n  awaiting his return to Rome, your reverence shall noise it abroad\n  that he has gone to Jersey or Hanton to see his pretended mother,\n  who desires to become a Catholic, as we have suggested and feigned\n  in that other letter, and that, to make the greater haste, he went\n  by sea.\n\n  This then we command him to observe, point by point, through the\n  authority that God has given us over him, and we promise him, on the\n  faith of a king, that we seek nothing else in his coming but the\n  salvation of our souls, his good, and that of the society to which\n  he has attached himself, which, sooner or later, we shall find means\n  to notably favor with our royal magnificence. And so far from\n  forbidding his pursuing his calling, both for the Catholic religion\n  and your society, we and the queens will urge it upon him better\n  than any _director_ he {595} can have. It is very true that when the\n  season and affairs permit us to write and make known to His Holiness\n  the veneration we hold him in as the vicegerent of God, we hope that\n  he will be too well disposed toward us to refuse him the cardinal's\n  hat, inasmuch as the conditions which could forbid his having this\n  dignity for the honor of our person and of our realm are not\n  fulfilled in his case, viz., residence in England, since we can send\n  him to dwell at Rome, as we promise, and with the royal magnificence\n  requisite for his birth. Nevertheless, if in time he prefer to live\n  according to the religious life he has commenced, we would readily\n  abandon what would be to the honor of our crown and of our person,\n  rather than to urge and procure such dignities against his will.\n\n  We have made discreet inquiries of our physician whether\n  sea-sickness cause any dangerous accidents to those of a feeble\n  constitution, who has answered us that sea-sickness never killed any\n  one, but on the contrary has been the means of greater health.\n  Nevertheless, if it be too painful for him to make one trip of it,\n  he shall contrive that the bark or shallop in which he sails rest\n  from time to time in some port. He might easily come at once to\n  London; but we do not wish it for good reasons. Let him land at some\n  other port of England, from whence he can come by land in a carriage\n  to London.\n\n  We once again entreat your reverence not to write to us nor to make\n  any reply, saving by the hand of our very dear and honored son, when\n  he comes to us. And, if there be a need for anything which he does\n  not possess in making the voyage to London, we beseech you, reverend\n  father, to have particular care in the matter, furnishing him with\n  whatever he requires, whereof he will keep account.\n\n  We firmly believe it is God who has inspired us to all these\n  above-mentioned ways for bringing us in secret our very honored son,\n  because of what he has said in his word--that when two or three are\n  gathered together in his name, he will be in the midst of them. For\n  it is exactly ourselves, and the queen, our very dear mother, and\n  the reigning queen, who decree all these things, not without having\n  invoked, first of all, the Holy Spirit. Beside that, the queens have\n  commanded their priests to celebrate many masses in accordance with\n  their intention, which is nothing other than that this affair\n  succeed as well as all our other projects above mentioned, which\n  tend not only to our good, but to that of the Roman Catholic Church\n  and of our realm. We are,\n     CHARLES, King of England.\n\nThese last two letters were a sad revelation to Father Oliva, and no\ndoubt very much diminished the hopes which he had before conceived.\nHowever, the order was given to the novice to set out without delay.\n\nIf James Stuart could easily obey his father by departing from Rome\nbefore the arrival of Queen Christina, it was certainly more difficult\nfor him to conform to the frequently contradictory injunctions\nconcerning the route to be taken and the precautions to be guarded\nagainst which had been successively transmitted to him. Everything\nwhich was rational and practicable the young man respected. He set\nsail from Leghorn about the middle of October, a fact which we learn\nfrom a brief letter of Father Oliva to the King of England. It is of\ncourse unnecessary to explain to the reader why the father-general has\ndated his note from a Tuscan port rather than from the city of the\nRoman pontiffs at which he wrote:\n\n  SIRE,--The French gentleman who is charged with the delivery of this\n  letter will inform you of my utter carefulness in fulfilling the\n  commands of your three letters and my unlimited devotion to your\n  royal person. Your majesty will always see me execute with the same\n  promptness and the {596} same zeal everything which he shall deign\n  to impose on me. I shall endeavor to be such in reality as he deigns\n  to believe that I am; such as the confidence with which he honors me\n  obliges me to show myself.\n\n  I throw myself respectfully at the feet of your majesty.\n    Leghorn, Oct 14, 1668.\n\nIn one very important respect it was found necessary to abandon, or\nrather to violate, the royal programme. Charles, a perfect stranger to\necclesiastical laws, always supposed that, at his request, his son\ncould be made priest either at Rome or in London. But James Stuart was\nonly twenty-one years old, and was without theological studies. Even\nif these serious objections had not existed, it would not have been\nprudent to elevate to the sacred office a novice whose religious\nexperience extended scarcely over a space of six months. Thus, despite\nthe repugnance of the king, Henry de Rohan, as our young traveller\nmust now be called, took as his companion a priest of the society, a\nFrenchman, as far as we can judge, who, disguised like himself, was\npresented to their Britannic majesties in the quality of a friend of\nthe refugee prince. This wise measure, imposed by the timidity of\nCharles, was attended by so little inconvenience, that we shall find\nthe monarch himself, on the occasion of his son's second voyage to\nEngland, earnestly requesting of the father-general the return of this\nsame _religious_ whose talents and virtues he had come to appreciate.\n\nVII.\n\nThis is not the place to describe the warmth with which Charles opened\nhis arms to his first-born, whom he had always peculiarly cherished,\nnor the joy of the two pious princesses, nor the tender emotions of\nthe youth upon whom beamed, at length, the sympathy and affection he\nhad never known before. In the isolation of his earlier life, James\nStuart had sadly felt the void which the absence of that sweetest tie\non earth, the family, creates. This grief had eaten into him like a\ncancer, till the day when he resolved to renounce the world. When the\nvictim has immolated himself, when he has said to flesh and blood, I\nwill know you nevermore! behold in a royal palace, by one of the first\nthrones on earth, the humble novice finds again a home--venerable\nqueens are mothers to him. His father caresses him, and, emulating the\nexample of his brother, the Duke of York, who was also preparing to\nembrace Catholicism, receives the child of St. Ignatius as an angel\nfrom heaven.\n\nBut it was not for such pleasures that the young Jesuit had quitted\nhis solitude. Guided by the wise counsels of Father Oliva, and\nassisted by his own studies and the able co-operation of his\ncompanion, he engaged without delay in the religious instruction of\nthe king. Of these conferences, surrounded with so much mystery, two\nfragments have come down to us. One word upon the nature and upon the\nhistory of this double document.\n\nIt consists of two divisions, and is a resum\u00e9 of a great theological\ndiscussion which, at once, establishes the divine authority of the\nRoman, and saps the foundation of the Anglican, Church. The original\npiece is in the French language and in the handwriting of the king. He\nwas not, however, the author. The primitive text has disappeared,\nprobably through fear that a paper of this nature, if it should get\nabroad, would furnish material proof that a sovereign of Great Britain\nhad held communication with a \"papist\" priest. These pages of\nreligious controversy Charles carefully concealed. While he lived\nprobably no one, save the Duke of York, had any knowledge of them.\nAfter the death of Charles, James II. found these writings again, one\nin the private chest, the other in the cabinet of the dead monarch,\nand in spite of the {597} storm which they were certain to produce, he\ndid not fear to make them public. In 1700 he presented them solemnly,\nas a proof of the faith which animated his brother, to the general\nassembly of the clergy of France convened at St. Germain-en-Laye. Of\nthe many thousand copies which, during the reign of the last of the\ncrowned Stuarts, were circulated on both sides of the Channel, there\nexists at the present day only one. The Jesuit College at Rome still\npossess the edition of 1685, and in addition a manuscript copy of the\ntwo papers, both bearing, as a guarantee of their perfect\nauthenticity, the autograph signature of King James. All the English\nhistorians speak of these two celebrated writings; but only to declare\nthat the real convictions of Charles had nothing in common with these\nfragments of a controversy transcribed by him they know not why.\n\nJames II. in his \"Memoirs\" gives us a short anecdote, which from its\nconnection with this subject we will reproduce. One day, finding\nhimself alone in his cabinet with the Archbishop of Canterbury, he\navailed himself of the opportunity to place in his hands the two\npapers.\n\n\"He, the archbishop, appeared surprised, and remained for a quarter of\nan hour without making any reply. Then he said that he had not\nsupposed the deceased king was so learned in the matter of\ncontroversy, but he nevertheless thought the arguments could be\nrefuted. Upon which the king begged him to make the trial, telling him\nthat if he accomplished it by means of reasons both solid and honestly\nexpressed, he would probably succeed in converting him to his church.\nThe archbishop replied that it would, perhaps, be evincing a want of\nrespect for the deceased king, should he seek to contradict him; but\nhis majesty relied by urging on him that the hope of converting\nhimself ought to override every other consideration. He besought him\nthen to occupy himself at once with a refutation of these papers, and\nto employ his pen if he thought proper. Whatever the reason may have\nbeen, neither this authorization nor the pressing instance of my Lord\nDartmouth could engage him to write, and there appeared no reply\nduring the four years that his majesty reigned in England.\"  [Footnote\n91]\n\n  [Footnote 91: \"_Vie de Jacques II., roi d'Angleterre, d'apres les\n  Memoirs \u00e9crite de sa Main. T. iii., p. 12. Paris, 1819_.\"]\n\nHere then are these dogmatic pages, almost as unknown in our century\nas in the time when Charles concealed them in the most secret places\nin his palace. We publish them exactly as they saw the light.\n\n\nFIRST WRITING.\n\n  The conversation that we had the other day will have satisfied you,\n  as I hope, upon the principal point, which was that Jesus Christ can\n  have, here upon the earth, but one church only, and I believe that\n  it is as clear as it is that the Scripture is printed, that this\n  church does not exist unless it be what is called the Roman Catholic\n  Church.\n\n  I believe that there is no need of your troubling yourself with\n  entering upon a sea of particular disputes, since the principal, and\n  in truth the only and simple question, consists in ascertaining\n  where this church is which, in the two creeds, we profess to believe\n  in. We declare, in the two creeds, that we believe in only one\n  catholic and apostolic church, and it does not belong to each\n  individual member to believe everything that comes into his head\n  according to his fancy; but it belongs to the church to whom on\n  earth Jesus Christ has left the power of governing us in matters of\n  faith, and has made these creeds to serve us as a rule.\n\n  It would be a most unreasonable thing to make laws for a country,\n  and then to permit the inhabitants to be the interpreters and the\n  judges. For then, {598} each individual would be a judge in his own\n  cause, and consequently, there would be no standard whereby to\n  distinguish justice from injustice. Can we then suppose that God has\n  abandoned us to such uncertainties as to give us a rule for our\n  conduct, and then to permit each individual to be his own judge? I\n  demand of every honest man if this be not the same thing as\n  following our own imaginations, or of making use thereof in the\n  interpretation of Scripture?\n\n  I could wish that some one would show me in what passage the power\n  of deciding upon matters of faith is given to each individual. Jesus\n  Christ has left this power to his Church, even for the remission of\n  sins, and he has left his spirit there. This power has been\n  exercised since his resurrection, first by the apostles in their\n  creed, and many years after by the Council of Nice, where the creed\n  was made that bears its name.\n\n  By the power which has been received of Jesus Christ, the Holy\n  Scripture itself was judged many years, after the apostles, in\n  determining which were the canonical books and which were not. If we\n  had the power then, I would like to know how it has come to be lost,\n  and by what authority men can separate themselves from this Church.\n  The only pretence I have ever heard advanced is because the Church\n  has fallen into error, interpreting the Scripture after a forced\n  manner and contrary to its true sense, and that it has imposed on us\n  articles of faith which are not authorized by the word of God. I\n  would like to know who is to be the judge of all this, whether it is\n  the whole Church whose succession has continued up to to-day without\n  any interruption, or is it to be the individuals who have excited\n  schisms for their own interest?\n\n  This is the true copy of a paper which I have found in the private\n  chest of the deceased king, my brother, written by his own hand.\n\n    JAMES R.\n\n\nSECOND WRITING.\n\n  It is a most sad thing to see the infinite number of heresies which\n  have spread themselves over this nation. Each one believes himself\n  as competent a judge of the Scripture as the apostles themselves.\n  And no wonder, for that part of the nation which has most\n  resemblance to a church does not dare employ the true arguments\n  against the other sects, through fear lest they should be turned\n  against themselves, and they should thus find themselves confounded\n  by their own proper arguments. Those of the Anglican Church, as it\n  is called, are willing enough to be regarded as judges in matters\n  spiritual. They dare not, however, positively assert that their\n  judgment is without appeal. For it would be necessary for them to\n  assert that they are infallible, which they dare not pretend, or to\n  avow that while they decide upon in matters of conscience ought not\n  to be followed further than as it accords with the judgment which\n  each one may make in his own mind.\n\n  If Jesus Christ has left a church here on earth, and if we were all\n  at one time in this church, how, and by what authority, are we\n  separated from it? If the power of interpreting Scripture resides in\n  the brain of each individual, what need have you of a church or of\n  churchmen? Why did Jesus Christ--having given to his apostles power\n  to bind and to unbind on earth and in heaven--_add that he would be\n  with them till the end of the world?_ These words were not spoken\n  figuratively nor in the manner of a parable. Jesus Christ was\n  ascending into glory, and he left his power to his church, until the\n  end of the world.\n\n  For one hundred years we have known the sad effects of this\n  doctrine, which takes away from the church the power of judging\n  without appeal in matters spiritual. What country could remain at\n  peace if there were not a supreme judge from whom there {599} could\n  be no appeal? Can any justice be done where the culprits are their\n  own judges and interpreters of the law, equally with those who are\n  set on high to render justice?\n\n  It is to this condition that we are reduced in England in spiritual\n  affairs. For the protestants are not of the Anglican Church because\n  it is the true church from which there can be no appeal; but because\n  the discipline of this church is conformable to their present\n  imaginations. And as soon as it shall run counter or swerve from it,\n  they will embrace almost the first congregation of those whose\n  discipline and religion accord at that time with their opinions.\n  Thus, accepting this doctrine, there is no other church nor any\n  other interpretation of Scripture than that which each extravagant\n  individual shall hit upon in his brain. I would then like\n  exceedingly to know of all those who have seriously reflected on\n  these things, if the great work of our salvation ought to rest on\n  such a sandy foundation as this? Has Jesus Christ ever said to\n  secular magistrates, still less to the people--_that he will be\n  with them till the end of the world?_--or has he given them power of\n  pardoning sins? St. Paul has said in Corinthians--_We are God's\n  husbandry, we are God's building, we are laborers in the house of\n  God together with God._ This shows us who they are who labor--which\n  is the field, which the edifice. In the whole of this and in one of\n  the preceding chapters, St. Paul takes great pains to establish the\n  doctrine that they (that is to say, the clergy) _have the spirit of\n  God, without which no one can penetrate the profound mysteries of\n  God;_ and he concludes the chapter with this verse, _\"For who hath\n  known the mind of the Lord that he may instruct him? But we have the\n  mind of Christ.\"_ If then we consider merely in the light of\n  probability and human reason the power that Jesus Christ left to his\n  church in the gospel, and which St. Paul explains afterward so\n  distinctly, we cannot believe that our Saviour has said all these\n  things for nothing.\n\n  I entreat you to consider, on the other hand, that those who resist\n  the truth, and who do not wish to submit to his church, draw their\n  arguments from so-called contradictions and far-fetched\n  interpretations, while at the same time they deny verities expressed\n  in clear and positive words, a thing so contrary to good faith that\n  it is difficult to think that they believe what they say.\n\n  Is there any other foundation of the Protestant Church if it be not\n  this, that should the civil magistrate judge it fit, he can summon\n  together such persons of the clergy, according as he believes it to\n  be for his interest, for the time being; and can change the form of\n  the church to Presbyterianism or to Independency, and finally make\n  it just what he pleases? Such has been the method which they have\n  pursued here in our so-called English Reformation, and by the same\n  rule and by the same authority it can be still further diversified\n  and changed into as many forms and figures as there are different\n  imaginations in the heads of men.\n\n  This is a true copy of a paper written by the hand of the late king,\n  my brother, which I found in his cabinet.\n   JAMES R.\n\n\nBut why, it may be asked, do we arbitrarily date from the epoch of\nFather James Stuart's, appearance in London these papers, otherwise\nwithout date, and which were not publicly known till seventeen years\nlater, in 1685? Let us set forth, as briefly as possible, the\narguments by which we support our position.\n\nIn the first place, we agree with the English historians that these\ntwo fragments of controversy are not from the pen of Charles II. A\ncomparison of the rugged and often inaccurate French of his majesty\nwith that of the present text, settles this question at once. To whom,\nthen, must we look for the authorship? {600} They proceed from an\necclesiastic, from a theologian consulted by the King of England. The\nvery for which they assume argues the teaching of a master. But are\nnot these two papers the offspring of two authors, of two teachers? By\nno means. There is a perfect resemblance between them, a perfect\nconsanguinity of thought and of argument. There is the same turn of\nmind, the same style, often the same expressions. Still further. The\ntenor of the two pieces, which present in an abridged and condensed\nform many points of doctrine, presupposes in our opinion a whole\nseries of lessons given to the royal disciple. Observe that, at the\nbeginning of the first resum\u00e9, we have the phrase \"the principal\npoint;\" there were then secondary points. The peaceful and at the same\ntime simple, almost familiar tone of the master on entering upon the\nsubject, is exactly the tone of a man who is conversing neither for\nthe first nor for the last time. \"The conversation\" of which he speaks\nhad not been, you would say, the only conversation. Everything, in\nfact, shows that these two fragments made part of a very considerable\nseries of religious conferences.\n\nBut could these conferences, which, as we have seen, Charles might\nhave held in all secresy at the end of the year 1668 and at the\ncommencement of the year 1669, have taken place at any other period of\nhis reign? By no means. For the first eight years, the king himself is\nour witness, since we have only to study the terms in which he\ncomplains to Father Oliva of his lamentable state of spiritual\ndestitution. After the departure of the two Jesuits and the conversion\nof the Duke of York, the Anglican hatred and bitterness did not cease\nto rage about the throne of the Catholic Stuarts. During this second\nperiod, the only name which stands in our way is that of Father Claude\nde la Colombi\u00e8re, who sojourned in England a little more than two\nyears, from 1676 to 1679. Now in this unhappy time, so great was the\nterror which ruled Charles II. that, despite his sincere esteem for\nthe preacher of the Duchess of York, he dared not accord him, by the\nvery confession of Father de la Colombi\u00e8re, more than two or three\naudiences, and not one of them secret. Whence it follows that these\ntwo famous documents are very probably, we had almost said certainly,\nthe work of Father James Stuart and of his learned companion. Beside,\ndoes not such an origin explain the almost religious care with which\nthese arid pages of theology were guarded for nearly twenty years by a\nprince to whom history points as the perfect type of carelessness?\nThey called back to him the day when, in the presence of his mother,\nwho was no more, and who now prayed for him in heaven, under the\ndirection of a saint whose father he was, he had made his most\npowerful effort to abjure odious errors; they remained in his hand as\na consolation for the past, a light in the future, a pledge of pardon\nand of hope in the hour when, cited before him who judges kings, he\nshould at last render a severe account for the scandals of his life\nand the deficiencies of his faith.\n\nHad the difficulties which these two devout ecclesiastics were forced\nto encounter been merely spiritual, had it been a question of logic,\nhistory, and truth, their mission would have been a fruitful one. But\nin actual life events are seldom simple, and history becomes a problem\nof complex forces. The heart of Charles II. led him toward his God.\nThe pleasures of court life, and a natural unwillingness to sacrifice\nhis throne, made him hesitate, falter, invent subtleties. It happened,\nat this time, that a wide-spread opinion prevailed in England, which\nhad not been without its influence on the king. A Catholic, it was\nclaimed, could procure a dispensation from Rome, could disguise his\nfaith without scruple, and conform himself externally, at least, to\nthe rites of the Anglican Church. Nor was the British monarch\ndestitute of a plausible {601} precedent. When sojourning at Paris, in\nthe days of the Protectorate, he had promised the venerable Father\nOiler to renounce Protestantism, and Alexander VII., at the urgent\ninstance of the crownless prince, had authorized him to conceal his\nabjuration until his affairs took a more favorable turn. This\nconcession was made in no absolute sense. It stopped at the limits\nwhich the divine law has fixed for kings as well as for the humblest\nof Christians. Unquestionably, a convert whose abrupt publication of a\nchange of faith would subject him to grave perils ought to use\nprudence. But in no respect would this permission extend so far as\nthat the disciple should be \"ashamed of\" his Master. In this latter\ncase dissimulation would be a crime.\n\nYet, in the delicate situation in which Charles was placed, what was\nhe to do? The French alliance remained at this moment a state secret,\nand was thus far without result. Much was anticipated from the war\nwhich Louis XIV. was about to wage with Holland. Amid the triumph of\nthe confederate arms, and the glory which would redound to his own\nperson, the English monarch hoped to discover some means of\nstrengthening the royal power and of breaking at last the Anglican\ntyranny. Not one of these things, however, had reached the vantage\npoint of a _fait accompli_; not a domestic difficulty which did not\nsubsist in all its force. In his extremity, the unfortunate prince\nnaturally returned to his dreams of an accommodation with the Pope, of\na compromise with the law of God: and one might say that circumstances\ninvited it. Had he not now, in the general of the Jesuits, a powerful\nadvocate with the sovereign pontiff? His son, a novice of the\nfraternity of Jesus, his son, called from the bosom of Italy and so\ntenderly received--would he not serve in the Vatican as a guarantee\nfor the integrity of the father? Recourse to the Holy See, so far as\nto ascertain the precautions which would be permitted to the King of\nGreat Britain in order to avoid exposing himself, his family, all the\nCatholics of England, to the extremest dangers--such was, we think the\nfinal determination of Charles II. This conjecture, authorized by the\nwell-known sentiments of the prince and the whole sequence of facts,\nis specially based on a letter which Father James Stuart will shortly\nbear to Rome, and which appears to us scarcely susceptible of any\nother interpretation. Beside, one very authentic feature in the\nconversion of the Duke of York, to which we shall presently allude,\nfalls in so perfectly with our theory, that it will be exceedingly\ndifficult, in our opinion, to find any other satisfactory explanation\nfor the ambiguous denouement which the end of this recital affords.\n\nThere are no historical indications to guide us in ascertaining the\nattitude assumed by the two pious queens when the monarch arrived at\nthis resolution. Probably the princesses partook of the illusion of\nthe Duke of York and of most of the Catholics of the court: they\nplaced an exaggerated hope on the powerful intervention of the King of\nFrance. Relying upon this, and on the probable complaisance of the\nPope, they supported in his unhappy course the son, the husband, whose\nsafety lay so closely to their heart.\n\nIt would do our two missionaries a cruel injustice to suppose that\nthey saw no deeper or clearer. In so elementary a question of\ntheology, these vigorous controversialists, whose learning and keen\nreasonings we have appreciated, could have had but one opinion--that\nof their confr\u00e8re Father Symons, of whom we shall shortly speak. James\nStuart, we may fearlessly affirm, fulfilled respectfully but firmly\nthe duty of his ministry. He strove to convince his father that no\npontifical letter would authorize either king or emperor to reconcile\nin his person what the Son of God by his divine lips had declared\neternally irreconcilable, to be ashamed of him before men, and yet to\nfind favor in his sight. Two things are certain. On {602} the one\nhand, the holy novice failed to convince the king; on the other,\nfilial love, happily combined with apostolic prudence, preserved his\nzeal from all bitterness.\n\nCharles persisted in seeking, through the intervention of Father\nOliva, to draw from Clement IX. impossible concessions. Despite the\nrecent fatigues of his late voyage, the young enthusiast offered to be\nhimself the bearer of his father's despatches. The proposition was\naccepted, and Charles wrote these lines, upon which we have already\ncommented, and which are unfortunately the only source from which the\nhistorian can draw a correct judgment upon the results of the secret\nmission completed in 1668 in the palace of the kings of England by\nFather J. Stuart.\n\n  TO THE REVEREND FATHER-GENERAL OF THE JESUIT FATHERS AT ROME\n  (intrusted to the hand of Mons. de la Cloche, Jesuit at Rome):\n\n  REVEREND FATHER,--You are too necessary for us in the position where\n  your merit has raised you, not to be frequently troubled by us, in\n  that condition where the misfortune of our birth obliges us to be.\n\n  Our very dear and honored son will tell you, on our part, all our\n  proceedings, and as we were perplexed in deciding upon some one who\n  should be our messenger once again to your reverence touching our\n  affairs, he represented to us the urgent desire he had of returning\n  himself to Rome on a secret embassy from us to you, reverend\n  father--which desire we have granted him, under the condition that\n  he come back to London as soon as he shall have had an interview\n  with your reverence, and obtained those things which we entreat of\n  you, and which our aforesaid very dear and honored son will explain\n  from us personally, bringing us, on his return through France, the\n  reverend father whom he left there.\n\n  At the request of our very dear and honored son afore-mentioned, who\n  has represented to us that the place where he has been received into\n  your fellowship is burdened heavily with debts, and that there is\n  need of some buildings and other things, we have arranged that your\n  house, in which he has been received, shall obtain from us, as soon\n  as possible, a notable sum for the expiation of our offences.\n  Waiting, if it please you, till your reverence can advise us of the\n  measures which you will take for its reception, which shall be\n  within a year. If you write to us, it will be by our very dear and\n  honored son, who will tell your reverence all our intentions not\n  intrusted to this paper. We are\n      Charles, King of England.\n     At Whitehall, London, the 18th Nov., 1668.\n\nIf it happen that our very dear and honored son be in need of\nanything, whatever it may be, we beseech you, reverend father, to\nattend to it, and we will keep an account of all.\n\nThe sense of the fourth and last letter of Charles II. to Father Oliva\ndoes not appear to us doubtful. If the royal disciple of Father Stuart\nhad shown himself unconditionally and generously disposed to every\nsacrifice, what could have been this business with the Holy See which\nhe committed to the father-general? Had no difficulty existed, the\nabjuration ought to have taken place without delay. For the rest, the\nDuke of York helps us. His illusions, his doubts, avowed by himself in\nhis memoirs, and which very probably he shared with his brother,\nconfirm, point by point, our conjectures upon the nature of the\nobstacles opposed to the self-sacrifice of the two apostles of\nWhitehall.\n\nIn the closing months of the year 1668, the king renewed his\nintercourse with his brother, toward whom he had been momentarily\nestranged by the intrigues of Buckingham. The author of the Life of\nJames II. recalls this fact, and immediately after he adds:\n\n{603}\n\n  \"It was about this time (toward the commencement of the year 1669)\n  that his royal highness, convinced hitherto that the English was the\n  only true church, experienced lively compunctions of conscience and\n  began to reflect seriously upon his salvation. He therefore sent for\n  a Jesuit named Symons, who was reputed a very wise man, to the end\n  that he might converse with him upon this subject. When the Jesuit\n  made his appearance, the duke set forth his intention of becoming a\n  Catholic, and spoke with reference to his reconciliation with the\n  Church. After a long conversation, the father told him frankly that\n  he could not be received into the Catholic Church unless he entirely\n  abandoned the Anglican communion. The duke replied that, according\n  to the belief he had always held, this could be done by means of a\n  papal dispensation. He alleged the singularity of his position, and\n  the advantage which would inhere to the Catholic religion in\n  general, and especially to the Catholics of England, if by a\n  dispensation he could be permitted to follow externally the rites of\n  the Anglican Church, until an occasion offered for declaring himself\n  with greater safety both for his own person and for the Catholics.\n  But the good father insisted, saying that even the Pope himself had\n  no right to grant such a dispensation, seeing that it was the\n  unalterable doctrine of the Catholic Church never to do evil that\n  good might come. The duke having written upon this subject to the\n  Pope, received from the Holy Father confirmation of what the good\n  Jesuit had told him. Up to this time his royal highness had always\n  thought, following the opinion or at least the expressed words of\n  the Anglican theologians, that dispensations of this kind were\n  readily accorded by the Pope; but the remarks of Fr. Symons and the\n  letter of His Holiness caused the duke to conclude that it was high\n  time to make every effort to obtain liberty to declare himself, that\n  he might no longer live in the embarrassing and perilous situation\n  in which he then was.\"  [Footnote 92]\n\n    [Footnote 92: \"The Life of James the Second, etc., vol. i., p.\n    440-441. London, 1816. Quarto.\" (After several attempts to find\n    this work, the translator has been compelled to rely on the French\n    version.--ED. C.W.)]\n\nWhat relation does this historical passage bear to the sojourn of\nFather Stuart in London? Notice, in the first place, that the date,\n\"at the commencement of the year 1669,\" cannot be taken literally. We\nshall find mention, a few lines further on, of a secret council held\nJan. 25, in reference to \"a declaration of their Catholicism;\" the\nDuke of York being already converted, and the king almost decided to\ntake, like his brother, the last step. Now let us suppose that, on the\n1st of Jan., the duke, hitherto a staunch Anglican, \"experienced\nlively compunctions of conscience.\" With his characteristic caution,\nhe studies into the matter, and finally comes at the truth. Then\noccurs his interview with Fr. Symons; next he writes to the Pope. The\nPope sends his decision. The prince is startled, makes an irrevocable\nresolution, and thus on the twenty-fifth day of the same month we find\nhim deliberating with Charles II. and three of his ministers upon the\npolitical measures necessary to empower them both to practise freely\nthe religion of their choice! A promptness certainly very strange and\ninexplicable even in this day of express trains and telegraph wires!\nEvidently the supposition is impossible, and the expressions of the\nwriter must be interpreted very broadly. Glancing back, it will be\nobserved that these events followed closely upon the reconciliation of\nthe two brothers, which occurred, as the English historians inform us,\ntoward the end of 1668, during the autumn when Henrietta of France,\nthe queen-mother, came to England in order to bid her children a final\nadieu.\n\nIf now we confront the whole series of Father Stuart's proceedings in\nLondon with the circumstances attending the Duke of York's conversion,\nthese {604} two categories of facts, separate in appearance, unite and\ncoalesce so naturally that it will be almost impossible not to\nrecognize their intimate correlation, or, so to speak, their perfect\nidentity.\n\nSetting out from Leghorn Oct 14, the son of Charles II. after a voyage\nof twenty-fire or twenty-six days, arrives in the Thames about Nov. 1,\nO.S. Henrietta of Bourbon, not less jealous for the salvation of her\nsecond son than for that of the king, hastens to put the Duke of York\nin communication with Father James Stuart and the eminent ecclesiastic\nwho accompanied him. Our two apostles divide their days between\nCharles and his brother. It is in their school that the prince\nreceived those strong lessons which in the short space of twenty days\noverturned and created anew the entire structure of his belief. It was\nfrom them that he heard with surprise that the pretended papal\npermissions were only a ridiculous fable, and that the profession of\nthe Catholic faith obliged him to sacrifice everything, to suffer\neverything, for the eternal life. Situated as James then was, this\ndeclaration was of startling import. It affected his hopes of the\ncrown, his family, his entire future. At this juncture he consults\nwith Fr. Symons; and, still dissatisfied, he resolves to appeal to the\nPope. Our argument now takes form; it speaks to the eye. Suppose that\nthe courier of the Duke of York spent twenty-six days each way in his\njourney to Rome, and remained only eight in that city; to have\nreturned to London six or seven days before the council of Jan. 25, he\nwould have had to quit England the 19th or 20th of Nov. And these are\nthe very dates for the departure of the novice of St. Andrew, upon the\nclose of the conferences, and for his return to the capital of Great\nBritain after his journey to Italy!\n\nConsider the subject in another light. According to every English\nhistorian, the facts relative to the conversion of the Duke of York\nhave their extreme limits in Nov. 1, 1668, and Jan. 25, 1669. They\ncannot be fixed earlier, nor later. But these are the precise points\nat which the apostolic mission of Father Stuart at the court of\nWhitehall commences and ends. Examine this in detail, measure the time\nnecessary to instruct and convert a heretic, to carry a message to\nRome, to confer with the Pope, to return to London--there is not a\nfeature which does not present a coincidence almost mathematical.\n\nThe novice of St. Andrew left behind him in France the priest whose\nco-operation had been so useful, and on his return to Rome he made\nknown to the father-general the results of his apostolic labors at the\ncourt of the Stuarts. What impression did the royal letter produce\nupon Father Oliva? It would not be surprising if he thought that he\ndiscovered, what many readers will perhaps have felt, in these brief\nlines, a reserve, a constraint, in perfect contrast with the joy of a\nsoul that has found, after long and sad errors, the Way, the Truth,\nand the Life.\n\nCharles II. also wrote on a matter completely apart from the religious\nquestion. In a former postscript, the king had engaged to recompense\nthe Roman fraternity for all the extraordinary expenses to which they\nhad been subjected on account of his son. Unfortunately, when the year\nexpired, the funds of the civil list were found empty. It was one of\nthose financial crises not unusual under a prince who never knew the\nworth of money until it was gone. Charles was therefore forced to\nsubscribe to an obligation payable in six months for the sum of \u00a3800\nsterling. This note will close the series of inedited pieces that\nFather J. Stuart has left for two centuries in the hands of Father\nPaul Oliva:\n\n  \"We Charles, by the grace of God King of England, France, Scotland,\n  and Ireland, acknowledge ourselves debtors to the reverend\n  father-general {605} of the Jesuit Fathers to the amount of \u00a3800\n  sterling, viz., 800 pistoles for the maintenance and journeyings of\n  our very dear and honored son the Prince James Stuart, a Jesuit\n  living under the name of La Cloche, the which 800 pistoles the said\n  reverend father-general, Jean Paul Oliva, has furnished him with,\n  and which sum we acknowledge ourselves indebted for, and promise to\n  pay him at his pleasure after six months have passed from the day\n  and date, of the said obligation.\n\n  In witness whereof, we have given both our sign-manual and our\n  ordinary seal.\n\n    CHARLES, King of England,\n    L.S. France, Scotland, and Ireland.\n\nClement IX. was now, for the first time, informed of the secret\nmovement which was drawing into the bosom of the Church the posterity\nof Mary Stuart. The pontiff received a letter from the Duke of York,\nand it does not appear improbable that the young traveller had also\nsome words to communicate from the king himself: such at least was the\nintention of Charles three months previous. But whatever was the\nmonarch's desire, there was only one course open to the Pope. The\nMaster had said to the highest ecclesiastic as to the humblest\ndisciple, \"Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or tittle shall not\npass from the law, till all be fulfilled.\" There was then no response\nto be made but a _non possumus_, tempered by all those considerations\nof a charity the most tender which were fitting upon so important an\nissue. And such, as we know from history, was the nature of the reply\nof Clement IX. to the Duke of York.\n\nThe general of the Jesuits, in his turn, owed thanks for the royal\nbenefactions to the fraternity of Mont Quirinal. This letter, which\nthe commonest dictates of courtesy would have enjoined, is not,\nhowever, to be found in the archives of the Jesuits at Rome. One loves\nto think that it was written, that the son of Charles II. bore it to\nWhitehall, but that the author, for weighty motives, destroyed it to\nthe last syllable. Fr. Oliva was a man of note. He was the chief of a\ngreat apostolic order; he had grown old amid important services\nrendered to the Church. Italy could justly pride itself for its\norators; but in Italy itself his rank for eloquence was high. He had\nbeen official \"_predicateur_\" to four sovereign pontiffs, and the\nsermons which he has left behind still attest the vigor, the fire, and\nthe opulence of his rhetoric. It was not in such a nature to leave so\nsignificant an event as the conversion of a great monarch to the\nunaided efforts of a novice. Through all the previous conduct of the\nmission, he bore a vital part; and now when the supreme moment had\ncome, the king hesitating, the eternal life of a nation in the\nbalance, we cannot doubt that he was moved to write with all the\nenergy and persuasiveness of his being. He must have seen that\nsomething more than an Anglican Church or a suspicious parliament\nstood in the way of the monarch's conversion; that, in the scandalous\nlicentiousness of the English court, there was a stumbling-block\nequally as great. If the father-general had the courage to mingle with\nthe language of gratitude a sincere but gentle reproof for these\ndelinquencies, it is easy to understand why not a trace of his message\nremains to us.\n\nFather Stuart was in haste to return to England, where at any moment\nthe great interests which Providence had intrusted to him might\nunexpectedly be compromised. His stay at Rome was therefore brief. As\nsoon as he had received the verbal or written replies of Fr. Oliva,\nand in addition (according to our opinion) those that the Pope sent to\nthe court at Whitehall, he set out at once on his return. He quitted\nRome never to return. Without doubt, in the course of the following\nyears, he communicated by letter with his superior, who {606} did not\ndie till 1681, four years before Charles II.; but the very nature of\nthis correspondence precluded its being deposited in the archives of\nthe society. From this moment, therefore, we must rely upon English\nhistory for our details. Fr. Stuart drops into obscurity; but the work\nfor which he labored still gleams above the darkness.\n\nIt was on Jan. 18, 1669, if our previous calculation be accepted, that\nthe pretended Prince Henry de Rohan appears again at the court of\nLondon, bringing with him his old companion in accordance with the\nwish expressed by the king in his last letter to Fr. Oliva. The\npontifical letters, touching, energetic, full of the wisdom of God,\nhave then been remitted; the emphatic opinions of the general of the\nsociety are known. James Stuart and the French Jesuit have had their\ninterview with Charles; they have aroused anew in his heart those\nearnest and holy impressions which swayed him two months before; and\nthe venerable Henrietta de Bourbon is waiting anxiously and in tears\nthe moment when she may say, in the language of the gospel, \"Now thou\ndost dismiss thy servant, O Lord, according to thy word, in peace.\"\nSuch is the situation of affairs at Whitehall. Recurring to the \"Life\nof James II.\" we find that the historian, after speaking of the Duke\nof York, his interview with Fr. Symons, and his letter to the Pope,\ncontinues as follows:\n\n  \"This is why his royal highness, knowing that the king was of the\n  same mind, and had already opened himself to Lord Arundel, to Lord\n  Arlington, and to Sir Thomas Clifford, seized an opportunity to\n  converse with his majesty on this subject. He found him fully\n  decided to become a Catholic, and penetrated with the danger and the\n  constraint of his position. The king added that he desired to have,\n  in the cabinet of the duke, a secret interview with the persons we\n  have just named, in order to consult with them upon the means which\n  it would be necessary to employ in order to extend the Catholic\n  religion in the state. This interview was fixed for Jan. 25, the day\n  on which the Church celebrates the conversion of St Paul:\n\n  \"When they had come together, the king declared his sentiments upon\n  matters of religion; he repeated what he had said to the duke\n  regarding the embarrassments which he had experienced in being\n  prevented from the profession of the faith to which he was attached,\n  and told them that he had summoned them to consult upon the measures\n  necessary to be employed in the re-establishment of the Catholic\n  religion in his realm, and upon the most favorable measure for\n  declaring himself openly. He remarked that there was no time to\n  lose; that he expected to find great difficulties in the execution\n  of his project; and that for himself he preferred to enter upon it\n  while, like his brother, he was in the prime of life, and capable of\n  supporting the greatest fatigues, rather than put it off later, when\n  he would no longer have the energy to successfully manage so great a\n  design. His majesty spoke with much force; tears filled his eyes,\n  and he besought the gentlemen to do all that was fitting wise men\n  and good Catholics.\n\n  \"The consultation was protracted, and the ultimate decision was to\n  act in concert with France, and to demand the assistance of his very\n  christian majesty: the house of Austria being no longer in a\n  condition to co-operate.\"\n\nThe Duke of York at once abjured with great secresy; but did Charles\nII. also abjure? Our opinion is that the two brothers separated from\nthe Anglican Church at the same time; and that on the same day, at the\nfoot of the same altar, in the hands of the same priest, they made the\nsame profession of faith. Only one remained unchangeable in his\nfidelity. The other, sincere but feeble, made an honest effort to give\nhis country liberty of conscience, was defeated at every point by the\nunited mass of the {607} English factions, and finally fell back upon\ndissimulations and hypocrisies. It was Fr. Stuart who presided at this\nabjuration--a fact which the following considerations prove.\n\nOn the 5th of Jan., 1685, Fr. Huddleston, an English Benedictine, and\na chaplain to the queen, summoned, says Lingard, in the absence of a\nforeign ecclesiastic in London, administered at evening the last\nsacraments to the king without demanding from him that act which\nshould have preceded all others--abjuration. Charles throughout the\nrest of the night had full consciousness, and it would be perfectly\nabsurd to suppose that neither Fr. Huddleston, a priest for\ntwenty-five or thirty years, nor any of the queen's almoners, nor the\nDuke of York, as well as the other Catholics present, nor the sick man\nhimself, should have thought, for five hours, of satisfying this most\nnecessary of all conditions for admitting one among the children of\nthe true Church.\n\nClearly, then, Charles had made his abjuration before his last\nillness. Studying the sequence of his reign, we remark that the year\n1669 closes the period of calm which the brother of James II. enjoyed.\nImmediately after the French alliance exasperated the nation; and the\nrage and fury of Anglicanism were excited by the known conversion of\nthe Duke and the Duchess of York, by that of Sir Thomas Clifford, by\nthe second marriage of the Duke with the princess of Modena, by all\nthat movement of Catholic activity the signs of which multiplied\naround the palace of the Stuarts. Presently persecution began anew,\nand Charles, incapable of holding head against the storm, yielded in\neverything; he signed the decrees of proscription, he permitted the\nflow of innocent blood. What priest, in such a conjuncture, would have\nconsented to receive his abjuration? But in Jan., 1669, the presence\nof Henrietta of Bourbon, the pious joy of all that royal family, the\nhope which might reasonably be founded on the probable influence of\nFr. James Stuart, united in urging forward so desirable a\nconsummation. Charles, whose good faith we cannot justly suspect\nwithout satisfactory proof,--Charles persuaded himself that, assisted\nby the French monarch, and supported by his brother the duke, there\nwas no domestic coalition which could defeat him, and he brought over\nthe rest to his opinion by that seductive eloquence which, with him,\nwas almost irresistible. The priest doubtless had many fears; but the\npriest, when there was the appearance of security, inclined toward\nindulgence, and on the present occasion so many reiterated assurances,\nso many moving supplications, so many marvellous advantages in\nperspective, finally disarmed him. Nothing in the duke's account\nprejudices this conclusion. His delicate sense of family honor, the\nreproach which would have attached to Charles and ultimately to all\nthe Stuarts if the act were known, the reticence necessary to maintain\nregarding the king's eldest son--each and all explain the silence of\nthat prince. Beside the offer to take the sword in hand, and to run\nthe chances of a long and perilous civil war, would indicate less a\nfuture step than a step in the past. In our opinion, therefore, the\ncouncil of Jan. 25 followed the abjuration of Charles rather than\npreceded it.\n\n------\n\n{608}\n\n\nFrom The Argosy.\n\n\nTHE INFIORATA OF GENZANO.\n\n\nIf you are ever in Rome at Corpus Christi (a thing not likely to\nhappen, by the way, as it must fall in the months when northerners\nshun the Campagna) do not let anything induce you to miss the\nInfiorata of Genzano--the gem of village festivals. We were fortunate\nenough to witness it last year, the first time it has been celebrated\nsince the troubles of 1848.\n\nAll Rome turned out to assist at it. Many days before every available\nvehicle and beast had been bespoken, and _yet_ there was a demand.\n\nOur mount, \"Master Pietro,\" of half Italian, half English race, as his\nname symbolizes, came to fetch us punctually at the unearthly hour of\nseven--to get his work done ere the noontide heat. He had carried us\nthrough many lovely scenes before, and his hardy qualities adapted him\nwell for the three days' excursion we intended to make of it, through\na land where hay is scarce and oats almost unattainable. But we knew\nhe had one idiosyncracy, of kicking violently at the approach of any\nmule--a frequent customer in the neighborhood of Rome--and as the\ncrowded state of the road on that day would render it particularly\nunsuited for such pranks, we elected to travel along the solitary\nAppian Way. It was a brilliant morning of early June. A light trot\nsoon brought us to the grand old Arch of Drusus. We could not help\nstopping to admire the play of light and shade on its time-worn\nstones, and through the fairy tracery with which nature loves to deck\nart. It could not have appeared more worthy of admiration the first\nday that--oldest of triumphal arches--its noble proportions were\ncompleted, and the imperial father saw immortalized in it the triumphs\nof his son. The \"stern round tower of other days\" demanded another\npause. Often as we had passed it before, the romance with which \"the\nChilde's\" speculations have invested it make it ever an object of\nfresh interest. If it be the object of \"huge tombs\" to set all\nposterity wondering about their tenants, the tomb of Caecilia Metella\ncertainly has fulfilled its mission. Who passes the massive structure\nand does not long to know something about the lady to whom, nearly two\nthousand years ago, this lasting memorial was raised? The ground-plan\nis a square of seventy feet, and the walls are twenty-five feet thick.\nIn the small interior space thus formed, Caecilia's ashes reposed in a\nwhite marble sarcophagus. The inscription is of the simplest\ndescription--\"Caeciliae Q. Cretici F. Metaelle Crassi;\" in the\nneighborhood even her name is untold, and the tower is only called the\n\"Capo di Bove,\" from the ornaments of the frieze.\n\nWe pushed on vigorously for a mile or two, and then came patches of\nthe old Roman pavement, to stop Master Pietro's cantering, and give\nleisure to be again examining the tombs on either hand; little temples\nerected to house ashes--their own ruins now the subject of fostering\ncare--and to set one wondering how mortal horses ever pranced, or ran,\nor drew weights over those stony blocks. \"Let us hope\" they were not\nleft for an uncovered pavement, but that they served for the\nfoundation of a coating of tufa, or something equally grateful to\nweary hoofs.\n\nThe lizards, bewildered with our clatter, shot madly across our path,\nand \"the merry brown hares came leaping\" from their retreat, defying\n{609} with their swiftness the vain attempts of our brave little\nlupino to run them to ground. We were thankful they all escaped with\ntheir lives, so blithe and gay among the tombs. Some ten miles of\nthis, and then a mile through a newly-mown field, the fragrant hay\nmost tantalizing to our probably breakfastless steeds. Some of our\nparty knew a cut through Duke Torlonia's ground which was to save us a\nmile or two, but in anticipation of the festive crowd an iron chain\nhad been made to bar the passage. It was an easy leap for Master\nPietro, however, and for one or two of his companions; the others had\nto go round. The rise is steep, and, though in places rocky, generally\ngood. We pass, on our rights the ancient town of Bovillae, and then on\nour left comes the lovely lake of Albano, and Castel Grandolfo with\nthe Popes' modest summer palace. Another trot brings us to the\n\"Galeria di Sopra,\" a delicious, gently ascending path, soft as Rotten\nRow, under the flickering shade of massive ilexes. It is just the\nplace for a canter, and Master Pietro evidently thinks so as he sniffs\nthe morning air. To our regret it comes to an end at last, and we wait\nbehind the sheltering gateway of the Chigi palace while some of our\nparty go in and secure beds at l'Ariccia. We have allowed little short\nof three hours to the seventeen miles, but still we are nearly the\nfirst to arrive, so we get the best rooms the _Locanda_ can afford,\nand are well satisfied with them and with our collation of pastry and\nwine. Our own hunger satisfied, we determine to leave Master Pietro\nand his brethren to their oats (if they can get any), and we walk on\nto Genzano. Three noble bits of viaduct save us the terrible up and\ndown hill through which our predecessors of a few years ago had to\ntoil.\n\nDuring the few minutes we were in the hotel, \"all the world\" has\narrived, and we are soon in the midst of a vast train of people, all\nfollowing the same object, all talking earnestly, and of course very\nloud. A gun sounds. There is a rush. We are just too late for the\nstart of the first race. It is _a' fantini_. Gaily dressed but\nclownish jockeys bestride the contending chargers, without stirrups or\nsaddles, guiding them only by a red woollen rope. The next is _\u00e0\nvuoto_. The rough but ready steeds career riderless along the way\nlined out for them by the living hedge of spectators; and it is hard\nto say whether they are first brought to a stand by the roar\nwhich--suppressed by the very intensity of excitement during the\nrace--bursts into a deafening peal as they near the goal, or by the\nblack curtain suspended across their path, which forms the legitimate\n\"_ripresa dei barberi_.\" The horse who has won the contest by his own\n_unridden_ impetuosity is decked with flowers and streamers, and\nmarched through the admiring crowds, giving a knowing and majestic nod\nto the plumes which form his crest. A file of soldiers escorts him,\nand the band agitates his triumphant \"progress;\" he has borne all his\nother honors meekly, but this one chafes him. As soon as he is marched\noff, the crowd, breaking up as Roman crowds do into couples, soon\nmanoeuvres itself into picturesque groups round the various stalls of\nthe village fair. How they enjoy themselves! How gladsome and light of\nheart they seem!--and on what mild conditions. Does it not do one\ngood to see their easy contentment? What strange wares form the\nattractions of dark, glancing eyes and generous purses! Staple\ncommodity of the fairs of all the Roman _paesi_ is the unfailing pork,\nboned and rolled, and stuffed with rosemary: we did wrong not to taste\nit, for the eager thousands find it \"very good.\" The Genzano wine--and\nthe Cesarini and Jacobini cellars are open to-day--affords a more\ncongenial temptation. It is a luscious wine, with more body and more\ndelicate flavor than the generality of Roman wines, but lacks the\nsparkle of the surpassing Orvieto.\n\nThe gay scene is full of attractive interest, but, finding a couple of\nhours to spare, we trot back to l'Ariccia to {610} dine. Others have\nadopted the same course, and the _Locanda_ is all astir. What to have\nis always a difficult question for the most _un_fastidious anywhere in\nthe Papal States out of Rome. A provoking waiter, who thinks he can\nspeak French, and on all occasions comes out with his one broken\nsentence, \"_Aspetti oon petti momenti_,\" finds us impracticable, and\nsends us the _chef de cuisine_. The _chef_, with a profusion of\n_issimos_, assures us there is no _cuisine_ in the world like his, and\nrings the changes on the well-known names we abominate. _Minestra_ we\nrefuse, it is always water bewitched; the _lesso_ is sure to be\ntasteless and stringy; the _pasta_, the Roman rendering of maccaroni,\nunderdone and indigestible; the _arrosto_, hard and tough--we will\nnone of them. Well, a _fritto?_ If the oil is good, we have nothing to\nsay against that; we allow you excel there. If something else we must\nhave, we will take you on your own ground; bring us an _agro-dolce_,\nthat is a culinary curiosity with which, after the palate has been\nonce annealed to its compound of wine, vinegar, bacon, butter,\nparsley, spices, sugar, oil, chocolate, and wild boar or porcupine,\nyou may be always glad to renew acquaintance. The wind-up of\n_pasticcieria_ and _frutte_ we say nothing about; we know it is\nuseless to argue against the inevitable.\n\nWhile this repast is preparing, we are driven to occupy ourselves with\na study of the room and the guests. The former presents a strange\nmixture of primitiveness and pretension: the build is clumsy, the\nwindow-shutters cover only the glass panes, the fittings are rude, the\nfloor is bare. But the walls have been painted in\n(millions-of-miles-off) imitation of Raphael's much-sinned-against\nLoggie! And over the mantelpiece hangs a landscape, into which a piece\nof looking-glass is inserted to represent a lake. The principal piece\nof furniture is a large glass cupboard, in which is stowed away--we\nknow not for what grand occasion, for it is not even brought into use\nto-day--a set of common English willow-pattern earthenware! We cannot\nbut smile to see our humble friend in such grand plight; and we\nmoralize to ourselves on the subjectivity of the human mind, to which\nits changed estimation testifies. The angularity of the fall of the\ntable-cloth \"accuses\" a table composed of a literal \"board,\" supported\non tressels; and though there are a few chairs, the majority of the\nguests have to be content with backless benches. At one end of our\nboard an English artist, not unknown to fame, and his party are going\nthrough the regular routine of an Italian hotel dinner with\npraiseworthy patience. At another board sits a large family of\nnatives, and we forget all note of time as we watch with astonished\neyes the masses of _pasta_ they contrive to stow away, half-cooked as\nit is sure to be. The sight is not new to us, but every time we see it\nit has the same attraction, derived from the reminiscence of a\ndelicious early surprise such as the performance of Punch and Judy\nalways exercises on any number of Londoners. A vacant space near them\nis soon filled by another native, a young exquisite, who appears quite\noppressed by the mild heat we northerners had been enjoying. Throwing\nhimself at full length on the bench, he commences a violent fanning\nwith his handkerchief; but after a minute or two his hand requires a\ncooler instrument, and he changes it for his hat, which in turn is\nexchanged for his dinner-napkin, and, finally, he completes the\noperation with his plate! At last the one-sentence-of-French waiter\ndirects his steps toward our party, but, to the indignation of every\nindividual of it, he bears the _minestra_ we forbade him to name. This\nhas been our universal experience. The Italian mind cannot take in the\nidea of the possibility of dining without broth; it is useless to\ncountermand it, it is sure to be sent to table. We explode,\nnevertheless, and desire the dishes we ordered to be brought without\nfurther delay. \"_Aspetti oon petti momenti_,\" says Nicol\u00f2; {611} and\nbetter than, his word this time, it is really only _un petit moment_\nbefore we are duly served.\n\nDinner despatched, we have still time to stroll over the neighborhood\nbefore we are wanted at Genzano. A walk of less than a mile, starting\nover the magnificent new viaduct, takes us to the straggling _paese_\n(we cannot bring ourselves to call it a town) of Albano. A\ngood-natured old fellow, always recognizable by the extreme whiteness\nof his stockings, hails us as we pass, in memory of old acquaintance,\nand is sure we must want donkeys; we cannot refuse him, and hoping\nMaster Pietro won't see us out of his stable window, we suffer the\nsure-footed but ignoble substitutes to take us down the difficult\ndescent which the viaduct was built to spare us--so wayward is woman!\nBut the viaduct itself has created a reason for making the descent, as\nthe sight of its noble proportions amply repays the journey.\n\nIt was completed during the reign of the present Pope, from the\ndesigns of a local engineer--one of the Jacobini family. It is formed\nof \"arches on arches\" in three ranges, six on the lowest tier, twelve\nin the next, and eighteen in the highest; they are each forty-nine\nfeet wide between the piers, and sixty feet in height; the whole\nlength of roadway, including the approaches, is nearly a quarter of a\nmile, and the height to top of parapet just two hundred feet. It is\nbuilt of massive blocks of peperino, cut to fit each other without\nmortar, and the appearance is solid and grand, worthy of the models of\nancient masonry by which it is surrounded. There is no attempt at\nornament. The entire cost was 140,000 scudi (\u00a333,000),  [Footnote 93]\nand the halfpenny toll has already gone far toward repaying it.\n\n  [Footnote 93: We drove, the other day, under the viaduct of the\n  Brighton Railway for the sake of comparing it with our memory of\n  l^Ariccia, and were disappointed to find it a slender brick affair,\n  for which the meaningless display of stone at the top had not\n  prepared us. It consists of thirty-seven arches, sixty feet high,\n  and is a little over a quarter of a mile in length. We were informed\n  its cost was \u00a358,000.]\n\nClose under it lies the old ruined tomb commonly called of the Horatii\nand Curiatii but now determined to be that of Aruns, son of Porsenna.\nIt has all the appearance of being of Etruscan work, and the remains\nare very peculiar. It is a square structure, forty-six feet every way\nand twenty feet high; at the four corners are the remains of four\nsmall cones, one being nearly perfect; in the centre is a cylinder,\ntwenty-three feet across, made to contain the urn.\n\nOur donkeys carried us bravely up the rugged hill, and then we found,\nto our regret, we must leave the Chigi palace, Duke Sforza's infant\nschools, and other objects of interest for another visit; we had only\ntime to get back to Genzano. A great deal of business had been done at\nthe fair, and many hearts won by the fair. The booth-keepers, having\nsold off their stock, had shut up shop and gone away, and the merry\ncouples were circulating freely. The rosemaried pork and Genzano wine\nhad given them strength and vigor and gaiety--let it not be understood\nthat we see any trace of excess; all is mirth and good humor and\npicturesqueness. At last six o'clock strikes, and, like an army\nmarshalled by the word of command, the spontaneous and unanimous will\nof the thousands of sightseers brings them in serried procession up\nthe broad street, where the Infiorata lies sparkling and rendering up\nits varied and gorgeous reflections to the sun's rays which bathe it.\n\nBeautiful and delicate tribute of a poetical people! The occasion is\nthe festival of the Blessed Sacrament; and as it is carried among them\nin solemn procession the custom of all Catholic countries is to strew\nflowers along the way; but here the idea has taken a development of a\nsurpassing order, if not unique--as if no care could be too great: not\nonly are the most brilliant flowers planted months before, and\ncollected from distant contributors, but when the day arrives all\nthese are made to form the most exquisite {612} mosaics. What is a\nGobelins carpet to this weft of nature's own materials! A cord is\ndrawn up both sides of the road to keep the flowered centre clear, and\nno one thinks of infringing the slight barrier. The rising ground is\nmost favorable for displaying in two lines, ascending and descending,\nthe endless variety of elaborate devices of tesselation. Costly\nmarbles of different hues fitly pave the basilica; the glazed\n_axulejos_ cooled the Moslem's feet at the same time that they pleased\nhis eye; the velvet-pile tapestries of British looms carpet the bleak\nfloors of our northern homes; and the stiff geometrical tiles, angular\nand uncomfortable as everything Gothic is, suit very well to our\nGothic churches. Each and all have their fitness; and what is the\nInfiorata? It is the tribute of a simple and poor, but imaginative and\nloving, people \"preparing to meet their God.\"\n\n  \"O earth, grow flowers beneath his feet,\n  And thou, O sun, shine bright this day!\n  He comes, he comes,--O heaven on earth!\n  Our Jesus comes upon his way,\"\n\nsings one of their hymns for the occasion. And, poor tillers of the\nearth, the only offering they _can_ make is of the flowers which \"her\nchildren are.\" We looked on with an artist's and humanitarian's\nenjoyment. And delicious enjoyment it was! It was the fresh enjoyment\nof our childhood over again to trace the rich mosaic designs spread\nbefore us; and we pity him who does not know the enjoyment of the\nsensation of color. There were the arms of the Stato Pontificio, and\nof the _paese_, and of the Cesarini and Jacobini, with all their\nbearings and all their tinctures and then, as it were, the arms of the\nblessed sacrament--the symbols under which it is figured. The herald\nmust find a new nomenclature; already he has a separate one for\ncommonalty, nobility, and royalty, but now, for a \"greater than\nSolomon,\" he must devise another. To his \"sol, topaz, or,\" he must add\nthe marigold; and to his \"luna, pearl, argent,\" the lily. Then came\narabesques in perplexing mazes of tracery; every line true, and every\nharmony or contrast of tint faultless. By a refinement least of all to\nbe expected, in the centre of some of the compartments a tiny fountain\nhad been introduced, \"flinging delicious coolness round the air, and\nverdure o'er the ground.\" Nothing that poets have fabled of fairyland\nor paradise ever exceeded it in imaginative luxuriance.\n\n  \"O what a wilderness of flowers!\n  It seemed as though from all the bowers\n  And fairest fields of all the year\n  The mingled spoils were scattered here.\n  The pathway like a garden breathes\n    With the rich buds that o'er it lie,\n  As if a shower of fairy wreaths\n    Had fallen upon it from the sky.\"\n\nA crowd of Romans is not surrounded by a savory atmosphere. We are\nnever in one without finding that the thing Cleopatra exceedingly\nfeared had fallen upon us--\n\n  \"In their thick breath.\n  Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded.\n  And forced to drink their vapor.\"\n\nTheir baths are things of the past; their picturesque costume looks as\nif it were never renewed during a whole life; their houses are dingy,\nand bare, and comfortless; yet we have before us the proof that they\npossess a delicacy of both feeling and taste which it would be\nimpossible to find surpassed anywhere.\n\nMeantime the procession from the church approaches, and a hush\nsucceeds the merry din which has stunned us so long; the last\npertinacious \"_Ecco! zigari!_\" and \"_Acqua fresca_!\" is sung out. And\nin their harsh nasal intonation the appropriated hymns are begun by\nthe priests and taken up by the whole population, very much after the\nfashion of a horse running away; without any regard for time and very\nlittle for tune, but with a heartiness and earnestness which we try to\npersuade ourselves ought to compensate for the \"skinning\" of our ears.\nThe untidy choristers precede and follow in due numbers, and the\nquaint confraternities, in various dresses, bearing unwieldy,\nmisshapen {613} banners, waddle and hobble behind. Slovenly men with\nunwashed hands carry great yellow tapers, and a ragged urchin runs by\nthe side of each catching the droppings into a piece of stiff paper.\nThe whole thing is disenchanting and disedifying; but we see so\nplainly the impression that they think they are doing their best\nreflected from so many hundred beaming countenances, that we end by\nexhausting our squeamishness, and learn to look on the Genzanese modes\nof devotion from their own standing-point. By the time it has taken to\neffect this, however, the procession has regained the church, where we\nfind it impossible to penetrate, and so we turn to take a last look at\nthe Infiorata. Alas! it has all vanished, as completely as if it had\nbeen the emanation of fairyland it appeared to be. As soon as the\nprocession had passed the people broke in, eager to possess themselves\nof the flowers as a sort of relic. From what we saw of the process of\nundoing, it appeared that the mosaics were not composed of whole\nflowers, except in some instances where their form adapted them to\nform special designs, but the generality were made with shred petals,\nby which means masses of color were obtained in the most manageable\nquantities. There was, in most cases, a board or oil-cloth for a\nfoundation, with the patterns marked out in chalk; but the blending of\ncolors seemed to have been left to the individual taste of the\nworkers.\n\nWe get back to our narrow rooms at l'Ariccia in time to escape the\nfiring of the _mortaletti_ and _botti_ (small guns and crackers)\nwithout which an Italian _festa_ is seldom considered complete.\n\nNicol\u00f2 is much disappointed that we will not again trust to the\nresources of his cuisine, and exclaims \"_Aspetti con petti momenti_,\"\nas he goes in quest of our bed-lamps. While we wait, we hear our\nItalian fellow-diners angrily complaining that mine host had taken\nadvantage of the throng of visitors to cheat them of their due\nproportion of _pasta!_ The quantity sent up for four was only the due\nmess of one, _selon_ them. What a spectacle we should have had if it\nhad been dealt out to them according to their own measure!\n\n------\n\nFrom Chamber's Journal.\n\nBROADCAST THY SEED.\n\n  Broadcast thy seed!\n  Although some portion may be found\n  To fall on uncongenial ground,\n  Where sand, or shard, or stone may stay\n  Its coming into light of day;\n  Or when it comes, some pestilent air\n  May make it droop or wither there--\n  Be not discouraged; some will find\n  Congenial soil and gentle wind,\n  Refreshing dew and ripening shower,\n  To bring it into beauteous flower,\n  From flower to fruit, to glad thine eyes,\n  And fill thy soul with sweet surprise.\n  Do good, and God will bless thy deed--\n  Broadcast thy seed!\n\n------\n\n{614}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nCONSTANCE SHERWOOD:\n\nAN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.\n\nBY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\"Ah, ladies,\" exclaimed Mr. Cobham--pleased, I ween, to see how\neagerly we looked for his news--\"I promise you the eastern counties do\nexhibit their loyalty in a very commendable fashion, and so report\nsaith her majesty doth think. The gallant appearance and brave array\nof the Suffolk esquires hath drawn from her highness sundry marks of\nher approval. What think you, my Lady Tregony, of two hundred\nbachelors, all gaily clad in white-velvet coats, and those of graver\nyears in black-velvet coats and fair gold chains, with fifteen hundred\nmen all mounted on horseback, and Sir William le Spring of Lavenham at\ntheir head. I warrant you a more comely troop and a nobler sight\nshould not often be seen. Then, in Norfolk, what great sums of money\nhave been spent! Notably at Kenninghall, where for divers days not\nonly the queen herself was lodged and feasted, with all her household,\ncouncil, courtiers, and all their company, but all the gentlemen also,\nand people of the country who came thither upon the occasion, in such\nplentiful, bountiful, and splendid manner, as the like had never been\nseen before in these counties. Every night she hath slept at some\ngentleman's seat. At Holdstead Hall I had the honor to be presented to\nher highness, and to see her dance a minuet. But an unlucky accident\ndid occur that evening.\"\n\n\"No lives were lost, I hope?\" Lady Tregony said.\n\n\"No lives,\" Master Cobham answered; \"but a very precious fan which her\nmajesty let drop into the moat--one of white and red feathers, which\nSir Francis Drake had gifted her with on New Year's day. It was\nenamelled with a half-moon of mother-o'-pearl and had her majesty's\npicture within it.\"\n\n\"And at Norwich, sir?\" I asked. \"Methinks, by some reports we heard,\nthe pageants there must have proved exceeding grand.\"\n\n\"Rare indeed,\" he replied. \"On the 16th she did enter the town at\nHarford Bridge. The mayor received her with a long Latin oration, very\ntedious; and, moreover, presented her with a fair cup of silver,\nsaying, 'Here is one hundred pounds pure gold.' To my thinking, the\ncup was to her liking more than the speech, and the gold most of all;\nfor when one of her footmen advanced for to take the cup, she said\nsharply, 'Look to it: there is one hundred pounds.' Lord! what a\nnumber of pageants were enacted that day and those which followed!\nDeborah, Judith, Esther at one gate; Queen Martia at another; on the\nheights near Blanche-flower Castle, King Gurgunt and his men. Then all\nthe heathen deities in turn: Mercury driving full speed through the\ncity in a fantastic car; Jupiter presenting her with a riding-rod, and\nVenus with a white dove. {615} But the rarest of all had been designed\nby Master Churchyard. Where her majesty was to take her barge, at the\nback-door of my Lord Arundel's town-house, he had prepared a goodly\nmasque of water-nymphs concealed in a deep hole, and covered with\ngreen canvas, which suddenly opening as if the ground gaped, first one\nnymph was intended to pop up and make a speech to the queen, and then\nanother; and a very complete concert to sound secretly and strangely\nout of the earth. But when the queen passed in her coach, a\nthunder-shower came down like a water-spout, and great claps of\nthunder silenced the concert; which some did presage to be an evil\nomen of the young lord's fortunes.\"\n\n\"I' faith,\" cried Basil, \"I be sorry for the young nobleman, and yet\nmore for the poor artificer of this ingenious pageant, to whom his\nnymphs turned into drowned rats must needs have been a distressing\nsight.\"\n\n\"He was heard to lament over it,\" Master Cobham said, \"in very\npathetic terms: 'What shall I say' (were his words) 'of the loss of\nvelvets, silks, and cloths of gold? Well, nothing but the old\nadage--Man doth purpose, but God dispose.' Well, the mayor hath been\nknighted; and her majesty said she should never forget his city. On\nher journey she looked back, and, with water in her eyes, shaked her\nriding whip, and cried, 'Farewell Norwich!' Yesterday she was to sleep\nat Sir Henry Jerningham's at Cottessy, and hunt in his park to-day.\"\n\n\"Oh, poor Sir Henry!\" I said laughing. \"Then he hath not escaped this\ndear honor?\"\n\n\"Notice of it was sent to him but two days before, from Norwich,\"\nMaster Cobham rejoined; \"and I ween he should have been glad for to be\nexcused.\"\n\nLady Tregony then reminded us that supper was ready, and we removed to\nthe dining-hall; but neither did this good gentleman weary of relating\nnor we of listening to the various haps of the royal progress, which\nhe continued to describe whilst we sat at meat.\n\nHe was yet talking when the sound of a horse gallopping under the\nwindows surprised us, and we had scarce time to turn our heads before\nBasil's steward came tumbling into the room head foremost, like one\ndemented.\n\n\"Sir, sir!\" he cried, almost beside himself; \"in God's name, what do\nyou here, and the queen coming for to sleep at your house to-morrow?\"\n\nMethinks a thunder-clap in the midst of the stilly clear evening\nshould not have startled us so much. Basil's face flushed very deeply;\nLady Tregony looked ready to faint; my heart beat as if it should\nburst; Master Cobham threw his hat into the air, and cried, \"Long live\nQueen Elizabeth, and the old house of Rookwood!\"\n\n\"Who hath brought these tidings?\" Basil asked of the steward.\n\n\"Marry,\" replied the man, \"one of her majesty's gentlemen and two\nfootmen have arrived from Cottessy, and brought this letter from Lord\nBurleigh for your honor.\"\n\nBasil broke the seal, read the missive, and then quietly looking up,\nsaid, \"It is true; and I must lose no time to prepare my poor house\nfor her majesty's abode in it.\"\n\nHe looked not now red, but somewhat pale. Methinks he was thinking of\nthe chapel, and what it held; and the queen's servants now in the\nhouse. I would not stay him; but, taking my hand whilst he spoke, he\nsaid to Lady Tregony,\n\n\"Dear lady, I shall lack yours and Constance's aid to-morrow. Will you\ndo me so much good as to come with her to Euston as early before\ndinner as you can?\"\n\n\"Yea, we will be with you, my good Basil,\" she answered, \"before ten\nof the clock.\"\n\n\"'Tis not,\" he said, \"that I intend to cast about for fine silks and\ncloths of gold, or contrive pageants--God {616} defend it!--or ransack\nthe country for rare and costly meats; but such honorable cheer and so\nmuch of comfort as a plain gentleman's house can afford, I be bound to\nprovide for my sovereign when she deigneth to use mine house.\"\n\n\"Master Cobham, I do crave the honor of your company also,\" he added,\nturning to that gentleman, who, with many acknowledgments of his\ncourtesy, excused himself on the plea that he must needs be at his own\nseat the next day.\n\nThen Basil, mounting his horse which the steward had brought with him,\nrode away so fast that the old man could scarce keep up with him.\n\nNot once that night did mine eyes close themselves. Either I sat bolt\nupright in my bed counting each time the clock struck the number of\nchimes, or else, unable to lie still, paced up and down my chamber.\nThe hours seemed to pass so slowly, more than in times of deep grief.\nIt seemed so strange a hap that the queen should come to Euston, I\nalmost fancied at moments the whole thing to be a dream, so fantastic\ndid it appear. Then a fear would seize me lest the chapel should have\nbeen discovered before Basil could arrive. Minor cares likewise\ntroubled me; such as the scantiness and bad state of the furniture,\nthe lack of household conveniences, the difficulty that might arise to\nprocure sufficient food at a brief notice for so great a number of\npersons. Oh, how my head did work all night with these various\nthinkings! and it seemed as if the morning would never come, and when\nit did that Lady Tregony would never ring her bell. Then I bethought\nmyself of the want of proper dresses for her and myself to appear in\nbefore her majesty, if so be we were admitted to her presence.\nHowsoever, I found she was indifferently well provided in that\nrespect, for her old good gowns stood in a closet where dust could not\nreach them, and she bethought herself I could wear my wedding-dress,\nwhich had come from the seamstress a few days before; and so we should\nnot be ashamed to be seen. I must needs confess that, though many\ndoubts and apprehensions filled me touching this day, I did feel some\ncontentment in the thought of the honor conferred on Basil. If there\nwas pride in this, I do cry God mercy for it. As we rode to Euston,\nthe fresh air, the eager looks of the people on the road--for now the\nreport had spread of the queen's coming--the stir which it caused, the\nputtings up of flags, and buildings of green arches, strengthened this\ngladness. Basil was awaiting us with much impatience, and immediately\ndrew me aside.\n\n\"I have locked,\" he said, \"all the books and church furniture, and our\nBlessed Lady's image, in Owen's hiding place; so methinks we be quite\nsecure. Beds and food I have sent for, and they keep coming in.\nPrithee, dear love, look well thyself to her majesty's chamber, for to\nmake it as handsome and befitting as is possible with such poor means\nthereunto. I pray God the lodging may be to her contentation for one\nnight.\"\n\nSo I hasted to the state-chamber--for so it was called, albeit except\nfor size it had but small signs of state about it. Howsoever, with the\nmaids' help, I gathered into it whatsoever furniture in the house was\nmost handsome, and the wenches made wreaths of ivy and laurel, which\nwe hung round the bare walls. Thence I went to the kitchen, and found\nher majesty's cook was arrived, with as many scullions as should have\nserved a whole army; so, except speaking to him civilly, and inquiring\nwhat provisions he wanted, I had not much to do there. Then we went\nround the house with Mr. Bowyer, the gentleman-usher, for to assign\nthe chambers to the queen's ladies, and the lords and gentlemen and\nthe waiting-women. There was no lack of room, but much of proper\nfurniture; albeit chairs and tables were borrowed on all sides from\nthe neighboring cottages, and Lady {617} Tregony sent for a store from\nher house. Mr. Bowyer held in his hand a list of the persons of the\ncourt now journeying with the queen; Lord Burleigh, Sir Francis\nWalsingham, Sir Christopher Hatton, Sir Walter Raleigh, and many other\nfamous courtiers were foremost in it. When their lodgings were fixed,\nhe glanced down the paper, and, mine eyes following his, I perceived\namong the minor gentlemen there set down Hubert's name, which moved me\nvery much; for we did not of a surety know at that time he did belong\nto the court, and I would fain he had not been present on this\noccasion, and new uneasy thoughts touching what had passed at Sir\nFrancis Walsingham's house, and the words the queen had let fall\nconcerning him and me, crossed my mind in consequence. But in that\nsame list I soon saw another name which caused me so vehement an\nemotion that Basil, noticing it, pulled me by the hand into another\nroom for to ask me the cause of that sudden passion.\n\n\"Basil,\" I whispered, \"mine heart will break if that murthering\nRichard Topcliffe must sleep under your roof.\"\n\n\"God defend it!\" he exclaimed. But pausing in his speech leant his arm\nagainst the chimney and his head on it for a brief space. Then raising\nit, said, in an altered tone, \"Mine own love, be patient. We must\nneeds drink this chalice to the dregs\" (which showed me his thoughts\ntouching this visit had been from the first less hopeful than mine).\nTaking my pencil out of mine hand, he walked straight to the door\nbefore which Mr. Bowyer was standing, awaiting us, and wrote thereon\nMaster Topcliffe's name. Methought his hand shook a little in the\ndoing of it. I then whispered again in his ear:\n\n\"Know you that Hubert is in the queen's retinue?\"\n\n\"No, indeed!\" he exclaimed; and then with his bright winning smile,\n\"Prithee now, show him kindness for my sake. He had best sleep in my\nchamber to-night. It will make room, and mind us of our boyish days.\"\n\nThe day was waning and long shadows falling on the grass when tidings\ncame that her majesty had been hunting that morning, and would not\narrive till late. About dusk warning was given of her approach. She\nrode up on horseback to the house amidst the loud cheering of the\ncrowd, with all her train very richly attired. But it had waxed so\ndark their countenances could not be seen. Her master of the horse\nlifted her from the saddle, and she went straight to her own\napartments, being exceeding tired, it was said, with her day's sport\nand long riding. Notice was given that her highness would admit none\nto her presence that evening. Howsoever, she sent for Basil, and,\ngiving him her hand to kiss, thanked him in the customary manner for\nthe use of his house. It had not been intended that Lady Tregony and I\nshould sleep at Euston, where the room did scarcely suffice for the\nqueen's suite. So when it was signified her majesty should not leave\nher chamber that night, but, after a slight refection, immediately\nretire to rest, and her ladies likewise, who were almost dead with\nfatigue, she ordered our horses to be brought to the back-door. Basil\nstole away from the hall where the lords and gentlemen were assembled\nfor to bid us good-night. After he had lifted me on the saddle, he\nthrew his arm round the horse's neck as if for to detain him, and\naddressing me very fondly, called me his own love, his sole comfort,\nhis best treasure, with many other endearing expressions.\n\nThen I, loth to leave him alone amidst false friends and secret\nenemies, felt tenderness overcome me, and I gave him in return some\nvery tender and passionate assurances of affection; upon which he\nkissed mine hands over and over again, and our hearts, overcharged\nwith various emotions, found relief in this interchange of loving\nlooks and words. But, alas! this brief interview had an unthought\n{618} of witness more than good Lady Tregony, who said once or twice,\n\"Come, children, bestir yourselves,\" or \"Tut, tut, we should be off;'\"\nbut still lingered herself for to pleasure us. I chanced to look up,\nwhilst Basil was fastening my horse's bit, and by the light of a lamp\nprojecting from the wall, I saw Hubert at an open window right over\nabove our heads. I doubt not but that he had seen the manner of our\nparting, and heard the significant expressions therein used; for a\nlivid hue, and the old terrible look which I had noticed in him\nbefore, disfigured his countenance. I am of opinion that until that\ntime he had not believed with certainty that my natural, unbiassed\ninclination did prompt me to marry Basil, or that I loved him with\nother than a convenient and moderate regard, which, if circumstances\nreversed their positions, should not be a hindrance to his own suit.\nBasil having finished his management with my bridle stepped back with\na smile and last good-night, all unconscious of that menacing visage\nwhich my terrified eyes were now averted from, but which I still\nseemed pursued by. It made me weep to think that these two brothers\nshould lie in the same chamber that coming night; the one so confiding\nand guileless of heart, the other so full of envy and enmity.\n\nI was so tired when I reached home that I fell heavily asleep for some\nhours. But, awaking between five and six of the clock, and not able to\nrest in my chamber, dressed myself and went into the garden. Not far\nfrom the house there was an arbor, with a seat in it. Passing\nalongside of it, I perceived, with no small terror, a man lying asleep\non this bench. And then, with increased affright, but not believing\nmine own eyes, but rather thinking it to be a vision, saw Basil, as it\nseemed to me, in the same dress he wore the day before, but with his\nface much paler. A cry burst from me, for methought perhaps he should\nbe dead. But he awoke at my scream, looked somewhat wildly about him\nfor a minute, rubbed his eyes, and then with a kind of smile, albeit\nan exceeding sad one, said,\n\n\"Is it you, my good angel?\"\n\n\"O Basil,\" I cried, sitting down by his side, and taking hold of his\nchilled hand, \"what hath happened? Why are you here?\"\n\nHe covered his face with his hands. Methinks he was praying. Then he\nraised his pale, noble visage and said:\n\n\"About one hour after your departure, supper being just ended, I was\ntalking with Sir Walter Raleigh and some other gentlemen, when a\nmessage was brought unto me from Lord Burleigh, who had retired to his\nchamber, desiring for to speak with me. I thought it should be\nsomewhat anent the queen's pleasure for the ordering of the next day,\nand waited at once on his lordship. When I came in, he looked at me\nwith a very severe and harsh countenance. 'Sir,' he said in an abrupt\nmanner, 'I am informed that you are excommunicated for papistry. How\ndurst you then attempt the royal presence, and to kiss her majesty's\nhand? You--unfit to company with any Christian person--you are fitter\nfor a pair of stocks, and are forthwith commanded not to appear again\nin her sight, but to hold yourself ready to attend her council's\npleasure.' Constance, God only knoweth what I felt; and oh, may he\nforgive me that for one moment I did yield to a burning resentment,\nand forgot the prayers I have so often put up, that when persecution\nfell on me I might meet it, as the early Christians did, with\nblessings, not with curses. But look you, love, a judicial sentence,\ntorture, death methinks, should be easier to bear than this insulting,\ncrushing, brutal tone, which is now used toward Catholics. Yet if\nChrist was for us struck by a slave and bore it, we should also be\nable for to endure their insolent scorn. Bitter words escaped me, I\nthink, albeit I know not very well what I said; but {619} his lordship\nturned his back on the man he had insulted, and left the room without\nlistening to me. I be glad of it now. What doth it avail to\nremonstrate against injuries done under pretence of law, or bandy\nwords with a judge which can compel you to silence?\"\n\n\"Basil,\" I cried, \"you may forgive that man; I cannot'.'\n\n\"Yea, but if you love me, you shall forgive him,\" he cried. \"God\ndefend mine injuries should work in thee an unchristian resentment!\nNay, nay, love, weep not; think for what cause I am ill-used, and thou\nwilt presently rejoice thereat rather than grieve.\"\n\n\"But what happened when that lord had left you?\" I asked, not yet able\nto speak composedly.\n\nThen he: \"I stood stock-still for a while in a kind of bewilderment,\nhearing loud laughter in the hall below, and seeing, as it did happen,\na man the worse for liquor staggering about the court. To my heated\nbrain it did seem as if hell had been turned loose in my house, where\nsome hours before--\" Then he stopped, and again sinking his head on\nhis hands, paused a little, and then continued without looking up:\n\"Well, I came down the stairs and walked straight out at the front\ndoor. As I passed the hall I heard some one ask, 'Which is the master\nof this huge house?' and another, whom by his voice I knew to be\nTopcliffe, answered, 'Rookwood, a papist, newly crept out of his\nwardship. As to his house, 'tis most fit for the blackguard, but not\nfor her gracious majesty to lodge in. But I hope she will serve God\nwith great and comfortable examples, and have all such notorious\npapists presently committed to prison.' This man's speech seemed to\nrestore me to myself, and a firmer spirit came over me. I resolved not\nto sleep under mine own roof, where, in the queen's name, such\nignominious treatment had been awarded me,' and went out of my house,\nreciting those verses of the Psalms, 'O God, save me in thy name, and\nin thy strength judge me. Because strangers have risen up against me,\nand the strong have sought my soul.' I came here almost unwittingly,\nand not choosing to disturb any one in the midst of the night, lay\ndown in this place, and, I thank God, soon fell asleep.\"\n\n\"You did not see Hubert?\" I timidly inquired.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"neither before nor after my interview with Lord\nBurleigh. I hope no one hath accused him of papistry, and so this time\nhe may escape.\"\n\n\"And who did accuse you?\" I asked.\n\n\"I know not,\" he answered; \"we are never safe for one hour. A\ndiscontented groom or covetous neighbor may ruin us when they list.\"\n\n\"But are you not in danger of being called before the council?\" I\nsaid.\n\n\"Yea, more than in danger,\" he answered. \"But I should hope a heavy\nfine shall this time satisfy the judges; which, albeit we can ill\nafford it, may yet be endured.\"\n\nThen I drew him into the house, and we continued to converse till good\nLady Tregony joined us. When I briefly related to her what Basil had\ntold me, the color rose in her pale, aged cheek; but she only clasped\nher hands and said,\n\n\"God's holy will be done.\"\n\n\"Constance,\" Basil exclaimed, whilst he was eating some breakfast we\nhad set before him, \"prithee get me paper and ink for to write to\nHubert.\"\n\nI looked at him inquiringly as I gave him what he asked for.\n\n\"I am banished from mine own house,\" he said; \"but as long as it is\nmine the queen should not lack anything I can supply for her comfort.\nShe is my guest, albeit I am deemed unworthy to come into her\npresence; I must needs charge Hubert to act the host in my place, and\nsee to all hospitable duties.\"\n\nMy heart swelled at this speech. Methought, though I dared not utter\n{620} my thinking for more reasons than one, that Hubert had most like\nnot waited for his brother's licence to assume the mastership of his\nhouse. The messenger was despatched, and then a long silence ensued,\nBasil walking to and fro before the house, and I embroidering, with\nmine eyes often raised from my work to look toward him. When nine\no'clock struck I joined him, and we strolled outside the gate, and\nwithout forecasting to do so walked along the well-known path leading\nto Euston. When we reached a turn of the road whence the house is to\nbe seen, we stopped and sat down on a bank under a sycamore tree. We\ncould discern from thence persons going in and out of the doors, and\nthe country-folk crowding about the windows for to catch a glimpse of\nthe queen, the guard ever and anon pushing them back with their\nhalberds. The numbers of them continually increased, and deputations\nbegan to arrive with processions and flags. It was passing strange for\nto be sitting there gazing as strangers on this turmoil, and folks\ncrowding about that house the master of which was banished from it. At\nlast we noticed an increased agitation amongst the people which seemed\nto presage the queen's coming out. Sounds of shouting proceeded from\ninside the building, and then a number of men issued from the front\ndoor, and pushing back the crowd advanced to the centre of the green\nplot in front and made a circle there with ropes.\n\n\"What sport are they making ready for?\" I said, turning to Basil.\n\n\"God knoweth,\" he answered in a despondent tone. Then came others\ncarrying a great armed-chair, which they placed on one side of the\ncircle and other chairs beside it, and some country people brought in\ntheir arms loads of fagots, which they piled up in the midst of the\ngreen space. A painful suspicion crossed my mind, and I stole a glance\nat Basil for to see if the same thought had come to him. He was\nlooking another way. I cast about if it should be possible on some\npretence to draw him off from that spot, whence it misgave me a\nsorrowful sight should meet his eyes. But at that moment both of us\nwere aroused by loud cries of \"God save the queen!\" \"Long live Queen\nElizabeth!\" and we beheld her issue from the house bowing to the\ncrowd, which filled the air with their cries and vociferous cheering.\nShe seated herself in the armed-chair, her ladies and the chief\npersons of her train on each side of her. On the edge of this\nhalf-circle I discerned Hubert. The straining of mine eyes was very\npainful; they seemed to burn in their sockets. Basil had been watching\nthe forth-coming of the queen, but his sight was not so quick as mine,\nand as yet no fear such as I entertained had struck him.\n\n\"What be they about?\" he said to me with a good-natured smile. Before\nI could answer--\"Good God!\" he exclaimed in an altered voice; \"what\nsound is that?\" for suddenly yells and hooting noises arose, such as a\nmob do salute criminals with, and a kind of procession issued from the\nfront door. \"What, what is it?\" cried Basil, seizing my hand with a\nconvulsive grasp; \"what do they carry?--not Blessed Mary's image?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" I said, \"I see Topcliffe walking in front of them. They will\nburn it. There, there--they do lift it in the air in mockery. Oh, some\npeople do avoid and turn away; now they lay it down and light the\nfagots.\" Then I put my hand over his eyes for that he should not see a\nsort of dance which was performed around the fire, mixed with yells\nand insulting gestures, and the queen sitting and looking on. He\nforced my hand away; and when I said, \"Oh, prithee, Basil, stay not\nhere--come with me,\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Let me go, Constance! let me go! Shall I stand aloof when at mine own\ndoor the Blessed Mother of God is outraged? Am I a Jew or a heretic\nthat I should endure this sight and not smite this queen of earth,\nwhich dareth {621} to insult the Queen of Saints? Yea, if I should be\ntorn to pieces, I will not suffer them to proceed.\"\n\nI clung to him affrighted, and cried out, \"Basil, you shall not go.\nOur Blessed Lady forbids it; your passion doth blind you. You will\noffend God and lose your soul if you do. Basil, dearest Basil, 'tis\nhuman anger, not godly sorrow only, moves you now.\" Then he cast\nhimself down with his face on the ground and wept bitterly; which did\ncomfort me, for his inflamed countenance had been terrible, and these\ntears came as a relief.\n\nMeantime this disgusting scene ended, and the queen withdrew; after\nwhich the crowd slowly dispersed, smouldering ashes alone remaining in\nthe midst of the burnt-up grass. Then Basil rose, folded his arms, and\ngazed on the scene in silence. At last he said:\n\n\"Constance, this house shall no longer be mine. God knoweth I have\nloved it well since my infancy. More dearly still since we forecasted\ntogether to serve God in it. But this scene would never pass away from\nmy mind. This outrage hath stained the home of my fathers. This\npeople, whose yells do yet ring in mine ears, can no longer be to me\nneighbors as heretofore, or this queen my queen. God forgive me if I\ndo m in this. I do not curse her. No, God defend it! I pray that on\nher sad deathbed--for surely a sad one it must be--she shall cry for\nmercy and obtain it; but her subject I will not remain. I will\ncompound my estate for a sum of money, and will go beyond seas, where\nGod is served in a Catholic manner and his Holy Mother not dishonored.\nWilt thou follow me there, Constance?\"\n\nI leant my head on his shoulder, weeping. \"O, Basil,\" I cried, \"I can\nanswer only in the words of Ruth: 'Whithersoever thou shalt go, I will\ngo; and where thou shalt dwell, I also will dwell. Thy people shall be\nmy people, and thy God my God.'\"\n\nHe drew my arm in his, and we walked slowly away toward Fakenham.\nWishing to prepare his mind for a possible misfortune, I said: \"We be\na thousand times happier than those which shall possess thy lands.\"\n\n\"What say you?\" he quickly answered; \"who shall possess them?\"\n\n\"God knoweth,\" I replied, afraid to speak further.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" he exclaimed: \"a dreadful thought cometh to me; where\nwas Hubert this morning?\"\n\nI remained silent.\n\n\"Speak, speak! O Constance, God defend he was there!\"\n\nHis grief and horror were so great I durst not reveal the truth, but\nmade some kind of evasive answer. To this day methinks he is ignorant\non that point.\n\nThe queen and the court departed from Euston soon after two of the\nclock; not before, as I since heard, the church furniture and books\nhad been all destroyed, and a malicious report set about that a piece\nof her majesty's plate was missing, as an excuse for to misuse the\npoor servants which had showed grief at the destruction carried on\nbefore their eyes. When notice of their departure reached Banham Hall,\nwhither we had returned, Basil immediately went back to Euston. I much\nlamented he should be alone that evening, in the midst of so many sad\nsights and thoughts as his house now should afford him, little\nforecasting the event which, by a greater mishap, surmounted minor\nsubjects of grief.\n\nAbout six of the clock, Sir Francis Walsingham, attended by an esquire\nand two grooms, arrived at Lady Tregony's seat, and was received by\nher with the courtesy she was wont to observe with every one. After\nsome brief discoursing with her on indifferent matters, he said his\nbusiness was with young Mistress Sherwood, and he desired to see her\nalone. Thereupon I was fetched to him, and straightway he began to\nspeak of the queen's good opinion of me, and that her highness had\nbeen well contented {622} with my behavior when I had been admitted\ninto her presence at his house; and that it should well please her\nmajesty I should marry a faithful subject of her majesty's, whom she\nhad taken into her favor, and then she would do us both good.\n\nI looked in a doubtful manner at Sir Francis, feigning to misapprehend\nhis meaning, albeit too clear did it appear to me. Seeing I did not\nspeak, he went on:\n\n\"It is her majesty's gracious desire, Mistress Sherwood, that you\nshould marry young Rookwood, her newly appointed servant, and from\nthis time possessor of Euston House, and all lands appertaining unto\nit, which have devolved upon him in virtue of his brother's recusancy\nand his own recent conformity.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" I answered, \"my troth is plighted to his brother, a good man\nand an honorable gentleman, up to this time master of Euston and its\nlands; and whatever shall betide him or his possessions, none but him\nshall be my husband, if ten thousand queens as great as this one\nshould proffer me another.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" said Sir Francis, \"be not too rash in your pledges. I should\nbe loth to think one so well trained in virtue and loyalty should\npersist in maintaining a troth-plight with a convicted recusant, an\nexceeding malignant papist, who is at this moment in the hands of the\npursuivants, and by order of her majesty's council committed to\nNorwich gaol. If he should (which is doubtful) escape such a sentence\nas should ordain him to a lasting imprisonment or perpetual banishment\nfrom this realm, his poverty must needs constrain him to relinquish\nall pretensions to your hand: for his brother, a most learned,\nwell-disposed, commendable young gentleman, with such good parts as\nfit him to aspire to some high advancement in the state and at court,\nhaving conformed some days ago to the established religion and given\nmany proofs of his zeal and sincerity therein, his brother's estates,\nas is most just, have devolved on him, and a more worthy and, I may\nadd, from long and constant devotion and fervent humble passion long\nsince entertained for yourself, more desirable candidate for your hand\ncould not easily be found.\"\n\nI looked fixedly at Sir Francis, and then said, subduing my voice as\nmuch as possible, and restraining all gestures:\n\n\"Sir, you have, I ween, a more deep knowledge of men's hearts and a\nmore piercing insight into their thoughts than any other person in the\nworld. You are wiser than any other statesman, and your wit and\nsagacity are spoken of all over Christendom. But methinketh, sir,\nthere are two things which, wise and learned as you are, you are yet\nignorant of, and these are a woman's heart and a Catholic's faith. I\nwould as soon wed the meanest clown which yelled this day at Blessed\nMary's image, as the future possessor of Euston, the apostate Hubert\nRookwood. Now, sir, I pray you, send for the pursuivants, and let me\nbe committed to gaol for the same crime as my betrothed husband, God\nknoweth I will bless you for it.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" Sir Francis coldly answered, \"the law taketh no heed of\npersons out of their senses. A frantic passion and an immoderate\nfanaticism have distracted your reason. Time and reflection will, I\ndoubt not, recall you to better and more comfortable sentiments; in\nwhich case I pray you to have recourse to my good offices, which shall\never be at your service.\"\n\nThen bowing, he left me; and when he was gone, and the tumult of my\nsoul had subsided, I lamented my vehemency, for methought if I had\nbeen more cunning in my speech, I could have done Basil some good; but\nnow it was too late, and verily, if again exposed to the same\ntemptation, I doubt if I could have dissembled the indignant feelings\nwhich Sir Francis's advocacy of Hubert's suit worked in me.\n\nLady Tregony, pitying my unhappy plight, proposed to travel with me to\n{623} London, where I was now desirous to return, for there I thought\nsome steps might be taken to procure Basil's release, with more hope\nof success than if I tarried in the scene of our late happiness. She\ndid me also the good to go with me in the first place to Norwich,\nwhere, by means of that same governor to whom Sir Hammond l'Estrange\nhad once written in my father's behalf, we obtained for to see Basil\nfor a few minutes. His brother's apostasy, and the painful suspicion\nthat it was by his means the secret of Owen's cell at Euston had been\nbetrayed, gave him infinite concern; but his own imprisonment and\nlosses he bore with very great cheerfulness; and we entertained\nourselves with the thought of a small cottage beyond seas, which\nhenceforward became the theme of such imaginings as lovers must needs\ncherish to keep alive the flame of hope. Two days afterward I reached\nLondon, having travelled very fast, and only slept one night on the\nroad.\n\nIt sometimes happens that certain misfortunes do overtake us which,\nhad we foreseen, we should well-nigh have despaired, and misdoubted\nwith what strength we should meet them; but God is very merciful, and\nfitteth the back to the burthen. If at the time that Basil left me at\nfour of the clock to return to Euston, without any doubt on our minds\nto meet the next day, I should have known how long a parting was at\nhand, methinks all courage would have failed me. But hope worketh\npatience, and patience in return breedeth hope, and the while the soul\nis learning lessons of resignation, which at first would have seemed\ntoo hard. At the outset of this trouble, I expected he should have\nsoon been set at liberty on the payment of a fine; but I had forgot he\nwas now a poor man, well-nigh beggared by the loss of his inheritance.\nMr. Swithin Wells, one of the best friends he and myself had--for,\nalas! good Mr. Roper had died during my absence--told me that, when\nHubert heard of his brother's arrest, he fell into a great anguish of\nmind, and dealt earnestly with his new patrons to procure his release,\nbut with no effect. Then, in a letter which he sent him, he offered to\nremit unto him whatever moneys he desired out of his estates; but\nBasil steadfastly refused to receive from him so much as one penny,\nand to this day has persisted in this resolve. I have since seen the\nletter which he wrote to him on this occasion, in which this\nresolution was expressed, but in no angry or contumelious terms,\nfreely yielding him his entire forgiveness for his offence against\nhim, if indeed any did exist, but such as was next to nothing in\ncomparison of the offence toward God committed in the abandonment of\nhis faith; and with all earnestness beseeching him to think seriously\nupon his present state, and to consider if the course he had taken,\ncontrary to the breeding and education he had received, should tend to\nhis true honor, reputation, contentment of mind, and eternal\nsalvation. This he said he did plainly, for the discharge of his own\nconscience, and the declaration of an abiding love for him.\n\nFor the space of a year and two months he remained in prison at\nNorwich, Mr. Wells and Mr. Lacy furnishing him with assistance,\nwithout which he should have lacked the necessaries of life; leastways\nsuch conveniences as made his sufferings tolerable. At the end of that\ntime, it may be by Hubert's or some other friend's efforts, a sentence\nof banishment was passed upon him, and he went beyond seas. I would\nfain have then joined him, but it pleased not God it should be at that\ntime possible. Some moneys which were owing to him by a well-disposed\ndebtor he looked for to recover, but till that happened he had not\nmeans for his own subsistence, much less wherewith to support a wife\nin howsoever humble a fashion. Dr. Allen (now cardinal) invited him to\nRheims, and received him there with open arms. My father, during the\nlast years of his life, found in him a most dutiful and affectionate\nson, {624} who closed his eyes with a true filial reverence. Our love\nwaxed not for this long separation less ardent or less tender; only\nmore patient, more exalted, more inwardly binding, now so much the\nmore outwardly impeded. The greatest excellency I found in myself was\nthe power of apprehending and the virtue of loving his. If his name\nappear not so frequently in this my writing as it hath hitherto done,\neven as his visible presence was lacking in that portion of my life\nwhich followed his departure, the thought of him never leaves me. If I\nspeak of virtue in any one else, my mind turns to him, the most\nperfect exemplar I have met with of self-forgetting goodness; if of\nlove, my heart recalls the perfect exchange of affection which doth\nlink his soul with mine; if of joy, the memory of that pure happiness\nI found in his society; if of sorrow, of the perpetual grief his\nabsence did cause me; if of hope, the abiding anchor whereon I rested\nmine during the weary years of separation. Yea, when I do write the\nwords faith, honor, nobility, firmness, tenderness, then I think I am\nwriting my dear Basil's name.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nThe year which followed Basil's arrest, and during which he was in the\nprison at Norwich, I wholly spent in London; not with any success\ntouching the procuring of his release, as I had expected, but with a\nconstant hope thereof which had its fulfilment later, albeit not by\nany of the means I had looked to. I shared the while with Muriel the\ncare of her now aged and very infirm parents, taking her place at home\nwhen she went abroad on her charitable errands, or employed by her in\nthe like good works when my ability would serve. A time cometh in most\npersons' lives, when maturity doth supplant youthfulness. I say most\npersons, because I have noticed that there are some who never do seem\nto attain unto any maturity of mind, and do live and die with the same\nchildish spirit they had in youth. To others this change, albeit real,\nis scarcely perceptible, so gradual are its effects; but some again,\neither from a natural thoughtfulness, or by the influence of\ncircumstances tending to sober in them the exuberance of spirits which\nappertaineth to early age, do wax mature in disposition before they\ngrow old in years; and this befel me at that time. The eager temper,\nthe intent desire and pursuit of enjoyment (of a good and innocent\nsort, I thank God) which had belonged to me till then, did so much and\nvisibly abate, that it caused me some astonishment to see myself so\nchanged. Joyful hours I have since known, happy days wherein mine\nheart hath been raised in adoring thankfulness to the Giver of all\ngood; but the color of my mind hath no more resembled that of former\nyears, than the hues of the evening sky can be likened to the roseate\nflush of early morning. The joys have been tasted, the happiness\nrelished, but not with the same keenness as heretofore. Mine own\ntroubles, the crowning one of Basil's misfortune, and what I continued\nthen to witness in others of mine own faith, wrought in me these\neffects. The life of a Catholic in England in these days must needs, I\nthink, produce one of two frames of mind. Either he will harbor angry\npassions, which religion reproves, which change a natural indignation\ninto an unchristian temper of hatred, and lead him into plots and\ntreasons; or else he becomes detached from the world, very quiet,\ngiven to prayer, ready to take at God's hands, and as from him at\nmen's also, sufferings of all kinds; and even those as yet removed\nfrom so great perfection learn to be still, and to bethink themselves\nrather of the next world than of the present one, more than even good\npeople did in old tunes.\n\nThe only friends I haunted at that time were Mr. and Mrs. Swithin\nWells. {625} In the summer of that year I heard one day, when in their\ncompany, that Father Edmund Campion was soon to arrive in London.\nFather Parsons was then lodging at Master George Gilbert's house, and\nmuch talk was ministered touching this other priest's landing, and how\nhe should be conducted thither in safety. Bryan Lacy, Thomas James,\nand many others, took it by turns to watch at the landing-place where\nhe was expected to disembark. Each evening Mr. Wells's friends came\nfor to hear news thereof. One day, when no tidings of it had yet\ntranspired, and the company was leaving, Mr. James comes in, and\nhaving shut the door, and glanced round the room before speaking,\nsays, with a smile,\n\n\"What think you, sirs and ladies?\"\n\n\"Master Campion is arrived,\" cries Mistress Wells.\n\n\"God be praised!\" cries her husband, and all giving signs of joy do\ngather round Mr. James for to hear the manner of his landing.\n\n\"Well,\" quoth he, \"I had been pacing up and down the quay for\nwell-nigh five hours, when I discerned a boat, which (God only knoweth\nwherefore) I straightway apprehended to be the one should bring Master\nCampion. And when it reached the landing-place, beshrew me if I did\nnot at once see a man dressed in some kind of a merchant suit, which,\nfrom the marks I had of his features from Master Parsons, I made sure\nwas the reverend father. So when he steps out of the boat I stand\nclose to him, and in an audible voice, 'Good morrow, Edmund,' says I,\nwhich he hearing, turns round and looks me in the face. We both smile\nand shake hands, and I lead him at once to Master Gilbert's house. Oh,\nI promise you, it was with no small comfort to myself I brought that\nwork to a safe ending. But now, sir,\" he continued, turning to Mr.\nWells, \"what think you of this? Nothing will serve Master Campion but\na place must be immediately hired, and a spacious one also, for him to\nbegin at once to preach, for he saith he is here but for that purpose,\nand that he would not the pursuivants should catch him before he hath\nopened his lips in England; albeit, if God will grant him for the\nspace of one year to exercise his ministry in this realm, he is most\ncontent to lay down his life afterward. And methinks he considers\nAlmighty God doth accept this bargain, and is in haste for to begin.\"\n\n\"Hath Master Gilbert called his friends together for to consider of\nit?\" asked Mr. Wells.\n\n\"Yea,\" answered Mr. James. \"Tomorrow, at ten of the clock, a meeting\nwill be held, not at his house, for greater security, but at Master\nBrown's shop in Southwark, for this purpose, and he prayeth you to\nattend it, sir, and you, and you, and you,\" he continued, turning to\nBryan Lacy, William Gresham, Godfrey Fuljambe, Gervase Pierpoint, and\nPhilip and Charles Bassett, which were all present.\n\nThe next day I heard from Mrs. Wells that my Lord Paget, at the\ninstigation of his friends which met at Mr. Brown's, had hired, in his\nown name, Noel House, in the which one very large chamber should serve\nas a chapel, and that on the feast of St. Peter and St. Paul, which\nfell on the coming Sunday, Father Campion would say mass there, and\nfor the first time preach. She said the chief Catholics in London had\ncombined for to send there, in the night, some vestments, some\nornaments for the altar, books, and all that should be needful for\ndivine worship. And the young noblemen and gentlemen which had been at\nher house the night before, and many others also, such as Lord Vaux,\nWilliam and Richard Griffith, Arthur Cresswell, Charles Tilvey,\nStephen Berkeley, James Hill, Thomas de Salisbury, Thomas Fitzherbert,\nJerom Bellamy, Thomas Pound, Richard Stanyhurst, Thomas Abington, and\nCharles Arundel (this was one of the Queen's pages, but withal a\nzealous Catholic), had joined themselves in a {626} company, for to\nact, some as sacristans of this secret chapel, some as messengers, to\ngo round and give notice of the preachments, and some as porters,\nwhich would be a very weighty office, for one unreliable person\nadmitted into that oratory should be the ruin of all concerned.\n\nMuriel and I, with Mr. Wells, went at an early hour on the Sunday to\nNoel House. Master Philip Bassett was at the door. He smiled when he\nsaw us, and said he supposed he needed not to ask us for the password.\nThe chamber into which we went was so large, and the altar so richly\nadorned, that the like, I ween, had not been seen since the queen had\nchanged the religion of the country.\n\nMass was said by Father Campion, and that noble company of devout\ngentlemen aforementioned almost all communicated thereat, and many\nothers beside, an ladies not a few. When mass was ended, and Father\nCampion stood up for to begin his sermon, so deep a silence reigned in\nthat crowded assembly--for the chamber was more full than it could\nwell hold--that a pin should have been heard to drop. Some thirsting\nfor to hear Catholic preaching, so rare in these days, some eager to\nlisten to the words of a man famous for his learning and parts, both\nbefore and after his conversion, beyond any other in this country. For\nmine own part, methought his very countenance was a preachment. When\nhis eyes addressed themselves to heaven, it seemed as if they did\nverily see God, so piercing, so awed, so reverent was their gaze. He\ntook for his text the words, \"Thou art Peter, and on this rock I will\nbuild my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.\"\nMy whole soul was fastened on his words; and albeit I have had but\nscant occasion to compare one preacher with another, I do not think it\nshould be possible for a more pathetic and stirring eloquence to flow\nfrom human lips than his who that day gave God's message to a\nsuffering and persecuted people. I had not taken mine eyes off his\npale and glowing face not for so much as one instant, until, near the\nclose of his discourse, I chanced to turn them to a place almost\nhidden by the curtain of an altar, where some gentlemen were standing,\nconcealing themselves from sight. Alas! in one instant the fervent\nglowing of my heart, the staid, rapt intentness with which I had\nlistened, the heavenward lifting up of my soul, vanished as if a\nvision of death had risen before me. I had seen Hubert Rookwood's\nface, that face so like--oh, what anguish was that likeness to me\nthen!--to my Basil's. No one but me could perceive him, he was so hid\nby the curtain; but where I sat it opened a little, and disclosed the\nstern, melancholy, beautiful visage of the apostate, the betrayer of\nhis own brother, the author of our ruin, the destroyer of our\nhappiness. I thank God that I first beheld him again in that holy\nplace, by the side of the altar whereon Jesus had lately descended,\nwhilst the words of his servant were in mine ears, speaking of love\nand patience. It was not hatred, God knoweth it, I then felt for\nBasil's brother, but only terror for all present, and for him also, if\nperadventure he was there with an evil intent. Mine eyes were fixed as\nby a spell on his pale face, the while Father Campion's closing words\nwere uttered, which spoke of St. Peter, of his crime and of his\npenance, of his bitter tears and his burning love. \"If,\" he cried,\n\"there be one here present on whose soul doth lie the guilt of a like\nsin; one peradventure yet more guilty than Peter; one like Judas in\nhis crime; one like Judas in his despair--to him I say, There is mercy\nfor thee; there is hope for thee, there is heaven for thee, if thou\nwilt have it. Doom not thyself, and God will never doom thee.\" These\nor the like words (for memory doth ill serve me to recall the fervent\nadjurations of that apostolical man) he used; and, lo, I beheld tears\nrunning down like rain from Hubert's eyes--an unchecked, {627}\nvehement torrent which seemed to defy all restraint. How I blessed\nthose tears! what a yearning pity seized me for him who did shed them!\nHow I longed to clasp his hand and to weep with him! I lost sight of\nhim when the sermon was finished; but in the street, when we\ndeparted--which was done slowly and by degrees, for to avoid notice,\nfour or five only going out at a time--I saw him on the other side of\nthe pavement. Our eyes met; he stopped in a hesitating manner, and I\nalso doubted what to do, for I thought Mistress Wells and Muriel would\nbe averse to speak to him. Then he rapidly crossed over, and said, in\na whisper:\n\n\"Will you see me, Constance, if I come to you this evening?\"\n\nI pondered; I feared to quench, it might be, a good resolve, or\nprecipitate an evil one by a refusal; and building hopes of the former\non the tears I had seen him shed, I said:\n\n\"Yea, if you come as Basil's brother and mine.\"\n\nHe turned and walked hastily away.\n\nMistress Wells and Muriel asked me with some affright if it was Hubert\nwho had spoken to me, for they had scarce seen his face, although from\nhis figure they had judged it was him; and when I told them he had\nbeen at Noel House, \"Then we are undone!\" the one exclaimed; and\nMuriel said, \"We must straightway apprise Mr. Wells thereof; but there\nshould be hopes, I think, he came there in some good disposition.\"\n\n\"I think so too,\" I answered, and told them of the emotion which I had\nnoticed in him at the close of the sermon, which comforted them not a\nlittle. But he came not that evening; and Mr. Wells discovered the\nnext day that it was Thomas Fitzherbert, who had lately arrived in\nLondon, and was not privy to his late conformity, which had invited\nhim to come to Noel House. Father Campion continued to preach once a\nday at the least, often twice, and sometimes thrice, and very\nmarvellous effects ensued. Each day greater crowds did seek admittance\nfor to hear him, and Noel House was as openly frequented as if it had\nbeen a public church. Numbers of well-disposed Protestants came for to\nhear him, and it was bruited at the time that Lord Arundel had been\namongst them. He converted many of the best sort, beside young\ngentlemen students, and others of all conditions, which by day, and\nsome by night, sought to confer with him. I went to the preachments as\noften as possible. We could scarce credit our eyes and ears, so\nsingular did it appear that one should dare to preach, and so many to\nlisten to Catholic doctrine, and to seek to be reconciled in the midst\nof so great dangers, and under the pressure of tyrannic laws. Every\nday some newcomer was to be seen at Noel House, sometimes their faces\nconcealed under great hats, sometimes stationed behind curtains or\nopen doors for to escape observation.\n\nAfter some weeks had thus passed, when I ceased to expect Hubert\nshould come, he one day asked to see me, and having sent for Kate, who\nwas then in the house, I did receive him. Her presence appeared\ngreatly to displease him, but he began to speak to me in Italian; and\nfirst he complained of Basil's pride, which would not suffer him to\nreceive any assistance from him who should be so willing to give it.\n\n\"Would you--\" I said, and was about to add some cutting speech, but I\nresolved to restrain myself and by no indiscreet words to harden his\nsoul against remorse, or perhaps endanger others. Then, after some\nother talking, he told me in a cunning manner, making his meaning\nclear, but not couching it in direct terms, that if I would conform to\nthe Protestant religion and marry him, Basil should be, he could\nwarrant it, set at liberty, and he would make over to him more than\none-half of the income of his estates yearly, which, being done in\nsecret, the law could not then touch him. I made no answer thereunto,\nbut fixing mine eyes on him, said, in English:\n\n{628}\n\n\"Hubert, what should be your opinion of the sermon on St. Peter and\nSt. Paul's Day?\" He changed color. \"Was it not,\" I said, \"a moving\none?\" Biting his lip, he replied:\n\n\"I deny not the preacher's talent.\"\n\n\"O Hubert,\" I exclaimed, \"fence not yourself with evasive answers. I\nknow you believe as a Catholic.\"\n\n\"The devils believe,\" he answered.\n\n\"Hubert,\" I then said, with all the energy of my soul, \"if you would\nnot miserably perish--if you would not lose your soul--promise me this\nnight to retrace your steps; to seek Father Campion and be\nreconciled.\" His lip quivered; methought I could almost see his good\nangel on one side of him and a tempting fiend on the other. But the\nlast prevailed, for with a bitter sneer he said:\n\n\"Yea, willingly, fair saint, if you will marry me.\"\n\nKate, who till then had not much understood what had passed, cried\nout, \"Fie, Hubert, fie on thee to tempt her to abandon Basil, and he a\nprisoner.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" he said, turning to her, \"recusants should not be so bold in\ntheir language. The laws of the land are transgressed in a very daring\nmanner now-a-days, and those who obey them taunted for the performance\nof their duty to the queen and the country.\"\n\nOh, what a hard struggle it proved to be patient; to repress the\nvehement reproaches which hovered on my lips. Kate looked at me\naffrighted. I trembled from head to foot. Father Campion's life and\nthe fate of many others, it might be, were in the hands of this man,\nthis traitor, this spy. To upbraid him I dared not, but wringing my\nhands, exclaimed:\n\n\"O Hubert, Hubert! for thy mother's sake, who looks down on us from\nheaven, listen to me. There be no crimes which may not be forgiven;\nbut some there be which if one doth commit them he forgiveth not\nhimself, and is likely to perish miserably.\"\n\n\"Think you I know this not?\" he fiercely cried; \"think you not that I\nsuffer even now the torment you speak of, and envy the beggar in the\nstreet his stupid apathy?\" He drew a paper from his bosom and unfolded\nit. A terrible gleam shot through his eyes. \"I could compel you to be\nmy wife.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, looking him in the face, \"neither man nor fiends can\ngive you that power. God alone can do it, and he will not.\"\n\n\"Do you see this paper?\" he asked. \"Here are the names of all the\nrecusants who have been reconciled by the Pope's champion. I have but\nto speak the word, and to-morrow they are lodged in the Marshalsea or\nthe Tower, and the priest first and foremost.\"\n\n\"But you will not do it,\" I said, with a singular calmness. \"No,\nHubert; as God Almighty liveth, you will not. You cannot commit this\ncrime, this foul murther.\"\n\n\"If it should come to that,\" he fiercely cried, \"if blood should be\nshed, on your head it will fall. You can save them if you list.\"\n\n\"Would you compel me by a bloody threat to utter a false vow?\" I said.\n\"O Hubert, Hubert! that you, you should threaten to betray a priest,\nto denounce Catholics! There was a day--have you forgot it?--when at\nthe chapel at Euston, your father at your side, you knelt, an innocent\nchild, at the altar's rail, and a priest came to you and said,\n'_Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam ad vitam\naeternam_.' If any one had then told you\"--\n\n\"Oh, for God's sake speak not of it!\" he wildly cried; \"that way\nmadness doth lie.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" I cried; \"not madness, but hope and return.\"\n\nA change came over his face; he thrust the paper in my hand. \"Destroy\nit,\" he cried; \"destroy it, Constance!\" And then bursting into tears,\n\"God knoweth I never meant to do it.\"\n\n\"O Hubert, you have been mad, dear brother, more mad than guilty.\nPray, and God will bless you.\"\n\n\"Call me not brother, Constance Would to God I had been _only_ mad!\nBut it is too late now to think on it.\"\n\n{629}\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" I cried, \"it never is too late.\"\n\n\"Pray for me then,\" he said, and went to the door: but, turning\nsuddenly, whispered in a scarce audible manner, \"Ask Father Campion to\npray for me,\" and then rushed out.\n\nKate had now half-fainted, and would have it we were all going to be\nkilled. I pacified and sent her home, lest she should fright her\nparents with her rambling speeches.\n\nAlbeit Hubert's last words had seemed to be sincere, I could not but\ncall to mind how, after he had been apparently cut to the heart and\nmoved even to tears by Father Campion's preaching, he had soon uttered\nthreats which, howsoever recalled, left me in doubt if it should be\nsafe to rely on his silence; so I privately informed Mr. Wells, and he\nMaster George Gilbert and Father Parsons, of what had passed between\nus. At the same time, I have never known whether by Hubert's means, or\nin any other way, her majesty's council got wind of the matter, and\ngave out that great confederacies were made by the Pope and foreign\nprinces for the invasion of this country, and that Jesuits and\nseminary priests were sent to prepare their ways. Exquisite diligence\nwas used for the apprehension of all such, but more particularly the\nPope's champion, as Master Campion was called. So in the certainty\nthat Hubert was privy to the existence of the chapel at Noel House,\nand that many Protestants were also acquainted with it, and likewise\nwith his lodging at Master Elliot's, where not a few resorted to him\nin the night, he was constrained by Father Parsons to leave London, to\nthe no small regret of Catholics and others also which greatly admired\nhis learning and eloquence, the like of which was not to be found in\nany other person at that time. None of those which had attended the\npreachments at Noel House were accused, nor the place wherein they had\nmet disclosed, which inclineth me to think Hubert did not reveal to\nher majesty's government his knowledge thereof.\n\nAbout two months afterward Basil's release and banishment happened. I\nwould fain have seen him on his way to the coast; but the order for\nhis departure was so sudden and peremptory, the queen's officers not\nlosing sight of him until he was embarked on a vessel going to France,\nthat I was deprived of that happiness. That he was no longer a\nprisoner I rejoiced; but it seemed as if a second and more grievous\nseparation had ensued, now that the sea did divide me from the dear\nobject of my love.\n\nLady Arundel, whose affectionate heart resented with the most tender\npity the abrupt interruption of our happiness, had often written to me\nduring this year to urge my coming to Arundel Castle; \"for,\" said she,\n\"methinks, my dear Constance, a third turtle-dove might now be added\nto the two on the Queen of Scotland's design; and on thy tree, sweet\none, the leaves are, I warrant thee, very green yet, and future joys\nshall blossom on its wholesome branches, which are pruned but not\ndestroyed, injured but not withered.\" She spoke with no small\ncontentment of her then residence, that noble castle, her husband's\nworthiest possession (as she styled it), and the grandest jewel of his\nearldom. For albeit (thus she wrote) \"Kenninghall is larger in the\nextent it doth cover and embrace, and far more rich in its decorations\nand adornments, I hold it not to be comparable in true dignity to this\ncastle, which, for the strength of its walls, the massive grandeur of\nits keep, the vast forests which do encircle it, the river which\nbathes its feet, the sea in its vicinity and to be seen from its\ntower, the stately trees about it, and the clinging ivy which softens\nwith abundant verdure the stern, frowning walls, hath not its like in\nall England.\" But a letter I had from this dear lady a few months\nafter this one contained the most joyful news I could receive, as will\nbe seen by those who read it:\n\n\"My good Constance\" (her ladyship wrote), \"I would I had you a\nprisoner in this fortress, to hold and detain at {630} my pleasure.\nMethinks I will present thee as a recusant, and sue for the privilege\nof thy custody. Verily, I should keep good watch over thee. There be\ndungeons enough, I warrant you, in the keep, wherein to imprison\nrunaway friends. Master Bayley doth take great pains to explain to me\nthe names and old uses of the towers, chapels, and buildings within\nand without the castle, which do testify to the zeal and piety of past\ngenerations: the Chapel of St. Martin, in the keep, which was the\noratory of the garrison; the old collegiate buildings of the College\nof the Holy Trinity; the b Maison-Dieu, designed by Richard, Earl of\nArundel, and built by his son on the right bank of the river, for the\nharboring of twenty aged and poor men, either unmarried or widowers,\nwhich, from infirmity, were unable to provide for their own support;\nthe Priory of the Friars Preachers, with the rising gardens behind it;\nthe Chapel of Blessed Mary, over the gate; that of St. James ad\nLeprosos, which was attached to the Leper's Hospital; and St.\nLawrence's, which standeth on the hill above the tower; and in the\nvalley below, the Priory of St. Bartholomew, built by Queen Adeliza\nfor the monks of St. Austin. Verily the poor were well cared for when\nall these monasteries and hospitals did exist; and it doth grieve me\nto think that the moneys which were designed by so many pious men of\npast ages for the good of religion should now be paid to my lord, and\nspent in worldly and profane uses. Howsoever, I have better hopes than\nheretofore that he will one day serve God in a Christian manner. And\nnow, methinks, after much doubting if I should dare for to commit so\nweighty a secret unto paper, that I must needs tell thee, as this time\nI send my letter by a trusty messenger, what, if I judge rightly, will\nprove so great a comfort to thee, my dear Constance, that thine own\ngriefs shall seem the lighter for it. Thou dost well know how long I\nhave been well-affected to Catholic religion, increasing therein daily\nmore and more, but yet not wholly resolved to embrace and profess it.\nBut by reading a book treating of the danger of schism, soon after my\ncoming here, I was so efficaciously moved, that I made a firm purpose\nto become a member of the Catholic and only true Church of God. I\ncharged Mr. Bayley to seek out a grave and ancient priest, and to\nbring him here privately; for I desired very much that my\nreconciliation, and meeting with this priest to that intent, should be\nkept as secret as was possible, for the times are more troublesome\nthan ever, and I would fain have none to know of it until I can\ndisclose it myself to my lord in a prudent manner. I have, as thou\nknoweth, no Catholic women about me, nor any one whom I durst acquaint\nwith this business; so I was forced to go alone at an unseasonable\nhour from mine own lodging in the castle, by certain dark ways and\nobscure passages, to the chamber where this priest (whose name, for\ngreater prudence, I mention not here) was lodged, there to make my\nconfession--it being thought, both by Mr. Bayley and myself, that\notherwise it could not possibly be done without discovery, or at least\ngreat danger thereof. Oh, mine own dear Constance, when I returned by\nthe same way I had gone, lightened of a burthen so many years endured,\ncheered by the thought of a reconcilement so long desired,\nstrengthened and raised, leasts ways for a while, above all worldly\nfears, darkness appeared light, rough paths smooth; the moon, shining\nthrough the chinks of the secret passage, which I thought had shed\nbefore a ghastly light on the uneven walls, now seemed to yield a mild\nand pleasant brightness, like unto that of God's grace in a heart at\npeace. And this exceeding contentment and steadfastness of spirit have\nnot--praise him for it--since left me; albeit I have much cause for\napprehension in more ways than one; for what in these days is so\nsecret it becometh not known? But whatever now shall befal me--public\ndangers or private sorrows--my {631} feet do rest on a rock, not on\nthe shifting sands of human thinkings, and I am not afraid of what man\ncan do unto me. Yea, Philip's displeasure I can now endure, which of\nall things in the world I have heretofore most apprehended.\"\n\nThe infinite contentment this letter gave me distracted me somewhat\nfrom the anxious thoughts that filled my mind at the time it reached\nme, which was soon after Hubert's visit. A few days afterward Lady\nArundel wrote again:\n\n\"My lord has been here, but stayed only a brief time. I found him very\naffectionate in his behavior, but his spirits so much depressed that I\nfeared something had disordered him. Conversation seemed a burthen to\nhim, and he often shut himself up in his own chamber or walked into\nthe park with only his dog. When I spoke to him he would smile with\nmuch kindness, uttering such words as 'sweet wife,' or 'dearest Nan,'\nand then fall to musing again, as if his mind had been too oppressed\nwith thinking to allow of speech. The day before he left I was sorting\nflowers at one end of the gallery in a place which the wall projecting\ndoth partly conceal. I saw him come from the hall up the stairs into\nit, and walk to and fro in an agitated manner, his countenance very\nmuch troubled, and his gestures like unto those of a person in great\nperplexity of mind. I did not dare so much as to stir from where I\nstood, but watched him for a long space of time with incredible\nanxiety. Sometimes he stopped and raised his hand to his forehead.\nAnother while he went to the window and looked intently, now at the\ntower and the valley beyond it, now up to the sky, on which the last\nrays of the setting sun were throwing a deep red hue, as if the world\nhad been on fire. Then turning back, he joined his hands together and\nanon sundered them again, pacing up and down the while more rapidly\nthan before, as if an inward conflict urged this unwitting speed. At\nlast I saw him stand still, lift up his hands and eyes to heaven, and\nmove his lips as if in prayer. What passed in his mind then, God only\nknowcth. He is the most reluctant person in the world to disclose his\nthoughts.\n\n\"When an hour afterward we met in the library his spirits seemed\nsomewhat improved. He spoke of his dear sister Meg with much\naffection, and asked me if I had heard from Bess. Lord William, he\nsaid, was the best brother a man ever had; and that it should like him\nwell to spend his life in any corner of the world God should appoint\nfor him, so that he had to keep him company Will and Meg and his dear\nNan, 'which I have so long ill-treated,' he added, 'that as long as I\nlive I shall not cease to repent of it; and God he knoweth I deserve\nnot so good a wife;' with many other like speeches which I wish he\nwould not use, for it grieveth me he should disquiet himself for what\nis past, when his present kindness doth so amply recompense former\nneglect. Mine own Constance, I pray you keep your courage alive in\nyour afflictions. There be no lane so long but it hath a turning, the\nproverb saith. My sorrows seemed at one time without an issue. Now\nlight breaketh through the yet darksome clouds which do environ us. So\nwill it be with thee. Burn this letter, seeing it doth contain what\nmay endanger the lives of more persons than one.--Thy loving, faithful\nfriend,\n   \"ANN, ARUNDEL AND SURREY.\"\n\nA more agitated letter followed this one, written at different times,\nand detained for some days for lack of a safe messenger to convey it.\n\n\"What I much fear,\" so it began, \"is the displeasure of my lord when\nhe comes to know of my reconcilement, for it cannot, I think, be long\nconcealed from him. This my fear, dear Constance, hath been much\nincreased by the coming down from London of one of his chaplains, who\naffirms he was sent on purpose by the earl to read prayers and to\npreach to me and my family; and on last {632} Sunday he came into the\ngreat chamber of the castle, expecting and desiring to know my\npleasure therein. I thought best for to send for him to my chamber,\nand I desired him not to trouble himself nor me in that matter, for I\nwould satisfy the earl therein. But oh, albeit I spoke very\ncomposedly, my apprehensions are very great. For see, my dear friend,\nPhilip hath been but lately reconciled to me, and his fortunes are in\na very desperate condition, so that he may think I have given the last\nblow to them by this act, which his enemies will surely brave at.\nThink not I do repent of it. God knoweth I should as soon repent of my\nbaptism as of my return to his true Church; but though the spirit is\nsteadfast, the flesh is weak, and the heart also. What will he say to\nme when he cometh? He did once repulse me, but hath never upbraided\nme. How shall I bear new frowns after recent caresses?--peradventure\nan eternal parting after a late reunion? O Constance, pray for me. But\nI remember I have no means for to send this letter. But God be\npraised, I have now friends in heaven which I may adjure to pray for\nme who have at hand no earthly ones.\"\n\nFour or live days later, her ladyship thus finished her letter:\n\n\"God is very merciful; oh, let his holy name be praised and magnified\nfor ever! Now the weight of a mountain is off my heart. Now I care not\nfor what man may do unto me. Phil has been here, and I promise thee,\ndear Constance, when his horse stopped at the castle-door, my heart\nalmost stopped its beating, so great was my apprehension of his anger.\nBut, to my great joy and admiration, he kissed me very tenderly, and\ndid not speak the least word of the chaplain's errand. And when we did\nwalk out in the evening, and, mounting to the top of the keep, stood\nthere looking on the fine trees and the sun sinking into the sea, my\ndear lord, who had been some time silent, turned to me and said, 'Meg\nhas become Catholic.' Joy and surprise almost robbed me of my breath;\nfor next to his reconcilement his sister's was what I most desired in\nthe world, and also I knew what a particular love he had ever shown\nfor her, as being his only sister, by reason whereof he would not seem\nto be displeased with her change, and consequently he could not in\nreason be much offended with myself for being what she was; so when he\nsaid, 'Meg has become Catholic,' I leant my face against his shoulder,\nand whispered, 'So hath Nan.' He spoke not nor moved for some minutes.\nMethinks he could have heard the beatings of my heart. I was comforted\nthat, albeit he uttered not so much as one word, he made no motion for\nto withdraw himself from me, whose head still rested against his\nbosom. Suddenly he threw his arms about me, and strained me to his\nbreast. So tender an embrace I had never before had from him, and I\nfelt his tears falling on my head. But speech there was none touching\nmy change. Howsoever, before he left me I said to him 'My dear Phil,\nHoly Scripture doth advise those who enter into the service of\nAlmighty God to prepare themselves for temptation. As soon as I\nresolved to become Catholic, I did deeply imprint this in my mind; for\nthe times are such that I must expect to suffer for that cause.' 'Yea,\ndearest Nan,' he answered, with great kindness, 'I doubt not thou hast\ntaken the course which will save thy soul from the danger of\nshipwreck, although it doth subject thy body to the peril of\nmisfortune.' Then waxing bolder, I said, 'And thou, Phil--' and there\nstopped short, looking what I would speak. He seemed to struggle for a\nwhile with some inward difficulty of speaking his mind, but at last he\nbegan, 'Nan, I will not become Catholic before I can resolve to live\nas a Catholic, and I defer the former until I have an intent and\nresolute purpose to perform the latter. O Nan, when I {633} think of\nmy vile usage of thee, whom I should have so much loved and esteemed\nfor thy virtue and discretion; of my wholly neglecting, in a manner,\nmy duty to the earl my grandfather, and my aunt Lady Lumley; of my\nwasting, by profuse expenses, of great sums of money in the following\nof the courts, the estate which was left me, and a good quantity of\nthine own lands also; but far more than all, my total forgetting of my\nduty to Almighty God--for, carried away with company, youthful\nentertainments, pleasures, and delights, my mind being wholly\npossessed with them, I did scarce so much as think of God, or of\nanything concerning religion or the salvation of my soul--I do feel\nmyself unworthy of pardon, and utterly to be contemned.'\n\n\"So much goodness, humility, and virtuous intent was apparent in this\nspeech, and such comfortable hopes of future excellence, that I could\nnot forbear from exclaiming, 'My dear Phil, I ween thou wilt be one of\nthose who shall love God much, forasmuch as he will have forgiven thee\nmuch.' And then I asked him how long it was since this change in his\nthinking, albeit not yet acted upon, had come to him? He said, it so\nhappened that he was present, the year before, at a disputation held\nin the Tower of London, between Mr. Sherwin and some other priests on\nthe one part, Charles Fulk, Whittakers, and some other Protestant\nministers on the other; and, by what he heard and saw there, he had\nperceived, he thought, on which side the truth and true religion was,\nthough at the time he neither did intend to embrace or follow it. But,\nhe added, what had moved him of late most powerfully thereunto was a\nsermon of Father Campion's, which he had heard at Noel House, whither\nCharles Arundel had carried him, some days before his last visit to\nme. 'The whole of those days,' he said, 'my mind was so oppressed with\nremorse and doubt, that I knew no peace, until one evening, by a\nspecial grace of God, when I was walking alone in the gallery, I\nfirmly resolved--albeit I knew not how or when to accomplish this\npurpose--to become a member of his Church, and to frame my life\naccording to it; but I would not acquaint thee, or any other person\nliving, with this intention, until I had conferred thereof with my\nbrother William. Thou knowest, Nan, the very special love I bear him,\nand which he hath ever shown to me. Well, a few days after I returned\nto London, I met him accidentally in the street, he having come from\nCumberland touching some matter of Bess's lands; and taking him home\nwith me, I discovered to him my determination, somewhat covertly at\nfirst; and after I lent him a book to read, which was written not long\nago by Dr. Allen, and have dealt with him so efficaciously that he has\nalso resolved to become Catholic. He is to meet me again next week,\nfor further conference touching the means of putting this intent into\nexecution, which verily I see not how to effect, being so watched by\nservants and so-called friends, which besiege my doors and haunt mine\nhouse in London on all occasions.'\n\n\"This difficulty, dear Constance, I sought to remedy by acquainting my\nlord that his secretary, Mr. Mumford, was Catholic, and he could,\ntherefore, disclose his thought with safety to him. And I also advised\nhim to seek occasion to know Mr. Wells and some other zealous persons,\nwhich would confirm him in his present resolution and aid him in the\nexecution thereof. It may be, therefore, you will soon see him, and\nfervently do I commend him to thy prayers and whatever service in the\none thing needful should be in thy power to procure for him. My heart\nis so transported with joy that I never remember the like emotions to\nhave filled it. My most hope for this present time at least had been\nhe should show no dislike to my being Catholic; and lo, I find him to\nbe one in heart, and soon to be so in effect; {634} and the great gap\nbetween us, which so long hath been a yawing chasm of despair, now\nfilled up with a renewed love, and yet more by a parity of thinking\ntouching what it most behoveth us to be united in. _Deo gratias!_\"\n\nHere this portion of my lady's manuscript ended, but these few hasty\nlines were written below, visibly by a trembling hand, and the whole\nclosed, I ween, abruptly. Methinks it was left for me at Mr. Wells's,\nwhere I found it, by Mr. Mumford, or some other Catholic in the earl's\nhousehold:\n\n\"The inhabitants of Arundel have presented me for a recusant, and Mr.\nBayley has been committed and accused before the Bishop of Chichester\nas a seminary priest. He hath, of course, easily cleared himself of\nthis; but because he will not take the oath of supremacy, he is forced\nto quit the country. He hath passed into Flanders.\"\n\nAnd then for many weeks I had no tidings of the dear writer, until one\nday it was told us that when the queen had notice of her reconcilement\nshe disliked of it to such a degree that presently she ordered her,\nbeing then with child, to be taken from her own house and carried to\nWiston, Sir Thomas Shirley's dwelling-place, there to be kept prisoner\ntill further orders. Alas! all the time she remained there I received\nnot so much as one line from her ladyship, nor did her husband either,\nas I afterward found. So straitly was she confined and watched that\nnone could serve or have access to her but the knight and his lady,\nand such as were approved by them. Truly, as she since told me, they\ncourteously used her; but special care was taken that none that was\nsuspected for a priest should come within sight of the house, which\nwas no small addition to her sufferings. Lady Margaret Sackville was\nat that time also thrown into prison.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nDuring the whole year of Lady Arundel's imprisonment, neither her\nhusband, nor her sister, nor her most close friends, such as my poor\nunworthy self, had tidings from her, in the shape of any letter or\neven message, so sharply was she watched and hindered from\ncommunicating with any one. Only Sir Thomas Shirley wrote to the earl\nher husband to inform him of his lady's safe delivery, and the birth\nof a daughter, which, much against her will, was baptized according to\nthe Protestant manner. My Lord Arundel, mindful of her words in the\nlast interview he had with her before her arrest, began to haunt Mr.\nWells's house in a private way, and there I did often meet with him,\nwho being resolved, I ween, to follow his lady's example in all\nthings, began to honor me with so much of his confidence that I had\noccasion to discern how true had been Sir Henry Jerningham's\nforecasting, that this young nobleman, when once turned to the ways of\nvirtue and piety, should prove himself by so much the more eminent in\ngoodness as he had heretofore been distinguished for his reckless\nconduct. One day that he came to Holborn, none others being present\nbut Mr. and Mrs. Wells and myself, he told us that he and his brother\nLord William, having determined to become Catholics, and apprehending\ngreat danger in declaring themselves as such within the kingdom, had\nresolved secretly to leave the land, to pass into Flanders, and there\nto remain till more quiet times.\n\n\"What steps,\" Mr. Wells asked, \"hath your lordship disposed for to\neffect this departure?\"\n\n\"In all my present doings,\" quoth the earl, \"the mind of my dear wife\ndoth seem to guide me. The last time I was with her she informed me\nthat my secretary, John Mumford, is a Catholic, and I have since\ngreatly benefited by this knowledge. He is gone to Hull, in Yorkshire,\nfor to take {635} order for our passage to Flanders, and I do wait\ntidings from him before I leave London.\"\n\nThen, turning to me, he inquired in a very earnest manner if my\nthinking agreed with his, that his sweet lady should be contented he\nshould forsake the realm, for the sake of the religious interests\nwhich moved him thereunto, joined with the hope that when he should be\nabroad and his lands confiscated, which he doubted not would follow,\nshe would be presently set at liberty, and with her little wench join\nhim in Flanders. I assented thereunto, and made a promise to him that\nas soon as her ladyship should be released I would hasten to her, and\nfeast her ears with the many assurances of tender affection he had\nuttered in her regard, and aid her departure; which did also Mr.\nWells. Then, drawing me aside, he spoke for some time, with tears in\nhis eyes, of his own good wife, as he called her.\n\n\"Mistress Sherwood,\" he said, \"I do trust in God that she shall find\nme henceforward as good a husband, to my poor ability, by his grace,\nas she has found me bad heretofore. No sin grieves me anything so much\nas my offences against her. What is past is a nail in my conscience.\nMy will is to make satisfaction; but though I should live never so\nlong, I can never do so further than by a good desire to do it, which,\nwhile I have any spark of breath, shall never be wanting.\"\n\nAnd many words like these, which he uttered in so heartfelt a manner\nthat I could scarce refrain from weeping at the hearing of them. And\nso we parted that day; he with a confident hope soon to leave the\nrealm; I with some misgivings thereon, which were soon justified by\nthe event. For a few days afterward Mr. Lacy brought us tidings he had\nmet Mr. Mumford in the street, who had told him--when he expressed\nsurprise at his return--that before he could reach Hull he had been\napprehended and carried before the Earl of Huntingdon, president of\nYork, and examined by him, without any evil result at that time,\nhaving no papers or auspicious things about him; but being now\nwatched, he ventured not to proceed to the coast, but straightway came\nto London, greatly fearing Lord Arundel should have left it.\n\n\"He hath not done so?\" I anxiously inquired.\n\n\"Nay,\" answered Mr. Lacy, \"so far from it, that I pray you to guess\nhow the noble earl--much against his will, I ween--is presently\nemployed.\"\n\n\"He is not in prison?\" I cried.\n\n\"God defend it!\" he replied. \"No; he is preparing for to receive the\nqueen at Arundel House; upon notice given him that her majesty doth\nintend on Thursday next to come hither for her recreation.\"\n\n\"Alack!\" I cried, \"her visits to such as be of his way of thinking\nbode no good to them. She visited him and his wife at the Charterhouse\nat the time when his father was doomed to death, and now when she is a\nprisoner her highness doth come to Arundel House. When she set her\nfoot in Euston, the whole fabric of my happiness fell to the ground.\nHeaven shield the like doth not happen in this instance; but I do\ngreatly apprehend the issue of this sudden honor conferred on him.\"\n\nOn the day fixed for the great and sumptuous banquet which was\nprepared for the queen at Arundel House, I went thither, having been\ninvited by Mrs. Fawcett to spend the day with her on this occasion,\nwhich minded me of the time when I went with my cousins and mine own\ngood Mistress Ward for to see her majesty's entertainment at the\nCharterhouse, wherein had been sowed the seeds of a bitter harvest,\nsince reaped by his sweet lady and himself. Then pageants had charms\nin mine eyes; now, none--but rather the contrary. Howsoever, I was\nglad to be near at hand on that day, so as to hear such reports as\nreached us from time to time of her majesty's behavior to the earl.\nFrom all I could find, she seemed very well {636} contented; and Mr.\nMumford, with whom I was acquainted, came to Mrs. Fawcett's chamber,\nhearing I was there, and reported that her highness had given his\nlordship many thanks for her entertainment, and showed herself\nexceeding merry all the time she was at table, asking him many\nquestions, and relating anecdotes which she had learnt from Sir Fulke\nGreville, whom the maids-of-honor were wont to say brought her all the\ntales she heard; at which Mrs. Fawcett said that gentleman had once\ndeclared that he was like Robin Goodfellow; for that when the\ndairy-maids upset the milk-pans, or made a romping and racket, they\nlaid it all on Robin, and so, whatever gossip-tales the queen's ladies\ntold her, they laid it all upon him, if he was ever so innocent of it.\n\n\"Sir,\" I said to Mr. Mumford, \"think you her majesty hath said aught\nto my lord touching his lady or his lately-born little daughter?\"\n\n\"Once,\" he answered, \"when she told of the noble trick she hath played\nSir John Spencer touching his grandson, whom he would not see because\nhis daughter did decamp from his house in a baker's basket for to\nmarry Sir Henry Compton, and her majesty invited him to be her gossip\nat the christening of a fair boy to whom she did intend to stand\ngodmother, for that he was the first-born child of a young couple who\nhad married for love and lived happily; and so the old knight said, as\nhe had no heir, he should adopt this boy, for he had disinherited his\ndaughter. So then, at the font, the queen names him Spencer, and when\nshe leaves the church, straightway reveals to Sir John that his godson\nis his grandson, and deals so cunningly with him that a reconciliation\ndoth ensue. Well, when she related this event, my lord said in a low\nvoice, 'Oh madame, would it might please your majesty for to place\nanother child, now at its mother's breast, a first-born one also, in\nits father's arms! and as by your gracious dealing your highness\nwrought a reconciliation between a father and a daughter, so likewise\nnow to reunite a parted husband from a wife which hath too long\nlanguished under your royal displeasure.'\"\n\n\"What answered her grace?\" I asked.\n\n\"A few words, the sense of which I could not catch,\" Mr. Mumford\nanswered; \"being placed so as to hear my lord's speaking more\nconveniently than her replies. He said again, 'The displeasure of a\nprince is a heavy burden to bear.' And then, methinks, some other talk\nwas ministered of a lighter sort. But be of good heart. Mistress\nSherwood; I cannot but think our dear lady shall soon be set at\nliberty.\"\n\nMr. Mumford's words were justified in a few days; for, to my\nunspeakable joy, I heard Lady Arundel had been released by order of\nthe queen, and had returned to Arundel Castle. It was her lord himself\nwho brought me the good tidings, and said he should travel thither in\nthree days, when his absence from court should be less noted, as then\nher majesty would be at Richmond. He showed me a letter he had\nreceived from his lady, the first she had been able to write to him\nfor a whole year. She did therein express her contentment, greater,\nshe said, than her pen could describe, at the sight of the gray ivied\nwalls, the noble keep, her own chamber and its familiar furniture, and\nmostly at the thought of his soon coming; and that little Bess had so\nmuch sense already, that when she heard his name, nothing would serve\nher but to be carried to the window, \"whence, methinks,\" the sweet\nlady said, \"she doth see me always looking toward the entrance-gate,\nthrough which all my joy will speedily come to me. When, for to cheat\nmyself and her, I cry, 'Hark to my lord's horse crossing the bridge,'\nshe coos, so much as to say she is glad also, and stretcheth her arms\nout, the pretty fool, as if to welcome her unseen father, who,\nmethinks, {637} when he doth come, will be no stranger to her, so\noften doth she kiss the picture which hangeth about her mother's\nneck.\"\n\nBut, alas! before the queen went to Richmond, she sent a command that\nmy Lord Arundel should not go anywhither out of his house (so Mr.\nMumford informed me), but remain there a prisoner; and my Lord\nHunsdon, who had been in former times his father's page, and now was\nhis great enemy, was given commission to examine him about his\nreligion, and also touching Dr. Allen and the Queen of Scots. Now was\nall the joy of Lady Arundel's release at an end. Now the sweet cooings\nof her babe moved her to bitter tears. \"In vain,\" she wrote to me\nthen, \"do we now look for him to come! in vain listen for the sound of\nhis horse's tread, or watch the gateway which shall not open to admit\nhim! I sigh for to be once more a prisoner, and he, my sweet life, at\nliberty. Alas! what kind of a destiny does this prove, if one is free\nonly when the other is shut up, and the word 'parting' is written on\neach page of our lives?\"\n\nAbout a month afterward, Mr. Mumford was sent for by Sir Christopher\nHatton, who asked him divers dangerous questions concerning the earl,\nthe countess, and Lord William Howard, and also himself--such as, if\nhe was a priest or no; which indeed I did not wonder at, so staid and\nreverend was his appearance. But he answered he never knew or ever\nheard any harm of these honorable persons, and that he himself was not\na priest, nor worthy of so great a dignity. He hath since told me that\non the third day of his examination the queen, the Earl of Leicester,\nand divers others of the council came into the house for to understand\nwhat he had confessed. Sir Christopher told them what answers he had\nmade; but they, not resting satisfied therewith, caused him, after\nmany threats of racking and other tortures, to be sent prisoner to the\nGate-house, where he was kept for some months so close that none might\nspeak or come to him. But by the steadfastness of his answers he at\nlast so cleared himself, and declared the innocency of the earl, and\nhis wife and brother, that they were set at liberty.\n\nSoon after her lord's release, I received this brief letter from Lady\nArundel:\n\n\"MINE OWN GOOD CONSTANCE,--I have seen my lord, who came here the day\nafter he was set free. He very earnestly desires to put into execution\nhis reconciliation to the Church now that his troubles are a little\noverpast. I have bethought myself that, since Father Campion hath left\nLondon, diligence might be used for to procure him a meeting with\nFather Edmonds, whom I have heard commended for a very virtuous and\nreligious priest, much esteemed both in this and other countries.\nPrithee, ask Mr. Wells if in his thinking this should be possible, and\nlet my lord know of the means and opportunities thereunto. I shall\nnever be so much indebted, nor he either, to any one in this world, my\ndear Constance, as to thee and thy good friends, if this interview\nshall be brought to pass, and the desired effect ensue.\n\n\"My Bess doth begin to walk alone, and hath learned to make the sign\nof the cross; but I warrant thee I am sometimes frightened that I did\nteach her to bless herself, until such time as she can understand not\nto display her piety so openly as she now doeth. For when many lords\nand gentlemen were here last week for to consider the course her\nmajesty's progress should take through Kent and Sussex, and she,\nsitting on my knee, was noticed by some of them for her pretty ways,\nthe clock did strike twelve; upon which, what doth she do but\nstraightway makes the sign of the cross before I could catch her\nlittle hand? Lord Cobham frowned, and my Lord Burleigh shook his head;\nbut the Bishop of Chichester stroked {638} her head, and said, with a\nsmile, _'Honi soit qui mal y pense;'_ for which I pray God to bless\nhim. Oh, but what fears we do daily live in! I would sometimes we were\nbeyond seas. But if my lord is once reconciled, methinks I can endure\nall that may befal us. Thy true and loving friend,\n  \"ANN, ARUNDEL AND SURREY.\"\n\nI straightway repaired to Mr. Wells, and found him to be privy to\nFather Edmonds's abode. At my request, he acquainted Lord Arundel with\nthis secret, who speedily availed himself thereof, and after a few\nvisits to this good man's garret, wherein he was concealed, was by him\nreconciled, as I soon learnt by a letter from his lady. She wrote in\nsuch perfect contentment and joy thereunto, that nothing could exceed\nit. She said her dear lord had received so much comfort in his soul as\nhe had never felt before in all his life, and such directions from\nFather Edmonds for the amending and ordering of it as did greatly help\nand further him therein. Ever after that time, from mine own hearing\nand observation, his lady's letters, and the report of such as haunted\nhim, I learnt that he lived in such a manner that he seemed to be\nchanged into another man, having great care and vigilance over all his\nactions, and addicting himself much to piety and devotion. He procured\nto have a priest ever with him in his own house, by whom he might\nfrequently receive the holy sacrament, and daily have the comfort to\nbe present at the holy sacrifice, whereto, with great humility and\nreverence, he himself in person many times would serve. His visits to\nhis wife were, during the next years, as frequent as he could make\nthem and as his duties at the court and the queen's emergencies would\nallow of; who, albeit she looked not on him with favor as heretofore,\ndid nevertheless exact an unremitting attendance on his part on all\npublic occasions, and jealously noted every absence he made from\nLondon. Each interview between this now loving husband and wife was a\nbrief space of perfect contentment to both, and a respite from the\nmany cares and troubles which did continually increase upon him; for\nthe great change in his manner of life had bred suspicion in the minds\nof some courtiers and potent men, who therefore began to think him\nwhat he was indeed, but of which no proof could be alleged.\n\nDuring the year which followed these haps mine aunt died, and Mr.\nCongleton sold his house in Ely Place, and took a small one in Gray's\nInn Lane, near to Mr. Wells's and Mr. Lacy's. It had no garden, nor\nthe many conveniences the other did afford; but neither Muriel nor\nmyself did lament the change, for the vicinity of these good friends\ndid supply the place of other advantages; and it also liked me more,\nwhilst Basil lived in poverty abroad, to inhabit a less sumptuous\nabode than heretofore, and dispense with accustomed luxuries. Of\nHubert I could hear but scanty tidings at that time--only that he had\neither lost or resigned his place at court? Mr. Hodgson was told by\none who had been his servant that he had been reconciled; others said\nhe did lead a very disordered life, and haunted bad persons. The truth\nor falsity of these statements I could not then discern; but methinks,\nfrom what I have since learnt, both might be partly true; for he\nbecame subject to fits of gloom, and so discomfortable a remorse as\nalmost unsettled his reason; and then, at other times, plunged into\nworldly excesses for to drown thoughts of the past. He was frightened,\nI ween, or leastways distrustful of the society of good men, but\nconsorted with Catholics of somewhat desperate character and fortunes,\nand such as dealt in plots and treasonable schemes.\n\nFather Campion's arrest for a very different cause--albeit his enemies\ndid seek to attach to him the name traitor--occurred this year at\nMrs. Yates's house in Worcestershire, and {639} consternated the\nhearts of all recusants; but when he came to London, and speech was\nhad of him by many amongst them which gained access to him in prison,\nand reported to others his great courage and joyfulness in the midst\nof suffering, then, methinks, a contagious spirit spread amongst\nCatholics, and conversions followed which changed despondency into\nrejoicing. But I will not here set down the manner of his trial, nor\nthe wonderful marks of patience and constancy which he showed under\ntorments and rackings, nor his interview with her majesty at my lord\nLeicester's house, nor the heroic patience of his death; for others\nwith better knowledge thereof, and pens more able for to do it, have\nwritten this martyr's life and glorious end. But I will rather relate\nsuch events as took place, as it were, under mine own eye, and which\nare not, I ween, so extensively known. And first, I will speak of a\nconversation I held at that time with a person then a stranger, and\ntherefore of no great significancy when it occurred, but which later\ndid assume a sudden importance, when it became linked with succeeding\nevents.\n\nOne day that I was visiting at Lady Ingoldsby's, where Polly and her\nhusband had come for to spend a few weeks, and much company was going\nin and out, the faces and names of which were new to me, some\ngentlemen came there whose dress attracted notice from the French\nfashion thereof. One of them was a young man of very comely appearance\nand pleasant manners, albeit critical persons might have judged\nsomewhat of' the bravado belonged to his attitudes and speeches, but\nwithal tempered with so much gentleness and courtesy, that no sooner\nhad the eye and mind taken note of the defect than the judgment was\nrepented of. What in one of less attractive face and behavior should\nhave displeased, in this youth did not offend. It was my hap to sit\nbeside him at supper, which lasted a long time; and as his behavior\nwas very polite, I freely conversed with him, and found him to be\nEnglish, though from long residence abroad his tongue had acquired a\nforeign trick. When I told him I had thought he was a Frenchman, he\nlaughed, and said if the French did ever try to land in England, they\nshould find him to be a very Englishman for to fight against them; but\nin the matter of dinners and beds, and the liking of a dear sunny sky\nover above a dim cloudy one, he did confess himself to be so much of a\ntraitor as to prefer France to England, and he could not abide the\nsmoke of coal fires which are used in this country.\n\n\"And what say you, sir,\" I answered, \"to the new form of smoke which\nSir Walter Raleigh hath introduced since his return from the late\ndiscovered land of Virginia?\"\n\nHe said he had learnt the use of it in France, and must needs confess\nhe found it to be very pleasant. Monsieur Nicot had brought some seeds\nof tobacco into France, and so much liking did her majesty Queen\nCatharine conceive for this practice of smoking, that the new plant\nwent by the name of the queen's herb. \"It is not gentlemen alone who\ndo use a pipe in France,\" he said, \"but ladies also. What doth the\nfair sex in England think on it?\"\n\n\"I have heard,\" I answered, \"that her majesty herself did try for to\nsmoke, but presently gave it up, for that it made her sick. Her\nhighness is also reported to have lost a wager concerning that same\nsmoking of tobacco.\"\n\n\"What did her grace bet?\" the gentleman asked.\n\n\"Why, she was one day,\" I replied, \"inquiring very exactly of the\nvarious virtues of this herb, and Sir Walter did assure her that no\none understood them better than himself, for he was so well acquainted\nwith all its qualities, that he could even tell her majesty the weight\nof the smoke of every pipeful he consumed. Her highness upon this\nsaid, 'Monsieur {640} Traveller, you do go too far in putting on me\nthe license which is allowed to such as return from foreign parts;'\nand she laid a wager of many pieces of gold he should not be able to\nprove his words. So he weighed in her presence the tobacco before he\nput it into his pipe, and the ashes after he had consumed it, and\nconvinced her majesty that the deficiency did proceed from the\nevaporation thereof. So then she paid the bet, and merrily told him\n'that she knew of many persons who had turned their gold into smoke,\nbut he was the first who had turned smoke into gold.'\"\n\nThe young gentleman being amused at this story, I likewise told him of\nSir Walter's hap when he first returned to England, and was staying in\na friend's house: how a servant coming into his chamber with a tankard\nof ale and nutmeg toast, and seeing him for the first time with a\nlighted pipe in his mouth puffing forth clouds of smoke, flung the ale\nin his face for to extinguish the internal conflagration, and then\nrunning down the stairs alarmed the family with dismal cries that the\ngood knight was on fire, and would be burnt into ashes before they\ncould come to his aid.\n\nMy unknown companion laughed, and said he had once on his travels been\ntaken for a sorcerer, so readily doth ignorance imagine wonders. \"Near\nunto Metz, in France,\" quoth he, \"I fell among thieves. My money I had\nquilted within my doublet, which they took from me, howsoever leaving\nme the rest of my apparel, wherein I do acknowledge their courtesy,\nsince thieves give all they take not; but twenty-five French crowns,\nfor the worst event, I had lapped in cloth, and whereupon did wind\ndivers-colored threads, wherein I sticked needles, as if I had been so\ngood a husband as to mend mine own clothes. Messieurs the thieves were\nnot so frugal to take my ball to mend their hose, but did tread it\nunder their feet. I picked it up with some spark of joy, and I and my\nguide (he very sad, because he despaired of my ability to pay him his\nhire) went forward to Chalons, where he brought me to a poor\nale-house, and when I expostulated, he replied that stately inns were\nnot for men who had never a penny in their purses; but I told him that\nI looked for comfort in that case more from gentlemen than clowns;\nwhereupon he, sighing, obeyed me, and with a dejected and fearful\ncountenance brought me to the chief inn, where he ceased not to bewail\nmy misery as if it had been the burning of Troy; till the host,\ndespairing of my ability to pay him, began to look disdainfully on me.\nThe next morning, when, he being to return home, I paid him his hire,\nwhich he neither asked nor expected, and likewise mine host for\nlodgings and supper, he began to talk like one mad for joy, and\nprofessed I could not have had one penny except I were an alchemist or\nhad a familiar spirit.\"\n\nI thanked the young gentleman for this entertaining anecdote, and\nasked him if France was not a very disquieted country, and nothing in\nit but wars and fighting.\n\n\"Yea,\" he answered; \"but men fight there so merrily, that it appears\nmore a pastime than aught else. Not always so, howsoever. When\nFrenchman meets Frenchman in the fair fields of Provence, and those of\nthe League and those of the Religion--God confound the first and bless\nthe last!--engage in battle, such encounters ensue as have not their\nmatch for fierceness in the world. By my troth, the sight of dead\nbodies doth not ordinarily move me; but the valley of Allemagne on the\nday of the great Huguenot victory was a sight the like of which I\nwould not choose to look on again, an I could help it.\"\n\n\"Were you, then, present at that combat, sir?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yea,\" he replied; \"I was at that time with Lesdigui\u00e8res, the\nProtestant general, whom I had known at La Rochelle, and beshrew me if\na more valiant soldier doth live, or a worthier {641} soul in a\nstalwart frame. I was standing by his side when Tourves the butcher\ncame for to urge him, with his three hundred men, to ride over the\nfield and slay the wounded papists. 'No, sir,' quoth the general, 'I\nfight men, but hunt them not down.' The dead were heaped many feet\nthick on the plain, and the horses of the Huguenots waded to their\nhaunches in blood. Those of the Religion were mad at the death of the\nBaron of Allemagne, the general of their southern churches, brave\ncastellane, who, when the fight was done, took off his helmet for to\ncool his burning forehead; and lo, a shot sent him straight into\neternity.\"\n\n\"The Catholics were then wholly routed?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yea,\" he answered; \"mowed down like grass in the hay-harvest. De\nVins, however, escaped. He thought to have had a cheap victory over\nthose of the Religion; but the saints in heaven, to whom he trusted,\nnever told him that Lesdigui\u00e8res on the one side and d'Allemagne on\nthe other were hastening to the rescue, nor that his Italian horsemen\nshould fail him in his need. So, albeit the papists fought like\ndevils, as they are, his pride got a fall, which well-nigh killed him.\nHe was riding frantically back into the fray for to get himself slain,\nwhen St. Cannat seized his bridle, and called him a coward, so I have\nheard, to dare for to die when his scattered troops had need of him;\nand so carried him off the field. D'Oraison, Janson, Pontmez, hotly\npursued them, but in vain; and all the Protestant leaders, except\nLesdigui\u00e8res, returned that night to the castle of Allemagne for to\nbury the baron.\"\n\nA sort of shiver passed through the young gentleman's frame as he\nuttered these last words.\n\n\"A sad burial you then witnessed?\" I said.\n\n\"I pray God,\" he answered, \"never to witness another such.\"\n\n\"What was the horror of it?\" I asked.\n\n\"Would you hear it?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Yea,\" I said, \"most willingly; for methinks I see what you describe.\"\n\nThen he: \"If it be so, peradventure you may not thank me for this\ndescribing; for I warrant you it was a fearful sight. I had lost mine\nhorse, and so was forced to spend the night at the castle. When it\ngrew dark I followed the officers, which, with a great store of the\nmen, also descended into the vault, which was garnished all round with\nwhite and warlike sculptured forms on tombstones, most grim in their\naspect; and amidst those stone imager, grim and motionless, the\nsoldiers ranged themselves, still covered with blood and dust, and\nleaning on their halberds. In the midst was the uncovered coffin of\nthe baron, his livid visage exposed to view--menacing even in death.\nTorches threw a fitful, red-colored light over the scene. A minister\nwhich accompanied the army stood and preached at the coffin's head,\nand when he had ended his sermon, sang in a loud voice, in French\nverse, the psalm which doth begin,\n\n  'Du fond de ma pens\u00e9e,\n  Du fond de tous enuuis,\n  A tol s'est adress\u00e9\n  Ma clamear jour et nult.'\n\nWhen this singing began two soldiers led up to the tomb a man with\nbound hands and ghastly pale face, and, when the verse ended, shot him\nthrough the head. The corpse fell upon the ground, and the singing\nbegan anew. Twelve times this did happen, till my head waxed giddy and\nI became faint. I was led out of that vault with the horrible singing\npursuing me, as if I should never cease to hear it.\"\n\n\"Oh, 'tis fearful,\" I exclaimed, \"that men can do such deeds, and the\nwhile have God's name on their lips.\"\n\n\"The massacre of St. Bartholomew,\" he answered, \"hath driven those of\nthe Religion mad against the papists.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" I asked, \"is it not true that six thousand Catholics in\nLanguedoc had been murthered in cold blood, {642} and a store of them\nin other places, before that massacre?\"\n\n\"May I be so,\" he answered in a careless tone. \"The shedding of blood,\nexcept in a battle or lawful duel, I abhor; but verily I do hate\npapists with as great a hate as any Huguenot in France, and most of\nall those in this country--a set of knavish traitors, which would\ndethrone the queen and sell the realm to the Spaniards.\"\n\nI could not but sigh at these words, for in this young man's\ncountenance a quality of goodness did appear which made me grieve that\nhe should utter these unkind words touching Catholics. But I dared not\nfor to utter my thinking or disprove his accusations, for, being\nignorant of his name, I had a reasonable fear of being ensnared into\nsome talk which should show me to be a papist, and he should prove to\nbe a spy. But patience failed me when, after speaking of the clear\nlight of the gospel which England enjoyed, and to lament that in\nIreland none are found of the natives to have cast off the Roman\nreligion, he said:\n\n\"I ween this doth not proceed from their constancy in religion, but\nrather from the lenity of Protestants, which think that the conscience\nmust not be forced, and seek rather to touch and persuade than to\noblige by fire and sword, like those of the south, who persecute their\nown subjects differing from them in religion.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" I exclaimed, \"this is a strange thing indeed, that Protestants\ndo lay a claim to so great mildness in their dealings with recusants,\nand yet such strenuous laws against such are framed that they do live\nin fear of their lives, and are daily fined and tormented for their\nprofession.\"\n\n\"How so?\" he said, quickly. \"No papist hath been burnt in this\ncountry.\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" I answered; \"but a store of them have been hanged and cut\nto pieces whilst yet alive.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" he cried, \"not for their religion, but for their many\ntreason.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" I answered, \"their religion is made treason by unjust laws, and\nthen punished with the penalties of treason; and they die for no other\ncause than their faith, by the same token that each of those which\nhave perished on the scaffold had his life offered to him if so he\nwould torn Protestant.\"\n\nIn the heat of this argument I had forgot prudence; and some unkindly\nears and eyes were attending to my speech, which this young stranger\nperceiving, he changed the subject of discourse--I ween with a\ncharitable intent--and merrily exclaimed, \"Now I have this day\ntransgressed a wise resolve.\"\n\n\"What resolve?\" I said, glad also to retreat from dangerous subjects.\n\n'\"This,\" he answered: \"that after my return I would sparingly, and not\nwithout entreaty, relate my journeys and observations.\"\n\n\"Then, sir,\" I replied, \"methinks you have contrariwise observed it,\nfor your observations have been short and pithy, and withal uttered at\nmine entreaty.\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" he said, \"I so much fear as to resemble men--and many such\nI have myself known--who have scarce seen the lions of the Tower and\nthe bears of Parish Garden, but they must engross all a table in\ntalking of their adventures, as if they had passed the Pillars of\nHercules. Nothing could be asked which they could not resolve of their\nown knowledge.\"\n\n\"Find you, sir,\" I said, \"much variety in the manners of French people\nand those you see in this country?\"\n\nHe smiled, and answered, \"We must not be too nice observers of men and\nmanners, and too easily praise foreign customs and despise our own\n--not so much that we may not offend others, as that we may not be\nourselves offended by others. I will yield you an example. A\nFrenchman, being a curious observer of ceremonious compliments, when\nhe hath saluted one, and began to entertain him with speech, if he\nchance to espy another {643} man, with whom he hath very great\nbusiness, yet will he not leave the first man without a solemn excuse.\nBut an Englishman discoursing with any man--I mean in a house or\nchamber of presence, not merely in the street--if he spy another man\nwith whom he hath occasion to speak, will suddenly, without any\nexcuse, turn from the first man and go and converse with the other,\nand with like negligence will leave and take new men for discourse;\nwhich a Frenchman would take in ill part, as an argument of\ndisrespect. This fashion, and many other like niceties and curiosities\nin use in one country, we must forget when we do pass into another.\nFor lack of this prudence I have seen men on their return home tied to\nthese foreign manners themselves, and finding that others observe not\nthe like toward them, take everything for an injury, as if they were\ndisrespected, and so are often enraged.\"\n\n\"What think you of the dress our ladies do wear?\" I inquired of this\nyoung traveller.\n\nHe smiled, and answered:\n\n\"I like our young gentlewomen's gowns, and their aprons of fine linen,\nand their little hats of beaver; but why have they left wearing the\nFrench sleeves, borne out with hoops of whalebone, and the French hood\nof velvet, set with a border of gold buttons and pearls? Methinks\nEnglish ladies are too fond of jewels and diamond rings. They scorn\nplain gold rings, I find, and chains of gold.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" I said, \"ladies of rank wear only rich chains of pearl, and all\ntheir jewels must needs be oriental and precious. If any one doth\nchoose to use a simple chain or a plain-set brooch, she is marked for\nwearing old-fashioned gear.\"\n\n\"This remindeth me,\" he said, \"of a pleasant fable, that Jupiter sent\na shower, wherein whosoever was wet became a fool, and that all the\npeople were wet in this shower, excepting one philosopher, who kept\nhis study; but in the evening coming forth into the market-place, and\nfinding that all the people marked him as a fool, who was only wise,\nhe was forced to pray for another shower, that he might become a fool,\nand so live quietly among fools rather than bear the envy of his\nwisdom.\"\n\nWith this pleasant story our conversation ended, for supper was over,\nand the young gentleman soon went away. I asked of many persons who he\nshould be, but none could tell me. Polly, the next day, said he was a\nyouth lately returned from France (which was only what I knew before),\nand that Sir Nicholas Throckmorton had written a letter to Lady\nIngoldsby concerning him, but his name she had forgot. O what strange\nhaps, more strange than any in books, do at times form the thread of a\ntrue history! what presentiments in some cases, what ignorance in\nothers, beset us touching coming events!\n\nThe next pages will show the ground of these reflections.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nOne day that Mrs. Wells was somewhat disordered, and keeping her room,\nand I was sitting with her, her husband came to fetch me into the\nparlor to an old acquaintance, he said, who was very desirous for to\nsee me. \"Who is it?\" I asked; but he would not tell me, only smiled;\nmy foolish thinking supposed for one instant that it might be Basil he\nspoke of, but the first glance showed me a slight figure and pale\ncountenance, very different to his whom my witless hopes had expected\nfor to see, albeit without the least shadow of reason. I stood looking\nat this stranger in a hesitating manner, who perceiving I did not know\nhim, held out his hand, and said,\n\n\"Has Mistress Constance forgotten her old playfellow?\"\n\n\"Edmund Genings!\" I exclaimed, suddenly guessing it to be him.\n\n{644}\n\n\"Yea,\" he said, \"your old friend Edmund.\"\n\n\"Mr. Ironmonger is this reverend gentleman's name now-a-days,\" Mr.\nWells said; and then we all three sat down, and by degrees in Edmund's\npresent face I discerned the one I remembered in former years. The\nsame kind and reflective aspect, the pallid hue, the upward-raised\neye, now with less of searching in its gaze, but more, I ween, of\nyearning for an unearthly home.\n\n\"O dear and reverend sir,\" I said, \"strange it doth seem indeed thus\nto address you, but God knoweth I thank him for the honor he hath done\nmy old playmate in the calling of him unto his service in these\nperilous times.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" he answered, with emotion, \"I do owe him much, which life\nitself should not be sufficient to repay.\"\n\n\"My good father,\" I said, \"some time before his death gave me a token\nin a letter that you were in England. Where have you been all this\ntime?\"\n\n\"Tell us the manner of your landing,\" quoth Mr. Wells; \"for this is\nthe great ordeal which, once overpassed, lets you into the vineyard,\nfor to work for one hour only sometimes, or else to bear many years\nthe noontide heat and nipping frosts which laborers like unto yourself\nhave to endure.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Edmund, \"ten months ago we took shipping at Honfleur,\nand, wind and weather being propitious, sailed along the coast of\nEngland, meaning to have landed in Essex; but for our sakes the master\nof the bark lingered, when we came in sight of land, until two hours\nwithin night, and being come near unto Scarborough, what should happen\nbut that a boat with pirates or rovers in it comes out to surprise us,\nand shoots at us divers times with muskets! But we came by no harm;\nfor the wind being then contrary, the master turned his ship and\nsailed back into the main sea, where in very foul weather we remained\nthree days, and verily I thought to have then died of sea-sickness;\nwhich ailment should teach a man humility, if anything in this world\ncan do it, stripping him as it does of all boastfulness of his own\ncourage and strength, so that he would cry mercy if any should offer\nonly to move him.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Mr. Wells, laughing, \"Topcliffe should bethink himself of\nthis new torment for papists, for to leave a man in this plight until\nhe acknowledged the queen's supremacy should be an artful device of\nthe devil.\"\n\n\"At last,\" quoth Mr. Genings, \"we landed, with great peril to our\nlives, on the side of a high cliff near Whitby, in Yorkshire, and\nreached that town in the evening. Going into an inn to refresh\nourselves, which I promise you we sorely needed, who should we meet\nwith there but one Radcliff?\"\n\n\"Ah! a noted pursuivant,\" cried Mr. Wells, \"albeit not so topping a\none as his chief.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" I cried, \"good Mr. Wells, that is but a poor pun, I promise you.\nA better one you must frame before night, or you will lose your\nreputation. The queen's last effort hath more merit in it than yours,\nwho, when she was angry with her envoy to Spain, said, 'If her royal\nbrother had sent her a goose-man,  [Footnote 94] she had sent him in\nreturn a man-goose.'\"\n\n  [Footnote 94: Guzman.]\n\nMr. Genings smiled, and said:\n\n\"Well, this same Radcliff took an exact survey of us all, questioned\nus about our arrival in that place, whence we came, and whither we\nwere going. We told him we were driven thither by the tempest, and at\nlast, by evasive answers, satisfied him. Then we all went to the house\nof a Catholic gentleman in the neighborhood, which was within two or\nthree miles of Whitby, and by him were directed some to one place,\nsome to another, according to our own desires. Mr. Plasden and I kept\ntogether; but, for fear of suspicion, we determined at last to\nseparate also, and singly to commit ourselves to the protection of God\nand his good angels. Soon after we had thus {645} resolved, we came to\ntwo fair beaten was, the one leading north-east, the other south-east,\nand even then and there, it being in the night, we stopped and both\nfell down on our knees and made a short prayer together that God of\nhis infinite mercy would vouchsafe to direct us, and send us both a\npeaceable passage into the thickest of his vineyard.\"\n\nHere Mr. Genings paused, a little moved by the remembrance of that\nparting, but in a few minutes exclaimed:\n\n\"I have not seen that dear friend since, rising from our knees, we\nembraced each other with tears trickling down our cheeks; but the\nwords he said to me then I shall never, methinks, forget. 'Seeing,'\nquoth, he, 'we must now part through fear of our enemies, and for\ngreater security, farewell, sweet brother in Christ and most loving\ncompanion. God grant that, as we have been friends in one college and\ncompanions in one wearisome and dangerous journey, so we may have one\nmerry meeting once again in this world, to our great comfort, if it\nshall please him, even amongst our greatest adversaries; and that as\nwe undertake, for his love and holy name's sake, this course of life\ntogether, so he will of his infinite goodness and clemency make us\npartakers of one hope, one sentence, one death, and one reward. And\nalso as we began, so may we end together in Christ Jesus.' So he; and\nthen not being able to speak one word more for grief and tears, we\ndeparted in mutual silence; he directing his journey to London, where\nhe was born, and I northward.\"\n\n\"Then you have not been into Staffordshire?\" I said.\n\n\"Yea,\" he answered, \"later I went to Lichfield, in order to try if I\nshould peradventure find there any of mine old friends and kinsfolks.\"\n\n\"And did you succeed therein?\" I inquired.\n\n\"The only friends I found,\" he answered, with a melancholy smile,\n\"were the gray cloisters, the old cathedral walls, the trees of the\nclose; the only familiar voices which did greet me were the chimes of\nthe tower, the cawing of the rooks over mine head as I sat in the\nshade of the tall elms near unto the wall where our garden once\nstood.\"\n\n\"Oh, doth that house and that garden no more exist?\" I cried.\n\n\"No, it hath been pulled down, and the lawn thereof thrown into the\nclose.\"\n\n\"Then,\" I said, \"the poor bees and butterflies must needs fare badly.\nThe bold rooks, I ween, are too exalted to suffer from these changes.\nOf Sherwood Hall did you hear aught, Mr. Genings?\"\n\n\"Mr. Ironmonger,\" Mr. Wells said, correcting me.\n\n\"Alas!\" Edmund replied, \"I  dared not so much as to approach unto it,\nalbeit I passed along the high road not very far from the gate\nthereof. But the present inhabitants are famed for their hatred unto\nrecusants, and like to deal rigorously with any which should come in\ntheir way.\"\n\nI sighed, and then asked him how long he had been in London.\n\n\"About one month,\" he replied. \"As I have told you. Mistress\nConstance, all my kinsfolk that I wot of are now dead, except my young\nbrother John, whom I doubt not you yet do bear in mind--that fair,\nwinsome, mischievous urchin, who was carried to La Rochelle about one\nyear before your sweet mother died.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" I said, \"I can see him yet gallopping on a stick round the\nparlor at Lichfield.\"\n\n\"'Tis to look for him,\" Edmund said, \"I am come to London. Albeit I\nfear much inquiry on my part touching this youth should breed\nsuspicion, I cannot refrain, brotherly love soliciting me thereunto,\nfrom seeking him whom report saith careth but little for his soul, and\nwho hath no other relative in the world than myself. I have warrant\nfor to suppose he should be in London; but these four weeks, {646}\nwith useless diligence, I have made search for him, leaving no place\nunsought where I could suspect him to abide; and as I see no hopes of\nsuccess, I am resolved to leave the city for a season.\"\n\nThen Mr. Wells proposed to carry Edmund to Kate's house, where some\nfriends were awaiting him; and for some days I saw him not again. But\non the next Sunday evening he came to our house, and I noticed a\npaleness in him I had not before perceived. I asked him if anything\nhad disordered him.\n\n\"Nothing,\" he answered; \"only methinks my old shaking malady doth\nagain threaten me; for this morning, walking forth of mine inn to\nvisit a friend on the other side of the city, and passing by St.\nPaul's church, when I was on the east side thereof, I felt suddenly a\nstrange sensation in my body, so much that my face glowed, and it\nseemed to me as if mine hair stood on end; all my joints trembled, and\nmy whole body was bathed in a cold sweat. I feared some evil was\nthreatening me, or danger of being taken up, and I looked back to see\nif I could perceive any one to be pursuing me; but I saw nobody near,\nonly a youth in a brown-colored cloak; and so, concluding that some\naffection of my head or liver had seized me, I thought no more on it,\nbut went forward to my intended place to say mass.\"\n\nA strange thinking came into mine head at that moment, and I doubted\nif I should impart to him my sudden fancy.\n\n\"Mr. Edmund,\" I said, unable to refrain myself, \"suppose that youth in\nthe brown cloak should have been your brother!\"\n\nHe started, but shaking of his head said:\n\n\"Nay, nay, why should it have been him rather than a thousand others I\ndo see every day?\"\n\n\"Might not that strange effect in yourself betoken the presence of a\nkinsman?\"\n\n\"Tut, tut, Mistress Constance,\" he cried, half kindly, half\nreprovingly; \"this should be a wild fancy lacking ground in reason.\"\n\nThus checked, I held my peace, but could not wholly discard this\nthought. Not long after--on the very morning before Mr. Genings\nproposed to depart out of town--I chanced to be walking homeward with\nhim and some others from a house whither we had gone to hear his mass.\nAs we were returning along Ludgate Hill, what should he feel but the\nsame sensations he had done before, and which were indeed visible in\nhim, for his limbs trembled and his face turned as white as ashes!\n\n\"You are sick,\" I said, for I was walking alongside of him.\n\n\"Only affected as that other day,\" he answered, leaning against a post\nfor to recover himself.\n\nI had hastily looked back, and, lo and behold I a youth in a brown\ncloak was walking some paces behind us. I whispered in Mr. Genings's\near:\n\n\"Look, Edmund; is this the youth you saw before?\"\n\n\"O my good Lord!\" he cried, turning yet more pale, \"this is strange\nindeed! After all, it may be my brother. Go on,\" he said quickly; \"I\nmust get speech with him alone to discover if it should be so.\"\n\nWe all walked on, and he tarried behind. Looking back, I saw him\naccost the stranger in the brown cloak. And in the afternoon he came\nto tell us that this was verily John Genings, as I had with so little\nshow of reason guessed.\n\n\"What passed between you?\" I asked.\n\nHe said:\n\n\"I courteously saluted the young man, and inquired what countryman he\nwas; and hearing that he was a Staffordshireman, I began to conceive\nhopes it should be my brother; so I civilly demanded his name.\nMethought I should have betrayed myself at once when he answered\nGenings; but as quietly as I could, I told him I was {647} his\nkinsman, and was called Ironmonger, and asked him what had become of\nhis brother Edmund. He then, not suspecting aught, told me he had\nheard that he was gone to Rome to the Pope, and was become a notable\npapist and a traitor both to God and his country, and that if he did\nreturn he should infallibly be hanged. I smiled, and told him I knew\nhis brother, and that he was an honest man, and loved both the queen\nand his country, and God above all. 'But tell me,' I added, 'good\ncousin John, should you not know him if you saw him?' He then looked\nhard at me, and led the way into a tavern not far off, and when we\nwere seated at a table, with no one nigh enough to overhear us, he\nsaid: 'I greatly fear I have a brother that is a priest, and that you\nare the man,' and then began to swear that if it was so, I should\ndiscredit myself and all my friends, and protested that in this he\nwould never follow me; albeit in other matters he might respect me. I\npromise you that whilst these harsh words passed his lips I longed to\nthrow my arms round his neck. I saw my mother's face in his, and his\nonce childish loveliness only changed into manly beauty. His young\nyears and mine rose before me, and I could have wept over this\nnew-found brother as Joseph over his dear Benjamin. I could no longer\nconceal myself, but told him truly I was his brother indeed, and for\nhis love had taken great pains to seek him, and begged of him to keep\nsecret the knowledge of my arrival; to which he answered: 'He would\nnot for the world disclose my return, but that he desired me to come\nno more unto him, for that he feared greatly the danger of the law,\nand to incur the penalty of the statute for concealing of it.' I saw\nthis was no place or time convenient to talk of religion; but we had\nmuch conversation about divers things, by which I perceived him to be\nfar from any good affection toward Catholic religion, and persistent\nin Protestantism, without any hope of a present recovery. Therefore I\ndeclared unto him my intended departure out of town, and took my\nleave, assuring him that within a month or little more I should return\nand see him again, and confer with him more at large touching some\nnecessary affairs which concerned him very much. I inquired of him\nwhere a letter should find him. He showed some reluctance for to give\nme any address, but at last said if one was left for him at Lady\nIngoldsby's, in Queen street, Holborn, he should be like to get it.\"\n\nAfter Mr. Genings had left, I considered of this direction his brother\nhad given him, which showed him to be acquainted with Polly's\nmother-in-law, and then remembering the young gentleman I had met at\nher house, I suspected him to be no other than John Genings. And\ncalled back to mind all his speeches for to compare them with this\nsuspicion, wherein they did all tally; and some days afterward, when I\nwas walking on the Mall with Sir Ralph and Polly, who should accost\nthem but this youth, which they presently introduced to me, and Polly\nadded, she believed we had played at hide-and-seek together when we\nwere young. He looked somewhat surprised, and as if casting about for\nto call to mind old recollections; then spoke of our meeting at Lady\nIngoldsby's; and she cried out,\n\n\"Oh, then, you do know one another?\"\n\n\"By sight,\" I said, \"not by name.\"\n\nSome other company joining us, he came alongside of me, and began for\nto pay me compliments in the French manner.\n\n\"Mr. John Genings,\" I said, \"do you remember Lichfield and the close,\nand a little; girl, Constance Sherwood, who used to play with you,\nbefore you went to La Rochelle?\"\n\n\"Like in a dream,\" he answered, his comely face lighting up with a\nsmile.\n\n\"But your brother,\" I said, \"was my chiefest companion then; for at\nthat age we do always aspire to the notice of such as be older than\n{648} condescend to such as be younger than ourselves.\"\n\nWhen I named his brother a cloud darkened his face, and he abruptly\nturned away. He talked to Polly and some other ladies in a gay,\njesting manner, but I could see that ever and anon he glanced toward\nme, as if to scan my features, and, I ween, compare them with what\nmemory depicted; but he kept aloof from me, as if fearing I should\nspeak again of one he would fain forget.\n\nOn the 7th of November, Edmund returned to London, and came in the\nevening to Kate's house. He had been laboring in the country,\nexhorting, instructing, and exercising his priestly functions amongst\nCatholics with all diligence. It so happened that his friend, Mr.\nPlasden, a very virtuous priest, which had landed with him at Whitby,\nand parted with him soon afterward, was there also; and several other\npersons likewise which did usually meet at Mr. Wells's house; but,\nowing to that gentleman's absence, who had gone into the country for\nsome business, and his wife's indisposition, had agreed for to spend\nthe evening at Mr. Lacy's. Before the company there assembled parted,\nthe two priests treated with him where they should say mass the\nfollowing day, which was the Octave of All Saints. They agreed to say\ntheir matins together, and, by Bryan's advice, to celebrate it at the\nhouse of Mr. Wells, notwithstanding his absence; for that Mistress\nWells, who could not conveniently go abroad, would be exceeding glad\nfor to hear mass in her own lodging. I told Edmund of my meeting with\nhis brother on the Mall, and the long talk ministered between us some\nweeks ago, when neither did know the other's name. Methought in his\ncountenance and conversation that night there appeared an unwonted\nconsolation, a sober joy, which filled me almost with awe. When he\nwished me good-night, he added,  \"I pray you, my dear child, to lift\nup your soul to heaven ere yon sleep and when you wake, and recommend\nto heaven our good purpose, and then come and attend at the holy\nsacrifice with the crowd of angels and saints which do always assist\nthereat.\" When the light faintly dawned in the dull sky, Muriel and I\nstole from our beds, quietly dressed ourselves, and slipping out\nunseen, repaired as fast as we could, for the ground was wet and\nslippery, to Mr. Wells's house. We found assembled in one room Mr.\nGenings, Mr. Plasden, another priest, Mr. White, Mr. Lacy, Mistress\nWells, Sydney Hodgson, Mr. Mason, and many others. Edmund Genings\nproceeded to say mass. There was so great a stillness in the room a\npin should have been heard to drop. Albeit he said the prayers in a\nvery low voice, each word was audible. Mine ears, which are very quick\nwere stretched to the utmost. Each sound in the street caused me an\ninward flutter. Methought, when he was reading the gospel I discerned\na sound as of the hall-door opening, and of steps. Then nothing more\nfor a little while; but just at the moment of the consecration there\nwas a loud rush up the stairs, and the door of the chamber burst open.\nThe gentlemen present rose from their knees. Mistress Wells and I\ncontrariwise sunk on the ground. I dared not for to look, or move, or\nbreathe, but kept inwardly calling on God, then present, for to save\nus. I heard the words behind me: \"Topcliffe! keep him back!\" \"Hurl him\ndown the stairs!\" and then a sound of scuffling, falling, and rolling,\nfollowed by a moment's silence.\n\nThe while the mass went forward, ever and anon noises rose without;\nbut the gentlemen held the door shut by main force all the time. They\nkept the foe at bay, these brave men, each word uttered at the altar\nresounding, I ween, in their breasts. O my God, what a store of\nsuffering was heaped into a brief space of time! What a viaticum was\nthat communion then received by thy doomed priest! {649} \"_Domine, non\nsum dignus_,\" he thrice said, and then his Lord rested in his soul.\n\"_Deo gratias_\" None could now profane the sacred mysteries; none\ncould snatch his Lord from him. \"_Ite missa est_.\" The mass was said,\nthe hour come, death at hand. All resistance then ceased. I saw\nTopcliffe hastening in with a broken head, and threatening to raise\nthe whole street. Mr. Plasden told him that, now the mass was ended,\nwe would all yield ourselves prisoners, which we did; upon which he\ntook Mr. Genings as he was, in his vestments, and all of us, men and\nwomen, in coaches he called for, to Newgate. Muriel and I kept close\ntogether, and, with Mistress Wells, were thrust into one cell.\nMethinks we should all have borne with courage this misfortune but for\nthe thinking of those without--Muriel of her aged and infirm father;\nMistress Wells of her husband's return that day to his sacked house,\nrobbed of all its church furniture, books, and her the partner of his\nwhole life. And I thought of Basil, and what he should feel if he knew\nof me in this fearful Newgate, near to so many thieves and wicked\npersons; and a trembling came over me lest I should be parted from my\ncompanions. I had much to do to recall the courageous spirit I had\nheretofore nurtured in foreseeing such a hap as this. If I had had to\ndie at once, I think I should have been more brave; but terrible\nforebodings of examinations--perchance tortures, long solitary hours\nin a loathsome place--caused me inward shudderings; and albeit I said\nwith my lips over and over again, \"Thy will be done, my God,\" I\npassionately prayed this chalice might pass from me which often before\nin my presumption--I cry mercy for it--I had almost desired to drink.\nOh, often have I thought since of what is said in David's Psalms, \"It\nis good for me that thou hast humbled me.\" From my young years a hot\nglowing feeling had inflamed my breast at the mention of suffering for\nconscience' sake, and the words \"to die\" had been very familiar ones\nto my lips; \"rather to die,\" \"gladly to die,\" \"proudly to die;\" alas,\nhow often had I uttered them! O my God, when the foul smells, the\nfaint light of that dreadful place, struck on my senses, I waxed very\nweak. The coarse looks of the jailers, the disgusting food set before\nus, the filthy pallets, awoke in me a loathing I could not repress.\nAnd then a fear also, which the sense of my former presumption did\nawaken. \"Let he that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall,\"\nkept running in mine head. I had said, like St. Peter, that I was\nready for to go to prison and to death; and now, peradventure, I\nshould betray my Lord if too great pain overtook me. Muriel saw me\nwringing mine hands; and, sitting down by my side on the rude\nmattress, she tried for to comfort me. Then, in that hour of bitter\nanguish, I learnt that creature's full worth. Who should have thought,\nwho did not then hear her, what stores of superhuman strength, of\nheavenly knowledge, of divine comfort, should have flowed from her\nlips? Then I perceived the value of a wholly detached heart,\nsurrendered to God alone. Young as she was, her soul was as calm in\nthis trial as that of the aged resigned woman which shared it with us.\nMine was tempest-tossed for a while. I could but lie mine head on\nMuriel's knee and murmur, \"Basil, O Basil!\" or else, \"If, after all, I\nshould prove an apostate, which hath so despised others for it!\"\n\n\"'Tis good to fear,\" she whispered, \"but withal to trust. Is it not\nwritten, mine own Constance, 'My strength is sufficient for thee?' and\nwho saith this but the Author of all strength--he on whom the whole\nworld doth rest? He permitteth this fear in thee for humility's sake,\nwhich lesson thou hast need to learn. When that of courage is needed,\nbe not affrighted; he will give it thee. He bestoweth not graces\nbefore they be needed.\"\n\n{650}\n\nThen she minded me of little St. Agnes, and related passages of her\nlife; but mostly spoke of the cross and the passion of Christ, in such\npiercing and moving tones, as if visibly beholding the scene on\nCalvary, that the storm seemed to subside in my breast as she went on.\n\n\"Pray,\" she gently said, \"that, if it be God's will, the extremity of\nhuman suffering should fall on thee, so that thy love for him should\nincrease. Pray that no human joy may visit thee again, so that heaven\nmay open its gates to thee and thy loved ones. Pray for Hubert, for\nthe queen, for Topcliffe, for every human soul which thou hast ever\nbeen tempted to hate; and I promise thee that a great peace shall\nsteal over thy soul, and a great strength shall lift thee up.\"\n\nI did what she desired, and her words were prophetic. Peace came\nbefore long, and joy too, of a strange unearthly sort. A brief\nforetaste of heaven was showed forth in the consolations then poured\ninto mine heart. When since I have desired for to rekindle fervor and\nawaken devotion, I recall the hours which followed that great anguish\nin the cell at Newgate.\n\nLate in the evening an order came for to release Muriel and me, but\nnot Mrs. Wells. When this dear friend understood what had occurred,\nshe raised her hands in fervent gratitude to God, and dismissed us\nwith many blessings.\n\nThe events which, followed I will briefly relate. When we reached home\nMr. Congleton was very sick; and then began the illness which ended\nhis life. Kate was almost wild with grief at her husband's danger, and\nwe fetched her and her children to her father's house for to watch\nover them. On the next day all the prisoners which had been taken at\nMr. Wells's house (we only having been released by the dealings of\nfriends with the chief secretary) were examined by Justice Young, and\nreturned to prison to take their trials the next session. Mr. Wells,\nat his return finding his house ransacked and his wife carried away to\nprison, had been forthwith to Mr. Justice Young for to expostulate\nwith him, and to demand his wife and the key of his lodgings; but the\njustice sent him to bear the rest company, with a pair of iron bolts\non his legs. The next day he examined him in Newgate; and upon Mr.\nWells saying he was not privy to the mass being said that day in his\nhouse, but wished he had been present, thinking his name highly\nhonored by having so divine a sacrifice offered in it, the justice\ntold him \"that though he was not at the feast, he should taste of the\nsame.\"\n\nThe evening I returned home from the prison a great lassitude overcame\nme, and for a few days increased so much, joined with pains in the\nhead and in the limbs, that I could scarcely think, or so much as\nstand. At last it was discerned that I was sickening with the\nsmall-pox, caught, methinks, in the prison; and this was no small\nincrease to Muriel's trouble, who had to go to and fro from my chamber\nto her father's, and was forced to send Kate and her children to the\ncountry to Sir Ralph Ingoldsby's house; but methinks in the end this\nproved for the best, for when Mr. Lacy was, with the other prisoners,\nfound guilty, and condemned to death on the 4th of December, some for\nhaving said, and the others for having heard, mass at Mr. Wells's\nhouse, Kate came to London but for a few hours, to take leave of him,\nand Polly's care of her afterward cheered the one sister in her great\nbut not very lasting affliction, and sobered the other's spirits in a\nbeneficial manner, for since she hath been a stayer at home, and very\ncareful of her children and Kate's also, and, albeit very secretly,\ndoth I hear practise her religion. Mr. Congleton never heard of his\nson-in-law and his friend Mr. Wells's danger, the palsy which affected\nhim having numbed his senses so that he slowly sunk in his grave\nwithout suffering of body or mind. From Muriel I heard the course of\nthe trial. How many bitter words and scoffs were used by the {651}\njudges and others upon the bench, particularly to Edmund Genings,\nbecause of his youth, and that he angered them with his arguments! The\nmore to make him a scoff to the people, they vested him in a\nridiculous fool's coat which they had found in Mr. Wells's house, and\nwould have it to be a vestment. It was appointed they should all die\nat Tyburn, except Mr. Genings and Mr. Wells, who were to be executed\nbefore Mr. Wells's own door in Gray's Inn Fields, within three doors\nof our own lodging. The judges, we were told, after pronouncing\nsentence, began to persuade them to conform to the Protestant\nreligion, assuring them that by so doing they should obtain mercy, but\notherwise they must certainly expect to die. But they all answered\n\"that they would live and die in the true Roman and Catholic faith,\nwhich they and all antiquity had ever professed, and that they would\nby no means go to the Protestant churches, or for one moment think\nthat the queen could be head of the Church in spirituals.\" They dealt\nmost urgently with Edmund Genings in this matter of conformity, giving\nhim hopes not only of his life, but also of a good living, it he would\nrenounce his faith; but he remained, God be praised, constant and\nresolute; upon which he was thrust into a dark hole within the prison,\nwhere he remained in prayer, without food or sustenance, till the hour\nof his death. Some letters we received from him and Mr. Wells, which\nhave become revered treasures and almost relics in our eyes. One did\nwrite (this was Edmund): \"The comforts which captivity bringeth are so\nmanifold that I have rather cause to thank God highly for his fatherly\ndealings with me than to complain of any worldly misery whatsoever.\nCustom hath caused that it is no grief to me to be debarred from\ncompany, desiring nothing more than solitude. When I pray, I talk with\nGod--when I read, he talketh with me; so that I am never alone.\" And\nmuch more in that strain. Mr. Wells ended his letter thus: \"I am bound\nwith gyves, yet I am unbound toward God, and far better I account it\nto have the body bound than the soul to be in bondage. I am threatened\nhard with danger of death; but if it be no worse, I will not wish it\nto be better. God send me his grace, and then I weigh not what flesh\nand blood can do unto me. I have answered to many curious and\ndangerous questions, but I trust with good advisements, not offending\nmy conscience. What will come of it God only knoweth. Through prison\nand chains to glory. Thine till death.\" This letter was addressed to\nBasil, with a desire expressed we should read it before it was sent to\nhim.\n\nOn the day before the one of the execution, Kate came to take leave of\nher husband. She could not speak for her tears; but he, with his usual\ncomposure, bade her be of good comfort, and that death was no more to\nhim than to drink off the caudle which stood there ready on his table.\nAnd methinks this indifferency was a joint effect of nature and of\ngrace, for none had ever seen him hurried or agitated in his life with\nany matter whatsoever. And when he rolled Topcliffe down the stairs\nand fell with him--for it was he which did this desperate action--his\nface was as composed when he rose up again, one of the servants who\nhad seen the scuffle said, as if he had never so much as stirred from\nhis study; and in his last speeches before his death it was noticed\nthat his utterance was as slow and deliberate, and his words as\ncarefully picked, as at any other time of his life. Ah me! what days\nwere those when, hardly recovered from my sickness, only enough for to\nsit up in an armed-chair and be carried from one chamber to another,\nall the talk ministered about me was of the danger and coming death of\nthese dear friends. I had a trouble of mine own, which I be truly\nashamed to speak of; but in this narrative I have resolved above all\nthings to be truthful; and if I have ever had {652} occasion, on the\none hand, to relate what should seem to be to mine own credit, on the\nother also I desire to acknowledge my weaknesses and imperfections, of\nwhich what I am about to relate is a notable instance. The small-pox\nmade me at that time the most deformed person that could be seen, even\nafter I was recovered; and the first time I beheld my face in a glass,\nthe horror which it gave me was so great that I resolved Basil should\nnever be the husband of one whom every person which saw her must needs\nbe affrighted to look on; but, forecasting he would never give me up\nfor this reason, howsoever his inclination should rebel against the\nkindness of his heart and his true affection for me, I hastily sent\nhim a letter, in which I said I could give him no cause for the change\nwhich had happened in me, but that I was resolved not to marry him,\nacting in my old hasty manner, without thought or prudence. No sooner\nhad I done so than I grew very uneasy thereat, too late reflecting on\nwhat his suspicions should be of my inconstancy, and what should to\nhim appear faithless breach of promise.\n\nIt grieved me, in the midst of such grave events and noble sufferings,\nto be so concerned for mine own trouble; and on the day before the\nexecution I was sitting musing painfully on the tragedy which was to\nbe enacted at our own doors as it were, weeping for the dear friends\nwhich were to suffer, and ever and anon chewing the cud of my wilful\nundoing of mine own, and it might prove of Basil's, future peace by my\nrash letter to him, and yet more rash concealment of my motives.\nWhilst I was thus plunged in grief and uneasiness, the door of my\nchamber of a sudden opened, and the servant announced Mr. Hubert\nRookwood. I hid my face hastily with a veil, which I now did generally\nuse, except when alone with Muriel. He came in, and methought a change\nhad happened in his appearance. He looked somewhat wild and\ndisordered, and his face flushed as one used to drinking.\n\n\"Constance,\" he said abruptly, \"tidings have reached me which would\nnot suffer me to put off this visit. A man coming from France hath\nbrought me a letter from Basil, and one directed to you, which he\ncharged me to deliver into your hands. If it tallies with that which\nhe doth write to me--and I doubt not it must be so, for his dealings\nare always open and honorable, albeit often rash--I must needs hope\nfor so much happiness from it as I can scarce credit to be possible\nafter so much suffering.\"\n\nI stretched out mine hand for Basil's letter. Oh, how the tears gushed\nfrom mine eyes on the reading of it! He had received mine, and having\nheard some time before from a friend he did not name of his brother's\npassion for me, he never misdoubted but that I had at last yielded to\nhis solicitations, and given him the love which I withdrew from him.\n\nNever was the nobleness of his nature more evinced than in this\nletter; never grief more heartfelt, combined with a more patient\nendurance of the overthrow of his sole earthly happiness; never a\ngreater or more forgiving kindness toward a faithless creature, as he\ndeemed her, with a lingering care for her weal, whom he must needs\nhave thought so ill deserving of his love. So much sorrow without\nrepining, such strict charges not to marry Hubert if he was not a good\nCatholic and truly reconciled to the Church. But if he was indeed\nchanged in this respect, an assent given to this marriage which had\ncost him, he said, many tears and many prayers for to write, more than\nif with his own heart's blood he had traced the words; but which,\nnevertheless, he freely gave, and prayed God to bless us both, if with\na good conscience we could be wedded; and God forbid he should hinder\nit, if I had ceased for to love him, and had given to Hubert--who had\nalready got his birthright--also a more precious treasure, the heart\nonce his own.\n\n{653}\n\n\"What doth your brother write to you?\" I coldly said; and then Hubert\ngave me his letter to read.\n\nMethinks he imagined I concealed my face from some sort of shame; and\nGod knoweth, had I acted the part he supposed, I might well have\nblushed deeper than can be thought of.\n\nThis letter was like unto the other--the most touching proof of love\na man could give for a woman. Forgetting himself, my dearest Basil's\nonly care was my happiness; and firm remonstrances were blended with\ntouching injunctions to his brother to treasure every hair of the head\nof one who was dearer to him than all the world beside, and to do his\nduty to God and to her, which if he observed, he should, mindless of\nall else, for ever bless him.\n\nWhen I returned the missive to him, Hubert said, in a faltering voice,\n\"Now you are free--free to be mine--free before God and man.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" I answered; \"free as the dead, for I am henceforward dead to\nall earthly things.\"\n\n\"What!\" he cried, startled; \"your thinking is not, God shield it, to\nbe a nun abroad?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" I answered; and then, laying my hand on Basil's letter, I said,\n\"If I had thought to marry you, Hubert; if at this hour I should say I\ncould love you, I ween you would leave the house affrighted, and never\nreturn to it again.\"\n\n\"Is your brain turned?\" he impatiently cried.\n\n\"No,\" I answered quietly, lifting my veil, \"my face only is changed.\"\n\nI had a sort of bitter pleasure in the sight of his surprise. He\nturned as pale as any smock.\n\n\"Oh, fear not,\" I said; \"my heart hath not changed with my face. I am\nnot in so merry a mood, God knoweth, as to torment you with any such\napprehensions. My love for Basil is the same; yea, rather at this\nhour, after these noble proofs of his love, more great than ever. Now\nyou can discern why I should write to him I would never marry him.\"\n\nHiding his face in his hands, Hubert said, \"Would I had not come here\nto embitter your pain?\"\n\n\"You have not added to my sorrow,\" I answered; \"the chalice is indeed\nfull, but these letters have rather lightened than increased my\nsufferings.\"\n\nThen concealing again my face, I went on, \"O Hubert, will you come\nhere to-morrow morning? Know you the sight which from that window\nshall be seen? Hark to that noise! Look out, I pray you, and tell me\nwhat it is.\"\n\nHe did as I bade him, and I marked the shudder he gave. His face, pale\nbefore, had now turned of an ashy hue.\n\n\"Is it possible?\" he said; \"a scaffold in front of that house where we\nwere wont to meet those old friends! O Constance, are they there to\ndie?--that brave joyous old man, that kind pious soul his wife?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" I answered; \"and likewise the friend of my young years, good\nholy Edmund Genings, who never did hurt a fly, much less a human\ncreature. And at Tyburn, Bryan Lacy, my cousin, once your friend, and\nSydney Hodgson, and good Mr. Mason, are to suffer.\"\n\nHubert clenched his hands, ground his teeth, and a terrible look shot\nthrough his eyes. I felt affrighted at the passion my words had\nawakened.\n\n\"Cursed,\" he cried, in a hoarse voice,--\"cursed be the bloody queen\nwhich reigneth in this land! Thrice accursed be the tyrants which hunt\nus to death! Tenfold accursed such as lure us to damnation by the foul\nbaits they do offer to tempt a man to lie to God and to others, to\nruin those he loves, to become loathsome to himself by his mean\ncrimes! But if one hath been cheated of his soul, robbed of the hope\nof heaven, debarred from his religion, thrust into the company of\ndevils, let them fear him, yea, let them fear him, I say. Revenge is\nnot impossible. What shall stay the {654} hand of such a man? What\nshall guard those impious tempters if many such should one day league\nfor to sweep them from earth's face? If one be desperate of this\nworld's life, he becomes terrible. How should he be to be dreaded who\ndoth despair of heaven!\"\n\nWith these wild words, he left me. He was gone ere I could speak.\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\nFrom Chambers's Journal.\n\nRESIGNED.\n\n\n      When my weary spinning's done,\n      And the shades of eve grow deep,\n      And by the bright hearthstone\n      The old folk sit asleep;\n  My heart and I in secret talk, when none can see me weep.\n\n      Ofttimes the driving rain,\n      And sometimes the silent snow,\n      Beat on the window-pane,\n      And mingle sad and low\n  With the hopes and fears, the smiles and tears, of a time long, long ago;\n\n      Till they act the tales they tell,\n      And a step is on the floor,\n      And a voice I once loved well\n      Says: \"Open me the door.\"\n  Then I turn with a chill from the mocking wind, which whispers \"Nevermore!\"---\n\n      To the little whitewashed room\n      In which my days are spent;\n      And, journeying toward the tomb,\n      My companions gray and bent.\n  Who haply deem their grandchild's life not joyous, but content.\n\n      Ah me! for the suns not set,\n      For the years not yet begun,\n      For the days not numbered yet,\n      And the work that must be done,\n  Before the desert path is crossed, and the weary web is spun!\n\n      Like a beacon in the night,\n      I see my first grey hair;\n      And I scarce can tell aright\n      If it is from age or care,\n  For time glides silent o'er my life, and leaves no landmark there.\n\n      But perchance 'tis for the best.\n      And I must harder strive,\n      If life is little blest.\n      Then not for life to live.\n  For though a heart has nought to take, it may have much to give.\n\n{655}\n\n      And they are old and poor.\n      And bread is hard to win.\n      And a guest is at the door\n      Who soon must enter in,\n  And to keep his shadow from their hearth, I daily toil and spin.\n\n      My sorrow is their gain,\n      And I show not by a tear\n      How my solitude and pain\n      Have bought their comfort dear.\n  For the storm which wrecked my life's best hope has left me stranded here.\n\n      But I hear the neighbors say,\n      That the hour-glass runs too fast,\n      And I know that in that glad day,\n      When toil and sorrow are past,\n  The false and true shall receive their due, and hearts cease aching at last.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nSAINTS OF THE DESERT.\n\nBY THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN. D.D.\n\n\n1. A sportsman fell in with Abbot Antony, when pleasantly conversing\nwith his brethren, and was scandalized.\n\nThe old man said: \"Put an arrow on the string, and bend your bow.\" He\ndid so.\n\nThen Antony said: \"Bend it more;\" and he bent it more.\n\nAntony said: \"More still.\" He answered: \"I shall break it.\"\n\nThen said Antony: \"This will befal the brethren, if their minds are\nalways on the stretch.\"\n\n\n2. It is told of Abbot Arsenius, how he was used to remain all night\nwithout sleep.\n\nThen, when morning broke, and he needed rest, he used to say to sleep:\nCome, you good-for-nothing.\n\nThen he took a nap, as he sat; and soon woke up again.\n\n\n3. A brother said to Abbot Theodore, \"Say some good word to me, for I\nam perishing.\"\n\nHe answered: I am in jeopardy myself,  and what can I say to _thee?_\n\n\n4. A brother said to Abbot Pastor: \"I have done a great sin; give me a\nthree years' penance.\" The abbot answered; \"It is too much.\"\n\nThe brother said, \"Give me a year.\" The old man said again, \"It is too\nmuch.\"\n\nThe brothers round him asked, \"Should it be forty days?\" Still he\nanswered, \"It is too much.\"\n\nFor, said he, whoso doth penance with his whole heart, and never does\nthe sin again, is received by God even on the penance of three days.\n\n\n5. A brother had sinned, and the priest bade him leave the church.\n\nBessarion rose, and went out with him, saying: And I too am a sinner.\n\n\n6. Abbott Macarius said: Never chide an erring brother angrily; for\nyou are not bid save another's soul at the loss of your own.\n\n\n7. Abbot Nilus said: If you would pray as you ought, beware of\nsadness; else you will run in vain.\n\n------\n\n{656}\n\n\nFrom All The Year Round.\n\nUP AND DOWN CANTON.\n\n\nCanton is a genuine Chinese city, and one of the most extraordinary\nplaces in the world. There are four American steamers which ply\nbetween Hong-Kong and Canton. They are fast commodious vessels, in\nfact floating hotels, such as ply on the large American rivers. The\nvoyage occupies about eight or nine hours. Of these, five or six are\non the open sea, sheltered mostly under the lee of precipitous bluffs\nand lofty rocky islets; and the rest, from the \"Bocca Tigris,\" up the\nCanton river. The fog in the winter season lies so dense over the\nflats and extensive swamps bordering the river that steamers have to\nproceed with great caution, going \"dead slow,\" and sounding the\nsteam-whistle, while the little fishing-junks, which are sure to be\nscattered by dozens in the way, eagerly beat their gongs, to make\nknown their whereabout. As the steamer ascends the river, a noble\nstream, some five or six miles broad near the mouth, she gets\ngradually clear of the fog. The wide marshy flats, and the bold rocks\non the left bank, crowned with odd-looking Chinese stone batteries,\ncome into view, to be succeeded by paddy-fields, sugar-cane\ncultivation, orchards, gardens, roads, and villages, that become, on\nboth banks, more and more numerous, until they blend with the vast\nsuburbs of Canton. Charming little pagodas, and fanciful buildings,\npainted and carved, the residences of mandarins, peep from the shades\nof groves, and every village is surmounted by two or more lofty square\ntowers, the nature of which puzzles a stranger, until he is told they\nare pawnbrokers shops. These shops are so fashioned for the greater\nsecurity of the articles pledged, because the broker is made heavily\nresponsible for their safe-keeping. The security is meant to be not\nonly against thieves, but also against fire. Half-way to Canton, on\nthe right, or west bank, is a little English settlement at the town of\nWhampo. It consists of some ship-chandlers' stores, warehouses, and a\ndock for repairing vessels which discharge their cargoes here, being\nunable to proceed higher up the stream. Whampo is, in fact, the\nseaport of Canton, and was a flourishing place as such till Hong-Kong\ndiverted the trade. From Whampo upward, the river becomes more and\nmore crowded with junks and Chinese boats. Some of the junks,\nmen-of-war, differ from the rest only in being larger, and in having\nseveral unwieldy guns on their decks, mounted on uncouth carriages: in\nmany instances with their muzzles not pointed through portholes, but\ngrinning over the bulwarks at an angle of forty-five degrees, like\nhuge empty bottles.\n\nWhen the steamer has slowly and cautiously threaded her way among\nthese numerous vessels, and dropped anchor, the rush of  \"tanka-boats\"\nround her is astonishing. These are broad bluff crafts, something of\nthe size and shape of the sampans, but impelled chiefly by women; one\nsweeping, the other sculling with a large steering oar. They close\nround the ship in hundreds, yelling, screaming, struggling, and\nfighting for the gangways, till every passenger or article of light\nfreight has left. The women are warmly and comfortably dressed in\ndark-blue linen shirts and wide drawers, with red and yellow bandanas\nround their heads and faces. They are often young and good-looking,\nwith bright laughing eyes, white {657} teeth, and jolly red cheeks.\nThey are, unlike the \"flower-boat\" girls, honest and well conducted.\nTheir boats are roofed over, with snug neat cabins nicely painted, and\nbedizened with flowers, old-fashioned pictures, and looking-glasses. A\nlow cushioned bench runs round three sides, and the passenger sits\ndown pleasantly enough, looking through the entrance, and face to face\nwith the sturdy nymph, who, with a \"stamp and go,\" is rowing him\nalong, while at the stern, behind his back, another lusty Naiad steers\nhim on his way.\n\nThe river divides the great city into two parts; that on the left\nbank, which is by far the larger, being Canton, and the opposite\nsmaller town \"Honan.\" On the Honan side, a few European gentlemen\nstill live and carry on business, as branches of several firms in\nHong-Kong; but the principal European quarter is a fine level plain on\nthe Canton side, presenting to the river a revetted wall. A pretty\nchurch and some handsome houses, including the British consulate, have\nbeen already completed within the land, which is called the \"Sh\u00e1meen.\"\nIt adjoins the portion formerly allotted for the Hongs, or warehouses\nand offices of foreign (European) merchants, which were burnt down by\nthe Chinese mob before the last war.\n\nAt ten in the morning, one day in the month of February, I started\nfrom the Honan side, under the guidance of a Chinese cicerone, who\nspoke a language somewhat better than the gibberish known by the name\nof \"pigeon\" (business) English, to explore the city of Canton. We\ncrossed the river in a tanka-boat, and after threading, jostling, and\npushing our way through swarms of small craft in every variety, landed\nat the custom-house stairs, close to a small office in which presides\nan English functionary, in the pay of the Chinese government. The\nstrand is crowded with mean dirty hovels, in which, and about the\nmuddy road, and on board innumerable boats, packed closely along the\nbank, men, women, and children, filthy and ragged, were crowding in\nswarms. We passed a short way up the strand, by some large shops,\ncrammed with clothing and ship chandlery, and, striking inland,\ntraversed an open space, scattered with the relics of the European\nHongs burnt before the last war (a space, by-the-by, which Europeans\nhave altogether deserted, preferring the \"Sh\u00e1meen\" land, and which the\nChinese government appear unwilling to resume, so that it remains\naltogether untenanted). We then entered the bazaar, or strictly\ncommercial portions of the town.\n\nThe day was unusually sultry for the time of year; the streets (so to\ncall passages of six or seven feet width), entirely paved with\nflag-stones, were muddy and greasy from rain that had fallen the day\nbefore. The air was stagnant from the confinement of closely packed\nand overhanging houses, and heated by swarms of people hurrying to and\nfro, while an insupportable stench from sewers, neglected drains, and\nputrid fish and flesh, with a horrible odor of stale cabbage water,\npervaded the suffocating atmosphere. I became faint at times, fatigued\nand heated beyond endurance, so that my estimate of the extent of this\nenormous labyrinth through which I plodded for four hours before I\ncould get a sedan-chair, is one rather, of the feelings than of the\njudgment I walked--stepping now and then into shops, to examine them\nmore closely--and rode in a sedan-chair up one street and down\nanother, from about half-past ten in the morning until four in the\nafternoon, and had to leave unvisited about half the bazaar, to get a\nhasty glimpse of a few temples, gardens, and mandarin-houses before\ndusk.\n\nThe streets are flagged, and about six or seven feet broad. They\nappear to be innumerable, crossing each other at right angles at every\ntwo or three hundred yards. The houses {658} on each side are\nnarrow-fronted, but extending considerably to the rear. There are no\nwindows, for the centre of each front is, open, merely consisting of\ncarved and painted framework, like the proscenium of a theatre, and\ndisplaying the contents of the shop on each hand, like side scenes.\nThe back is closed by a large panelling, in which figures of gods,\nmen, animals, and flowers are painted, with a vast deal of gilding and\nfinery. In short, each shop looks like a little theatre. A few houses\nhave upper stories, reached by pretty carved and balustraded stairs.\nAnd as every article for which space can be found is hung up for\ndisplay, both inside the shop and around its front, the spectator, as\nhe enters the bazaar, feels as if he were diving into an ocean of\ncloths, silks, flags, and flutters.\n\nMy guide was a sharp fellow, who thoroughly knew all the sights of\nCanton. As he had been often employed as cicerone by the ship\ncaptains, he immediately put me down as one of that jolly fraternity,\nfrequent intercourse with whom had given a slightly nautical twang to\nhis discourse. We had not gone far before he addressed me, \"I say,\ncappen: you come along o' me and see jewelers' shops. Here's\nfirst-rate shop--number one jeweler this chap--cappen want to buy\nanything? Heave along!\" The jewelers' shops were numerous, and I saw\nmany very beautiful specimens of carving and filigree-work. Some of\nthe shops sold articles of European design, others ministered only to\nthe native beauty and fashion of Canton. These contained many articles\nof considerable beauty and real taste. The most notable were the\n\"bird's feather ornaments,\" which consist of gold or gilt head combs,\nbrooches, ear-rings, and the like, on which are firmly fixed, with\nglue, strips of the bright blue feathers of the kingfisher (Halcyon\nSmyrnensis), cut into small patterns, through which the gold ground\nappears; the whole effect being exactly like that of enamel work. The\nkingfisher is not, I think, found in China, but is imported in great\nnumbers from Burmah and India. I asked the price of one skin lying on\nthe counter, and was told half a dollar (two shillings and\nthreepence). The bird was probably procured in India for\nthree-halfpence. Ivory shops are in great number, but the Chinese\nivory yields, in my opinion, to that of the Japanese. I went into\nseveral porcelain shops, and saw in each ten or a dozen\nlanguid-looking youths painting away, slowly and laboriously, at\nleaves, flowers, insects, and so forth, on plates. Each lad had a\nsmall bowl of one color, and when he had painted in all the parts of\nthe design intended to be of that color, he passed the plate on to his\nneighbor, who added his color, and so on all round the room till the\npattern was completely colored. The result is stiff and mechanical.\nThere is no attempt at artistic effect, nothing like the beautiful\npictures painted in the factories at Worcester or Dresden. Dyers and\nweavers are numerous. The silk shops are the finest in the bazaar, but\ntheir contents are excessively dear, and are not very good. Indeed,\nthe Canton silks are considered by the Chinese themselves to be,\ninferior to those made in the northern provinces of the empire. I have\nseen silk dresses and pieces from Pekin brought into India via Nepaul,\nof a quality which I was assured by a competent judge could not be\nprocured at Canton. This was five-and-twenty years ago, and it is\npossible that our present widely different connection with China may\nhave introduced a better article into Shanghae, which is so near\nPekin. But the Chinese were very jealous formerly about exporting\ntheir finest silks, and those I allude to were brought by the members\nof a mission, sent every three years with a tribute from Kathmandoo to\nthe Emperor of China, as a friendly return present from the emperor to\nthe Rajah of Nepaul.\n\n{659}\n\nThe Chinese shopkeepers are fat comfortable-looking fellows, with\npleasant, good-humored faces. They showed me their curiosities very\nwillingly, and none the less courteously exchanged a smiling\n\"chin-chin\" with me if I left the shop without purchasing anything.\n\nTea-shops are numberless. They are piled up with chests such as we see\nin England, and with open baskets of coarse and inferior tea for the\npoor. The cheapest kind is made in thin round cakes or large wafers,\nstrung upon slips of bamboo. It partially dissolves in hot water, and\nis flavored with salt by those who drink it. Of this form of brick tea\nI have never seen any mention in the books published by travellers.\n\nThere are poulterers' shops, with fowls roasted and raw; and there are\nvegetable sellers' stalls, and fish in baskets, dead and not\nover-fresh, or alive in large tubs of water. They were all of the carp\nfamily, including r\u00e9hos, m\u00efrgals, and kutlas, so familiarly known in\nIndia, also several species of the siluroids, called vulgarly\n\"catfish.\" The fish brought from the sea are salted and sun-dried,\nand, with strong aid from immense festoons of sharks' fins, set up a\nstench that it is not easy to walk through.\n\nAfter inspecting shops and elbowing and being elbowed in the crowd\ntill afternoon, when I was ready to drop with heat and fatigue, my\npilot steered me to a small square, flagged with stone, on which the\nsun shone fiercely. He called it \"Beggars' square,\" and told me that\nall the destitute and abandoned sick in the city crawled, if they\ncould, to this spot, because those who died there received burial at\nthe expense of government. While he spoke, my eyes were fixed upon\nsome heaps of dirty tattered clothes on the ground, which presently\nbegan to move, and I discovered to my horror three miserable\ncreatures, lean and covered with odious filth, lying in different\nstages of their last agony on the bare stones, exposed to the burning\nrays of the sun. They came here to die, and no one heeded them, or\ngave them a drop of water, or a morsel of food, or even a little\nshelter from the noontide glare. I had seen shocking things of this\nsort in India, but nothing so horrible. To insure a climax of\ndisgusts, my guide led me straight to a dog butcher's shop, where\nseveral of the nasty fat oily carcases of those animals were hanging\nfor sale. They had not been flayed, but dangled there with their\nsmooth shining skins, which had been scalded and scraped clean of\nhair, so that at first I took them for sucking-pigs. There were joints\nof dog, ready roasted, on the counter, and in the back of the shop\nwere several cages in which live dogs were quietly sitting, lolling\ntheir tongues out, and appearing very unconcerned. I saw several cats\nalso, in cages, looking very demure; and moreover I saw customers,\ndecorous and substantial-looking householders, inspect and feel the\ndogs and cats, and buy those which they deemed fittest for the table.\nThe cats did not like being handled, and mewed loudly. \"What cappen\nthink o' that?\" said my guide. \"Cappen s'pose never eat dog?--dog very\ngood, very fat, very soft. Oh, number one dinner is dog!\" \"And are\ncats as good?\" I asked. \"Oh, Chinaman chowchow everything. Chowchow\nplenty cat. Chinaman nasty beast, I think, cappen, eh?\" My cicerone\nhad been so long mixed up with European and American ship captains and\nmissionaries, that he had learnt to suit his ideas to his company, if\nhis ideas had not actually undergone great modification, as is the\ncase in India with those educated natives of the present day known to\nus as specimens of \"Young Bengal.\"\n\nBefore quitting the bazaar, I was ushered into two gambling-shops.\nThese are licensed by the Chinese government, the owners paying a\nconsiderable tax. Both were tolerably full of players, and in both the\nsame kind of game was being played--a simple one enough, if I\nunderstood it. {660} A player staked a pile of cash or dollars; the\ncroupier staked a similar one; and then another member of the\nestablishment dipped his hand into a bag and drew out a handful of\ncounters; if they were in even fours, the bank won; if they were\nuneven, the player won, and the croupier's stake was duly handed over\nto him--rather ruefully, it struck me, by the banker, who sat on the\ncounter raised above the rest. This game appears about as\nintrinsically entertaining as pulling straws; but I may have\noverlooked or misunderstood parts of it of a more intellectual nature.\nIn the first house I visited, the players were of the lower class, and\nthe stakes were copper cash. One man, quite a youth, left the room\nevidently cleaned out; his look revealed it, and I suppose he went\naway to the opium shop, the usual consolation of a Chinaman under the\ncircumstances. As we entered the second gambling-house, my guide\ninformed me, \"This rich house. Number one fellow play here--mandarin\nchap.\" And truly I saw in the room goodly piles of dollars heaped up\nbefore a better-dressed assembly. The game appeared to be the same,\nand money changed hands rapidly. I \"chin-chinned\" to the banker and to\nthe company, and was civilly allowed to look on. The room led through\na filigreed doorway to another apartment, where cakes, loaves, tea,\nand pipes were spread out, and where long-tailed gentlemen were\nlounging and discussing the news of the day.\n\nBeing in want of cash, and having only dollar notes with me, I asked\nmy guide what I should do? He straightway led me to a money-changer's,\nwhere I was at once furnished with change for my notes at par. As this\nwas an unusual accommodation, I asked the reason of such generosity,\nand was informed that the dollars given me were all light, and that\nthe changer would obtain full-weight dollars for the notes by-and-by.\nI was assured, however, that in all the shops the dollars I had\nreceived would be received at the full value; and this I found to be\nthe case. All the time I was in the money-changer's, I saw three or\nfour people telling, examining, and stamping dollars. So defaced and\nmutilated does the coin become by bearing the \"chop\" or mark of every\nbanker or dealer into whose possession it passes, that it as nearly as\npossible returns to that state of bullion which the Chinaman prefers\nto minted coin. As it was, the only small change I could procure for a\ndollar was in fragments of silver; in the weighing out of which I was\nof course at the mercy of the shopman.\n\nA chair having been with great difficulty procured for me, and another\nfor my guide, we were about emerging from the bazaar when I had the\nhonor of meeting a mandarin and suite. My bearers had just time to\nsqueeze into the entrance of a side-alley, when the cavalcade was down\nupon us. Funny-looking soldiers with spears and muskets\nindiscriminately, musicians and drummers or tom-tom beaters, and an\namazing figure in red and gold apparel of a loose flapping cut, with a\nsword in his hand, mounted upon an inexcusable pony--a Chinese\nRosinante. In the centre of this cortege the mandarin was borne along,\na placid fat dignitary, in a richly embroidered purple velvet and\ngolden dress, seated in a gaudy sedan.\n\nIt was a great relief to emerge from the crowded bazaar, pass through\nthe gateway in the massive city wall, and proceed through\ncomparatively airy lanes to one or two Chinese gentlemen's houses and\ngardens, which my guide most unceremoniously entered, marshalling me\nin without a word of introduction or apology, and making me feel\nrather ashamed of myself. These dwellings, as well as the joss-houses\nor temples, have been so often described, that I will not inflict them\nagain on the reader. Not the slightest objection was raised by the\npriests to my exploring every part of the temples, the vergers showing\nthe altars, the various images, the cloisters {661} and refectories,\nwith great alacrity, and extending their hands afterward for a fee.\nThe only undescribed fact connected with these worthies which I was\ninformed of is, that they sell their finger-nails to any foreigner\ndesirous of purchasing such curiosities. These nails are suffered to\ngrow uncut, and attain a length of three or four inches, looking\nremarkably unlike finger-nails, and forming curiosities much coveted,\nsaid my guide, by foreign gentlemen and \"cappens.\" Among other\nreligious edifices I visited a Mohammedan temple, a singular jumble of\nIslamism and Buddhism. Extracts from the Koran wore an odd appearance\nemblazoned on Chinese architecture. There were no priests visible\nhere; only children and begging old women.\n\nWant of time prevented my visiting the camp or barracks of the Chinese\nsoldiers, on the heights outside the eastern suburbs of the town. A\nlarge garden, attached to a temple on the Honan side, was the only\nother object I had time that day to inspect. The garden was\nprincipally stocked with orange-trees, also loquats and lychees,\nhundreds of which were on sale for the benefit of the good fathers,\nwho are supported by the produce of the garden and the contributions\nof the piously disposed. On each side of the centre walk, beyond a\nlittle dirty pond, was a shed, with shelves, on which were ranged pots\ncontaining the ashes of the priests (\"priests' bones,\" my guide\nirreverently called them); their bodies, after decease, undergoing\nincremation in an adjoining pit. Names, ages, and dates of decease are\nduly preserved, cut into slabs of stone on the concave face of a\nsemicircular screen of masonry in the garden. Before leaving the\ngarden I was not a little surprised by the appearance of a veritable\nmagpie, identical, as it seemed to me, with our British bird, that I\nhad not seen for many years.\n\nAfter guiding me safely to my quarters--for so labyrinthine is every\npart of Canton and Honan that it would be hopeless to attempt to find\none's way alone--my pilot left me and departed to his own home, which\nwas, he told me, on the Canton side. The language he spoke is, as may\nbe gathered from the specimens here given, not the ordinary \"pigeon\nEnglish\" of Chinese servants; a style of gibberish which it is\nlamentable to think has become the ordinary channel of communication\nwith all Chinamen. These sharp and intelligent people would soon learn\nto speak and understand better English than such sentences has \"You go\ntop-side and catchee one piecee book\"--\"You tell those two piecee\ncooly go chow-chow, and come back chop-chop.\" (Go up-stairs and fetch\na book--Tell those two coolies to go to their dinner, and return\nquickly.) The good effects of the tuition afforded by schoolmasters\nand missionaries in China are much marred by the jargon used\nconventionally, with irrational adherence to defect, in all ordinary\ntransactions of business, by masters and mistresses in intercourse\nwith their servants, and by  commercial men with their native\nassistants.\n\nAbout seven hours' run, in one of the American steamers before\nmentioned, carries the passenger from Canton to Macao. The mouth of\nthe river is cleared in four hours, and the rest of the voyage is over\nan open sea, which, with a fresh southerly breeze, is rather rough for\na flat-bottomed steamer: the islands to eastward, though numerous,\nbeing too remote to check the swell of the Chinese ocean. After\nrunning for about an hour along the bold rocky peninsula at the point\nof which Macao is built, the steamer rounds in, and, entering a\npartially land-locked harbor between the town and some rocky islets to\nits south, anchors in smooth water. The town has a quaint picturesque\nlook. Its old-fashioned houses extend to the water's edge. They are\nall of stone or brick, covering the face of the bold coast: the\nheights of which are crowned by castles, forts, batteries, and\nconvents, and from whose ancient walls the last rays of a setting sun\nwere fading as we entered the harbor. The {662} inhabitants are\nentirely Portuguese, Chinese, and a breed between the two. The\njealousy of the Portuguese government effectually excludes foreigners\nfrom settling; a miserable policy, by which trade is almost extinct,\nthe revenue being derived chiefly from licensing of gambling-houses.\nIn front of the house of the governor I saw a guard of soldiers. They\nwore able-bodied, smart-looking young fellows in neat blue uniforms,\ndetailed from a regiment in the fort. These soldiers, and a few\nhalf-castes, looking like our office keranies in India, together with\nsome strangely dressed females, in appearance half aya, half sister of\ncharity, were all that I saw of the Portuguese community. The\nnon-military Portuguese looked jaded and lazy, almost every man with a\ncheroot in his mouth. The town, indeed, struck me as a very \"Castle of\nIndolence.\"\n\n------\n\n\nAbridged from The Dublin University Magazine.\n\nGLASTONBURY ABBEY, PAST AND PRESENT.\n\n\nOne of the most subtle operations of time is the tendency it has to\ntransform the facts of one age into the phantasies of another, and to\ncause the dreams of the past to become the realities of the present.\nFar away in the remote distance of history, when a lonely monk in his\ncell mused of vessels going without sails and carriages without\nhorses, it was a dream--a mere dream, produced probably by a brain\ndisordered by over study, long vigils, and frequent fasts, but that\ndream of the thirteenth century has become the most incontrovertible\nfact of the nineteenth, a fact to whose influence all other hitherto\nimmovable facts are giving way, even the great one, the impregnability\nof the Englishman's castle; for we find that before the obstinate\nmarch of one of these railway facts a thousand Englishmen's castles\nfall prostrate, and a thousand Englishmen are evicted, their\navocations broken up, and themselves turned out upon the world as a\nnew order of beings--outcasts with compensation.\n\nThe monastic life, so commonly regarded in these later times as a\nphantasy, was once a fact, a great universal fact; it was a fact for\ntwelve or thirteen centuries; and when we remember that it extended\nits influence from the sunny heights of Palestine, across Europe, to\nthe wild, bleak shores of western Ireland; that it did more in the\nworld for the formation and embellishment of modern civilization than\nall the governments and systems of life the accompanied it in its\ncourse; that the best portions of ancient literature, the materials of\nhistory, the secrets of art, are the pearls torn from its\ntreasure-house, we may form some idea of what a fact the monastic life\nmust have been at one time, and may venture to assert that the history\nof that phase of existence, as in frock and cowl it prayed, and\nwatched, and fasted; as in its quiet cloisters it studied, and copied,\nand labored; as outside its walls it mingled its influence with the\nweb of human destiny, and as in process of time, becoming wealthy and\npowerful, it degenerated, and went the way of all human things--we say\nthat the history of the development of this extinct world, however\ndefective the execution of that history may be, will include in its\nreview some of the most interesting portions of our national career,\nwill furnish a clue to many of the mazes of historical speculation, or\nat least may be suggestive {663} to some more able intellect of a\ncourse of investigation which has been very little followed, and a\nmine of truth which to a great extent still remains intact.\n\nAt a time when laws were badly administered, and the country often\ntorn by internal contentions, and always subject to the violence of\nmarauders, it was absolutely necessary that there should be some\nasylum for those thoughtful, retiring spirits who, unable or unwilling\nto take part in the turmoil of the times, were exposed to all its\ndangerous vicissitudes. In an age, too, when the country possessed no\nliterature, the contemplative and the learned had no other means of\nexistence than by retiring to the cloister, safe out of the reach of\nthe jealous superstition of ignorance and the wanton barbarity of\nuncouth violence. The monastery then was the natural home of these\nbeings--the deserted, the oppressed, the meek spirit who had been\nbeaten in the world's conflict, the untimely born son of genius, the\nscholar, the devotee, all found a safe shelter and a genial abode\nbehind the friendly walls of these cities of refuge. There, too, lay\ngarnered up, as a priceless hoarding for future ages, the sacred\noracles of Christianity, and the rescued treasures of ancient lore;\nthere science labored at her mystic problems; and there poetry,\npainting, and music were developed and perpetuated; in fine, all that\nthe world holds as most excellent, all that goes toward the foundation\nand adornment of modern society, treasured up in the monastery as in\nan ark, rode in safety over the dark flood of that mediaeval deluge\nuntil the waters subsided, and a new world appearing from its depths,\nviolent hands were laid upon those costly treasures, which were torn\nfrom their hiding-places and freely scattered abroad, whilst the\nrepresentatives of those men who, in silence and with prayer, had\namassed and cherished them, were branded as useless idlers, their\nhomes broken up, and themselves dispersed, with no mercy for their\nerrors and no gratitude for their labors, to seek the scanty charities\nof a hostile world. Beside being the cradle of art and science, the\nmonastery was a great and most efficient engine for the dispensation\nof public charity. At its refectory kitchen the poor were always\ncheerfully welcomed, generously treated, and periodically relieved; in\nfine, the care of the poor was not only regarded as a solemn duty, but\nwas undertaken with the most cheerful devotion and the most\nunremitting zeal. They were not treated like an unsightly social\ndisease, which was to be cured if possible, but at any rate kept out\nof sight; they were not handed over to the tender sympathies of paid\nrelieving officers, nor dealt with by the merciless laws of\nstatistics, but they were treated gently and kindly in the spirit of\nthe Great Master, who when on earth bestowed upon them the larger\nshare of his sympathy, who, in the tenderness of his pity, dignified\npoverty and sanctified charity when he declared that \"inasmuch as ye\nhave done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto\nme.\" Whatever may have been the vices of the monastic system or the\nerrors of its ritual, its untiring charity was its great redeeming\nvirtue.\n\nIt will not perhaps be an unfitting introduction to our investigation\ninto the rise and influence of this system upon our national life if\nwe resuscitate from the grave of the past one of these great\nmonasteries, the oldest and most powerful which sprang up in our\ncountry, and which, compared with others at the time when they fell\nbefore the great religious convulsion of the sixteenth century, had,\nin the midst of general corruption, maintained its purity, and\nsuffered less from its own vices than from the degeneracy of the\nsystem to which it belonged, and of which it was the most\ndistinguished ornament. We shall endeavor to portray the monastery as\nit was in all its glory, to pass through its portals, to enter\nreverently {664} into its magnificent church, to listen to its\ngorgeous music, to watch its processions, to wander through its\ncloisters, to visit its domestic domains, to penetrate into the\nmysteries of its refectory, the ascetic simplicity of its dormitory,\nthe industry of its schoolhouse and fratery, the stores of its\ntreasury, the still richer stores of its library, the immortal labors\nof its Scriptorium, where they worked for so many centuries, uncheered\nand unrewarded, for a thankless posterity, who shrink even now from\ndoing them justice; we shall visit the gloomy splendors of its crypt,\nwander through its grounds, and marvel at its strange magnificence.\nAfter having thus gazed, as it were, upon the machine itself in\nmotion, we shall perhaps be the better enabled subsequently to\ncomprehend the nature and value of its work.\n\nIn the early part of the sixteenth century the ancient abbey of\nGlastonbury was in the plenitude of its magnificence and power. It had\nbeen the cynosure for the devotees of all nations, who, for nearly\neleven centuries, flocked in crowds to its fane--to worship at its\naltars, to venerate its relics, to drink in health at its sacred well,\nand to gaze in rapt wonder at its holy thorn. And even now, in these\nlater days, though time has wasted it, though fierce fanaticism has\nplayed its cannon upon it, though ruthless vandalism in blind\nignorance has despoiled many of its beauties, it still stands proud in\nits ruined grandeur, defiant alike of the ravages of decay, the\ndevastation of the iconoclast, and the wantonness of the ignorant.\nAlthough not a single picture, but only an inventorial description, is\nextant of this largest abbey in the kingdom, yet, standing amidst its\nsilent ruins, the imagination can form some faint idea of what it must\nhave been when its aisles were vocal with the chant of its many-voiced\nchoir, when gorgeous processions moved grandly through its cloisters,\nand when its altars, its chapels, its windows, its pillars, were all\ndecorated with the myriad splendors of monastic art. Passing in at the\ngreat western entrance, through a lodge kept by a grave lay-brother,\nwe find ourselves in a little world, shut up by a high wall which\nswept round its domains, inclosing an area of more than sixty acres.\nThe eye is arrested at once by a majestic pile of building, stretching\nitself out in the shape of an immense cross, from the centre of whose\ntransept there rises a high tower. The exterior of this building is\nprofusely decorated with all the weird embellishments of medieval art.\nThere, in sculptured niche, stands the devout monarch, sceptred and\ncrowned; the templar knight, who had fallen under an oriental sun\nfighting for the cross; the mitred abbot, with his crosier; the saint\nwith his emblem; the martyr with his palm; scenes from Sacred Writ;\nthe apostles, the evangelists; petrified allegories and sculptured\nstory; and then, clustering around and intertwining itself with all\nthese scenes and representations of the world of man, were ornamental\ndevices culled from the world of nature. A splendid monument of the\ngenius of those mediaeval times whose mighty cathedrals stand before\nus now like massive poems or graven history, where men may read, as it\nwere from a sculptured page, the chivalrous doings of departed heroes,\nthe long tale of the history of the Church--of her woes, her triumphs,\nher martyrs, and her saints--a deathless picture of actual existence,\nas though some heaven-sent spirit had come upon the earth, and with a\nmagic stroke petrified into the graphic stillness of stone a whole\nworld of life and living things. The length of the nave of this\nchurch, beginning from St. Joseph's chapel (which we shall presently\nnotice, and which was an additional building) up to the cross, was 220\nfeet, the great tower was 40 feet in breadth, and the transepts on\neither side of it each 45 feet in length, the choir was 150 feet; its\nentire length from east to west was {665} 420 feet; and if we add the\nappended St. Joseph's chapel, we have a range of building 530 feet in\nlength.\n\nTurning from the contemplation of this external grandeur, we come to a\nstructure which forms the extreme west of the abbey--a chapel\ndedicated to St. Joseph of Arimathea. The entrance on the north side\nis a masterpiece of art, being a portal consisting of four\nsemicircular arches, receding and diminishing as they recede into the\nbody of the wall, the four fasciae profusely decorated with sculptured\nrepresentations of personages and scenes, varied by running patterns\nof tendrils, leaves, and other natural objects. The first thing that\nstrikes the attention upon entering is the beautiful\ntriarial-mullioned window at the western extremity, with its\nsemicircular head; opposite, at the eastern end, another,\ncorresponding in size and decoration, throws its light upon the altar.\nOn both the north and south sides of the church are four uniform\nwindows, rising loftily till their summits nearly touch the vaulting;\nunderneath these are four sculptured arches, the panelling between\nthem adorned with painted representations of the sun, moon, stars, and\nall the host of heaven; the flooring was a tesselated pavement of\nencaustic tiles, each bearing an heraldic device, or some allegorical\nor historical subject. Beneath this tesselated pavement is a spacious\ncrypt, eighty-nine feet in length, twenty feet in width, and ten feet\nhigh, provided with an altar, and when used for service illuminated by\nlamps suspended from the ceiling. St. Joseph's chapel, however, with\nits softly-colored light, its glittering panels, its resplendent\naltars, and its elegant proportions, is a beautiful creation; but only\na foretaste or a prelude of that full glare of splendor which bursts\nupon the view on ascending the flight of steps leading from its lower\nlevel up to the nave of the great abbey church itself, which was\ndedicated to St. Mary. Arrived at that point, the spectator gazes upon\na long vista of some four hundred feet, including the nave and choir;\npassing up through the nave, which has a double line of arches, whose\npillars are profusely sculptured, we come to the central point in the\ntransept, where there are four magnificent Gothic arches, which for\nimposing grandeur could scarcely be equalled in the world, mounting up\nto the height of one hundred feet, upon which rested the great tower\nof the church. A portion of one of these arches still exists, and\nthough broken retains its original grandeur. In the transept running\nnorth and south from this point are four beautifully decorated\nchapels, St. Mary's, in the north aisle; St. Andrew's, in the south;\nOur Lady of Loretto's, on the north side of the nave; and at the south\nangle that of the Holy Sepulchre; another stood just behind the tower,\ndedicated to St. Edgar: in each of these are altars richly adorned\nwith glittering appointments, and beautiful glass windows, stained\nwith the figures of their patron saints, the apostles, scriptural\nscenes or episodes from the hagiology of the Church; then, running in\na straight line with the nave, completing the gigantic parallelogram,\nis the choir, where the divine office is daily performed. The body is\ndivided into stalls and seats for the abbot, the officers, and monks.\nAt the eastern extremity stands the high altar, with its profusion of\ndecorative splendor, whilst over it is an immense stained-glass\nwindow, with semicircular top, which pours down upon the altar, and in\nfact bathes the whole choir, when viewed from a distance, in a sea of\nsoftened many-colored light. The flooring of the great church, like\nthat of St. Joseph's, is composed of encaustic Norman tiles, inscribed\nwith Scripture sentences, heraldic devices, and names of kings and\nbenefactors. Underneath the great church is the crypt--a dark vault\ndivided into three compartments by two rows of strong massive pillars,\ninto which, having descended from the church, the spectator {666}\nenters; the light of his torch is thrown back from a hundred different\npoints, like the eyes of serpents glittering through the darkness,\nreflected from the bright gold and silver nails and decorations of the\ncoffins that lie piled on all sides, and whose ominous shapes can be\njust faintly distinguished. This is the weird world, which exerts a\nmysterious influence over the hearts of the most thoughtless--the\nsilent world of death in life; and piled up around are the remains of\nwhole generations long extinct of races of canonized saints, pious\nkings, devout queens, mitred abbots, bishops, nobles who gave all\ntheir wealth to lie here, knights who braved the dangers of foreign\nclimes, the power of the stealthy pestilence, and the scimitar of the\nwild Saracen, that they might one day come back and lay their bones in\nthis holy spot. There were the gilded coffins of renowned abbots,\nwhose names were a mighty power in the world when they lived, and\nwhose thoughts are still read with delight by the votaries of another\ncreed--the silver crosiers of bishops, the purple cloth of royalty,\nand the crimson of the noble--all slumbering and smoldering in the\ndense obscurity of the tomb, but flashing up to the light once more in\na temporary brilliancy, like the last ball-room effort of some aged\nbeauty--the aristocracy of death, the coquetry of human vanity, strong\neven in human corruption. Amongst the denizens of this dark region\nare--King Arthur and his queen Guinever, Coel II., grandfather of\nConstantine the Great, Kentwyn, king of the West Saxons, Edmund I.,\nEdgar and Ironsides, St. David of Wales, and St. Gildas, beside nine\nbishops, fifteen abbots, and many others of note. Reascending from\nthis gloomy cavern to the glories of the great church, we wander\namongst its aisles, and as we gaze upon the splendors of its choir, we\nreflect that in this gorgeous temple, embellished by everything that\nart and science could contribute, and sanctified by the presence of\nits holy altar, with its consecrated host, its cherished receptacle of\nsaintly relics, and its sublime mysteries, did these devout men, seven\ntimes a day, for centuries, assemble for prayer and worship. As soon\nas the clock had tolled out the hour of midnight, when all the rest of\nthe world was rocked in slumber, they arose, and flocked in silence to\nthe church, where they remain in prayer and praise until the first\nfaint streaks of dawn began to chase away the constellations of the\nnight, and then, at stated intervals through the rest of the day, the\nappointed services were carried on, so that the greater portion of\ntheir lives was spent m this choir, whose very walls were vocal with\npsalmody and prayer. It was a grand offering to the Almighty of human\nwork and human life. In that temple was gathered as a rich oblation\neverything that the united labor of ages could create and collect;\nstrong hands had dug out its foundations in the bowels of the earth,\nhad hewn stubborn rocks into huge blocks, and piled them up high in\nthe heavens, had fashioned them into pillars and arches, myriads of\nbusy fingers had labored for ages at its decoration until every\ncolumn, every cornice, and every angle bore traces of patient toil;\nthe painter, the sculptor, the poet, had all contributed to its\nembellishment, strength created it, genius beautified it, and the\never-ascending incense of human contrition, human adoration, and human\nprayer completed the gorgeous sacrifice which those devotees of\nmediaeval times offered up in honor of him whose mysterious presence\nthey venerated as the actual and real inhabitant of their holy of\nholies.\n\nRetracing our steps once more to the nave, we turn to take one\nlingering glance at the scene: and here the full beauty and\nmagnificence of the edifice bursts upon the view, the eye wanders\nthrough a perfect stony forest whose stately trees, taken at some\nmoment when their tops, bending toward each other and interlacing\n{667} themselves, had been petrified into the natural beauty of the\nGothic arch; here and there were secluded spots where the prismatic\nlight from painted windows danced about the pillars like straggling\nsunbeams through the thick foliage of a forest glade. The clusters of\npillars resembled the gnarled bark of old forest trees, and the\ngrouped ornaments of their capitols were the points where the trunk\nitself spread off into limbs and branches; there were groves and\nlabyrinths running far away into the interior of this sculptured wood,\nand towering high in the centre were those four kings of the forest,\nwhose tops met far up in the heavens--the true heart of the scene,\nfrom which everything diverged, and, with which everything was in\nkeeping. Then, as the spectator stands, lost in the grandeur of the\nspectacle, gazing in rapt wonder at the sky-painted ceiling, or at\nsome fantastic gnarled head grinning at him from a shady nook, the\npassing whim of some mediaeval brain--a faint sigh, as of a distant\nwind, steals along those stony glades, gradually increasing in volume,\nuntil presently the full, rich tones of the choir burst forth, the\norgan peals out its melodious thunder, add every arch and every pillar\nvibrates with undulations of harmonious sound, just as in the\nstorm-shaken forest every mighty denizen bends his massive branches to\nthe fierce tempest-wind, and intones his deep response to the wild\nmusic of the storm. Before the power of that music-tempest everything\nbowed, and as the strains of some Gregorian chant or the dirge-like\nmelody of some penitential psalm filled the whole building with its\npathos, every figure seemed to be invested with life, the mysterious\nharmony between the building and its uses was manifested, the painted\nfigures on the windows appeared to join in the strain, a celestial\nchorus of apostles, martyrs, and saints; the statues in their niches\nthrew back the melody; the figures reclining on the tombs seemed to\nraise their clasped hands in silent response to its power, as though\nmoved in their stony slumber by a dream of solemn sounds;  the\ngrotesque figures on the pillars and in nooks and corners chanted the\ndissonant chords, which brought out more boldly the general harmony;\nevery arch, with its entwined branches and sculptured foliage, shook\nwith the stormy melody: all was instinct with sympathetic life, until,\nthe fury of the tempest dying away in fitful gusts, the last breeze\nwas wafted, the painted forms became dumb, the statues and images grew\nrigid, the foliage was still, all the sympathetic vitality faded away,\nand the sacred grove fell into its silent magnificence.\n\nAttached to the great church were two offices--the sacristy and church\ntreasury. In the former were kept the sacred vestments, chalices,\netc., in use daily; and in the latter were kept all the valuables,\nsuch as sacred relics, jewels and plate not in use, with mitres,\ncrosiers, cruces, and pectorals; there was also a confessional for\nthose who wished to use it before going to the altar. The care of\nthese two offices was committed to a monk elected by the abbot, who\nwas called the sacrist. Coming out of the church we arrive at the\ncloisters, a square place, surrounded by a corridor of pillars, and in\nthe centre of the enclosure was a flower-garden--this was the place\nwhere the monks were accustomed to assemble at certain hours to walk\nup and down. In one of the alleys of the cloister stood the\nchapter-house, which, as it was the scene of the most important events\nin their monotonous lives, deserves a description. In this spot the\nabbots and officers of the monastery were elected, all the business of\nthe house as a body was discussed, faults were openly confessed,\nopenly reproved, and in some cases corporal punishment was awarded in\nthe presence of the abbot and whole convent upon some incorrigible\noffender, so that, beside being an assembling room, it was a court of\ncomplaint and correction. One {668} brother could accuse another\nopenly, when the matter was gone into, and justice done. In all\nconventual institutions it was a weekly custom, and in some a daily\none, to assemble in the chapter-house after one of the morning\nservices (generally after primes), when a sentence from the rule was\nread, a psalm sung, and business attended to. It was also an envied\nburying-place; and the reader, as he stood at his desk in the\nchapter-house of Glastonbury Abbey, stood over the body of Abbot\nChinnock, who himself perfected its building, which was commenced in\n1303 by Abbot Fromont. In the interior, which was lit up by a\nmagnificent stained-glass window, there were three rows of stone\nbenches one above another. On the floor there was a reading-desk and\nbench apart; in a platform raised above the other seats was the\nabbot's renowned elbow-chair, which extraordinary piece of monastic\nworkmanship excited so much curiosity at the great Exhibition of 1851.\nIn the middle of the hall was a platform called the Judgment, being\nthe spot where corporal punishment, when necessary, was inflicted; and\ntowering above all was a crucifix, to remind the brethren of the\nsufferings of Christ. In another alley of the cloisters stood the\nfratery, or apartment for the novices, which had its own refectory,\ncommon room, lavatory, and dormitory, and was governed by one of the\npriors. Ascending the staircase, we come to a gallery in which are the\nlibrary, the wardrobe, the common house, and the common treasury. The\nlibrary was the first in England, filled with choice and valuable\nbooks, which had been given to the monastery from time to time in its\nhistory by kings, scholars, and devotees of all classes; many also\nwere transcribed by the monks. During the twelfth century, although\neven then of great renown in the world, it was considerably augmented\nby Henricus Blessensis, or Henry of Blois (nephew of Henry I. and\nbrother of Stephen), who was abbot. This royal scholar had more books\ntranscribed during his abbacy than any of his predecessors. A list is\nstill extant--\"_De libris quos Henricus fecit transcribere_,\" in which\nare to be found such works as Pliny \"_De Naturali Historia_,\" a book\nin great favor at that time; \"_Originem super Epistolas Pauli ad\nRomanos_,\" \"_Vitas Caesarum_,\" \"_Augustinum de Trinitate_,\" etc.\n\nHere, too, as in every monastic library in the kingdom, was that old\nfavorite of conventual life, and still favorite with many a lonely\nstudent, \"_Boethius de Consolatione Philosophiae_,\" and many a great\nwork from the grim solitude of a prison cell, cherished, too, as the\nlink which connected the modern Latinists with those of the classic\nage. Housed up in that lonely corner of the island, the Glastonbury\nlibrary was the storehouse of all the learning of the times; and as\ndevotees bent their steps from all climes toward the Glastonbury\nrelics and the Glastonbury shrine, so did the devotees of genius\nlovingly wander to the Glastonbury library. Leland, the old gossipping\nantiquarian, has testified to its glory, and given us an amusing\naccount of the reverential awe with which he visited it not long\nbefore the fatal dissolution of the monastery. In the preliminary\nobservations to his \"_Collectanea de Rebus Britannicis_,\"   [Footnote\n95] he has put the following upon record:--\"Eram aliquot ab hinc annis\nGlessoburgi Somurotrigum ubi antiquissimum simul et famosissimum est\ntotius insulaes nostrae caenobium, animumque longo studioram labore\nfessum, favente Ricardo Whitingo,  [Footnote 96] ejusdem loci abbate,\nrecreabam donee novus quidam cum legendi tum discendi ardor me\ninflammaret. Supervenit autem ardor ille citius opinione; itaque\nstatim me contuli ad bibliothecam non omnibus perviam at sacras\nsanctae vetustatis reliquias quarum tantus ibi numerus quantus nollo\n{669} alio facile Britanniae loco diligentissime evolverem. Vix certo\nlimen intraveram cum antiquissimorum librorum vel solus conspectus,\nreligionem nescio an stuporem, animo incuteret meo, eaqae de causa\npedem paululum sistebam. Deinde salutato loci numine per dies aliquot\nonmes forulos curiosissime excussi.\"\n\n  [Footnote 95: \"Collect Reb. Brit.\" vi., page 87, Hearne's edition.]\n\n  [Footnote 96: Richard Whiting, the last Abbot.]\n\nBut attached to the library was a department common to all the\nBenedictine monasteries, where, during long centuries of ignorance,\nthe materials of modern education were preserved and perpetuated; this\noffice was called the scriptorium, or _domus antiquariorum_. Here were\nassembled for daily labor a class of monks selected for their superior\nscholarship and writing ability; they were divided into two classes,\nthe _antiquarii_ and the _librarii_: the former were occupied in\nmaking copies of valuable old books, and the latter were engaged in\ntranscribing new ones, and works of an inferior order. The books they\ncopied were the Scriptures, always in process of copying; missals,\nbooks for the service of the Church, works on theology, and any of the\nclassics that fell into their hands. St. David, the patron saint of\nWales, is said to have devoted much time to this work, and at the\nperiod of his death had begun to transcribe the gospel of St. John in\nletters of gold with his own hand.  [Footnote 97]\n\n  [Footnote 97: _Giraldus Cambren, vit\u00e2 Davidis Angl. Sac, ii._, 635.]\n\nThe instruments used in the work of the scriptorium were pens, chalk,\npumice-stone for rubbing the parchment smooth; penknives, and knives\nfor making erasures, an awl to make dots, a ruler and inkstand. The\ngreatest care was taken by the transcriber, the writing was always\nbeautifully clear, omissions were most scrupulously noted in the\nmargins, and all interlineations were mentioned and acknowledged. In\nan old manuscript belonging to the Carmelites, the scribe adds, \"I\nhave signed it with the sign following, and made a certain\ninterlineation which says '_redis_' and another which says\n'_ordinis_,' and another which says '_ordini_,' and another which says\n'_circa_.'\" So great was the care they took to preserve the text\naccurately, and free from interpolations. In these secluded studies\nsprang up that art, the most charming which the middle ages have\nhanded down to us, the art of illumination, so vainly imitated by the\nartists of the present day, not from want of genius, but from want of\nsomething almost indescribable in the conception and execution, a tone\nand preservation of color, and especially of the gilding, which was\nessentially peculiar to the old monks, who must have possessed some\nsecret both of combination and fixing of colors which has been lost\nwith them. This elaborate illumination was devoted to religious books,\npsalms, missals, and prayer-books; in other works the first letters of\nchapters were beautifully illuminated, and other leading letters in a\nlesser degree. The scribe generally left spaces for these, as that was\nthe duty of another; in the spaces were what were called \"leading\nletters,\" written small to guide the illuminator; these guide-letters\nmay still be detected in some books. So great was the love of this\nart, that when printing displaced the labors of the scribe, it was\ncustomary for a long time to have the leading letters left blank for\nillumination. Such were the peculiar labors of the scriptorium, and to\nencourage those who dedicated their time to it, a special benediction\nwas attached to the office, and posterity, when satirizing the\nmonastic life, would do well to remember that the elegance of the\nsatire may be traced back again to these labors, which are the\nmaterials for the education and refinement of modern thought; we got\nour Bible from them, we got our classics from them, and had not such\nruthless vandalism been exercised by those over-zealous men who\neffected their dispersion, it is more than probable that the learned\nworld would not have had to lament over, the lost Decades of Livy. It\nis the peculiarity of ignorance to be barbarous. There {670} is very\nlittle difference between the feeling which prompted a Caliph Omar to\nburn the Alexandrian Library or a Totila to destroy the achievements\nof Roman art; and the feeling had only degenerated into the barbarity,\nwithout the bravery, when it revived again in the person of our\narch-iconoclast, Cromwell, of church-devastating memory, who, however\ngreat his love of piety many have been, must have had a thorough\nhatred of architecture. The care of the library and the scriptorium\nwas intrusted to the librarian. The next department in the gallery was\nthe lavatory, fitted up with all the appliances for washing; and\nadjoining this room was one arranged for shaving, a duty to which the\nmonks paid strict attention, more especially to preserve the tonsure.\nThe next room was the wardrobe, where their articles of clothing and\nbedding were stored, and in an inner chamber was the tailory, where a\nnumber of lay brethren, with a vocation for that useful craft, were\ncontinually at work, making and repairing the clothes of the\ncommunity. These two rooms and the lavatory were in charge of the\ncamerarius, or chamberlain. The last abbot who sat in the chair of\nGlastonbury was, as we shall see, elevated from this humble position\nto that princely dignity. The common room was the next office, and\nthis was fitted up with benches and tables for the general use of the\nmonks; a fire was also kept burning in the winter, the only one\nallowed for general purposes. The last chamber in the corridor was the\ncommon treasury, a strong receptacle for ready money belonging to the\nmonastery, charters, registers, books, and accounts of the abbey, all\nstored up in iron chests. In addition to being the strong room of the\nabbey, it had another important use. In those uncertain times it was\nthe custom for both nobles and gentry to send their deeds, family\npapers, and sometimes their plate and money, to the nearest monastery,\nwhere, by permission of the abbot, they were intrusted to the care of\nthe treasurer for greater security; in the wildest hour, when the\ncastle was given up to fire and sword, the abbey was always held in\nreverence; for, independently of its sacred character, it was endeared\nto the people by the free-handed charity of its almonry and refectory\nkitchen. Retracing our steps along the corridor, and ascending another\nflight of stairs, we come to the dormitory, or dortoir, a large\npassage with cells on either side; each monk had a separate chamber,\nvery small, in which there was a window, but no chimney, a narrow\nbedstead, furnished with a straw bed, a mattress, a bolster of straw,\na coarse blanket, and a rug; by the bedstead was a prie-Dieu, or desk,\nwith a crucifix upon it, to kneel at for the last and private\ndevotions; another desk and table, with shelves and drawers for books\nand papers; in the middle was a cresset, or stone-lantern, with a lamp\nin it to give them light when they arose in the middle of the night to\ngo to matins; this department also was under the care of the\nchamberlain. One more chamber was called the infirmary, where the sick\nwere immediately removed, and treated with the greatest attention;\nthis was in the charge of an officer called the infirmarius. We now\ndescend these two flights of stairs, issue from the cloisters, and,\nbending our steps to the south-west, we come to the great hall, or\nrefectory, where the whole convent assembled at meals. At Glastonbury\nthere were seven long tables, around which, and adjoining the walls,\nwere benches for the monks. The table at the upper end was for the\nabbot, the priors, and other heads, the two next for the priests, the\ntwo next for such as were in orders, but not priests, and such as\nintended to enter into orders; the lower table on the right hand of\nthe abbot was for such as were to take orders whom the other two\nmiddle tables could not hold, and the lower table on the left of the\nabbot was reserved for the lay brethren. In a convenient place was a\npulpit, where one of the monks, at the {671} appointment of the abbot,\nread portions of the Old and New Testament in Latin every day during\ndinner and supper. The routine of dinner, as indeed the routine of all\ntheir meals, was ordered by a system of etiquette as stringent as that\nwhich prevails in the poorest and smallest German court of the present\nday. The sub-prior, who generally presided at the table, or some one\nappointed by him, rang the bell; the monks, having previously\nperformed their ablutions in the lavatory, then came into the great\nhall, and bowing to the high table, stood in their places till the\nsub-prior came, when they resumed their seats; a psalm was sung, and a\nshort service followed by way of grace. The sub-prior then gave the\nbenediction, and at the end they uncovered the food, the sub-prior\nbeginning; the soup was then handed round, and the dinner proceeded;\nif anything was wanted it was brought by the cellarer, or one of his\nassistants, who attended, when both the bringer and receiver bowed. As\nsoon as the meal was finished the cellarer collected the spoons; and\nso stringent was the etiquette, that if the abbot dined with the\nhousehold (which he did occasionally) he was compelled to carry the\nabbot's spoon in his right hand and the others in his left; when all\nwas removed the sub-prior ordered the reading to conclude by a \"Tu\nantem,\" and the reply of  \"Dei gratias;\" the reader then bowed, the\nremaining food was covered, the bell was rung, the monks arose, a\nverse of a psalm was sung, when they bowed and retired two by two,\nsinging the \"Miserere.\"\n\nA little further toward the south stood the guest-house, where all\nvisitors, from prince to peasant, were received by the hospitaller\nwith a kiss of peace, and entertained. They were allowed to stay two\ndays and two nights; on the third day after dinner they were expected\nto depart, but if not convenient they could procure an extension of\ntheir stay by application to the abbot. This hospitality, so\ngenerously accorded, was often abused by sons of donors and\ndescendants of benefactors, who saddled themselves and their retinues\nupon the monasteries frequently, and for a period commensurate with\nthe patience of the abbot; and to so great an extent did this evil\ngrow that statutes were enacted to relieve the abbeys so oppressed.\nNot far from the refectory, toward the west, stood the abbot's private\napartments, and still further to the west the great kitchen, which was\none of the wonders of the day; its capacity may be imagined when we\nreflect that it had frequently to provide dinner for four or five\nhundred guests; but the arrangements and service of the kitchen\ndeserve notice. Every monk had to serve as hebdomadary, or dispenser,\nwhose duty it was to appoint what food was to be dressed and to keep\nthe accounts for the week. Upon taking office he was compelled to wash\nthe feet of the brethren, and upon yielding it up to the new\nhebdomadary he was obliged to see that all the utensils were clean.\nSt. Benedict strictly enjoined this rule upon them, in order that, as\nChrist their Lord washed the feet of his disciples, they might wash\neach others' feet, and wait upon each others' wants. The Glastonbury\nkitchen is the only building which still remains entire; it was built\nwholly of stone, for the better security from fire; on the outside it\nis a four-square, and on the inside an eight-square figure; it had\nfour hearths, was twenty feet in height to the roof, which ran up in a\nfigure of eight triangles; from the top hung suspended a huge lantern.\n[Footnote 98]\n\n  [Footnote 98: Strange vicissitudes of kitchens--in 1667 this\n  Glastonbury Abbey kitchen was hired by the Quakers as a\n  meeting-house; in the fulness of time, where monasticism cooked its\n  mutton Quakerdom sat in triumph.]\n\nAttached to the kitchen was the almonry, or eleemosynarium, where on\nWednesdays and Fridays the poor people of Glastonbury and its\nneighborhood were liberally relieved. This duty was committed to a\ngrave monk, who {672} was called the almoner, or eleemosynarius, and\nwho had to inquire after the poor and sick. No abbots in the kingdom\nwere more liberal in the discharge of these two duties of their\noffice, hospitality and almsgiving, than the abbots of Glastonbury. It\nwas not an unusual thing for them to entertain 500 guests at a\nsitting, some of whom were of the first rank in the country, and the\nloose charge of riotous feasting which has been thoughtlessly made\nagainst the monastic life by hostile historians becomes modified when\nwe recollect that in that age there were scarcely any wayside inns in\nthe country, and all men, when travelling, halted at the monastery and\nlooked for refreshment and shelter as a matter of right; neither had\nthat _glorious_ system of union work-houses been thought of, and\ntherefore the sick and the poor fell at once to the care of the\nmonastery, where they were cheerfully relieved and tenderly treated.\nLast, but not least, was the department for boys--another little\ndetached community, with its own school-room, dormitory, refectory,\nhall, etc. One of the monks presided over them. They were taught\nChristian doctrine, music, grammar, and, if any showed capacity, the\nsubjects necessary for the university. They were maintained free, and\nhad to officiate in the church as choristers; a system maintained\nalmost to the letter up to the very present moment. William of\nMalmesbury records that in the churchyard of Glastonbury Abbey stood\nsome very ancient pyramids close to the sarcophagus of King Arthur.\nThe tallest was nearest the church, twenty-six feet in height,\nconsisting of five stories, or courses; in the upper course was the\nfigure of a bishop, in the second of a king, with this\ninscription--HER. SEXI. and BLISVVERH. In the third the names\nWEMCRESTE, BANTOMP, WENETHEGN. In the fourth--HATE, WVLFREDE, and\nEANFLEDE. In the fifth, and last, the figure of an abbot, with the\nfollowing inscription--LOGVVOR, WESLIELAS and BREGDENE, SVVELVVES\nHVVINGENDES, and BERNE. The other pyramid was eighteen feet in height,\nand consisted of four stories, whereon were inscribed in large letters\nHEDDE Episcopus BREGORRED and BEORVVALDE. William of Malmesbury could\ngive no satisfactory solution to the meaning of these inscriptions\nbeyond the suggestion that the word BREGDENE must have meant a place\nthen called \"Brentacnolle,\" which now exists under the name of Brent\nKnowle, and that BEORWALDE was Beorwald, the abbot after Hemigselus.\nHe concludes his speculation, however, with the sentence--\"Quid haec\nsignificent non temere diffinio sed ex suspicione colligo eorum\ninterius in cavatis lapidibus contineri ossa quorum exterius leguntur\nnomina.\"  [Footnote 99]\n\n  [Footnote 99: Guliel. Malms. Hist. Glaston.]\n\nThe man who ruled over this miniature world, with a state little short\nof royalty, was endowed with proportionate dignities; being a member\nof the upper house of convocation and a parliamentary baron, he sat\nrobed and mitred amongst the peers of the country; in addition to his\nresidence at the abbey he had four or five rural retreats at easy\ndistances from it, with parks, gardens, fisheries, and every luxury;\nhis household was a sort of court, where the sons of noblemen and\ngentlemen were sent to be trained and educated. When at home he\nroyally entertained his 300 guests, and when he went abroad he was\nattended by a guard of 100 men. The rent-roll of the monastery has\nbeen computed to amount to more than \u00a3300,000 per annum, which in\nthese days would be equal to nearly half a million. Up to the year\n1154 he ranked also as First Abbot of England, and took precedence of\nall others; but Adrian the Fourth, the only Englishman who ever\nascended the papal chair, bestowed that honor upon the Abbot of St.\nAlbans, where he had received his education. The church, and different\noffices which clustered round it, formed a kingdom, {673} over which\nhe ruled with absolute power. This description of the buildings and\nadjuncts of the abbey may not be inaptly closed by giving a sketch of\nthe outline of a monastic day, which will assist the reader to form a\nclearer idea of the monastic life. At two in the morning the bell\ntolled for matins, when every monk arose, and after performing his\nprivate devotions hastened to the church, and took his seat. When all\nwere assembled fifteen psalms were sung, then came the nocturn, and\nmore psalms; a short interval ensued, during which the chanter choir\nand those who needed it had permission to retire for a short time if\nthey wished; then followed lauds, which were generally finished by six\nA.M., when the bell rang for prime; when this was finished the monks\ncontinued reading till seven o'clock, when the bell was rung and they\nreturned to put on their day clothes. Afterward, the whole convent\nhaving performed their ablutions and broken their fast, proceeded\nagain to the church, and the bell was rung for tierce at nine o'clock.\nAfter tierce came the morning mass, and as soon as that was over they\nmarched in procession to the chapter-house for business and correction\nof faults. This ceremony over, the monks worked or read till sext,\ntwelve A.M., which service concluded, they dined; then followed the\nhour's sleep in their clothes in the dormitory, unless any of them\npreferred reading. Nones commenced at three P.M., first vespers at\nfour, then work or reading till second vespers at seven, afterward\nreading till collation; then came the service of complin, confession\nof sins, evening prayers, and retirement to rest about nine P.M.\n\nThat was the life pursued at Glastonbury Abbey, according to the\nBenedictine rule, from the time of its establishment there until the\ndissolution of the monastery, nearly ten centuries. With our modern\ntraining and predilections, it is a marvel to us that men could be\nfound willing to submit to such a monotonous career--ten hours a day\nspent in the church, beginning in the middle of the night, winter and\nsummer. And yet the monastery was always full. We read of no breaking\nup of institutions for want of devotees, and we are driven to the\nconclusion that in the age when the monastic life was in its power and\npurity these men could have been actuated by none other than the\nmotive of strong religious fervor--a fervor of which we in modern\ntimes have neither conception nor example. The operation of the\ninfluence of that life upon the history of these islands can only be\ncontemplated by watching it in the various phases of its action upon\nthe politics, literature, and art by which it was surrounded, and for\nthat purpose we have selected this oldest and grandest specimen of\nEnglish monasticism, so faintly described, the mother Church of our\ncountry, in whose career so brilliant, so varied, and so tragically\nended, we hope to be able to show wherein was the glory, the weakness,\nand the ruin of the system, as it rose, flourished, and fell in\nEngland.\n\nWe have endeavored to conjure up from the shadowy realms of the past\nsome faint representation of what Glastonbury Abbey was in the days of\nits glory; let us now transfer ourselves from the age of towered\nabbeys, wandering pilgrims, monks, cloisters, and convent bells to\nthis noisy, riotous, busy time in the year of grace 1865--from the\nGlastonbury Abbey of the sixteenth century to the Glastonbury Abbey of\nto-day.\n\nIt is only within the last ten years that the deep slumber of that\nquiet neighborhood has been disturbed by the noise and bustle of this\nbusy life--that a railroad has gone out of its way to upset the\nsedate propriety of ecclesiastical Wells, or the peaceful repose of\nmonasterial Glastonbury; hitherto the stillness and quiet of that\nlovely country was the same as when mass was sung in the superb\ncathedral of the one place, and the palmer or the {674} penitent bent\nhis steps to the holy well of the other. But alas! the life of the\nnineteenth century has broken in upon it; the railway has dashed\nthrough that beautiful valley with its sacrilegious march; and at\nWells, the cathedral of Ina, with its matchless front, studded with\napostles and martyrs, kings, bishops, knights, and mystic emblems,\nvocal as it were with history, now frowns upon the contentions of two\nrival companies; whilst at Glastonbury there is a railway station\nerected almost over the very bones of the saints. Alighting from this,\nwe make our way to the ruins; but as we go, will just view their past\nhistory. After the dissolution of the abbey there was an effort made\nto restore it in the time of Mary, but unavailingly; from that period\nit was allowed to fall into decay. It is difficult to estimate whether\nthe hand of man or the hand of time has been busier about its\nspoliation. At the period of Cromwell, who loved to worship God in the\n\"ugliness of holiness,\" it must have been nearly entire, but that hero\ncould not pass the town without putting a shot through those\nunoffending ruins in the name of the Lord, which act, however\nappropriate as an expression of Puritan feeling, was sadly detrimental\nto the architecture of Glastonbury Abbey. Then in 1667, as we have\nalready alluded to, the Quakers got possession of the kitchen, hired\nat a nominal rent, paid in hard Quaker money--that glorious kitchen,\nsanctified by so much saintly cookery--for their grim assemblies.\nThere is a great deal of what is aptly called the \"romance\" of history\nin this fact if we only had time to think about it--that it should\ncome to this, monasticism with its princely head, its grand religions\nlife and ceremonies, its painting and staining, its chanting and\nintoning, itself in all its glory, driven from the face of the\ncountry, and modern Quakerdom sitting silent in its ruined kitchen\nwaiting to be \"moved.\" It has suffered much, also, from the gross\nvandalism of the people themselves. Naturally a simple people, they of\ncourse knew nothing of antiquarianism, although that science is\nirreverently said to master many simples among its votaries. For years\nthen it was their practice to use the materials of the abbey for\nbuilding purposes, and it is not difficult to find scattered for miles\naround the country, in farmhouses and even in hovels, portions of\nsculpture over doorways and fireplaces which speak of mediaeval\nworkmanship. But a worse degradation still befel the place, and the\nwalls which at one time would have been regarded as invested with the\nodor of sanctity, and even now are sacred to us as a priceless\nhistorical monument, were actually sold as materials for mending the\nroads, to the lasting shame of overseerdom and the powers that were at\nGlastonbury. But the day for building huts or mending roads with\necclesiastical sculpture is gone, and the little that remains of\nGlastonbury Abbey has found its way into the hands of those who appear\nto know how to preserve it, and have the intention to do so. After all\nthis decay and vandalism very little is left of the old abbey--some\nportions of St. Joseph's church with the crypt--some walls of the\nchoir of the great church; the two east pillars of the tower, forming\na grand broken arch, a lasting memento of the original splendor; there\nare portions, also, of some of the chapels and the abbot's kitchen,\nthe most complete of all. The eye is at once arrested by the portals\nof St. Joseph's church, which still remain in a tolerable state of\npreservation, sufficient to enable one to form an idea of what a\ntriumph of decorative art they were. Nothing could be more profusely\nornamented than the northern portal; it was composed of semi-circular\narches, receding in succession and diminishing in size as they recede\ninto the body of the building; the exterior arch being about twelve\nfeet by eleven, and the interior nine feet by six. The four fasciae\nare covered with sculptured representations supposed to be {675}\ncommemorations of royal and noble people connected with the\nmonastery--saints, pilgrims, and knights. The forms graven on these\nfasciae are interpreted in Warner's History of Glastonbury to\nrepresent the following subjects. The uppermost fascia is almost\nobliterated, though still showing a running pattern of tendrils and\nleaves interspersed with figures of men and animals; toward the centre\nthe sculpture is much mutilated, though something can be traced like\nthe effigy of a person in long robes seized on the shoulder by a\nfurious animal. Beyond him are indistinct remains of three or four\nupright figures, and the rest is filled up by foliage. The second\nfascia is made up of eighteen separate ovals, each of which contained\na distinct subject; the two first are defaced; the third contains a\nperson apparently kneeling; the fourth, a female with a head-dress\nsitting on a conch; the fifth, a female on horseback; the sixth, a man\non horseback; the seventh, a crowned personage on horseback; the\neighth, the body of a deceased person stretched on a couch, with a\ncanopy over it, the corpse covered, and the head resting on a pillow;\nnine and ten the same; eleven, a knight in a coat of chain armor, with\na pointed shield charged with the cross, indicative of a crusader;\ntwelve, a regal personage with a flowing beard and in long robes,\ncrowned, and sitting on a throne; thirteen, a knight in chain armor\nfalling from his horse as if wounded; fourteen, a figure like the\nformer, the right arm stretched out and holding a sword which impales\nan infant; fifteen, the upright figure of a female with a veil,\napparently in male costume; sixteenth, another body stretched out on a\ncouch; seventeen, unintelligible; eighteen, a figure of a pilgrim. The\nintervals between all these ovals are sculptured into foliage. There\ncan be very little doubt that the subjects contained in these ovals\nwere the representations of monarchs, knights, persons, and events\nconnected with the history of the abbey. The fourth fascia is much\nmutilated; but Warner thinks it referred to some act of munificence,\nfrom the canopied couch it displays, with a figure recumbent upon it\nand representations of angels guarding it. The portal toward the south\nwas on a similar plan to the northern, but with five instead of four\nfasciae. One, two, and five are covered with finely chiseled foliage;\nthe third is plain; the fourth only partially worked. According to the\nauthority already mentioned, the only two ovals which are complete\nrepresent in the first the creation of man, and in the second the\neating of the fruit. In the former is to be seen an upright figure\nwith a nimbus or glory round its head, designating the Almighty in the\nact of calling man into being, and at his feet is man himself. In the\nlatter there is the tree with Satan behind it, and Adam and Eve\nsitting with the apples. The appearance of these two portals,\nindependent of the interest lent them by Warner's speculations as to\ntheir import, is very striking. In their perfection they must have\nbeen masterpieces of that exquisite taste and minute labor which the\nmen of that age devoted to the embellishment of the church. Taking the\nruins in a mass, it would be difficult to find anywhere such a\nspecimen of broken grandeur. Standing upon the spot at the extreme\neast, where was the high altar of the church, the eye wanders down a\ngrand vista of some five hundred feet, relieved in the midst by that\nsolitary, magnificent, broken arch towering up high in the air, with\nrich festoons of ivy hanging about it in lavish luxuriance like the\ntresses of some gigantic beauty, and far down in the distance are the\ncrumbling remains of St. Joseph's chapel, the gem of the whole, with\nits arched windows and profuse decoration, the tops of its walls\ncovered over with straggling parasites, which curl over its brow like\nthe scanty locks of sere old age. And as we reflect that this sacred\nspot was the cradle of our {676} Christianity; that this building was\nthe mother of our Church; that far back in the bygone ages of\nbarbarism vagrant missionaries wandered foot-sore and worn to this\nvery spot; planted with their own hands the cross of Christ; built up\nwith those hands the rude rush-covered shed which served as the first\ntemple raised to God in these islands; spent their lives here in\npreaching that good tidings to a benighted pagan people, laid their\nbones down by the side of the work of their hands, and left their\nmission to their successors; that in process of time this little\ncommunity became a mighty power, and that rush-covered shed a splendid\ntemple, whose history is collateral with that of the country for\nnearly twelve centuries, and now it lies all battered and broken,\ncrumbling away and wasting like human life itself--the mind shrinks\nappalled at the thought of the vicissitude which brought about so\ncomplete a ruin.\n\n  \"O who thy ruine sees, whom wonder doth not fill\n  With our great father's pompe, devotion, and their skill?\n  Thou more than mortall power (this judgment rightly waid)\n  Then present to assist at that foundation laid;\n  On whom for this sad waste, should justice lay the crime?\n  Is there a power in fate? or doth it yield to time?\n  Or was this error such that thou could'st not protect\n  Those buildings which thy hands did with their zeal erect?\n  To whom did'st thou commit that monument to keepe?\n  That suffereth with the dead their memory to sleepe.\n  When not great Arthur's tombe, nor Holy Joseph's grave,\n  From sacrilege had power their sacred bones to save;\n  He who that God-in-Man to his sepulchre brought,\n  Or he which for the faith twelve famous battles fought;\n  What? did so many Kings do honour to that place\n  For avarice at last so vilely to deface?\"   [Footnote 100]\n\n  [Footnote 100: Drayton's Polyolbion]\n\nIn the neighborhood of the town is a hill known all over the world by\nthe name of Wearyall Hill, so called (according to the chronicles)\nbecause St. Joseph and his companions sat down here to rest\nthemselves, weary with their journey. As the legend goes St. Joseph is\nsaid to have stuck his staff in the earth and left it there, when lo!\nit took root, grew, and constantly budded on Christmas Day! This was\nthe legendary origin of the far-famed holy thorn. Up to the time of\nQueen Elizabeth it had two trunks or bodies, and so continued until\nsome nasal psalm-spoiler of Cromwell's \"crew\" exterminated one,\nleaving the other to become the wonder of all strangers, who even then\nbegan to flock to the place. The blossoms of this remaining branch of\nthe holy thorn became such a curiosity that there was a general demand\nfor them from all parts of the world, and the Bristol merchants, then\nvery great people in their \"line,\" turned this relic of the saint into\na matter of commercial speculation, and made goodly sums of money by\nexporting the blossoms to foreign countries. There are trees from the\nbranches of this thorn growing at the present moment in many of the\ngardens and nurseries round about Glastonbury, nay, all over England,\nand in various parts of the Continent. The probability is, as\nsuggested by Collinson in his \"History of Somerset,\" that the monks\nprocured the tree from Palestine, where many of the same sort\nflourish.\n\nIn the abbey church-yard, on the north side of St Joseph's chapel,\nthere was also a walnut tree which, it was said, never blossomed\nbefore the feast of St. Barnabas (the 11th June). This is gone. These\ntwo trees, the holy thorn and the sacred walnut, were held in high\nestimation even long after the monasteries had disappeared from the\nland. Queen Anne, King James, and many of the nobility of the realm\nare said to have given large sums of money for cuttings from them; so\nthat the \"odor of sanctity\" clung about the old walls of Glastonbury\nlong after its glory had departed; nay, even the belief in its\nmiraculous waters lingered in the popular mind, and was even revived\nby a singular {677} incident so late as the year 1751. The\ncircumstances are somewhat as follows:--One Matthew Chancellor, of\nNorth Wootton, had been suffering from an asthma of thirty years'\nstanding, and on a certain night in the autumn of 1750, having had an\nusually violent fit of coughing, he fell asleep, and, according to the\ndepositions taken upon his oath, dreamed that he was at Glastonbury,\nsomewhere above the chain gate, in a horse track, and there found some\nof the clearest water he ever saw in his life; that he knelt down and\ndrank of it and upon getting up, fancied he saw some one standing\nbefore him, who, pointing with his finger to the stream, thus\naddressed him: \"If you will go to the freestone shoot, and take a\nclean glass, and drink a glassful fasting seven Sunday mornings\nfollowing, and let no person see you, you will find a perfect cure of\nyour disorder, and then make it public to the world.\" He asked him why\nhe should drink it only on Sunday mornings, and the person replied\nthat \"the world was made in six days, and on the seventh day God\nrested from his labor, and blessed it: beside, this water comes out of\nthe holy ground where a great many saints and martyrs have been\nburied.\" The person also told him something about Christ himself being\nbaptized, but this he could not distinctly remember when he awoke.\nImpelled by this dream, the man kept the secret to himself, and went\non the Sunday morning following to Glastonbury, which was three miles\nfrom the place where he lived, and found it exactly according to his\ndream; but being a dry time of the year, the water did not run very\nplentifully; however, dripping his glass three times in the pool\nbeneath the shoot, he managed to drink a quantity equal to a glassful,\ngiving God thanks at the same time. This he continued to do for seven\ntimes, according to the injunction of the dream, at the end of which\nperiod he had entirely lost his complaint. The effect of this story is\nremarkable. As soon as it was noised abroad, thousands of people of\nall sects came flocking to Glastonbury from every quarter of the\nkingdom to partake of the waters of this stream. Every inn and house\nin the town, and for some distance round, was filled with lodgers and\nguests; and it is stated upon reliable authority that during the month\nof May, 1751, the town contained upward of ten thousand strangers.\nEven to this day, there is a notion amongst the peasantry, more\nespecially the _old women of both sexes_, that the water is good for\nthe \"rheumatiz.\"\n\nAfter the scenes of violence, the ruthless vandalism, which this old\nabbey has gone through, it cannot be a matter of surprise that so\nlittle remains of all its grandeur; but it is a fact much to be\nlamented, because, as it was in its time one of the grandest\necclesiastical edifices in the country, so, if it had been preserved\nintact like its old rival, the cathedral at Wells, it would have been\none of the most important and valuable items in the monumental history\nof England; that broad page where every nation writes its own\nautobiography; how valuable we find it in our researches as to the\nlife of bygone times; and yet how little do we appear to do in this\nway as regards our own fame; how little do we cultivate our monumental\nhistory. One of the most lasting evidences of greatness which a\ncountry can leave behind it for the admiration and instruction of\nposterity, is the evidence of its national architecture--its\narchitecture in the fullest sense of the term, not its mere roofs and\nwalls, but the acts which it writes upon those walls, its statues and\nmonuments. There are only two agencies by which national fame can be\nperpetuated--literature and art. The pen of the historian or the poet\nmay give the outline of national manners and the description of\nnational achievements, but art, as it exists in the extant monuments\nof the architecture of that nation, gives the {678} representation of\nthe actual life as it was, fills up the outline, and presents us with\nsomething like the substance: it does not describe, but illustrate; it\nis, in fact, the petrified manifestation of the very life itself. We\nhave read much about the splendor of those extinct civilizations of\nthe Pharaohs, and of the marvels of Babylonish grandeur, but what a\nflood of light was thrown upon our dim conceptions by the resuscitated\nrelics of a buried Nineveh! In Grecian poets and Grecian historians we\nmake the acquaintance of the heroes and the heroism of that heroic\nexistence; but in the Elgin marbles we see the men and the deeds in\nall their natural grandeur, petrified before us in the graphic\nsublimity of motionless life. To come a little nearer our own times\nand to the mother of our civilization, what a confirmation of the\nhistoric tradition of the Rome of our studies have we found under that\nhardened lava which for centuries has formed the tombstone of\nHerculaneum and Pompeii. What vivid illustrations of Roman life and\nRoman manners are continually being discovered in those buried cities;\nand so of every nation and time it is its history which narrates its\nglory, but it is its architecture alone which must illustrate and\nconfirm it. There is no fear of the present age of our country leaving\nno evidence of its power behind it. That evidence is written in\nindelible characters deep even to the very bowels of the earth itself,\nthrough the heart of mountains, over broad rivers, across plains, its\nscroll has been the broad bosom of the country, upon which it has\nengraven its character truly with a pen of iron; but there is a danger\nthat we shall leave very little monumental history behind us in our\narchitecture. . . . .\n\nProtestantism, too, was an iconoclast as regards Catholicism, but it\ncontented itself with desecrating temples, pulling down altars,\ntearing away paintings, but it substituted nothing in their place; it\nwould admit of no allurements in the Church but that of genuine piety,\nand supplied no attractions for the thoughtless, the careless, the\nunbelieving, but its bare walls and cold ministrations. This feeling\nis now undergoing a marked change; we are beginning to see that\nplainness in externals may conceal a considerable amount of pride and\nworldliness, and thus Quakers are leaving off their curious garb, and\nMethodists are building temples; it is beginning to dawn upon men's\nminds, at last, that ugliness is one of the most inappropriate\nsacrifices man can offer to his God, that as in the olden times the\npatriarchs used to offer up the first-fruits of the field, so in these\nlater times we should offer up the first-fruits of our achievements;\nthe choicest productions of art, science, and every form of human\ngenius should be presented to him who is the God of all humanity. As\nwe raise up temples to his honor and glory, where we may come with our\nsupplications for his mercy, our adoration of his power, where we may\nbring our purest thoughts, our noblest hopes, our highest aspirations,\nand our best emotions; so let us decorate that temple with the best\nworks of our hands as we hallow it with the best feelings of our\nhearts. The reason given by Solomon for exerting all the power and\nwealth of his kingdom to decorate the temple was simply, \"This house\nwhich I build is great, for great is our God above all gods;\"\n[Footnote 101] and the approval and acceptance of it by him for whom\nit was built is recorded in his own words: \"Now mine eyes shall be\nopen, and mine ears attent unto the prayer that is made in this place,\nfor now have I chosen and sanctified this house, that my name may be\nthere for ever, and mine eyes and mine heart shall be there\nperpetually.\"\n\n  [Footnote 101: 2 Chron. ii. 5.]\n\nAnd that we may not go to the other extreme, as some churches have\ndone and do in our day, and imagine that if we decorate our temple\nwith all the choicest offerings we can bring it is enough, and God\nwill be satisfied with the mere offering, there is, following {679}\nimmediately upon his gracious acceptance and approval of Solomon's\ntemple, the solemn warning in his own words: \"But if ye turn away and\nforsake my statutes and my commandments, which I have set before you,\nand shall go and serve other gods, and worship them, then will I pluck\nthem up by the roots out of my land which I have given them; and this\nhouse which I have sanctified for my name will I cast out of my sight,\nand will make it to be a proverb and a byword among all nations. And\nthis house which is high shall be an astonishment to every one that\npasseth by it, so that he shall say, 'Why hath the Lord done this unto\nthis land and unto this house?' And it shall be answered, 'Because\nthey forsook the Lord God of their fathers, which brought them forth\nout of the land of Egypt, and laid hold on other gods, and worshipped\nthem and served them; therefore hath he brought all this evil upon\nthem.'\"  [Footnote 102 ]\n\n  [Footnote 102: 2 Chron. vii. 15, _seq_. ]\n\nThat is the canon of church building as ordained by God himself--make\nthe church as grand an offering as you can, but keep the ritual\npure--fill the temple with all the emblems of his glory, but remember\nthat it is he only who is to be worshipped. Such is the teaching of\nrevelation; and now we turn to nature, that boundless temple which God\nhas built up to himself with his own hands. Had he been a God of mere\nutility instead of a God of beauty and glory; had he only considered\nthe bare convenience and accommodation of the human race, a\nproportionate amount of dry land in one place, and a proportionate\namount of water in another, would have sufficed to meet all human\nwants; there was no practical need for the variegated aspect, of\nnatural scenery, of hill and dale, mountain and valley, of rippling\nstream and sweet-smelling flowers; but the world of nature was built\nfor something higher than the mere dwelling place of man. It was built\nas a temple in which he should honor his God, and which was therefore\nfilled with a myriad of beauties to excite his admiration, to please\nhis eye, to fill his soul with gratitude and joy, and to raise his\nheart to that God who has given him such a beautiful home, furnished\nnot only with the means of supplying his necessities, but embellished\nwith the choicest beauties of creative power. What is nature but a\ngorgeous temple, laid out and decorated by the hand of God himself,\nwith its broad pavement tesselated with endless varieties of verdure,\nwith mountain altars which Christ himself loved to frequent and hallow\nwith his prayers, its long aisles fretted with luxurious foliage\npillared with tall trees, which bend their tops together in the\nmatchless symmetry of nature's arch, all vocal with the deep-toned\nmusic of rushing waters, and melodies warbled by the unseen songsters\nof the air, spanned over with the boundless blue ceiling of heaven\nitself, lit up by day with the sunshine of his majesty, and at night\nby the stars placed there with his own hands?\n\nLet us, whilst we endeavor to get at the truth of history, appeal also\nto revelation and nature.\n\n------\n\n{680}\n\n\nFrom The St. James Magazine.\n\nCITY ASPIRATIONS.\n\n\n  Oh, not in the town to die!\n    With its restless trampling to and fro,\n    And its traffic-hubbub above, below,\n  And the whirling wheels that hurry by.\n  And the chimney forests, blacken'd and high--\n  Oh, mercy! not in a town to die!\n\n  In a town I may live, and strive, and toil,\n  And grow a part of the living turmoil;\n  A cog-wheel in a machine of men.\n  Turning to labor again and again,\n  Doing my work with the multitude,\n  With a spirit wean'd, and a heart subdued,\n  Pausing sometimes, in a moment of ease,\n  To yearn and sigh for a meadow breeze,\n  For the whispering rustle of summer trees,\n  And the dreamy murmur of golden bees,\n  And the field-path margined by many a flower.\n  And the village church with its grey old tower;\n  Yet still, for sake of my babes and thee.\n  Sweet wife, I may work courageously;\n  May bide in a town, and with iron will\n  Go laboring on in the hubbub still.\n  Where the wheels of the man-machine ever spin,\n  Money, and money, and money, to win.\n\n  But to _die_ in a town, in turmoil and smoke,\n    'Mongst houses, and chimneys gaunt and high.\n  When the silken cord of the soul is broke,\n    Methinks the vapors so heavy would lie.\n    It scarce could soar, as it should, to the sky.\n    Oh, live as I may, to brook it I'll try--\n    But, mercy! not in a town to die!\n\n------\n\n{681}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nTHE FACULTY OF PARIS IN THE TIME OF MOLI\u00c8RE.\n\n\nIn a former number we gave a slight sketch of the laws and etiquettes\nof the old French Medical Faculty. The state of things there described\nwas already on the wane when Moli\u00e8re dealt it a blow, from the effects\nof which it never recovered. But there is one characteristic of the\nposition of the medical body which is inherent in its very nature, and\nis likely to be as enduring as the world itself, allowing for the\nmodifications of varying times and changing manners. So long as our\npoor humanity shall be subject to disease and death, so long will\nmedicine and its scientific administration be esteemed a necessity.\nSome, indeed, judge both to be well-nigh unmitigated evils; but at any\nrate, if evils, they are necessary evils; and even the greatest\nrailers at the doctor and his drugs are pretty sure to send for him in\nthe hour of danger, lean on him for hope, and swallow his potions. The\nmedical man thus obtains an exceptional position. He is introduced\ninto the sanctuary of the family, sees us in our unguarded moments,\nreceives our confidence, and often wins our friendship. He never comes\nas a judge or a censor. We feel at our ease with him. Our esteem for\nhim is personal, and independent of all considerations of rank or\nfortune. He is a stranger to all the conflicting interests which\ndivide parties from each other, and can visit persons of all shades of\nopinion and of views the most opposite, whether of religion or\npolitics, without causing the shadow of an offense. From all this it\nresults that the doctor is often admitted to the closest intimacy by\nmen occupying the highest positions. Hence the footing of\nquasi-equality accorded, often to the obscure son of AEsculapius,\nraised by his profession to a post of dignity and benevolent\nauthority, which, while it obtains for him consideration and respect,\nclashes in nothing with the social importance of the patient. It was\nso, in a certain degree, in the seventeenth century, when classes were\ndivided much more widely than at present, and reverence for birth and\nrank much stronger; and we have numerous instances of the friendship\nsubsisting between doctors and the highest in the land.\n\nIt is true that the medical faculty did actually number amongst its\nmembers men who had undoubted claims to nobility; and we find from\nLarroque's _Trait\u00e9 de la Noblesse_ that doctors, as distinguished from\napothecaries and surgeons, were held not to derogate from their rank\nby the practice of medicine. But further, the medical profession was\nheld to confer a species of nobility; for of nobility there were\nreckoned to be three sorts--nobility of race, nobility of royal\nconcession, and personal nobility, such as in peculiar cases we find\nconferred on the whole _bourgeoisie_ of certain towns. This\ndistinction offended no one, as it expired with its recipient, on whom\nwhile living it conferred many practical advantages, such as exemption\nfrom taxation. In Paris this circumstance was of small moment,\nbecause, as members of the university, the doctors enjoyed all manner\nof immunities. But in the provinces it was different. In the south of\nFrance, in particular, these privileges were energetically claimed on\nthe ground of the honor of the profession, and they were traditionally\nreferred to Roman times. Montpellier {682} was full of these\nreminiscences of the past, and in Dauphin\u00e9 the nobility of the doctors\nwas even transmitted from father to son. At Lyons it was remembered\nthat Antonius Musa had cured the Emperor Augustus, and had received a\ngold ring for himself and his successors in the art. \"Accipe annulum\naureum, in signum nobilitatis ab Augusto et Senatu Romano medicis\nconcessae,\" were the words used in the aggregation of a doctor by the\ncollege of that city.\n\nThe misfortune was that there must of necessity be some contrast\nbetween this theoretical nobility and the practical life of the\nphysician. He must, if he would gain his living, go from house to\nhouse indiscriminately, and receive his pay from all classes, like the\nbutcher or the baker. The doctors endeavored to smooth over this\nanomaly by affecting considerable state. They might be seen threading\nthe streets of Paris mounted on mules, in large wigs and with ample\nbeards. The mule gave an almost episcopal air. \"The beard is more than\nhalf the doctor,\" says Toinette, in the _Malade Imaginaire_, When the\nfashionable Gu\u00e9naut took to a horse, it raised quite a scandal, which\nBoileau has commemorated:\n\n  \"Gu\u00e9naut, sur son cheval, en passant m'\u00e9clabousse.\"\n\nMany, not satisfied with this degree of state, paid their visits in\nthe long magisterial robe, with scarlet hose and band, the famous\n_rabat_, to which Pascal wittily alludes when he says, \"Who could\nplace any confidence in a doctor without a _rabat_?\" Not only were the\ndoctors careful to uphold their dignity by these forms, but the Paris\nFaculty was extremely jealous in maintaining its exclusive position.\nIts members not merely refused, as was natural, to meet in\nconsultation any of the host of quacks with which the capital swarmed,\nand who found frequent access to the houses of the great lords and\nladies, often as sceptical in regard to orthodox practitioners as they\nwere credulous in the extreme of the pretensions of these heretical\ninterlopers, but they likewise stood aloof from men as respectable as\nthemselves--the honorable doctors of Montpellier, of whom perhaps a\nfew words anon. In the meantime we will take a hasty glance at the\nmembers of the Paris Faculty apart from their official life; for they\nwere men after all, and did not always figure in wig and gown. They\nmust have had their private as well as public existence; but it is a\nmore difficult task to obtain a sight of them _en d\u00e9shabille_.\n\nIn history, of course, it were vain to seek anything beyond the record\nof public events; and even the contemporary memoirs of the age of the\nGrand Monarque tell us more about the court and its festivities, the\n_r\u00e9unions_ of the wits of the day, and the current gossip and scandal\nof the hour, than about the ordinary domestic life of any class,\nparticularly of such as ranged below the aristocratic level. We are\ntoo apt to believe, from the revelations that are made in the light\nliterature of the time, that the brilliant surface of the Augustan age\nof France concealed a general mass of corruption in the higher\nclasses, and of misery in the lower. But this would be a false\nconclusion. The _bourgeoisie_, as a body, were complete strangers to\nthe ferment of ambition and intrigue so rife in the upper strata of\nsociety. They had their own interests, their own pursuits, and were in\nthe main an industrious and worthy class, sufficiently independent to\nbe able often to regard those above them with a secret, and not always\nundeserved, contempt. To confine ourselves, however, to the doctors.\nTwo courses were open to them. They might shut themselves up within\nthe round of their own immediate occupations and studies, and limit\nthemselves to the social circle of their colleagues and compeers. The\nfaculty, as we have seen, was a little community in itself, with its\nown traditions, laws, distinctions, glories. Here, satisfied with\ntheir moderate gains, the doctors might preserve their independence\n{683} and live in all security and honor; or, on the other hand, they\nmight try their fortune in the world and seek the favor of the great.\nThe enterprise involved a certain loss of liberty and a corresponding\ndetriment to that nice delicacy of feeling which is the guardian of\nsevere probity. There were doctors of both kinds; those of the first\nclass were by far the most numerous. The others were the richest; but\nthe esteem in which they were held by their brethren was in the\ninverse ratio to the wealth acquired by this compromise of dignified\nindependence.\n\nThe illustrious dean, Guy Patin, who enjoyed an immense reputation in\nhis day, furnishes an example of the life of voluntary isolation and\nof practical activity systematically confined to professional or\nscientific subjects. He is now remembered chiefly for that on which he\nprobably least valued himself--his epistolary correspondence, never\ndesigned for publication, but which is extremely interesting, not only\nas a record of events great and small, the memory of which has long\npassed away, but for the freshness both of ideas and style for which\nit is remarkable. These letters exhibit Guy Patin as an apparent\ncompendium of contradictions--a believer in medicine, a sceptic in\nalmost all else; obstinately tenacious of the privileges of the\nfaculty, but full of liberal, and even republican, aspirations;\nconfident in the steady advance of science, but always railing at\nmodern times and extolling the past. Yet there is a clue to many of\nthese seeming contradictions; Guy Patin was a dean. Before he was\ndean, you felt that he would be dean; later, he has been dean. He has\nstudied minutely all the details of the organized institution to which\nhe is indebted for all that he is--he has made its spirit and doctrine\nhis own; for the faculty _has_ a doctrine. The experimental method is\nnewer in medicine than in the other sciences. In the seventeenth\ncentury we find in its place simple observation guided by theory;\nwhich theory was no other than that of the father of medicine,\nHippocrates--viz., that nature tends to a cure, and that disease is\nbut an outward manifestation of a salutary effort of the vital\norganization to counteract the destructive causes at work. The\nphysician's part was to aid this process rather than to interfere with\nit. This view, we may observe, is finding favor anew in certain\nquarters in our own day; and we may perhaps be allowed humbly to\nexpress an instinctive leaning toward any theory of which the\npractical result might be a system of comparative non-intervention.\nBut this by the way. Certainly Hippocrates's fundamental principle did\nnot deter medical practitioners of the olden time from much painful\ninterference with the workings of nature under the plea of assistance;\na course to which their elaborate doctrine concerning the humors of\nthe body--which, however, they did _not_ derive from Hippocrates, but\nof which the germ exists in the other great authority, Galen--much\ncontributed.\n\nThe period we are considering was one of transition. Men felt the need\nof progress; and this feeling evoked a number of medical\nadventurers--the revolutionists, as we may call them, of medicine.\nPlaced between two opposite systems--the one resting on tradition and\non principles, at any rate, in great measure sound; the other calling\nitself progress, but having nothing to allege save a number of vague\naspirations and anticipations, some genuine discoveries mingled with\nmuch baser metal, and half-truths obscured by palpable error--can we\nwonder that the faculty should be tempted to confound all novelties in\none sweeping act of reprobation, and intrench itself in a state of\nobstinate opposition? Guy Patin shared this feeling, though not to\nexcess. He was no enemy, as we have said, to a wise and safe progress;\nbut he had the shallowness and narrowness which belongs to a certain\nrange of cleverness. He was not the man to accept anything new which\nit required {684} breadth, elevation, and comprehensiveness of mind to\ndiscern. He had also his favorite theory of simplicity; and this made\nhim suspicious of aught which seemed at variance therewith. He looked\naskance, for instance, at Harvey and the circulation of the blood. We\nhave said that Guy Patin was a sceptic, yet he was not an unbeliever.\nHis language certainly is often extremely irreverent; but just as he\nsometimes speaks in terms bordering on modern liberalism, while all\nthe time, by his attachment to medical traditions, to the faculty, and\nto monarchy, he is securely anchored in respect for antiquity and\nauthority, so is it as regards religion, and we must not conclude from\nhis free expressions that he is a decided freethinker. Nevertheless it\nmust be confessed that he betrays a very uncatholic mind and temper;\nand as we cannot believe that he stood alone in this respect, it may\nserve as an indication of the spirit of many of his order, and of the\nprevalence of opinions which were later to bear such bitter fruit.\n\nGuy Patin was content with his sphere; he had no desire to overstep\nit. His friends and intimates were from amongst his own medical\nbrethren, or they were members of the legal and magisterial body. By\nmarriage he was connected with the latter class; and moreover there\nwas always a close analogy of manners and sentiments betwixt the\nmedical body and the _noblesse de robe_. To his friendship with the\nPresident de Thou, brother to Cinq Mars' unfortunate accomplice, we\nmay attribute much of his animosity to the minister Richelieu. Guy\nPatin is, in short, a systematic grumbler, a regular _frondeur_; but\nit is chiefly in talk and speculation. He is in reality no\nrevolutionist. Speaking of his frequent social meetings with two\nlawyer friends, he observes: \"Our conversation is always gay. If we\ntalk of religion or of state affairs, it is always historically,\nwithout dreaming of either reformation or sedition. We converse\nchiefly on literary subjects. With a mind thus recreated, I return\nhome, where, after some little converse with my books, or with the\nrecord of some past consultation, I retire to rest.\"\n\nSuch was the honorable position of an independent member of the\nfaculty. But what was the condition and social estimate of those who\nsought the favor of the nobility? Undoubtedly their standing was much\ninferior to that which they came to occupy a hundred years\nlater--thanks to the spread of the utilitarian spirit, which raised\nall the positive sciences into high esteem. In the eighteenth century\nfine ladies had their pet physician, as they had their philosophic or\npoetic _prot\u00e9g\u00e9_; but in the seventeenth a great personage thought he\nconferred much honor on a doctor by seeking a cure at his hands. The\nnobles were glad, it is true, to have their familiar physician; though\nthe physician, if he had any self-respect, must have felt that he paid\nrather dear for admission to this familiarity, not to speak of the\nactual large sums by which, in the case at least of princes of the\nblood-royal, they had to buy their offices. But we are here chiefly\nspeaking of a less aspiring class, who angled for the casual good\ngraces of the aristocratic order. See how Madame de Sevign\u00e9 speaks of\nthe doctors, whom she is always consulting and always unmercifully\nquizzing. See her malicious pleasure when she can get four or five\ntogether to discuss her bile, her spleen, her humors, when she would\nply them with questions and contrive to make them contradict each\nother. She talks of the profession as a humbug, yet she never passes\nthrough a town without consulting what she calls \"the chief\nignoramuses of the place.\" She consults them, and then turns them into\nridicule. They know this, and take their legitimate revenge in high\ncharges. But strange to say, although so contemptuous toward the\nprivileged doctors, Madame de Sevign\u00e9 has quite a weakness for all\nquacks or unlicensed dabblers in the {685} art, and is even credulous\nin their regard. However, it would seem that science with this lively\nlady is not the sole requirement. \"My dear,\" she says, speaking of a\ncertain elegant Signor Antonio, an Italian son of AEsculapius, \"he is\ntwenty-eight years old, with the most beautiful and charming face I\never saw. He has Madame de Mazarin's eyes, and his teeth are\nperfection. The rest of his face is what you might conceive Rinaldo's\nto have been, with large black curls, altogether making the prettiest\nhead in the world. He is dressed like a prince, and is a thorough _bon\ngar\u00e7on_.\" We are a long way off the wigs and _rabats_, it will be\nseen; but we have got a clue to the secret. It is the _m\u00e9decin bon\ngar\u00e7on_ Madame de Sevign\u00e9 is in search of. She finds him at the\nbaths--_les eaux_. He has none of the pedantry, possibly little of the\nscience, of his Paris brethren of the faculty. He is a man of the\nworld, and can sacrifice to the graces. Medically, his part seems\nrestricted to drenching and dosing his patients with hot water. Tired\nof court amusements, they fly to the _douche_ and the vapor-bath to\nexpel those inward vapors of which Frenchwomen, and indeed our own\ngreat-grandmothers, complained so much. Madame de Sevign\u00e9 goes through\nthis ordeal perseveringly; but she has her alleviations. \"My\ndoctor\"--this is another pet _bon gar\u00e7on_--\"is very good. Instead of\nresigning myself to two hours' _ennui_, inseparable from _la\nsuerie_(the sweating process) I make him read to me. He knows what\nlife is; he has no trickery about him; he deals with medicine like a\ngentleman (_en galant homme_); in short, he amuses me.\"\n\nAt court the doctors had more serious trials. Beside the task of\npleasing this or that capricious and exacting patron, they had to\nbeware of displeasing twenty others. The princes of the blood shared\nwith the sovereign the right to choose their own physician from any\nquarter they pleased, who became forthwith invested _ipso facto_ with\nall the privileges of the Paris faculty. Possibly, to make a little\ndisplay of authority, they would often decline selecting him from the\nhonored precincts of the Rue de la B\u00fbcherie, and perhaps take a doctor\nof Montpellier. Hence interminable jealousies. Then the doctors would\nsometimes be drawn into mixing themselves with party politics, and get\ninto the Bastille; but this was their own fault. To escape the shaft\nof ridicule was more difficult. It appears certain that in _L'Amour\nM\u00e9decin_ Moli\u00e8re ventured upon satirizing four of the court physicians\nunder assumed names; and this in the presence of the king himself,\nbefore whom the piece was played. Possibly Louis, whose docility to\nhis physicians stands in remarkable contrast with his lofty distance\ntoward others, might not be sorry to indulge occasionally in a laugh\nat his masters, or have a brief fling of independence, like a truant\nschoolboy. Of his habitual bondage to their authority we have the\nrecord in a journal of the royal health, magnificently bound in folio\nand besprinkled _fleurs-de-lis_, which has been preserved. It was\nbegun in 1652 at the desire of the boy-sovereign himself--who thus\ngave early tokens of his methodical tastes--and it was kept up till\nfour years previous to his death, when it suddenly ceases, possibly\nbecause even the pen of flattery became unable to disguise the\napproaches of inevitable death. The whole is in the handwriting of\nLouis' three successive physicians, Valot, Daquin, and Fagon. No man,\nit is said, is a hero to his _valet de chambre_; still less, we may\nimagine, to his apothecary. That the king should have to submit to all\nthose medical appliances which in Moli\u00e8re's pages are recorded in such\nplain terms was perhaps a necessity--judged at least to be so; but\nthat etiquette should require that the whole court should be regularly\napprised of all these details, is a little surprising. {686} The diary\nis, however, interlarded with no small amount of flattery. Valot\ninaugurates his office, for instance, by a memoir on the king's\ntemperament, which was that of which \"heroes are made;\" and all is in\nthe same adulatory and stilted style. But the writer is by no means\nunsparing of self-laudation. It is with much evident self-complacency\nthat he registers for the benefit of posterity the different remedies\nwith which \"heaven inspired him\" to prescribe for the preservation of\na health so precious. \"Plaster for the king,\" \"potion for the king,\"\nand so on, figure in large characters. He can also play the prophet,\nand announce coming measles, dysenteries, etc., _from which the king\nis to be exempt_. There are temporary interruptions to Valot's\nabsolute rule; these were the seasons when Louis was campaigning; the\nmonarch on these occasions despised the care of his health, and threw\nphysic to the dogs. The doctor groaned and remonstrated, but was fain\nto await the close of the campaign to resume his authority and make up\nfor lost time. He died in his office. His nephew and successor,\nDaquin, was a Montpellier doctor and a converted Jew. He was a clever\nman of moderate science. But he entered on his charge in difficult\ndays. A gouty prince, subject to melancholy, and desirous to abate\nnothing of his customary attention either to business or amusement, is\nnot an easy patient to manage. Beside, the royal valetudinarian met\nwith sundry accidents while under this physician's care. Daquin was an\naccomplished courtier, and even improved upon Valot in the art of\nflattery. From him we learn the remarkable fact that \"the king is\nsubject, like other men, to catch cold.\" With all his tact, Daquin did\nnot escape disgrace. Perhaps he made too undisguised a display of his\nacquisitive disposition; indeed, he was a notorious beggar. It is\nrelated that one day Louis, being informed of the death of an old\nofficer, expressed regret, saying that the man had been to him a\nfaithful servant, with the merit, rare in a courtier, of never having\nasked for anything. While making this observation, he fixed his eyes\npointedly on Daquin. The physician, no way disconcerted, naively said,\n\"May one venture to inquire, sire, what your majesty gave him?\" The\nking was silenced, for the bashful courtier in question had never\nreceived any royal favor whatsoever. Daquin was dismissed in 1693. He\nhad asked for the archbishopric of Tours for his son. He had so often\noffended, if offence it were considered, in making bold requests, that\nit is hardly likely that this application was the real cause of his\ndisgrace. It was probably rather the consequence of the king's rupture\nwith Mme. de Montespen, to whom Daquin owed his elevation. It appears\nthat ever since the king's marriage he had found some difficulty in\nmaintaining his position, from which it is natural to infer that\nadverse influences were at work; indeed, it was a _prot\u00e9g\u00e9_, or rather\na friend, of Mme. de Maintenon who was promoted to fill his place--a\ncircumstance corroborative of this supposition. Fagon appears to have\nbeen a very estimable man, and the attachment and mutual esteem\nsubsisting between him and his patroness, with whom he had first\nbecome acquainted in his capacity of physician to the Duc de Maine,\nnever abated. [Footnote 103] He won the confidence also of Louis, and\nthe favor he enjoyed while still in his position of secondary\nphysician was much increased at the period of the king's great illness\nby a trifling circumstance which made a strong impression on the\nmonarch's mind. One night all the surgeons and doctors, {687} Daquin\nincluded, had ventured to go to bed. The king had taken a _bouillon_,\nand the fever seemed to be subdued. But Fagon, unobserved by the rest,\nslipped back and took his post in an arm-chair in the ante-room. He\nwas thus at hand to comfort and administer a _tisane_ to the sick\nmonarch, whose fever shortly returned, and who, albeit with the fear\nof Daquin greatly before his eyes, ventured to accept the services of\nthe attentive subaltern. The _tisane_ sent Louis to sleep, and made\nFagon's fortune. Three months afterward he was first in command. He\ndeserved his elevation to an office which was a post of no slight\nhonor and profit.  [Footnote 104] He bore his honors meekly, and was\nremarkable for a spirit of disinterestedness as rare as it was\ncreditable to him. Fagon closes the list of the court physicians of\nthe seventeenth century, and indeed carries us on into the eighteenth.\nAll reserve being made in his favor, it must be confessed that the\ngreat dramatist's satire was richly deserved by those doctors of\nroyalty, whose ambitious manoeuvres, intrigues, and paltry rivalries\nwere enough to excite the indignation of any honest man.\n\n  [Footnote 103: Fagon was the nephew of Guy de la Brosse, the founder\n  of the _Jardin du Roi_, now developed into the magnificent Museum of\n  Natural Science and himself also an eminent botanist. He was named\n  professor of botany at this establishment by Valot, who, as first\n  physician to the king, was its superintendent.]\n\n  [Footnote 104: The king's physician ranked with the great officers\n  of the crown, and received orders from the sovereign alone, to whom\n  he took an oath of fidelity; and he became a count in virtue of his\n  office, and transmitted his nobility to his children. He was\n  entitled to the same honors and privileges as the high chamberlain.\n  He was a councillor of state, and received the usual emoluments.\n  When he visited the faculty, he was met at the door by the dean,\n  bachelors, and beadles, although he himself might not be a Paris\n  doctor. He had, beside, very extensive authority, enjoying a species\n  of medical jurisdiction throughout the kingdom.]\n\nWe have seen that the independent physician, who stood aloof from\ncourting the great, could lead an honorable and tranquil life; but it\nwould be a mistake to conclude that profound peace reigned within the\nmedical corporation itself. On the contrary, it was the scene of a\nbitter internecine war between the men of the new ideas, the men of\nprogress, and the adherents to tradition and the received system. But\nto excite men's passions ideas must assume a concrete form, which then\nbecomes at once a rallying-point and a watchword. Such in the\nseventeenth century were the circulation of the blood and antimony.\nEver since the days of Galen the liver had been held to be the origin\nof the veins, and of those organs by which blood is transmitted to the\nwhole body. Harvey's announcement accordingly raised a universal\ncommotion in the medical world: perhaps his doctrine would have met\nwith less opposition but for the discovery of the lacteal veins by an\nItalian anatomist, Gasparo Aselli, in the year 1622. These veins, as\nmost of our readers probably know, originating in the intestines,\nreceive and convey thence the products of digestion--the chyle. Imbued\nwith the doctrine of Galen, and deceived by appearances, Aselli, it is\ntrue, believed the liver to be their ultimate destination. Immediately\nthere was one general outcry against these intrusive vessels: their\nnon-necessity was put forward as a conclusive objection--a very common\nargument, it may be noted, with the old doctors. Really it was not\nworth upsetting received notions on their account--the lacteal vessels\nwere superfluous. Even Harvey, who was among Aselli's opponents,\njoined in insisting on this unsatisfactory reason. \"It is not\n_necessary_,\" he says, \"to seek a fresh channel for the transport of\nthe chyle in the lacteal veins.\" It was evident, he said, that the\nchyle was carried from the intestines by the mesenteric veins.\n\nBut in 1649 Pecquet, a Frenchman, completed the demonstration, by\nshowing that the lacteal veins do not terminate in the liver, but in a\nreservoir, to which his name was given. Now indeed the liver, and\nGalen, and the whole edifice of medicine, were threatened; nothing\ncould be deemed sacred any longer. The liver was not the origin of the\nveins, if the blood careered in a circle, having neither beginning nor\nend; and the chyle did not go to the liver. {688} \"_Quid de nostra\nfiet medicina?_\" was the sorrowful exclamation of one of the doctors\nof the Montpellier faculty when Pecquet had triumphantly expounded his\ndiscovery before them. Ah, there was the difficulty! _Quid de nostra\nfiet medicina?_ We are condemning our past--an argument which weighs\npowerfully against all conversions. Nothing can afford stronger\nevidence of the deep conviction entertained that the whole existing\nsystem was at stake, than the opposition of a physician of so much\neminence, intellectual and scientific, as Riolan, whom alone of all\nhis adversaries Harvey judged worthy of a rejoinder. It is\nastonishing, indeed, to see a man of his stamp reduced to throw\nhimself on such arguments as the uselessness and degradation of the\nliver if the new hypothesis be admitted; to find him urging the\nimpropriety of allowing impure unelaborated chyle to go straight to\nthe heart, which under these circumstances it must do--thus converting\nthat noble seat of vital heat into an ignoble kitchen. And then, once\nthere, how was the chyle to be got rid of? An absurd list of\nsuppositions follows, intended to prove, by an exhaustive process, the\nsheer impossibility of disposing of the chyle after having arrived at\nsuch an _impasso_. _Ergo_, the chyle _must_ go to the liver. In fact,\nit cannot go anywhere else with either reason or propriety. Such are\nthe contemptible arguments to which even superior minds will stoop\nwhen they battle against evidence. Harvey, however, found many\npartisans amongst the Paris faculty. Guy Patin, as we have said, was\nnot of the number: he was not a deep thinker, and trusted his friend\nRiolan. Harvey's followers were called \"circulators.\" Now \"circulator\"\nin Latin means a charlatan--that is enough for Guy Patin. The debate\nceased with Riolan's death: the doctrine had been gradually gaining\nground. In 1678 its victory had been achieved when Louis instituted at\nthe Jardin des Plantes a special chair of anatomy for propagating the\nnew discoveries.\n\nThe battle about antimony raged still more fiercely, inasmuch as the\nquestion admitted of less tangible proof. There is a legend that this\nmineral was first exhibited in a pure state and applied to medical\npurposes by Basil Valentine, a Benedictine monk of Erfurt, in the\nbeginning of the sixteenth century; he gave it to his hogs, who throve\nmarvellously. This is to be attributed to the arsenic contained in the\ndrug, which fattens when taken in small quantities--a fact well known\nto the peasants of Styria and Lower Austria. Basil next gave it to his\nmonks, who fell sick; from which he drew the following conclusion:\n\"This metal suits hogs; it does not suit monks.\" Hence its name of\nantimony. Thirty years later Paracelsus took up the study of antimony,\nand endeavored to introduce its use, with that of other minerals, in\nmedicine. This would have been to break completely with tradition; but\nParacelsus was half-cracked, and not very intelligible. The sixteenth\ncentury was the age of alchemy, especially in Germany, where it was\nardently pursued, in connection with the occult sciences, by men who\nrivalled Paracelsus in obscurity. In France transcendental chemistry\nfound less favor, and there was early a split between the\npseudo-mystics and the chemists. The former cultivated astrology; but\nastrology, as an aid to medicine, had quite fallen into disrepute in\nthe seventeenth century, being abandoned to low vagabond quacks.\nChemistry, however, was making gradual progress and striving to\nestablish its place in medicine. The sympathy manifested for this\nscience at Montpellier was quite enough to indispose toward it the\nfaculty of Paris. The absurd blunders into which its association with\nalchemy had betrayed it in times past weighed also on its reputation;\nbut, above all, the contempt for antiquity manifested by its adepts\nwas calculated to condemn it in the eyes {689} of the majority of the\nphysicians, brought up as they were in reverence for all that\nchemistry pretended to reform or destroy.\n\nThere were not wanting, however, conciliatory spirits, who strove to\neffect a compromise between the past and the present, and make room\nfor the new chemical theories in the received system. It has already\nbeen observed how Galen's theory of the humors of the body had been\nelaborated: all medical language was grounded upon it.   [Footnote\n105] Disease was the result of the vitiation of these humors, each\nhumor having its special morbid product. To expel this vitiated humor\nwas the task of the doctor; but why might not minerals be added to his\npharmacopoeia, without interfering with his principles? This seemed\nreasonable; and as a matter of theory the faculty were not unwilling\nto let it pass. The difference arose on the practical question. All\nwere agreed that the peccant humor was to be expelled; but the\nfaithful followers of Hippocrates attached great importance to\nawaiting what was called the _coction_ of the humors. This was the\nwork of nature, which was employed in making an effort which the\nphysician was called only to second,--an effort of which fever was but\nthe symptom. It was esteemed a very nice point to hit off the proper\nmoment, and not prevent or disturb the crisis which was thus\npreparing: hence the need of mild measures. Whoever will refer to the\napothecary's bill in the first scene of Moli\u00e8re's _Malade Imaginaire_\nwill see that lenifying, softening, tempering, and refreshing, were\nthe avowed objects of the drugs administered. Such was Hippocratic\nmedicine; mild, at least, in theory. We must make one exception as\nrespects bleeding: these enemies of violent measures bled with a\nvengeance; they shed torrents of blood. They bled old men of eighty,\nand babies two months, nay, even two days old; and this \"without\ninconvenience,\"--so they said. We presume some of the sufferers\nsurvived,--thanks to a strong constitution. Riolan says that there are\ntwenty-four pounds of blood in the human body, and that twenty can be\nlost without causing death; _ergo_, it is keeping within very\nreasonable bounds to deprive a man of only the half of his blood.\n[Footnote 106]\n\n  [Footnote 105: M. Raynaud, to whose amusing work we are again\n  largely indebted, notices that much of this language still survives\n  in the diction of the common people. Many of their ideas and forms\n  of expression still reflect the old doctrine of humorism; just as\n  they have retained many words and idioms now become obsolete in the\n  upper and more shifting strata of society.]\n\n  [Footnote 106: The famous Guy de la Brosse refused to be bled. He\n  called bleeding the remedy of sanguinary pedants, and said he would\n  rather die then submit to the operation. \"And he did die,\" says M.\n  Basalis, a brother doctor; adding, \"The devil will bleed him in the\n  next world, has such a rascal and unbeliever deserves.\" Such are the\n  imprecations hurled at the man who ventured on refusing to die _in\n  proper form_. Could Moli\u00e8re have written anything more sublimely\n  comic?]\n\nThe object of bleeding, of course, was the expulsion of the vitiated\nhumors supposed to be contained in it; but it is hardly reconcilable\nwith the doctrine of waiting for their _coction_ to commence\noperations by attacking a disease at once with a lancet. But this is\none of Guy Patin's primary convictions, as well as of numbers of his\nbrethren, and they conscientiously acted on the same. It was otherwise\nas respected emetics. Antimony administered in the potent quantities\nthen used was a most frightful emetic. No one in those days thought of\ngiving infinitesimal doses, or suspected that what was poisonous in\nlarge, might be salutary in fractional, proportions. It was reserved\nfor Rasoni to discover that antimony could be thus beneficially\nadministered. And so the whole question lay between those who held as\na principle that the peccant humor was not to be expelled till after\n_coction_, and those who maintained that the sooner the morbific\nmatter was ejected from the system the better.\n\nIt is true that the horrible prostration of strength consequent on\nthis summary process was sufficient to alarm men's minds, and furnish\na reasonable topic to the opponents of {690} antimony. The quarrel\noccupied a whole century; of course we cannot attempt to go into even\nits most elementary details. In 1566, the parliament prohibited the\nuse of this drug. The year 1666 saw it rehabilitated by the same body.\nThe motive of the first decree was the report of the faculty that\nantimony was an incorrigible poison. The idea, as we just now\nobserved, that diminution of quantity might effect what was\nunattainable by correctives, did not occur to the medical mind of that\nday. In 1615 there was a fresh unanimous decree against antimony, also\nindorsed by parliament; but the scientific world was still on the\nsearch for a _corrective_, and converts, or perverts, were being\nsecretly made within the very sanctuary of the faculty. In 1638, the\ndean, Hardoun de Saint-Jacques, suddenly published an incomplete\npharmaceutic codex, which had been in course of preparation for twelve\nyears. In this dictionary antimonial wine actually figured in its\nalphabetical place. How had the enemy contrived to creep into the\ncitadel? No one could say. This incident was the occasion of a deluge\nof pamphlets, of which the very form and language are, for the most\npart, like a dead letter to us. Hippocrates, Holy Scripture, history,\nand the fathers, are all called into court. Even the definition of\nantimony gives rise to much discussion; and it is gravely argued\nwhether Adam, when conferring names in Paradise, named this drug, and\nif so, what he called it. Even the troubles of the Fronde did not\ncheck this medical civil war. Antimony had quite a literature of its\nown. Guy Patin, of course, was inimical, but a little cautious while\nthe question of his deanship was impending. Afterward he launches out;\nhe hates chemistry, he hates antimony, he hates Gu\u00e9naut, who is its\nwarm advocate, and is beside Cardinal Mazarin's physician (Guy Patin\nis always in political opposition). Gu\u00e9naut, he says, has poisoned his\nwife, daughter, and two sons-in-law with this drug; at last he poisons\nhimself, and dies a martyr to his infatuation. And then the faculty\nhave twice condemned antimony. That is more than enough for Guy Patin.\nHowever, a great event turned the balance in his favor. During the\ncampaign of 1658, the king, then twenty years of age, was attacked by\ntyphus. Valot had been absent a few days, sent by Louis, as the\njournal tells us, to settle a quarrel between the physicians and\nsurgeons who were treating the Mar\u00e9chal de Castelnau for a mortal\nwound--poor marshal! He hastened back to his master, and fell to work\nvigorously, sparing neither bleeding nor dosing; but the king got\nworse, and Gu\u00e9naut was sent for. The court-physicians--Valot, Esprit,\nDaquin, Yvelin, beside a local doctor--were all there disputing over\nthe monarch's sinking body. A great consultation is now held, presided\nover by the cardinal; and he votes for antimony. It was given. The\nking took an ounce, and marvellous are the recorded effects. However,\nwhether in consequence or in spite of the dose, he recovered. Louis\nwas at that time his people's darling and idol; they adored their\nyoung monarch, and he had been saved by Gu\u00e9naut and antimony! Guy\nPatin's embarrassment at this crisis is a little ludicrous. The dose,\nhe urges in extenuation, was small; but he concludes that, after all,\nwhat saved the king \"was his innocence, his youth and strength, nine\ngood bleedings, and the prayers of good people like himself and\nothers.\" Defections now became numerous, and the faculty was in a\nfalse position.  In fact, most of the doctors gave antimony in spite\nof the two decrees, the last of which interdicted the mention of it.\nIn 1666 the embargo was finally removed, after a tedious and ponderous\nprocess, as were all processes in those days, before the parliament;\nand the doctors were henceforth permitted \"to give the said emetic\nwine for the cure of maladies, to write and dispute about it,\"' etc.,\nbut it was not lawful for persons to take it {691} without their\nadvice. The question had been decided in the faculty by ninety-two\ndoctors against ten. The decree came to sadden the last days of Guy\nPatin, and of a few more respectable old stagers, who were unable to\nadvance with their age.\n\nBut this internal conflict was not the only one which the faculty had\nto sustain. There was the perennial dispute with the surgeons. Surgery\nand medicine are twin sciences, if they be not rather branches of one\nand the same. Hippocrates, Galen, Celsus, made no practical\ndistinction between them; nevertheless, they came to be entirely\nseparated in mediaeval practice. Two causes may be assigned for this:\nthe first was the quasi-ecclesiastical character of the medical\nprofession in early days, which rendered the shedding of blood and\nother operations incompatible with the position of men who were either\nclerics or bound by clerical rules. Still, though they could not\nthemselves draw blood, they could prescribe blood-letting and other\nsanguinary operations; and this led, of course, to the existence of\nanother class, paid to carry out their orders. But a second and far\nmore enduring cause was the strong prejudice existing in feudal times\nagainst manual labor as degrading. In vain might the surgeons urge\nthat it was absurd to regard as merely mechanical an occupation which\nnecessitated much scientific knowledge. The university shared the\nfeelings of the faculty on this point; and while admitting the doctors\ninto its fellowship, rejected the surgeons. Excluded from this\nfraternity of liberal science, the surgeons gave themselves diligently\nto professional study. As early as the fourteenth century we meet with\ntheir celebrated confraternity, placed under the patronage of Sts.\nCosmas and Damian, which boasted of its foundation by St. Louis, and\nwhich maintained its existence for five centuries. The quarrel with\nthe doctors began in the middle of the fifteenth century, and\nterminated only on the eve of the Revolution, when St. Cosmas's\nCollege and the faculty were both alike to share the universal\nshipwreck of all the ancient institutions.\n\nThe surgeons had long been in the habit of availing themselves of the\naid of the barbers in certain ordinary operations, and bleeding was at\nlast entirely abandoned to their hands. Just, however, as the faculty\nwished to depress the surgeons, and the latter were desirous to raise\nthemselves to an equality with the faculty, so also the surgeons were\nresolved to keep down their servants the barbers, who, on their part,\naspired to rise in the professional scale. The policy of the faculty\nwas to foster their rivalry, and thus keep a check upon both; but as\nthe nearest enemy is always the most dreaded, the time came when it\nwas judged prudent to elevate the barbers, whose very inferiority\nrendered them less obnoxious, in order the better to make head against\nthe surgeons; and so the faculty adopted the barbers, in whom it hoped\nto find docile clients, in order to mortify its unsubmissive children.\nIt magnificently compared this measure to the call of the Gentiles and\nrejection of ungrateful Israel. But the barbers held their heads up\nnow, and requested to study anatomy. Here was a difficulty. University\nregulations strictly enjoined that all public lessons should be in\nLatin; but what was the use of talking Latin to barbers? So the\nlecture was to be in Latin, and the explanation in French. Apparently\nto facilitate the comprehension of the classic tongue by the\nunlearned, the use of that whimsical Latin which Moli\u00e8re has so\nhappily caricatured then first began. A clever compromise was now\nsupposed to have been effected. A doctor was to teach in the\namphitheatre of the faculty without touching the body; a surgeon was\nto dissect; the barbers were to be present, and try to understand.\nThis was in 1498.\n\nFurther concessions followed; and in 1505 the faculty allowed the\nbarbers to be inscribed on the dean's {692} register, and, after\npassing through an examination, to be formally received as scholars.\nThey paid, however, for their lessons, and took an oath never to\nprescribe an internal remedy, but to have recourse to the doctors for\nthe medical treatment of their patients. On these conditions the\nproudest of scientific corporations extended its protection to, and\neven took into a certain fellowship, a profession not only humble, but\nso much despised, that in Germany at that period barbers were not\nadmitted into any trade corporation. The credit of the king's\nbarber--an important personage, who enjoyed familiar opportunities for\nasking favors--had something perhaps to say to the prosperity of this\ntrade in France. And the barbers continued to prosper; it was their\ninterest, indeed, to keep well with the faculty, whose protecting hand\nonce withdrawn, they would helplessly fall back under the cruel\nbondage of their old masters. But as time went on, they grew\nconfident. The troubles of the League unhinged society, and for some\nyears we find them neglecting to take the oath of fidelity. Meanwhile\nsurgery had attained a proud position, and at the end of the sixteenth\ncentury was much in advance of the other sciences, both in its spirit\nof independent inquiry and in experimental practice.\n\nMany eminent names illustrate its annals at this period. At the head\nof the corporation was Ambroise Par\u00e9, the restorer--we might almost\nsay the creator--of modern surgery. He had been a barber's boy in his\nyouth, and still treated his old associates with much consideration.\nPerhaps this honorable notice helped to turn their heads a little, for\nthey actually began to set up school for themselves, and to maintain\ntheses. This got them a snub from the faculty, and a prohibition from\nparliament, which recalled to their recollection the ancient statute\nwhich permitted their intervention only \"_pro furunculis, bocchiis, et\napostumatibus_.\" But the time was past for enforcing such laws; every\nday the barbers more and more emancipated themselves from thraldom;\nand in 1629 they obtained the right of having their receptions\npresided over by the king's barber or by his lieutenant.\n\nThe surgeons meanwhile had left no stone unturned to get admission\ninto the university, to have a recognized right to lecture publicly,\nand to receive the chancellor's benediction. They were several times\ngranted the king's license to this effect; but the university\ndisregarded the royal injunction, and even set at naught a Papal bull\nwhich, in 1579, recognized the surgeon's title to the chancellor's\nbenediction. There was a consequent _appel comme d'abus_ from that\nGallican body to the parliament. Nevertheless, more than one\nchancellor was found to comply with the Pope's rescript.\n\nSuch, then, was the situation of parties in the beginning of Louie\nXIV.'s reign. Three rival corporations existed; in principle united,\nbut mutually independent. There was the faculty, petrified as it were,\nin its immobility, demanding from the others a submission it could not\nobtain; there was the corporation of surgeons, intermediary between\nthe learned bodies and the trading _bourgeoisie_, wearing the gown on\ndays of ceremony, holding examinations, conferring degrees, but\nkeeping shop;  [Footnote 107] and there were the barbers, with neither\ngown nor school, but living at the expense of the two former classes,\nand, by long prescription, freely practising surgery, and even\nmedicine to a certain extent. The reasons for old distinctions had\npassed away--nothing remained but inveterate rivalries. Anatomy was\nthe perpetual theatre for dissension. The surgeons never had resigned\nthemselves to the secondary part allotted to them. They claimed {693}\nto teach what they understood at least as well as their superiors. But\nhow to get bodies? The dean of the faculty had an exclusive claim to\nthose of all executed criminals, and none other were procurable.\nAccordingly, whenever an execution occurred there was a regular\nscramble for the poor wretch's body. The students of surgery and the\nbarber-apprentices assembled on the Place de Gr\u00e8ve, where they had no\ndifficulty in finding recruits amongst the rabble. Scarcely had the\nexecutioner done his work, when these bands, armed with swords and\nsticks, rushed on the yet warm corpse, which was carried off by the\nvictors to some shop, in which they barricaded themselves against the\n_mar\u00e9chauss\u00e9e_. Many of these disgraceful acts went unpunished.\nSometimes the faculty would despatch an official to claim the body; he\nwas always sent about his business; and then recourse was had to law.\nThe report of an unfortunate _huissier_, who was actor and victim in\none of these scenes, may be seen in a _proc\u00e8s-verbal_ of the time. He\nwas sent to seize a body which had been taken to St. Cosmas's. There\nhe found three professors (in cap and gown!) giving an anatomical\ndemonstration to a large audience. He was received with yells, and\ncruelly beaten. A force coming to his rescue, the students cut up the\ncorpse into bits rather than let the faculty get it.\n\n  [Footnote 107: They hang up at their windows as a sign three\n  emblematic boxes, surmounted with a banner bearing the figures of\n  Sts. Cosmas and Damian.]\n\nA common interest and a common hatred of their domineering antagonist\nended by drawing together the two inferior orders, and finally led to\ntheir reunion. The increasing number of the barbers, unrestrained by\nany rule, and unrestrainable by any law, threatened to swamp surgery\naltogether; and so the men of letters made up their minds to extend\nthe hand of fellowship to the artisans, and receive them back, not as\nslaves any longer, but as brethren. In 1655 the surgeons swallowed\nthis bitter pill; they took upon themselves the shame of uniting with\nthe barbers, and the barbers entered on the privileges of the\nsurgeons. Parliament ratified the contract, and the faculty was\nscarcely named in the affair. It was left stranded. Its servants, whom\nit had raised from the dust to do its work and fight its battles, had\nbetrayed it and gone off with arms and baggage to the enemy's camp.\nBut it was not long without perceiving that it might draw profit from\nwhat seemed a discomfiture. The surgeons had conferred their\nprivileges on the barbers; in return they had, of course, accepted the\nliabilities of their new associates. Now the barbers were bound by\ncontract to an oath of fidelity, and other obligations of a pecuniary\nnature, to the faculty. This body accordingly claimed either that the\nunion effected should be dissolved, or that both companies should be\nsubject to the engagements by which the barbers had bound themselves.\nIt renewed at the same time all its former claims of supremacy, and\nits old prohibitions against teaching and conferring degrees, but,\nabove all, against the assumption of the _cap and gown_.\n\nThree years did this process last, which occupies a voluminous place\nin the parliamentary registers. The surgeons eventually lost their\ncause; and that which did not a little contribute thereto was the\nmanifestation of their own miserable internal dissensions. \"St. Luke\nhas been stronger than St. Cosmas!\" exclaimed the triumphant Guy Patin\nat the news of this great victory. Seventy-two doctors went in\nprocession, in grand costume, to thank the president, Lamoignon, and\nthe avocat-g\u00e9n\u00e9ral, Talon; and in order to testify their special\ngratitude to the latter, it was decreed that, having well merited of\nthe faculty, he and his family should be attended gratis in\nperpetuity. A magnificent edition of Hippocrates in five folio volumes\nwas presented along with this decree, inclosed in a silver box. For\nseveral days not one of the crest-fallen {694} surgeons was to be seen\nin the streets, and six of their number, it is said, fell sick. Gladly\nwould they now have dissolved the unhappy _m\u00e9salliance_ they had\ncontracted, but it was too late. Both barbers and surgeons, indeed,\nalike felt that the defeat was final; but on the latter it must have\nfallen with the most crushing severity. Before the close of the year\nthe chair in which Ambroise Par\u00e9 had sat--the symbol of departed\ngreatness--was removed. They had to pay the impost, take the oath of\nfidelity--no humiliation was spared them. Thus forced into a\npreposterous alliance, which was made the pretext for its degradation,\nthe surgical profession languished for many years. The faculty on this\noccasion certainly committed its worst fault. For paltry questions of\nprecedence it retarded for a century the progress of surgery, which\ndid not emerge from the inferior position to which the decree of 1660\nhad reduced it until time and necessity led to a reconstitution of\nsurgery and shaving as two distinct professions. It was then that\nLouis XV., at the instance of La Peyronie, created the Royal Academy\nof Surgery, which furnished so many illustrious names to science in\nthe eighteenth century, and which would doubtless have extinguished\nthe old faculty if the Revolution had not saved it the trouble by\ndestroying them both.\n\nOur space forbids us to notice the other great battle of the faculty\nduring the period which has immediately fallen under our\nconsideration--that which it waged and won against the Montpellier\ndoctors. But the Montpellier school would deserve a notice by itself;\nand the interest which gathers round it has been heightened by the\nimportant questions, physiological and philosophical, connected with\nits name in the present day.\n\nA word or two more, and we have done. When Moli\u00e8re was about to deal\nthe faculty its most grievous wound, it was triumphant on all sides.\nYet, as a system, it was already doomed to that destruction which had\nfallen on the whole scholastic method in science prevailing in the\nmiddle ages. Hippocrates, it is true, furnished the text-book of\nmedicine,  but it was Hippocrates virtually commented by Aristotle, as\nall the old medical phraseology and medical argumentations abundantly\nprove. Much of the ridicule attached to that venerable body against\nwhich Moli\u00e8re has raised an inextinguishable laugh had its origin in\nthe retention of this language, with all the quiddities of the\nschools, and of those curious dialectic exercises which formed the\napproved method of mental gymnastics in the middle ages long after\nthey had been discarded everywhere else. The rest of the ridicule\nwhich falls to the due share of the faculty must be laid to the\naccount of the selfishness, pride, and egotism inherent in human\nnature, but which always strike us more forcibly when exhibited in a\nstate of things foreign to current ideas and manners.\n\nIn conclusion, we would point out what we conceive may be esteemed as\na sound point in the system of that day--its treatment of man as a\nwhole. There is no divorce with these old doctors between body and\nsoul. Modern medical science has affected to treat the body apart from\nany regard to the spiritual portion of man's nature. While allowing\nthe immense progress made in medicine and surgery in modern times, we\ncannot but feel that a serious error was committed in dividing what\nour fathers deemed inseparable. The materialistic errors of the\neighteenth century, and, in particular, the materialism so prevalent\nin the learned medical body, are a standing comment on the systems\nwhich made clear decks of those fundamental principles which had come\ndown to us from the earliest antiquity, and which had received the\nsanction of the Christian schools, in whose teaching physiology and\npsychology were always closely united; the study of the soul crowning\n{695} that of physiology. We witness with satisfaction a strong\nreaction amongst many members of the French medical body toward views\nwhich harmonize thoroughly with the old doctrine of the Angel of the\nSchool, laid down long before those modern discoveries which are\nbeginning slowly to lead men back, not to the pedantry of the olden\ntime, but to those ancient paths from which our fathers would have\ndeemed it heresy to wander.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Sixpenny Magazine.\n\nHANDWRITING.\n\n\nMen, like trees, have a curved line which, touching at the\nextremities, forms a figure which is the general estimate of their\ncharacters. Individual traits are lost in the harmony of them all. The\nhand may be delicate; the face coarse; there may be contradiction\nbetween the eye and the brow, between the motive power and the object\ndesired; but still the man is a unity unlike any other man, and yet\nsimilar in original traits.\n\nTo tell character by confining one's self to one exhibition of a\nfaculty, would be like trying to tell the climate of a place by\nstaying there one day. But in the other extreme, the collecting of\nfacts proves nothing unless there have been opportunities for the\ndisplay of other qualities than the ones in which the person is not\ninterested. I, for instance, always dislike making new acquaintances;\nI get sulky whenever it is forced upon me; that does not prove that I\nmay not be pleasant enough when allowed to act as I please.\n\nOne man, with no taste for a certain pursuit, is forced into it, kept\nat it, and, as he gives evidence of dislike, is accused of being\nalmost a fool. Wonderful that in something else he should be a\nproficient at the first attempt. Yet it is not the doing a thing, but\nthe getting pay for it, that is difficult; not the reading of\ncharacter, but the applying it. What value is the being able to\nunderstand why men's handwritings vary, save as interesting?\n\nYet, perhaps, many a reader will glance over this and be inclined to\nacquire the skill.\n\nFirst, does the man write often moderately, or very nicely? Did he\nwrite in a hurry, or not? Lastly, is his temperament nervous or\ninclined to be heavy?\n\nBad writing may arise from haste, nervousness, and want of practice;\nbut the handwriting of the illiterate is intrinsically different from\nthat of a nervous scholar. A man who writes badly when in haste must\nbe a nervous man; so scrawly writing may be reduced to want of\nself-command. The man of business asks of the scholar, \"Why can't you\nsell your labor and become rich?\" The scholar may ask, \"Why don't you\ngive your money and write a book?\" It is as impossible for one to\nchange as the other. Poverty of brains can be no more overcome than\npoverty of purse. The right plan is for the two to divide. Money for\ntalent. Ridiculous for money to wait for brains, or brains to be\ncontemptuous of money. There must be help. Look at the writing! That\nnervous sweep of the pen is not the characteristic of a man to sway\nmaterial matters; he is not thick-headed enough; the blows crush him.\n\nOn the other hand, that round, manly, firm chirography, regular as a\ntroop of horses, indicates outward show, but there is no brain,\nsentiment, intense sensibility behind. {696} A bird is in a quiver of\nexcitement at the least noise, but a cow stands looking on without the\nleast alarm. Women write small. Indolence, affectation, and weakness\nare indicated, and indolence is nature's guard for nervous persons.\n\nTake particular instances. A is a man of medium size, high forehead,\nhair of the Yankee brownish hue, eyes deep-set and rather small, nose\nsmall, mouth firm, chin rather weak. Physically, he is inclined to be\nof a nervous, sanguine temperament; hope large, caution large; animal\npropensities strong. He is a man of business, writes considerably,\ngenerally about business. His habit of mind exact. Now, what will be\nhis characteristic handwriting? Ask half a dozen different men who are\ninterested in judging of character, and compare their answers. His\nhabits of business will have made his writing to a certain extent\nformal. He will have tried to make it a plain hand. His long practice\nin keeping books will have taught him to be able to write large or\nsmall; his nervousness will have taught him to use abbreviations; his\nsolidity and preference for mercantile pursuits will have made him\nalways more or less subject to self-command. He writes, then, not like\nthe man of mere intellect, to get his thoughts upon paper for\npreservation, but for others to read. He thinks constantly how he will\naffect others; how they will understand him. He employs formal\nexpressions because they are better understood. He says, \"Rec'd three\nbales goods,\" instead of telling in many words the same fact, but\nwrites not obscurely, but with particular care that they shall be\nread.\n\nA lawyer will fill out a writ, and, save an undulating line, no one\nbut the initiated would understand that a legal phrase was implied.\nThe man of business deals with facts. The facts may be expressed\nbriefly, in a formal way, hurriedly, but always with the intention of\nbeing read. That some business men do write badly is nothing to this\npurpose. I am speaking of the desire in you to write plainly.\n\nNow my man, described, sits down to tell his correspondent that a\ncertain lot of goods has arrived, all save one package. He writes\nrapidly, exactly, and with the wish that the others shall read what he\nsays at once and without mistake. His nervous power would urge him to\nhaste and carelessness, but his business education will restrain him.\nHow will his writing show it? His mind is not particularly active. He\nis not thinking what to say, but to explain an understood fact. I\nthink, all these circumstances taken into consideration, his letters\nwill be open, frank regular, round, and well-looking, but at the ends\nof the longest wider, and at the tops and bottoms of long letters will\nbe a perceptible twitch as if he grew there first a little impatient\nat the delay.\n\nBoldness and delicacy of handwriting may not indicate more than\nstraight-forwardness or caution. A prudent, secretive man generally\nwrites fine, generally also boldly. A passionate nature is confined,\nand, unless great ability of pencraft is acquired, will rather betray\nhis interest by weakness and indecision in his letters than by excess\nof power. A fine writer is either one who holds himself in control or\na thick-headed nobody, a calm, passionless man, or a mere copyist, for\nto pay attention to the mere form, augurs that the man's mind is not\nvery much excited by his theme.\n\nWriting full of unnecessary thrusts and turns betokens a man undecided\nand wavering. A direct up and down style is his who cares nothing for\nornament--prefers comfort with regularity to luxury without. A\nslovenly man scrawls his own nature. A timid man writes commandingly,\nwith unequal heaviness of line. Indolent men avoid trouble and write\nsmall. A bold, careless, obstinate man writes variably, at one time\nwell, at another ill. Nothing can charm a man, especially if careless\nhimself, like neatness in the letters of a lady.\n\n------\n\n{697}\n\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.\n\nBY ROBERT CURTIS.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nThe long-wished-for day appointed for this great match had now\narrived, and there was not a man of a hundred in each parish beside\nthe two leading men who had not on that morning taken his hurl from\nthe rack before he went to prayers, inspected it, weighed it in his\nhand, to ascertain if the _set_ lay fair to the _swipe_, as he placed\nit on the ground.\n\nTwo o'clock in the afternoon had been appointed for the men to be on\nthe ground, and punctual to the moment they were seen in two compact\nmasses beyond opposite ends of the common. They had assembled outside,\nand were not permitted to straggle in, in order that their approach\ntoward each other, in two distinct bodies, amidst the inspiring cheers\nof their respective parties, might have the better effect. This great\noccasion had been talked of for weeks, and was looked upon, not only\nby the players themselves, and the two great men at their heads, but\nit might be said by the \"public at large,\" as the most important\nhurling-match which had been projected for years in that or perhaps\nany other district. The friends of each party, beside hundreds of\nneutral spectators, had already occupied the hills round what might be\ncalled the arena.\n\nConspicuous at the head of the Rathcash men as they advanced with\ntheir green sleeves amidst the cheers of their friends, Tom Murdock\ncould be seen walking with his head erect, and his hurl sloping over\nhis shoulder. He kept his right hand disengaged that he might fulfil\nthe usual custom of giving it to his opponent, in token of goodwill,\nere the game began.\n\nHe was undoubtedly a splendid handsome-looking fellow \"that day.\"\nUpwards of six feet high, made in full proportion. His shirt tied at\nthe throat with a broad green ribbon, having the collar turned down\nnearly to the shoulders, showed a neck of unsullied whiteness, which\ncontrasted remarkably with the dark curled whiskers above it. His men,\ntoo, were a splendid set of fellows. Most of them were as tall and as\nwell made as himself, and none were under five feet ten; there was not\na small man among them--the picked unmarried men of the parish. Their\ngreen sleeves and bare necks, with their hurls across their left\nshoulders, as in the case of their leader, elicited thunders of\napplause from the whole population of Rathcash upon the hill to their\nright.\n\nA deep ditch with a high grass bank lay between the common and the\nspot where Emon-a-knock and his men had assembled.\n\nPhil M'Dermott was silent. He was not yet reconciled to the color\nwhich their leader had chosen. Of course he could not account for it,\nbut he did not half like it. To him it looked sombre, melancholy, and\nprophetic. But Phil had sense enough to assume a cheerfulness, if he\ndid not feel it.\n\nEmon himself, though five feet ten and a half inches high, was about\nthe smallest man of his party. In every respect they equalled, if they\ndid not exceed, the Rathcash men.\n\n{698}\n\n\"Come, boys,\" said Emon; \"Tom Murdock is bringing on his men; we'll\nhave to jump the bank. Shall I lead the way?\"\n\n\"Of course, Emon; an' bad luck to the man of the hundred will lave a\ntoe on it.\"\n\n\"No, nor a heel, Phil,\" said the wit.\n\n\"Stand back, boys, about fifteen yards,\" said Emon. \"Let me at it\nfirst; and when I am clean over, go at it as much in a line as you\ncan. Give yourselves plenty of room and don't crowd.\"\n\n\"Take your time, boys,\" whispered the prophet, \"an' let none of us\ntrip or fall.\"\n\n\"Never fear, Phil,\" ran through them all in reply.\n\nEmon then drew back a few yards; and with a light quick run he cleared\nthe bank, giving a slight little steadying-jump on the other side,\nlike a man who had made a somersault from a spring-board.\n\nThe Shanvilla population--the whole of which, I may say, was on the\nsurrounding hills--rent the air with their cheers, amidst which the\nred sleeves were seen clearing the bank like so many young deer. Not a\nmistake was made; not a man jumped low or short; not a toe was left\nupon it, as the prophet had said--nor a heel, as the wit had added. It\nwas an enlivening sight to see the red sleeves rising by turns about\neight feet into the air, and landing steadily on the level sward\nbeyond the bank.\n\nThe cheers from Shanvilla were redoubled, and even some of the\nRathcash men joined.\n\nThe two parties were now closing each other in friendly approach\ntoward the centre of the field, where they halted within about six\nyards of each other; Tom Murdock and Emon-a-knock a tittle in advance.\nThey stepped forward, with their right hands a little extended.\n\n\"Hallo, Lennon!\" said Murdock; \"why, you are dressed in silk, man, and\nhave a cap to match; I heard nothing of that. I could not afford silk,\nand our sleeves are plain calico.\"\n\n\"So are ours, and I could afford silk still less than you could; but\nmy men presented me with these sleeves and this cap, and I shall wear\nthem.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course, Lennon. But I cannot say much for the color;\nblue would have looked much better; and, perhaps, have been more\nappropriate.\"\n\n\"I left that for the girls to wear in their bonnets,\" replied Lennon,\nsarcastically. He knew that Winny Cavana's holiday bonnet was trimmed\nwith blue, and thought it not unlikely that Murdock knew it also.\n\nThey then shook hands, but it was more formal than cordial; and\nMurdock took a half-crown from his pocket. He was determined to be\ndown on Emon-a-knock's poverty, for a penny would have done as well;\nand he said, \"Shall I call, or will you?\"\n\n\"The challenger generally 'skies,' and the other calls,\" he replied.\n\n\"Here then!\" said Murdock, standing out into a clear spot, and curling\nthe half-crown into the air, eighteen or twenty feet above their\nheads.\n\n\"Head,\" cried Lennon; and head it was.\n\nIt was the usual method on such occasions for the leader who won the\ntoss to throw the ball with all his force as high into the air as\npossible, and, as a matter of course, as far toward his opponent's\ngoal as he could. The height into the air was as a token to his\nfriends to cheer, and the direction toward his opponent's goal was\nconsidered the great advantage of having won the toss.\n\nThis was, however, the first occasion in the annals of hurling where\nthis latter point had been questioned. Emon-a-knock and Phil M'Dermott\nwere both experienced hurlers; and previous to their having taken the\nhigh bank in such style, from the field outside the common, they had\nstepped aside from their men, and discussed the matter thus:\n\n\"Phil, I hope we'll win the toss,\" said Emon.\n\n\"That we may, I pray. You'll put the ball a trifle on its way if we\ndo, Emon.\"\n\n{699}\n\n\"No, Phil, that is the very point I want to settle with you. I have\nalways remarked that when the winner of the toss throws the ball\ntoward the other goal, it is always met by some good man who is on the\nwatch for it; and as none of the opposite party are allowed into their\nground until 'the game is on,' he has it all to himself, and generally\ndeals it such a swipe as puts it half-way back over the others' heads.\nNow my plan is this. If I win 'the toss,' I'll throw the ball more\ntoward our own goal than toward theirs. Let you be there, Phil, to\nmeet it; and I have little fear that the first puck you give it will\nsend it double as far into our opponent's ground as I could throw it\nwith my hand. Beside, the moment the ball is up, our men can advance\nall over the ground, and another good man of ours may help it on. What\nsay you, Phil?\"\n\n\"Well, Emon, there's a grate dale of raison in what you say, now that\nI think of it; but I never seen it done that way afore.\"\n\nIt had been thus settled between these two best men of Shanvilla; and\nEmon, having won the toss, cast his eye over his shoulder and caught a\nside glance of Phil M'Dermott in position, with his hurl poised for\naction.\n\nContrary to all experience and all expectation, Emon-a-knock, instead\nof casting the ball from him, toward the other goal, threw it as high\nas possible, but unmistakably inclining toward his own. Here there was\na murmur of disappointed surprise from Shanvilla on the hill. But it\nwas soon explained. Phil M'Dermott had it all his own way for the\nfirst puck, which was considered a great object. Never had such an\nexpedient (_nunc_ dodge) to secure it been thought of before.\nM'Dermott had full room to deal with it. There was no one near him but\nhis own men, who stood exulting at what they knew was about to come.\nM'Dermott with the under side of his hurl rolled the ball toward him,\nand curling it up into the air about a foot above his head, met it as\nit came down with a puck that was heard all over the hills, and drove\nit three distances beyond where Emon could have thrown it from his\nhand. The object of the backward cast by the leader had now been\nexplained to the satisfaction of Shanvilla, whose cheers of\napprobation loudly succeeded to their previous murmurs of surprise.\n\n\"Be gorra, they're a knowing pair,\" said one of the spectators on the\nhill.\n\nBut I cannot attend to the game, which is now well \"on,\"' and tell you\nwhat each party said during the struggle.\n\nOf course the ball was met by Rathcash, and put back; but every man\nwas now at work as best he might, where and when he could, but not\naltogether from under a certain sort of discipline and eye to their\nleaders. Now some fortunate young fellow got an open at the ball, and\ngave it a puck which sent it spinning through the crowd until stopped\nby the other party. Then a close struggle and clashing of hurls, as if\nlife and death depended on the result. Now, again, some fellow gets an\nopen swipe at it, and puck it goes over their heads, while a rush of\nboth parties takes place toward the probable spot it must arrive at;\nthen another crowded struggle, and ultimately another puck, and it is\nseen like a cannon-ball on the strand at Sandymount. Another rush,\nanother close struggle and clashing of hurls, and puck, puck; now at\nthe jaws of this goal, now at the jaws of that, while the cheers and\ncounter-cheers re-echo through the surrounding hills.\n\nIt is needless to say that Tom Murdock and Emon-a-knock were\nconspicuous in all these vicissitudes of the game. No man took the\nball from either of them if he was likely to get a puck at it _in\ntime_; but no risk of a counter-puck would be run if an opponent was\nat hand to give it. This was the use of the distinguishing colors, and\nright curious it was to see the green and red sleeves twisting through\neach other and rushing in groups to one spot.\n\n{700}\n\nAfter all, Emon's color \"did not look so bad;\" and Shanvilla held\ntheir own so gallantly as the game went on, that betting--for it was a\nsort of Derby-day with the parish gamblers--which was six, and even\nseven, to four on Rathcash at the commencement, was now even for\nchoice. Ay, there is one red-haired fellow, with a small eye and a big\none, who shoves three thimbles upon a board at races, has offered five\nfippenny-bits to four upon Shanvilla; and well he may, for Emon and\nhis men had got the ball amongst them, and Emon's orders were to keep\nit close--not to puck it at all, now that they had it, but to tip it\nalong and keep round it in a body. This was quite fair, and would have\nbeen adopted by the other party had they got the chance.\n\nThey were thus advancing steadily but slowly. The Rathcash men were on\nthe outside, but found it difficult, if not impossible, to enter the\nsolid body of Shanvilla men, who were advancing with the ball in the\nmiddle of them toward Rathcash goal.\n\n\"To the front, to the front, boys, or the game is lost!\" roared Tom\nMurdock, who was himself then watching for an open to get in at the\nball.\n\nForthwith there was a body of the green-sleeves right before\nShanvilla, who came on with their ball, tip by tip, undaunted.\n\nStill Rathcash was on the outside, and could not put a hurl on the\nball. It was a piece of generalship upon the part of the Shanvilla\nleader not often before thought of, and likely to be crowned with\nsuccess. The cheers from Shanvilla on the hills were now\ndeafening--the final struggle was evidently at hand. Rathcash on the\nhills was silent, except a few murmurs of apprehension.\n\n\"This will never do, boys!\" said Tom Murdock, rushing into the center\nof Shanvilla and endeavoring to hook the ball from amongst them; but\nthey were too solid for that, although he had now made his way within\na hurl's length of Emon.\n\nEmon called to his men to stoop in front that he might see the goal\nand judge his distance.\n\n\"A few yards further, boys,\" he cried, \"and then open out for me to\nswipe: I will not miss either the ball or the goal.\"\n\n\"Steady, Emon, steady a bit!\" said Phil M'Dermott; \"don't you see who\nis, I may say, alongside of you? Keep it close another bit.\"\n\n\"In with you, men! what are  you about?\" roared Tom Murdock; and half\na score of the green-sleeves rushed in amongst the red. Here the\nclashing of hurls was at its height, and the shouts from both sides on\nthe hill were tremendous. Shanvilla kept and defended their ball in\nspite of every attempt of Rathcash to pick it from amongst them; but\nnothing like violence was thought of by either side.\n\nShanvilla seemed assured of victory, and such of them as were on the\noutside, and could not get a tip at the ball, kept brandishing their\nhurls in the air, roaring at the top of their voices, \"Good boys,\nShanvilla, good boys!\" \"Through with it--through with it!\" \"Good\nboys!\"\n\nEmon looked out. Though he did not see the stones, he saw the\ngoal-masters--one red, the other green--ready expecting the final\npuck, and he knew the spot.\n\n\"Give me room now, Phil,\" he whispered, and his men drew back.\n\nEmon curled the ball into the air about the height of his head, and\nstruck it sure and home. As if from a cannon's mouth it went over the\nheads of Rathcash, Shanvilla, and all, and sped right through the\ncenter of the stones--hop--hop--hop--until it was finally lost sight\nof in some rushes. But another blow had been struck at the same\nmoment, and Emon-a-knock lay senseless on the ground, his face and\nneck, shirt and sleeves, all the same color, and that color\nwas--blood.\n\nTom Murdock's hurl had been poised ready to strike the all the moment\nLennon had curled it into the air. Upon this one blow the whole {701}\ngame depended. Emon was rather sideways to Tom, who was on his left.\nBoth their blows were aimed almost simultaneously at the ball, but\nTom's being a second or two late, had no ball to hit; and not being\nable to restrain the impetus of the blow, his hurl passed on and took\nEmon's head above the top of the left ear, raising a scalp of flesh to\nthe skull-bone, about three inches in length, and more than half that\nbreadth.\n\nThe cheers of Shanvilla were speedily quashed, and there was a rush of\nthe red-sleeves round their leader. Phil M'Dermott had taken him in\nhis arms, and replaced the loose piece of flesh upon Emon's skull in\nthe most artistic manner, and bound it down with a handkerchief tied\nunder the chin. He could see that no injury had been done to the bone.\nIt was a mere sloping stroke, which had lifted the piece of flesh\nclean from the skull. But poor Emon still lay insensible, his whole\nface, neck, and breast covered with blood.\n\nThere was some growling amongst the Shanvilla boys, and those from the\nhill ran down with their sticks to join their comrades with their\nhurls; while the Rathcash men closed into a compact body, beckoning to\ntheir friends on the hill, who also ran down to defend them in case of\nneed.\n\nThis was indeed a critical moment, and one that, if not properly\nmanaged, might have led to bloodshed of a more extended kind. But Tom\nMurdock was equal to the occasion. He gave his hurl to one of his men\nthe moment he had struck the blow, and went forward.\n\n\"Good heaven, boys, I hope he is not much hurt!\" he exclaimed.\n\"Rathcash should lose a hundred games before Shanvilla should be\nhurt.\"\n\nAs he spoke he perceived a scowl of doubt and rising anger in the\nfaces of many of the Shanvilla men, some of whom ground their teeth,\nand grasped their hurls tighter in their hands. Tom did not lose his\npresence of mind at even this, although he almost feared the result.\nHe took Emon by the hand and bid him speak to him. Phil M'Dermott had\nordered his men to keep back the crowd to give the sufferer air. Poor\nEmon's own remedy in another cause had been resorted to. Phil had\nrubbed his lips and gums with whiskey--on this occasion it was near at\nhand--and poured a few thimblefuls down his throat. He soon opened his\neyes, and looked round him.\n\n\"Thank God!\" cried Tom Murdock. \"Are you much hurt, Lennon?\"\n\nThe very return to life had already quashed any cordiality toward Emon\nin Tom's heart.\n\n\"Not much, I hope, Tom. I was stunned; that was all. But what about\nthe game? I thought my ear caught the cheers of victory as I fell.\"\n\n\"So they did, Emon,\" said M'Dermott; \"but stop talking, I tell you.\nThe game is ours, and it was you who won it with that last puck.\"\n\n\"Ay, and it was that last puck that nearly lost him his life,\"\ncontinued Tom, knowingly enough. \"We both struck at the ball nearly at\nthe same moment; he took it first, and my hurl had nothing to hit\nuntil it met the top of his head. I protest before heaven, Lennon, it\nwas entirely accidental.\"\n\n\"I have not accused you of it's being anything else, Murdock; don't\nseem to doubt yourself,\" said Emon in a very low weak voice. But it\nwas evident he was \"coming-to.\"\n\nStill the Shanvilla men were grumbling and whispering. One of them, a\nbig black-haired fellow named Ned Murrican, burst out at last, and\nbrandishing his hurl over his head, cried out:\n\n\"Arrah, now, what are we about; boys? Are we going to see our best man\nmurdered before our eyes, an' be satisfied wid a piper an' a dance? I\nsay we must have blood for blood!\"\n\n\"An' why not?\" said another. \"It was no accident; I'm sure of that.\"\n\n\"What baldherdash!\" cried a {702} third; \"didn't I see him aim the\nblow?\" And the whole of Shanvilla flourished their hurls and their\nsticks in the air, clashing them together with a terrific noise of an\nonslaught.\n\nTom Murdock's cheeks blanched. He feared that he had opened a\nfloodgate which he could not stop, and that if there had not been,\nthere would soon be, murder. His men stood firm in a close body, and\nnot a word was heard to pass amongst them.\n\n\"Don't strike a blow, for the life of you, boys!\" he cried, at the\nsame time he took back his hurl from the man to whom he had given it\nto hold, who handed it to him, saying, \"Here, Tom, you'll be apt to\nwant this.\"\n\nThe Shanvilla men saw him take the hurl, and thought it an acceptance\nof a challenge to fight. They now began to jump off the ground,\ncrying, \"Whoop, whoop!\" a sure sign of prompt action in an Irish row.\n\nAt this still more critical moment, Father Farrell, the parish priest\nof Shanvilla, who had been sent for in all haste \"for the man who was\nkilled,\" was seen cantering across the common toward the crowd; and\nmore fortunately still he was accompanied by Father Roche, the\nparish-priest of Rathcash. They were both known at a glance; Shanvilla\non his \"strawberry cob,\" and Rathcash on his \"tight little black\nmare.\"\n\nIt is needless to say that the approach of these two good men calmed\nto all appearance, if not in reality, the exhibition of angry feeling\namongst the two parties.\n\n\"Here, your reverence,\" said one of the Shanvilla men to Father\nFarrell,--\"here's where the man that was hurt is lying; poor\nEmon-a-knock, your reverence.\"\n\nFather Farrell turned for a moment and whispered to his companion,\n\"I'll see about the hurt man, and do you try and keep the boys quiet.\nI can see that Shanvilla is ready for a fight. Tell them that I'll be\nwith them in a very few minutes, if the man is not badly hurt. If he\nis, my friend, I'm afraid we shall have a hard task to keep Shanvilla\nquiet. Could you not send your men home at once?\"\n\n\"I'll do what I can; but you can do more with your own men than I can.\nRathcash will not strike a blow, I know, until the very last moment.\"\n\nThey then separated, Father Farrell dismounting and going over to\nwhere Emon-a-knock still lay in M'Dermott's arms; and Father Roche up\ntoward the Rathcash men.\n\n\"Boys,\" said he, addressing them, \"this is a sad ending to the day's\nsport; but, thank God, from what I hear, the man is not much hurt. Be\nsteady, at all events. Indeed, you had better go home at once, every\nman of you. Won't you take your priest's advice?\"\n\n\"An' why not, your reverence? to be sure we will, if it comes to that;\nbut, plaise God, it won't. At worst it was only an accident, an' we're\ntould it won't signify. We'll stan' our ground another while, your\nreverence, until we hear how the boy is. Sure, there's two barrels of\nbeer an' a dance to the fore, by-an'-by.\"\n\n\"Well, lads, be very steady, and keep yourselves quiet. I'll visit the\nfirst man of you that strikes a blow with condign--\"\n\n\"We'll strike no blow, your reverence, if we bant struck first. Let\nFather Farrell look to that.\"\n\n\"And so he will, you may depend upon it,\" said Father Roche.\n\nThe Shanvilla men had great confidence in Father Farrell in every\nrespect, and there was not a man in the parish who would not almost\ndie at his bidding from pure love of the man, apart from his religious\ninfluence. They knew him to be a good physician in a literal, as well\nas a moral, point of view; and he had been proving himself the good\nSamaritan for the last seventeen years to every one in the parish,\nwhether they fell among thieves or not. He had commenced life as a\nmedical student, but had (prudently, perhaps) preferred the Church.\n{703} In memory, however, of his early predilections, he kept a sort\nof little private dispensary behind his kitchen; and so numerous were\nthe cures which nature had effected under his mild advice and harmless\nprescriptions, that he had established a reputation for infallibility\nalmost equal to that subsequently attained by Holloway or Morrison.\nNever, however, was his medical knowledge of more use as well as value\nthan on the present occasion.\n\nShanvilla grounded their weapons at his approach, and waited for his\nreport. Father Farrell of course first felt the young man's pulse. He\nwas not pedantic or affected enough to hold his watch in his other\nhand while he did so; but, like all good physicians, he held his\ntongue. He then untied the handkerchief, and gently examined the wound\nso far as possible without disturbing the work which Phil M'Dermott\nhad so promptly and judiciously performed. His last test of the state\nof his patient was his voice; and upon this, in his own mind, he laid\nno inconsiderable stress. In reply to his questions as to whether he\nfelt sick or giddy, Emon replied, much more stoutly than was expected,\nthat he felt neither the one nor the other. Father Farrell was now\nfully satisfied that there was nothing seriously wrong with him, and\nthat giving him the rites of the Church, or even remaining longer with\nhim then, might have an unfavorable effect upon the already excited\nminds of the Shanvilla men. He therefore said, smiling, \"Thank God,\nEmon, you want no further doctoring just now; and I'll leave you for a\nfew minutes while I tell Shanvilla that nothing serious has befallen\nyou.\"\n\nHe then left him, and hastened over toward his parishoners, who\neagerly met him half-way as he approached.\n\n\"Well, your reverence?\" \"Well, your reverence?\" ran through the\nforemost of them.\n\n\"It is well, and very well, boys,\" he replied; \"I bless God it is\nnothing but a scalp wound, which will not signify. Put by your hurls,\nand go and ask the Rathcash girls to dance.\"\n\n\"Three cheers for Father Farrell!\" shouted Ned Murrican of the black\ncurly head. They were given heartily, and peace was restored.\n\nFather Farrell then remounted his strawberry cob, and rode over toward\nwhere Father Roche was with the Rathcash men. They were, \"in a\nmanner,\" as anxious to hear his opinion of Emon-a-knock as his own men\nhad been. They knew nothing, or, if they did, they cared nothing, for\nany private cause of ill-will on their leader's part toward\nEmon-a-knock. They were not about to espouse his quarrel, if he had\none; and, as they had said, they would not have struck a blow unless\nin self-defence.\n\nFather Farrell now assured them there was nothing of any consequence\n\"upon\" Emon; it was a mere tip of the flesh, and would be quite well\nin a few days. \"But, Tom _a-wochal_,\" he added, laughing, \"you don't\noften aim at a crow and hit a pigeon.\"\n\n\"I was awkward and unfortunate enough to do so this time, Father\nFarrell,\" he replied. And he then entered into a full, and apparently\na candid, detail of how it had happened.\n\nFather Farrell listened with much attention, bowing at him now and\nthen, like the foreman of a jury to a judge's charge, to show that he\nunderstood him. When he had ended. Father Farrell placed his hand upon\nhis shoulder, and, bending down toward him, whispered in his ear, \"Oh,\nTom Murdock, but you are the fortunate man this day! for if the blow\nhad been one inch and a half lower, all the priests and doctors in\nConnaught would not save you from being tried for manslaughter.\"\n\n\"Or murder,\" whispered Tom's heart to himself.\n\nBy this time Emon-a-knock, with M'Dermott's help, had risen to his\nfeet; and leaning on him and big Ned Murrican, crept feebly along\ntoward the boreen which formed the entrance to the common.\n\n{704}\n\nFather Farrell, perceiving the move, rode after him, and said, as he\npassed, that he would trot on and send for a horse and cart to fetch\nhim home, as he would not allow him to walk any further than the end\nof the lane. Indeed, it was not his intention to do so; for he was\nstill scarcely able to stand, and that not without help.\n\nBefore he and his assistants, however, had reached the end of the\nlane, Father Farrell came entering back, saying, \"All right, my good\nlads; there is a jennet and cart coming up the lane for him.\"\n\nEmon cocked his ear at the word jennet; he knew who owned the only one\nfor miles around. And there indeed it was; and the sight of it went\nwell-nigh to cure Emon, better than any doctoring he could get.\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n--------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nINQUIETUS.\n\n\n  We put him in a golden cage\n    With crystal troughs; but still he pined\n  For tracts of royal foliage.\n    And broad blue skies and merry wind.\n\n  We gave him water cool and dear;\n    All round his golden wires we twined\n  Fresh leaves and blossoms bright, to cheer\n    His restless heart: but still he pined.\n\n  We whistled and we chirped; but he\n    Trilled never more his liquid falls,\n  But ever yearned for liberty,\n    And dashed against his golden walls.\n\n  Again, again, in wild despair,\n    He strove to burst his bars aside;\n  At last, beneath his pinion fair,\n    He hid his drooping head and died!\n\n  And so against the golden bars--\n    Life's golden bars--our poor souls smite.\n  Pining for tracts beyond the stars.\n    Freedom and beauty, truth and light\n\n  Those bars a Father's hands adorn\n    With leaves and flowers--earth's loveliest things--\n  With crystal draughts; but still we mourn\n    With thirsting for the \"living springs.\"\n\n  Nor crystal draughts, nor leaves and flowers,\n    The exiled heart can satisfy:\n  We shake the bars; and some few hours\n    We droop and pine, and then we die,\n\n  We die! But, oh, the prison-bars\n    Are shatter'd then: then far away,\n  We pass beyond the sky, the stars--\n    Beyond the change of night and day.\n\n------\n\n{705}\n\n\nFrom Chambers's Journal.\n\nA KINGDOM WITHOUT A KING.\n\n\nLichtenstein is the name of the smallest principality in the great\nGerman \"Vaterland,\" and this has hitherto been the most remarkable\nthing that could be said about it, for in the great political world it\nhas as yet played no part. It appears, however, that its time has now\narrived; and for the benefit of those who might receive this bit of\nintelligence with a sceptical smile, I subjoin a few words of\nexplanation.\n\nIn order fully to appreciate this important question, it will be\nnecessary to commence by going back into the past--if not so far as to\nthe Flood, at least to some part of the twelfth century.\n\nIt will not do to believe that the Lichtensteiners are people of\nvulgar extraction. True, their ancestors hardly anticipated that the\nhouse of Lichtenstein would ever be reckoned among the reigning\nfamilies of Europe; but this did not affect the nobleness of their\nquarterings. The founder of the house was a lively and enterprising\nLombard, and related to the Este family. He went to Germany with the\nobject of making his fortune, and there he married, 1145 A.D., a\nlittle princess of the house of Schwaben. They had not the slightest\nfraction of a principality, but they had plenty of children to educate\nand provide for. Their fortune was not very large, but, in his quality\nof Lombard, the father exercised the lucrative business of an usurer,\nwhenever the occasion presented itself. The sovereigns of those times\nwere often in want of money, and our Lombard supplied them with this\narticle, proper security being forthcoming. When the time of\nrestitution arrived, it was not always convenient to the debtors to\npay in cash, and the affair was therefore generally settled by means\nof small pieces of land, titles, or privileges. The Lichtensteiners\nsoon became allied to the greatest German families. In the year 1614,\nthe Emperor Matthias ceded to them, in settlement of their pecuniary\nclaims, the principality of Troppau, in Schlesien. Ten years later,\nthe Emperor Ferdinand II. added to their possessions the principality\nof Jagendorff. Then they obtained the title of \"Prince of the Holy\nRoman Empire;\" and by this time they had purchased the districts of\nVadutz and Schnellenberg, on the borders of the Rhine, and close to\nthe Swiss frontier. These possessions form the actual principality of\nLichtenstein, which has the small town of Vadutz for its capital.\n\nThe Congress of Vienna--contrary to its principles of\nmediatization--resolved, for reasons which we abstain from\ninvestigating, to maintain Lichtenstein as a sovereign and independent\nstate, and gave it an entire vote in the German Confederation.\n\nIn return for these advantages, Lichtenstein had to provide a\ncontingent of ninety men and one drummer to the federal army. It is\nimportant not to lose sight of these ninety men and one drummer, for\nthey play a principal part in the impending question. The subjects of\nthe principality of Lichtenstein, according to the last census,\nnumbered 7,150; they are clever people, of a peaceable disposition,\nbut impressed with no particular awe for authorities. They even have a\nslight taint of independence, undoubtedly owing to the close vicinity\nof Switzerland.\n\n{706}\n\nA year had scarcely elapsed after the remodelling of the map of Europe\nby the Congress of Vienna, when the inhabitants of Lichtenstein\naddressed themselves to their sovereign, John I., and declared with\nrustic frankness that they had no objection to being ruled by him,\nsince the Congress had decided it so; but that they found it entirely\nsuperfluous to pay any civil list; beside, they were too few in number\nto contribute every year ninety men and one drummer to the federal\narmy. Prince John was an excellent man, and, moreover, he was\nimmensely rich. He informed his subjects that he could do very well\nwithout any civil list; and as for the federal contingent, he\nconcluded a convention with the Austrian government, by which the\nlatter undertook to furnish it together with its own. With this the\nloyal subjects declared themselves satisfied; and everything went on\nwell until the year 1836, when Prince Aloysius I. ascended the throne.\nIn the meantime, the natives of Lichtenstein had made various\nreflections. The conclusions arrived at were: that a prince, even if\npaid nothing, entails sundry expenses on the country where he is\nreigning; festivals have to be given, as well as solemn audiences,\nilluminations, fire-works, etc.\n\nAccordingly, they sent a deputation to their new lord and master, and\nmade it obvious, to him that he must indemnify the country for all\nexpenses of the description alluded to. Aloysius I. was as excellent a\nmonarch as his predecessor; he admitted the claims of his subjects,\nand made an agreement with them concerning an annual indemnity, which\nhe paid with exemplary regularity.\n\nThe Lichtensteiners had now attained the object of their wishes; they\nled an existence entirely ideal. They occupied a position unique in\nEurope, nay, in the whole world; for, instead of paying for\ngovernment, they actually were paid for submission to it. It would now\nbe supposed that nothing in future could disturb the good\nunderstanding existing between prince and people. But alas! that the\nold saying should here find its application--namely, that he who has\ngot yellow hair, wants it also to be curled.\n\nJohn II. became Prince of Lichtenstein. One fine morning he said to\nhimself: \"Since I have no civil list, nay, since I--contrary to all\nestablished usages--pay a tribute to my subjects, I ought at least to\nhave full liberty to live according to my tastes. This small capital\nis a bore. I have plenty of money; I will set out for Vienna!\" No\nsooner said than done. John II. built a magnificent palace in the\ncapital of Austria, and there he lived in a luxurious style. The\ngovernment of the principality he intrusted to a minister, with whom\nhe corresponded. But when were those stupid Lichtensteiners to be\nsatisfied? They put their heads together and resolved to send a\ndeputation to their supreme master in Vienna; and one particular\nmorning, just as the prince had got out of bed, a dozen of the most\ndistinguished among his subjects made their appearance. After the\ncustomary reverences and ceremonies, the deputation put forth its\nrequest with becoming solemnity, expressing itself somewhat to the\nfollowing effect: \"We don't pay your serene highness any civil list;\non the contrary, your serene highness pays an annual indemnity to us.\nBut your serene highness is in possession of a large fortune, and\nspends it in a royal manner, by the which formerly your principality\nbenefited. If, now, your serene highness continues to reside in\nVienna, you inflict a serious loss upon your subjects; and it appears\ntherefore to us but just that you should in future inhabit at least\nsix months of the year your own capital.\" Several demands of a\npolitical nature were appended to this petition. John II. granted\ntheir request, and issued, moreover, a brand-new constitution, with a\nparliament of fifteen members, whom he promised to pay out of his own\npocket.\n\n{707}\n\nBut what about the ninety men and the drummer? Well, now the\ndifficulty arises, for they are exactly the cause of the present\ndispute.\n\nAustria having long furnished this contingent, sent, some time ago, a\nbill of the resulting expenses to the prince. But the prince thought\nthat, as he had renounced his claims to a civil list, and even paid\nhis subjects a round sum every year, it could be no very heavy burden\nfor the said subjects to pay their own federal contingent. This the\nLichtensteiners obstinately refuse to do; the prince, on the other\nside, tired of so much trouble, has expressed his intention to\nabdicate, and to cede his dominions to Austria. But against this\nscheme his people protest most energetically--they would rather belong\nto Switzerland. Beside, if Austria annexes Lichtenstein, then Prussia\nwill regard the transaction with an envious eye. The prince will\nneither pay nor govern. Such is the present state of things, of which\nnobody can predict the end.\n\n------\n\nFrom The St. James Magazine.\n\n\nA NOVEL TICKET-OF-LEAVE; OR, MISTAKEN IDENTITY.\n\n\n\"No two things are alike.\" Such is the dictum of science. \"Nature,\"\nsay the wise men, \"resembles the charms of Cleopatra, which custom\ncannot stale, so infinite is their variety.\" Even in so humble a thing\nas a flock of sheep there is a personal identity, and the shepherd of\nSalisbury Plain will vow to you that he can discriminate between the\ncountenances of each member of his woolly family, and particularize\ntheir features. So with the herdsman and his drove, the trainer and\nhis stud. But why pursue the theme? Why dwell upon these flocks _qui\npassent et ne se resemblent pas?_ Is it to prove that these\nresemblances are mere fallacies, and have no real existence; that they\nought to be classed with Sir Thomas Browne's \"vulgar errors?\" No; but\nto lament that whereas each member of a flock of sheep, of a herd of\noxen, or a stud of horses, carries his individuality so markedly, the\nprivilege is not more extended in the genus _homo_. I solemnly aver\nthat the number of cases of mistaken identity which have lately come\nto my knowledge is not only astounding, but exceedingly embarrassing;\nI may add, too, _quorum magna pars fui_; which, being translated,\nmeans, in which I have formed a no inconsiderable portion of the\nquorum. It is no pleasant sensation to know that your \"counterfeit\npresentment\" is walking the earth; in fact, it is monstrously\nunpleasant. The other day I felt a heavy hand placed rapidly upon my\nshoulder, in the most unceremonious and familiar of ways, accompanied\nwith an equally unceremonious and familiar exclamation: \"Why, Perkins,\nold boy, _how_ are ye? Haven't seen ye for an age! Glad to see you\nagain in London! How are all the folks at Nottingham?\"\n\nHow far this familiar stranger would have gone on in this fluent\nstrain of amity I know not. It was time to stop his exuberance of\nfriendship, and acquaint him with the fact that my name was not\nPerkins; that I had not come from Nottingham; and, I fear, added, in\nthe bitterness and irritation of the moment, that I had never been to\nNottingham, and never wished to go there. \"Oh, nonsense, Perkins! I'm\nnot going to be knocked off in that style. How are Mrs. Perkins and\nthe chicks?\" \"I tell you again, sir, you are mistaken in your man; my\nname {708} is not Perkins.\" \"It may not be Perkins now, but it was\nthree months ago; and whatever your new name may be, I am not going to\nbe turned off in this way. Not Perkins! Why, you can't get rid of that\nmole on your cheek with your new name; and as to your wig, old fellow,\nthere never was but that shade of red I ever saw. Come, where shall we\ndine?\" \"I must plainly tell you, sir,\" I replied to my would-be\nfriend, \"you are carrying your pleasantry too far; and if you do not\nleave me at once, I will give you in charge of the police.\" The\nfellow, evidently chagrined, left me to chew the cud of bitter\nreflection. \"Well, well,\" were his parting words, \"it can't be Perkins\nafter all; Perkins was a jolly good fellow, and this chap is------\" He\nhad by this time got out of hearing. What an unpleasant rencontre\nthis! I thought to myself. Then again the subject took another aspect.\nWhat if the real, the true Perkins, should ever be persecuted by _my_\nfriends as I have been by one of his?\n\nAnd this leads me on to another incident in the same category, which\noccurred still more recently, and might have led to very deplorable\nresults. In fact, I am not sure that the end is yet. I had business\nout of town for a day or two, and returned punctually at the appointed\nhour. Whom should I meet on the platform of the terminus but Tom\nCridlins! Now Tom is a great gossip, and an immense favorite with the\nladies. He frequents the theatres and the operas, conversaziones and\nballs, and retails all the news and scandal of the day to his fair\nfriends. Well, I met him accidentally at the terminus; in an instant\nhe was full of apologies and excuses. \"Hope, Sam, done no mischief;\ndidn't mean it, didn't mean it, 'pon honor; deuced sorry, hope it's\nall over.\" \"Why, what's the matter?\" \"Didn't know you'd gone out of\ntown, you sly dog. I understand it all. Called at Mrs. Sam's\nyesterday; told her--didn't do it intentionally--saw you at the opera\nMonday night with Countess Tarascona; magnificent woman; saw at once\nmade mistake. Why didn't she tell me you'd gone out of town? wouldn't\nhave breathed a word. 'Pon honor, accidental.\" \"Opera, Tom! I wasn't\nat the opera; I have been out of town since Monday morning; you're\nmistaken.\" \"Capital joke, that. Why, Sam, think I'm 'flicted with\ncolor-blindness? No, my boy, nothing blinds me but friendship;\nwouldn't have said a word had known you didn't want it.\" Need I say\nwhat a miserable vista was opened up before me? A jealous wife's\njealousy accidentally inflamed in this innocent manner, and even Tom\nCridlins incredulous. These men of the world won't believe in--in\nanything.\n\n\"Tom,\" I said, seriously, \"this is very unfortunate; but you were\nnever more mistaken in your life. I have not been at the opera for\nweeks.\" Oh that wicked twinkle of his eye! \"Well, my boy, _I_ don't\nwant to believe you were there; disbelieve anything you like;\nonly----\" \"Tom, I can stand this no longer; I must not be played with;\nyou _must_ admit that I was not at the opera. I can bring the whole\nvillage of Cudgleton to prove an _alibi_.\" \"Glad to hear it, for peace\nof home's sake. Mrs. Sam took it very ill, can assure you; sorry,\n'ceedingly sorry; but really the countess is a magnificent woman.\"\n\"Who the devil cares _now_ about the countess? I affirm that I have\nbeen at Cudgleton from Monday 4 P.M. till this morning 10 A.M. Left by\nexpress, and just arrived.\" \"There's the bell, Sam; must say good-bye;\nremember me to your wife; purely accidental; 'ceedingly regret it;\nbelieve every word you say--will back it 'gainst all odds; remember\nme to your wife, and tell her _I believe you, my boy_.\"\n\n\"Believe me, my boy!\" and that's how Tom Cridlins left\nme,--light-hearted and gay-spirited, after having kindled a torch\nwhich Acheron itself could not quench.\n\n{709}\n\nI returned home. Of course Mrs. Sam was _prepared_ to receive me. In\nvain I protested; in vain I insisted that Tom Cridlins was laboring\nunder an illusion; I had brought him to confess as much. \"Oh, then,\nyou have seen him to-day; planning and scheming, I suppose, to get up\na pack of contradictions. I understand; but you are not going to\ndeceive me. Natural evidence is better than got-up evidence, and I\nshall prefer to take Mr. Thomas Cridlins's first statement to his\nsecond. There are some things better fresh, and testimony I take to be\none of those things. Whatever you and Mr. Cridlins may choose to\nconcoct, for the future I shall believe what I please to believe.\"\n\nAnd so on till bedtime. Would that I could say we had had it out even\nthen! At midnight we were only in the thick of it; and to acquire\nrenewed vigor for future assaults, Mrs. Sam prudently fell asleep.\n\nBut what a time for me! Oh that I could reverse the hand of the clock\neight-and-forty hours, or push it on until this trouble had blown\nover! Plague on that man, whoever he is, that looked so like me! Why\nwas he at the opera? why was he there with a fine woman? Cridlins saw\nnothing of the Countess Tarascona--only seen her once--and his foolish\nhead jumps to the conclusion it must be the countess. Ass that he is!\nWhy isn't he honestly employed, like other people, instead of idling\nabout on his five thousand a year, philandering and making mischief?\nHe can scarcely count the fingers on his hand, yet he can create a\ndevil of a row between man and wife!\n\nTwo o'clock struck. I had fallen into a distempered doze; still it was\nsomewhat soothing. With the waking reflection came back, not quite so\nexcited. After all it might have been worse. I remember reading of a\nBishop of Siena who had a sovereign antidote against every attack of\ndespondency.\n\n\"When I am disappointed or vexed, or embarrassed or dissatisfied,\" he\nsaid, \"I look round upon the world and notice how many hundreds and\nthousands are worse off than myself, and the result invariably is,\nthat grumbling and vexation take wings and fly away, and contentment\nand cheerfulness return and nestle in my bosom.\"\n\nWhat, thought I, as I lay awake,--what if, instead of this conjugal\n_contretemps_, I had been wrongly seized for theft and murder, and\nunable to prove an _alibi_? Such cases have been. Such cases _have_\nbeen! Why, they have taken place by scores--are taking place, and will\nto the end of the chapter. And my imagination vividly portrayed the\nmental agonies of the innocent convict. Memory ransacked the dusty\ntomes of history to supply fresh food for meditation, fresh fuel to\nfeed my horror. Does not Pliny cite innumerable instances? Had not the\ntwin brothers of Ephesus just cause to exclaim, each to his unknown\ncounterpart, in the anguish and bitterness of his spirit, \"Oh, Dromio,\nDromio, wherefore art thou, Dromio?\" Does not the \"Newgate Calendar\"\nteem with cases of men's lives perjured by false witnesses, or\nsacrificed to a false tissue of circumstances? Did not Richard Coleman\nand Clinch and Mackley suffer death for crimes of which they were\nsubsequently proved to be guiltless, simply because each was mistaken\nfor the \"right man,\" who was not, and never is, in the \"right place.\"\nWas not Hoag tried at New York, in 1804, for bigamy, through a similar\nmisconception? And did not Redman in 1822, and Robinson in 1824, just\nescape the gallows by a hair's-breadth? And were not these instances\nenough to scarify any man's imagination, and shiver his every nerve?\nMy \"counterfeit presentment\" was evidently wandering about somewhere.\nWhat sort of a character was he? Did ho belong to the dangerous\nclasses? was he a respectable member of society or an impostor? was he\ncunning and clever, and capable of swindling? was he cold-blooded and\nresolute, capable {710} of murder? was he passionate and revengeful?\nwas he anything and everything that could lead a man into a violent\nscrape?\n\nNo wonder the perspiration ran off my brow as my brain scudded through\nthe chapter of probabilities and revealed a long gloomy vista of\nperils. I bethought me of the police. Should I make known that my\n\"counterfeit\" was abroad \"stalking the world around?\" Should I seek\nthe protection of Scotland Yard, and warn them if they heard of a\nrobbery or a murder, or some other villainy or felony committed by a\nman answering to my description, that _I_ was not the culprit? To be\nforewarned is to be forearmed; to tell them this might save loss of\ntime, and spare a world of trouble, inconvenience, and annoyance.\nBeside, was it not exactly what my late friend Richter had done? Ah!\nby-the-bye, you didn't know Richter--thereby hangs a tale. Richter,\npoor fellow, is dead now; but there is a moral attached to his life,\nand we, whose eidola are walking the earth, may as well extract it.\n\nRichter was a wealthy _rentier_, living in Vienna; and a thorough\nAustrian by birth, education, and nature. Quiet, inoffensive, kindly;\nthere was nothing striking about him in person or position. He never\nmeddled with that firebrand--politics; he had never troubled the most\nimmaculate government of the imperial and royal apostolic Kaiser with\nunseasonable and unreasonable comments on its virtues or defects; he\nhad never violated that most sacred thing, the concordat; had never\noffended lord or prince; had hated Hungary, and had always wished\nVenice at the bottom instead of on the surface of the sea. He was a\npeaceable citizen, obedient to the decrees of his sovereign, and\npursued the even tenor of his life with well-balanced footstep,\ninclining to nothing that was likely to lead him or his neighbor into\nthe dark and dreary desert of trouble and vexation. Nevertheless the\nNemesis of envy marked him for her own; and he was pointed at during\nthe latter part of his life as one who could set the vast army of\nspies and detectives formed and disciplined by that arch-policeman,\nMetternich, at absolute defiance.\n\nIt was the custom of Herr Richter of an afternoon or morning--as any\none might who had nothing better to do--to stroll up and down the\nprincipal thoroughfares of Vienna, gaze into its splendid shops, and\nadmire the beauty and the becrinolined silks and satins, muslins and\ngrenadines, of the stately dames of that ancient and quaint city. One\nday--it was in the summer of 1849--Herr Richter was _fl\u00e2ning_ along\nthe K\u00e4tner Strasse, and, impelled neither by curiosity nor\ncovetousness, but that indefinable something which of directs our\ncourse and shapes our conduct without our consciousness, stopped\nbefore the \"Storr and Mortimer\" of the Hapsburg capital. Why did he\nthrust himself in amongst that band of ragged _gamins_, who, with\ngaping mouth and burning eyes, were devouring the splendors of the\nplate-glass window, and wistfully wishing that that glittering heap of\nrings and chains, brooches and necklaces, cassolettes and lockets,\nbracelets and eardrops, emeralds, diamonds, pearls, rubies,\nturquoises, etc., were theirs? Why did he mingle with them? He could\nnot have told you, nor can I. Only he was there, and it was evident\nhis heart, too, was overflowing, like Mr. Pickwick's, with the milk of\nhuman kindness. \"Poor fellows!\" such was his train of thought, \"you\ncan never get any of these treasures, though you should toil for a\ncentury;\" and then turning away, he muttered aloud, still continuing\nhis train of thought, \"Any of them might be mine in a moment if I\nchose.\" Was he speculating on the iniquitous force of the Austrian\nguild laws, or the false system of political economy in vogue in\nAustria? was he pondering over the mysteries of _meum et tuum_, or\nendeavoring to solve that profound problem, \"_La propriet\u00e9 c'est le\nvol?_\"\n\n{711}\n\nPossibly yes, possibly no; but just at that moment a strong hand was\nlaid on his shoulder. \"One word with you, if you please,\" said a low\nmusical voice, imperative yet polite.\n\nThe invitation was irresistible. With the utmost complacency Herr\nRichter retired with the gentleman who accosted him underneath one of\nthose huge gateways, _porte-coch\u00e8res_, which form the entrance of the\nold Vienna houses. The stranger then took a paper from his pocket, and\nlooking intently, now at its contents, now at the features of Herr\nRichter, opened the conversation in a curt and peremptory manner:\n\n\"Sir, I am under the painful necessity of requesting you to follow\nme.\"\n\nHerr Richter, incensed, grows restiff.\n\n\"Pray, sir, who are you that dare--\" and without finishing the\nsentence he threw himself into an attitude of defence, if not\ndefiance.\n\n\"Had you not better give less trouble?\" coolly asked the stranger. \"Am\nI to call assistance?\"\n\nRapidly the truth dawned upon the Herr. The stranger, though clad in\nthe ordinary attire of a _bourgeois_, belonged to that mysterious\nbody, dreaded by every section of the community, since it received its\norders, so it was universally believed, directly from the cabinet, or\na joint committee of the holy alliance itself. Yes, he must be an\nagent of the secret police.\n\nHerr Richter, however, is not hurried off to the star chamber where\npolitical offenders are dealt with, but is conducted to the Scotland\nYard of Vienna--the headquarters of the _gendarmerie_--the central\nstation for criminal suspects. In Austria it is safer to be classed\nwith common thieves and felons than to be suspected of meddling with\npolitics. So the Herr's mind was materially relieved; though\nignominious his fate, on perceiving his destination he scarcely felt\nenraged at the indignity offered him.\n\nWhen they had arrived within the gloomy precincts of the gaol\nbarracks, things began to explain themselves. There was evident\nsatisfaction, not to say exultation, on the faces of the officials.\nThe captor was specially gratified; and waving his warrant, as though\nit were an honorable trophy, over the head of his unfortunate prize,\nhe exclaimed--\n\n\"I've captured him at last; I've found him and caught him, this prince\nof pickpockets!\" and he enacted the passion of triumph so perfectly\nthat he jeered at and derided in true Teutonic fashion his safe and\nsound victim in the most cold-blooded and insolent manner.\n\n\"As I was passing down the K\u00e4tner Strasse,\" continued this\nself-gratulatory detective, \"I saw him looking into a goldsmith's\nshop, noting every article in the window, and heard him muttering to\nhimself, with a most complacent air, 'Any one of them could be mine in\na moment if I chose.'\"\n\nA superior officer was then called, and the description in the warrant\nbeing read over, there could be no doubt as to the identity of the\nprisoner with the most active and desperate thief in Vienna. The\npersonal appearance of Herr Richter tallied exactly with the written\nportrait in the possession of the Polizer-Haus; type and antitype\ncould not be more exact.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" exclaimed the alarmed captive, \"I the greatest thief\nin Vienna! I am Herr Richter, a gentleman, a man of property, rich\nenough to purchase twenty jewellers' shops. I beg you to be careful\nhow you proceed further.\"\n\n\"Don't excite yourself,\" retorted the commissioner, \"we _shall_ be\ncareful enough. You won't catch us giving you an opportunity of\nescape.\"\n\n\"_Donnerwetter!_\" ejaculated the now infuriated _rentier_; \"this is\ntoo much of a good thing. Just send round for my banker and he will\ntell you who and what I am. I'll sue you, sir--I'll sue you, sir, as\nsure as you are born,\" repeated the Herr, growing more exasperated\nevery moment.\n\n{712}\n\nThe superintendent, like most men of his profession, was well versed\nin physiognomy, and could read the features of the human face and\ninterpret their varied expressions. \"This is not feigned anger,\" he\nsaid to himself.\n\nThe banker was sent for, and identified the prisoner as his friend\nHerr Richter. As a matter of course the wealthy gentleman escaped the\ngrasp of the Philistines.\n\nOn leaving the beetle-browed gateway of the police barracks the Herr\nbreathed freely again, rejoicing that matters had turned out no worse\nin that empire of suspicion and caprice. He moved along through the\nprincipal thoroughfare of the Austrian capital, pondering over his\nrecent unpleasant adventure. At length he called a cab to take him to\nhis club, where he might drown the indignity of the morning in a\nbumper of Tokay or Johannisberg, and invite oblivion by devouring a\ngood dinner. Hardly, however, had he placed his foot on the step than\nhe was forced deep down into the vehicle by a mysterious personage at\nhis back, who, whispering to the driver, \"To the police station!\"\nenters the cab also. Speechless and aghast as though a spectre were\nthe intruder, the unfortunate Herr Richter looked wildly at his\ncompulsory companion.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the spectre--\n\n\"I know all you are going to say,\" feebly remarked the desperate\nRichter, cursing his fate.\n\n\"_Of course_ you know,\" sneered the spectre at his side, who, however,\nis no spectre, but a jolly-booking individual in the prime of manhood.\n\"_Of course_ you know.\" And with this he dives his hand into his\npocket, and drags forth the fatal warrant.\n\n\"All right!\" groans out the inevitable captive, with whom despair was\nfast degenerating into recklessness. \"All right, you need not take the\ntrouble to read every trait. I have read the account myself. It is\nvery correct, wonderfully correct, terribly correct.\"\n\n\"For a gentleman of your profession,\" observed the portly detective,\n\"you are really very civil. Half a dozen such as you would\nmarvellously improve the manners of our modern _chevaliers\nd'industrie_. I say, old boy,\" continued the pleasant thief-catcher,\npoking the unresisting Herr in the ribs, \"you ought to think it over,\nand exert yourself to instill a little politeness into your tribe.\nIt's a large section of the community, you know. If yon get out again,\nthink over my advice.\"\n\nThe only reply of Herr Richter was a faint, helpless smile.\n\nArrived at the station, a general shout of laughter greeted the captor\nand the captured.\n\nThe latter seated himself in a chair, and, composing his thoughts for\na desperate harangue, thus addressed the commissioners present:\n\n\"Gentlemen, here I am again, and here I am resolved to remain. As it\nis, I should not be safe anywhere else a quarter of an hour until\narrested and taken to the station by _all_ your detectives one after\nthe other. Calculating from to-day's experience, and forming a\nmoderate estimate of the rate of locomotion at which I could proceed\nunder the circumstances, it would take me a fortnight to get home and\nbury myself from the now hated gaze of mankind. You will therefore\nhave the kindness to let me keep you company and make the personal\nacquaintance of each member of your force, who will then, I hope, be\nable to recognize me when he sees me in the streets.\"\n\nThe commissioner-in-chief regretted that he could not assent to the\nHerr's proposition. \"Impossible! it would never do, my dear sir,\" he\ninformed the astounded Richter, \"for a civilian, even a man of your\nrespectability and appearance, to know all the detectives; the state\nitself would be endangered. However,\" he added very graciously, \"I\nwill give you a certificate, under {713} my hand and seal, that you\nare not the man you have been taken for; and this will make, I hope,\nas far as lies in my power, the _amende honorable_.\"\n\n\"A ticket-of-leave?\"\n\n\"_Comme vous voulez_.\"\n\nPoor Richter surrendered unconditionally, glad, like the Bishop of\nHereford, \"that he could so get away.\" Never from that hour did he\nlose sight of that precious \"ticket-of-leave,\" the prison release of\nthe Austrian Scotland Yard. He always carried it about with him as a\nkind of amulet to charm away the too active _agens de police_. In his\nlast will and testament he inserted a special clause, ordering that\nthe old leather sheath, containing the official permit, should be\nplaced in his coffin.\n\n\"Who knows how many a fix it may yet help me out of?\" was written in\nthe margin with his own hand.\n\nWhy should not I, then, do like Herr Richter? thought your humble\nservant, as he still lay awake. If ever the dastardly hand of a peeler\nbe laid on my shoulder, such shall be my first step. Pshaw! why should\nI not take time by the forelock? why should I not go that very morning\nto Scotland Yard and acquaint the commissioners that my counterfeit\nwas at large, and might commit some fearful atrocity, some terrible\ncrime, and so beg for a ticket of recognition--a ticket-of-leave?\n\nAlas! whilst I was putting on the breastplate and buckling on my armor\nagainst imaginary foes, I had forgotten the real danger that\nencompassed me. Whilst I was congratulating myself on the ingenious\ndispensation I was to obtain from the police, I forgot that I had not\nyet obtained a dispensation from the partner of my joys and sorrows\nwho was calmly reposing by my side. Calmly reposing, I say, for\nnothing seemed to disturb her. There are natures, it appears to me,\nwhose repose nothing _can_ break, and it is exactly that class of\nnatures which can most easily and effectually disturb the peace of\nothers. It is a mighty faculty, and was possessed, _\u00e0 merveille_, by\nMrs. Sam.\n\nWhen she woke I meekly broached my idea of police protection, thereby\nintending by a side-wind to establish my spotless innocence before\nher. Granted the necessity of police protection, the corollary would\nbe that the story of the opera and the countess was all a myth. Mrs.\nSam let me run the whole tether of suggestion with surprising\ncomplacency. I almost felt I was triumphant.\n\n\"Mr. Samuel----, you may be guilty of whatever folly you please; it is\nnothing strange to you,\" she began in her most stately and cutting\nmanner; \"but if you think of bamboozling me and throwing me off the\nscent, you have mistaken your woman. The herring to trail across my\npath must be stronger flavored than the one you have in hand if you\nwould turn me from the pursuit. Justice I am resolved to have, and\nwill sift the matter to the bottom. It is not yet time to get up, and\nI wish to finish my sleep. After breakfast, with your kind\n_permission_ (oh the agony of that irony!) we will together call on\nthe countess. She, perhaps, may be able to explain.\"\n\nI knew the countess had left town; but I did not dare to say so, and\nhypocritically assented to Mrs. Sam's proposal. She was furious when\nshe learnt that the countess was from home. \"How long had she been\nfrom home?\" \"A fortnight,\" was the testimony of the butler. \"Has she\nnot been in town since?\" \"No.\" \"Was she not in town on Monday?\"\n\"Certainly not.\" How freely I breathed as this witness gave his\ninvoluntary and corroborative evidence in my favor. Mrs. Sam turned\nround upon me with an incredulous smile. \"I condone it this time,\" she\ngraciously observed as we descended the steps, which reminded me very\nforcibly of the verdict of the Cornish jury--\"We find the prisoner\n_not_ guilty, only we advise him not to do it again.\"\n\n------\n\n{714}\n\nMISCELLANY.\n\n\n_An Intermittent Fountain_--M. l'Abbe Laborde, writing to _Les\nMondes_, describes a simple apparatus for producing an intermittent\nfountain. It consists of an inverted flask fitted with a cork, through\nwhich pass two tubes of unequal length. The longer reaches nearly to\nthe bottom of the flask, and outside has a length of some twenty\ninches. The shorter tube merely pierces the cork, and does not extend\nto any length inside, and outside it ends immediately in a jet, which\ncan be curved round. The flask is filled with water, fitted with the\ntwo tubes, and then, with the finger on the shorter tube, is inverted,\nplunging the end of the longer tube in a vessel of water. The\ninstrument may now be fixed in this position, as an intermittent jet\nof water begins to flow at once, continuing until the flask is empty.\nThe column of water in the longer tube will be seen to be alternately\nrising and falling, from which phenomena an explanation has been given\nof the cause of the intermittent flow.\n\n\n_On Phosphatic Deposits Recently Discovered in North Wales, by Dr.\nAug. Voelcker._--An extensive mine, containing several phosphatic\nminerals, was accidentally discovered early last year by Mr. Hope\nJones, of Hooton, Cheshire, whilst he was searching for other minerals\nin the neighborhood of Cwmgynen, about sixteen miles from Oswestry.\nMr. Hope Jones found the phosphatic mine to be continuous for more\nthan a mile, and to come within twelve feet of the surface. It is not\nfar from the clay slate and lead bearing district of Llangrynag. The\nstrata (slaty shale) contain several beds of contemporaneous\nfelspathic ash and scoriae, and the usual fossils of the Llandillo\nseries are found, but not in great numbers. The strata are vertical,\nand run east to west, or, more correctly speaking, fifteen degrees\nnorth of west (magnetic). A true vein, or fissure containing vein\ndeposit, partially metallic, divides two phosphatic deposits. One of\nthem is nearly three yards in thickness, and embodies phosphatic\nlimestone beds, containing from ten to upwards of thirty-five per\ncent, of phosphate of lime. The other, and more valuable deposit, is a\nyard and a half thick, and consists of a black, graphitic shale,\nlargely impregnated with phosphate of lime. This deposit is free from\ncarbonate of lime, and much richer in phosphate of lime than the\nfirst-mentioned deposit. In specimens taken at a depth of about twelve\nfeet from the surface, Dr. Voelcker found from 54 to 56 per cent. of\nphosphate of lime in this phosphatic shale. At a greater depth the\nshale becomes richer in phosphates, and, consequently, more valuable.\nIn the deeper specimens the proportions of phosphate of lime amounted\nto 64-1/2 per cent. This phosphatic mine is readily accessible, and\nnaturally drainable to a depth of about 500 miles, and contains many\nhundred thousand, if not millions, of tons of valuable phosphatic\nminerals. The discovery of this extensive mine in England appears to\nbe of great importance to the English agriculturist, who at the\npresent time consumes annually many tons of phosphatic minerals in the\nshape of superphosphate and similar artificial manures.\n\n\n\n_Belgian Records_.--The Royal Historical Commission of Belgium, which\nfor some years past has been doing good service by publishing records\nand indexes of the documents relating to the domestic history of\nBelgium, held its usual quarterly meeting a few weeks back. M.\nGaleshoot presented a copy of the \"_Livre des Foudataires_\" of John\nIII., Duke of Brabant, copies of which were ordered to be distributed\nto the scientific and other bodies entitled to receive the\npublications of the commission. At the same time, M. Piot, chief\nkeeper of the archives, submitted a proposal to publish the chartulary\nof the abbey of St. Trond, which was founded in the year 660. The\ndocuments of which the chartulary is composed are of high interest,\nand commence in the eighth century. They {715} throw much light on the\ncivil and religious history, manners and customs, and institutions of\nthe middle ages.\n\n\n\n_Sun-Spot Period_.--Professor Wolf, of Zurich, has undertaken the\nlaborious work of determining the number of Sun spots at the\ndyouifferent periods when the planets, more especially Jupiter, are in\nperihelion and aphelion. In the year 1859 he expressed his opinion\nthat Jupiter determines the leading character of the sun-spot curve,\nthat Saturn causes small alterations in the height and length of the\nundulations, and that the earth and Venus determine the indentations\nof the curve. More recently. Mr. Carrington and Mr. De la Rue have\nreturned to the same subject, and the latter, in conjunction with Mr.\nStewart, has found that when \"the sun or a part of the solar surface\napproaches a planet, the spots disappear, or the brightness\nincreases.\" It is the intention of Professor Wolf to calculate for\nevery five days a mean relative number of sun-spots during the period\n1811-1865. He gives the results of a portion of his labors in showing\nthe connection of the sun-spot period of 11.11 years with the\nrevolution of Jupiter between the years 1805 and 1816. The numbers\ngiven are certainly very remarkable, for whilst only 21 spots were\nvisible soon after the perihelion of Jupiter in 1809, 64 were seen in\n1815 at the time of the aphelion. The progression of the numbers is\notherwise very remarkable.\n\n\n_Plastic Wood_.--Among new inventions we hear of plastic wood, or\nrather of a method by which wood can be rendered plastic, and so\napplied to various novel purposes. The method consists in forcing\ndilute hydrochloric acid, under pressure, into the cells of the wood,\nand continuing it a sufficient time, according to the quality of the\nwood operated on. When completely saturated with the acid, the wood is\nwashed in water, and subjected to pressure, which presses the fibres\nclose together without breaking them, and reduces it to about a tenth\nof its original bulk, and the size and form thus impressed on it\nremain unaltered. Thus, if pressed in dies, the details retain all the\nsharpness ever afterwards, unless the wood should get soaked with\nwater. Wood treated in this way is particularly well suited for\ncarvings, as it cuts under the tool almost as easily as cheese; and it\nmay be made ornamental, for various dyes can be forced in to color it\nat the same time with the acid. But it can also be made hard as flint\nand incombustible, by forcing in a preparation of water-glass or\nsoluble flint. From all this, it seems likely that wood may be\nemployed in new ways for ornamental and useful purposes.\n\n------\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN REPUBLIC: Its Constitution, Tendencies, and Destiny. By\nO. A. Brownson, LL.D. 8vo., pp. 435. New York: P. O'Shea. 1866.\n\nThis book, which was merely announced in our January number, is the\nfruit of Dr. Brownson's mature age, ripe experience, great learning,\nand extraordinary intellectual and literary culture and discipline. It\nwould seem that his life-long labors as a philosophical and critical\nwriter had been simply a course of preparation for this crowning\nachievement, and that nothing less severe could have trained his mind\nto grasp and handle the great principles involved with such masterly\npower, ease, perspicuity, and completeness.\n\nThe questions discussed are: Government; the Origin of Government;\nConstitution of Government; the United States; Constitution of the\nUnited States; Secession; Reconstruction; Political Tendencies;\nDestiny--Political and Religious. The argument throughout is sustained\nand connected in such a perfect manner, and the connection between the\ndivisions of the subject so thoroughly welded, that it is impossible\nto make extracts at all within the compass of this notice which would\ngive a correct idea of the work. It must be read and studied to\nappreciate its beauty, scope, and cogency.\n\nGovernment and the origin of government are analyzed and placed on\ntheir historical and metaphysical basis. {716} The constitution of the\nUnited States is explained in a manner never before attempted or\napproached. The relations of the United States to the states in the\nUnion, and their relations to her as a unit, are for the first time\nmade clear and intelligible, and secession, while dealt with\ncharitably as respects individuals and the erroneous premises honestly\nentertained by multitudes both South and North, is logically proved to\nbe the highest of political crimes--\"_state suicide_.'\" The\nconstitutional and Christian method of restoration is pointed out, and\nthe glorious destiny of the country painted on the sky of the future\nwith artistic beauty and prophetic grandeur.\n\nThe style is remarkable for its strength, density, clearness, and\npurity. It supports and carries forward the immense weight and volume\nof thought, argument, and historical and philosophical illustration\nwithout apparent effort, and transmits the author's meaning directly\nto the intellect, like a ray of light passing through a Brazilian\npebble to the retina. If Dr. Brownson had done nothing else, his\nphilological labors would entitle him to the lasting admiration of\nevery lover of pure English.\n\nWe do not expect the work to be popular in the common sense of the\nterm, or that it will escape the vituperation of narrow-minded men and\nthose who have used all their feeble power in vain to pull down the\nstructure of constitutional unity. But we do believe that it will be\nread and appreciated by a very large class of right-minded, thinking\nmen South and North, and exert an immense influence in the direction\nof complete reconciliation and reconstruction by demonstrating the\nabsolutely illogical character of secession, while it does justice to\nthe honesty, manhood, courage, military skill, and fortitude displayed\nby the Southern people. It is the logical defeat of the rebellion. It\nplaces Dr. Brownson in the first rank as a Catholic statesman, doctor\nof laws, and fervent, consistent, patriot. He is the citizen who never\ndespaired of the republic. Every man who wishes to understand the\nhistory and politics of the country must study this book, and if we\nare to realize the destiny distinctly indicated by the finger of\nProvidence, the principles which it has established must become the\nruling principles of the statesmen of the country. The glove is fairly\nthrown to the champions of the various specious and popular forms of\nerror, falsehood, and fanaticism, both civil and religious, and they\nwill be compelled to take it up and defend themselves successfully or\nbe condemned by default in the final verdict of mankind. The\ntypography, binding, and general execution are equal to the best\nLondon books.\n\n\nJOURNAL OF EUGENIE DE GU\u00c9RIN.\nEdited by G. S. Trebutien. 12mo., pp. 460. Alexander Strahan, London\nand New York.\n\nThis very remarkable and most attractive book has already received a\nlengthened notice in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, and we have only to add that\nnever was there penned a book so full of the highest and most refined\nsentiment, touching pathos, combined with so much deep philosophic and\npoetic thought. What a pure and innocent soul is here revealed! Not to\nthe world. She did not write for it, but for her own soul, and the\nsoul of her idolized Maurice. He has found renown through these\ntear-bedewed pages of a devoted sister. We read it, yet can hardly\nbelieve it to be, as it is, a real journal.\n\nHer descriptions are full of the intensest interest and charming\nna\u00efvet\u00e9. Here is one on a first communion:\n\n\"29th. What a sweet, simple, pious, and touching ceremony! I have only\ntime to say this, and to declare that of all the festivals the one I\ndelight in most is a first communion in a country district: God\nbestowing himself simply on children! Miou, the little Fran\u00e7ouil de\nGaillard, and Augustine were exquisite, both in innocence and beauty.\nHow pretty they looked under their little white veils, when they\nreturned weeping from the holy table! Divine tears! Children united to\nGod; who can tell what was passing that moment in their souls? M. le\nCur\u00e9 was admirable in his unction and gentleness; it was the Saviour\nsaying to children, 'Come unto me.' Oh! how lovingly he addressed\nthem, and then how he charged them to have a care of that white robe,\nthat innocence with which they were clothed! Poor children, {717} what\nrisks before them! I kept saying to myself, 'Which of yon will tarnish\nit first?' They are not going to Paris, indeed; but earth is\neverywhere soiled, everywhere evil is found, seduces, and leads away.\"\n\nThat closing sentence was not thoughtlessly penned. It was for the eye\nof that brother whom Paris had seduced and led away into error, but\nwho never read that gentle admonition. Maurice de Gu\u00e9rin died soon\nafter, reconciled to the Church, in his last agony embracing the\ncrucifix; but Eug\u00e9nie continues her journal to Maurice in heaven. Here\nis a passage which will, if we mistake not, induce our readers to\nprocure and read the whole of this delightful volume. They will find\nit, as we have found it, like a rare and beautiful picture, which,\nwith a strange selfishness, we desire to be universally admired, yet\nwish it were all our own:\n\n\"This woman, this nurse who watched thee, and held thee in illness for\na year on her lap, has given me a greater shock than a winding sheet\nwould have done. Heart-rending apparition of the past--cradle and\ntomb! I could spend the night with thee here in this paper, but the\nsoul needs prayer; the soul will do thee more good than the heart.\nEach time that my pen rests here, a sword pierces my heart. I do not\nknow whether I shall continue to write or not. Of what use is this\nJournal? For whom? Alas! and yet I love it as one loves a funereal\nurn, a reliquary in which is kept a dead heart, all embalmed with\nsanctity and love. Such seems this paper, where I still preserve thee,\nmy so beloved one: where I keep up a speaking memory of thee, where I\nshall meet with thee again in my old age--if I live to be old. Oh!\nyes, the days will come when I shall have no life but in the past;\nthat past shared with thee; spent beside thee, young, intelligent,\nlovable, raising and refining whatever approached thee; such as I\nrecall thee, such as thou wert on leaving us. At present I do not know\nwhat my life is, if, indeed, I do live. Everything is changed within\nand without. Oh! my God, how heart-rending these letters are! They\ncontain so many tears for my tears! This intimate friend of thine\ntouches me as would a sight of thyself. My dear Maurice, all thou hast\nloved are dear to me--seem a portion of thee.\"\n\n\nTHE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER, January, 1866.\n\nThis is the first number of the new, or New York, series of this\npublication, which is to be issued every two months. It explains the\nreason and object of the change which has been made in the editorship\nand place of publication. The Convention of Unitarians held in this\ncity a few months ago initiated a new and important movement in that\ndenomination. The radical and destructive element was put down, and\nthat party which is in favor of taking a positive Christian position\nachieved a victory. The _Examiner_ has been made their organ, and is\nto be used in promoting the end they have in view. The convention\nsolemnly and publicly recognized our Lord Jesus Christ, under that\ntitle which is indicative of his character as Supreme Head of the\nhuman race, in spite of the violent opposition of a few, which was\nvented in a very unseemly and vulgar manner, shocking to the Christian\nsentiment of the community. The declaration of belief is significant\nof the _animuis_ of the movement, and shows it to be a return to the\nprinciple of positive and constructive Christianity. The impress of\nthis idea is visible in the new phase of the _Examiner_, and has given\nit at once a position far above that which it formerly occupied. In\nits scholarly and literary tone it is superior to the old series; but\nthe superiority is more marked and evident in the exhibition of a more\nfixed and earnest purpose to aim at a definite result, and to make\nmore positive affirmation of religious and philosophical ideas. The\nwriters recognize the wide-spread scepticism in intelligent minds as a\nlamentable fact, and have turned their face away from the road of\nscepticism and disintegration as one that conducts only to\nintellectual, moral, and social death. They do not profess to have\nsurveyed the road which leads away from this \"valley of the shadow of\ndeath;\" but they seem to be convinced that there is one, and to be\nresolved to look for it and to try to guide others in a search for it.\nIt is difficult to say, in regard to men who allow themselves so much\nlatitude in belief, and so great a liberty of independent theorizing,\nwhat are the fixed doctrines in which they agree as the fundamental\nbasis of {718} an anti-sceptical philosophy, and what are merely\ntentative hypotheses thrown out for discussion. It appears to us,\nhowever, that there are several sound principles of Christian\nphilosophy and doctrine dominating in the articles of the number\nbefore us, and which we may suppose will hereafter give a certain\nunity of character and tendency to the work. One of these is the\naffirmation of the pure theistic doctrine, in contradiction to\npantheism, in connection with a manifest tendency to repudiate the\nsensist philosophy of Hamilton, Mansel, and that class of writers, and\nto look for a better one. Another is a recognition that there is\nsomething in the idea of the supernatural which is real, and above the\nsphere of mere natural science. A third is a principle of reverence\nfor the Scriptures, and the religious traditions of the human race,\nconnected with a disposition to reject the scepticism of the\npseudo-critical school of Germany. A fourth is an assertion of the\nobligatory force of the Divine Law, and the necessity of cultivating a\npersonal relation to God as the principle of solid virtue and\nmorality. There is also a sort of instinctive apprehension that a more\nthorough investigation of the difficulties which science appears to\nthrow in the way of revealed religion will eventually produce a more\ntriumphant vindication of the latter than it has ever had. The topics\nto be discussed in the Review are the most real and living questions\nof the age in philosophy and theology. They will be discussed by men\nof no mean pretensions to learning and intellectual ability, and of\nsuperior literary cultivation. We are glad that they have undertaken\nthe work, and we hope for good results from it. We have no fear that\nthey will weaken the religious belief of those who have a positive,\ndogmatic faith in regard to any essential doctrine of Christianity.\nThe public which will be reached by their writings and sermons, are\nalready familiar with all the questions and difficulties they will\ndiscuss. They are full of doubt, and drifting into infidelity. All the\ninfluence which these gentlemen will gain over them will tend to check\nthis downward progress, and initiate a salutary retrogression toward\nChristian truth.\n\nMoreover, all discussions of this kind will stimulate the work of\ninvestigating and exhibiting the doctrine of the Catholic Church in\nits relation toward rationalism. The controversy with orthodox\nProtestantism is finished, and Protestant orthodoxy has gone where\nIlium formerly went. The real controversy of the day relates to the\nvery foundation of revelation itself.\n\n\n\nSPARE HOURS: A Monthly Miscellany for the Young. Boston: P. Donahoe.\nJanuary, 1866.\n\nWe have received the first number of a new magazine with the above\ntitle. It is published by Mr. Donahoe, Boston, is well printed on fine\npaper, and illustrated with much taste. The matter, of which there are\n64 pages, is both original and selected, and displays discrimination\nand tact on the part of the editor. It would be well to give credit to\nthe source from which the selected matter is taken. This magazine\nfills a want long felt by the Catholic community in this country.\nSince the discontinuance of the \"Youth's Catholic Magazine\" we have\nhad no periodical that gave us any reading for our children. We\ncordially welcome the advent of \"Spare Hours\" amongst as, and trust\nits subscription list may show that Catholics _do_ appreciate good\nreading.\n\n\nNICHOLAS OF THE FLUE, the Saviour of the Swiss Republic. A dramatic\npoem in five acts. By John Christian Schaad. 12mo., pp. 144.\nWashington, D.C.: McGill & Witherow. 1866.\n\nThis book purposes to give, in a dramatic form, an account of the rise\nof a dangerous civil dissension which took place among the brave and\nreligious Swiss during the invasion of their country by Charles the\nBold, and the happy reunion of sentiment by the wise interposition and\nholy prayers of a hermit. How religion, or the counsels of its\nministers, can ever supplant the arbitrament of the sword or the\nstratagems of the politician in the successful adjustment of national\ndifficulties, will not, we think, be so readily comprehended in our\npresent society, and chiefly so because with us there is no unity of\nreligion, and consequently a multiplicity of counsels, the prolific\nseed itself of discord. But that it is {719} possible, as it is\nenviable, may be seen by any one who will peruse this poem. Peace\nwhich nations enjoy is a blessing of God. \"Unless the Lord keep the\ncity, he watcheth in vain who keepeth it.\" It is not to be wondered at\nthen that a people thoroughly imbued with the spirit of faith should\nlook to God for help in the day of trial, when the demon of discord\nsows the seeds of strife and disunion amongst them. The thought which\nevidently moved the writer to compose this work is the same which has\noften crossed our own mind during the late deplorable civil war: that\nif our beloved country had been one in religion, it never would have\nfallen a prey to such a fearful and almost fatal division, or at least\nwould have rejoiced in a more speedy reconciliation.\n\n\n\nMERRY CHRISTMAS. A cantata for Christmas eve. Affectionately inscribed\nto the children of the parish of St. Paul the Apostle, New York city.\nP. O'Shea.\n\nThis little brochure contains directions, with appropriate recitatives\nand hymns, for a religious celebration of Christmas by children, who\ndescribe, in a sort of infantine opera, the scenes of our Lord's\nnativity as related in the gospel. It contains, among other hymns,\nsome of the most beautiful Christmas carols in the English language;\nand when sung by the voices of merry-hearted children must have a most\nedifying and pleasing effect. We are sure it will be welcomed in all\nour schools, and at the fireside of many a Christian family. It was\nperformed with great success before an immense and delighted audience\nlast Christmas night in the church of the Paulists, to the children of\nwhose parish it is dedicated.\n\n\nTHE MONTHLY. Edited at the University of St. Mary of the Lake,\nChicago, III. Published by J. P. Byrne, Chicago.\n\nThe December number of \"The Monthly\" did not reach us until the first\nof January. This is rather late, and we presume is a mistake, as it\nhas been heretofore promptly on hand. The number before us completes\nthe second volume, and is quite interesting. It contains nine\narticles, the first being on \"Fenianism and Secret Societies.\" There\nare two stories, one just commenced and one concluded. The former,\n\"The Huron Chief,\" is a tale of the Catholic missions in the\nnorthwest, and the latter, \"From June to October,\" is by an author not\nunknown to the literary world. The articles in this magazine are\noriginal, and are well written. We find in its literary notices the\nfollowing hit at a class which we are sorry to say is but too\nnumerous:\n\n\"The mission of a Catholic editor is something different from that of\nthe mendicant who stands at a church gate with a\n'Help-the-poor-blind-man' label upon his breast. And yet there are\nthose--not a few--who look upon a pitiful subscription of three or\nfour dollars a year to a paper or a magazine in the light of an alms,\nand actually imagine that they are performing one of the seven\ncorporal works of mercy if they can be induced to subscribe, while, in\njustice, they are not paying a thousandth part of the interest on\ntheir lawful debts. Not long ago we happened to meet with a Catholic\ngentleman from New York, and among the different topics of\nconversation the subject of literature was brought in. This gave us\nthe occasion to ask his opinion about 'The Monthly,' to which he\nreplied that he was unaware of its publication, because he had never\nseen it noticed by a certain romantic sheet of the Quixotic stamp in\nthat city. He is the type of a class for whose conduct there is not\nthe shadow of an excuse. From this we might draw a general conclusion,\nand apply the same course of reasoning to the case of every Catholic\npublication in the country, for it is not rare to find Catholic\nfamilies without a Catholic paper or magazine on their tables. Under\nthese circumstances, then, it is not surprising that not a few of them\nshould be strangers to the existence of the works which they _ought_\nto possess, while they may be conversant with a class of literature\nwhose spirit is productive either of no good at all or positively\ninjurious, and hence without either intellectual or moral benefit.\"\n\nWe wish \"The Monthly\" a happy and prosperous year.\n\n\nHANS BRINKER, ETC. By M. E. Dodge. 12mo., pp. 347. New York: James\nO'Kane. 1866.\n\nWe could cordially recommend this well-written story were it not for\none passage relating to _autos da fe_ and the Inquisition. Those who\nhave charge of Catholic youth are bound to {720} be extremely careful\nwhat books they place in their hands, and this becomes often a cause\nof perplexity, as there are so few which are entirely unexceptionable.\nThose who write with the express purpose of inculcating the\ndistinctive principles of Protestantism are not amenable to our\ncriticism. But those who do not write with this intention, and who\nmerely seek to afford entertainment to the youthful mind with a\nmodicum of instructive information, may perhaps consider it worth\nwhile to respect the religion of a large and increasing class of the\nreading public. We are not very exacting. We desire only that books\nwritten for the instruction and amusement of the young public at large\nshould contain a sound and wholesome morality and nothing offensive to\nCatholics. We could not desire a better specimen of this class of\nbooks than the work of our gifted authoress, which we have read with\npleasure, with the exception of the single passage alluded to; and\nthis might have been left out without any injury to the purpose of the\nstory. Those who are disposed to profit by our hints will find us\nalways ready to assist the circulation of their books by our\nrecommendation, if their literary merit renders them worthy of it.\n\n\nA GENERAL HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, from the commencement of the\nChristian Era until the present time.\nBy M. l'Abbe J. E. Darras. First American from the last French\nEdition. With Introduction and Notes by Archbishop Spalding. Vol. II.\n8vo.,  pp. 627. New York: P. O'Shea.\n\nThe second volume of the history of the Catholic Church has just\nappeared, and it is in every respect in keeping with the first volume;\nis well printed on good paper, and makes a handsome book.\n\nThe Very Rev. Dr. Newman is preparing for the press a reply to Dr.\nPusey's \"Eirenicon,\" lately published in London. We shall give it to\nthe readers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD at the earliest date.\n\n\nThe Messrs. Sadlier announce the publication of a new edition of\nFather Young's \"Catholic Hymns and Canticles,\" together with a\ncomplete sodality manual. It will contain 107 hymns, arranged for all\nthe different seasons and festivals of the Church, as well as the\nprocessions, ceremonies, etc.\n\n\n\nMessrs. Murphy & Co., of Baltimore have in press a new and enlarged\nedition of \"Archbishop Spalding's Miscellanea.\" This learned work will\nbe carefully revised by the distinguished author, who will add nearly\n100 pages of interesting matter, embracing among many other things his\n\"Essay on Common Schools throughout the World\"--his \"Analysis of the\nControversy into which he was forced by Professor Morse, in relation\nto an alleged saying of Lafayette\"--his \"Lecture on the Origin and\nHistory of Libraries,\" and his \"Essay on Demonology and the\nReformation.\" This new edition will thus embrace essays, reviews, and\nlectures on more than forty subjects, most of them historical, and all\nof more than ordinary interest.\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\nFrom KELLY & PIET, Baltimore: \"The Spae Wife, or Queen's Secret, a\nstory of the Times of Queen Elizabeth,\" by Paul Peppergrass, Esq.\n12mo., pp 742. \"The Little Companion of the Sisters of Mercy.\" 32mo.,\npp 102.\n\nFrom D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York: Parts 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 of \"The\nComplete Works of the Brothers Banim.\"\n\n\nFrom P. O'SHEA, New York: \"Life of St. Antony of Padua, of the Order\nof Friars Minor,\" by Father Servas Dirks, Friar Minor, etc. 12mo., pp\n341. \"The Life and Miracles of St. Philomena, Virgin and Martyr, whose\nsacred body was lately discovered in the Catacombs of Rome, and from\nthence transferred to Mugnano, Naples.\" 12mo., pp 135.\n\nStatuta Dioecesana ab Illustrissimo et Reverendissimo P. D. Joanne\nBaptists Purcell, Archiepiscopo Cincinnatensi, in variis Synodis, quae\nhue usque in Ecclesia sua Cathedrali vel in Sacello Seminarii,\ncelebratae sunt, lata et promulgata. Una cum Decretis Conciliorum\nProvincialium et plenarii Baltimorenslum, quibus interfuerunt omnes\nstatuum Foederatorum Episcopi et Decretis Conciliorum Trium\nCincinnatensium. Nunc primum in unum collecta et publici juris facta.\nCincinnati: Published for the Most Rev. Archbishop of Cincinnati by\nJohn P. Walsh.\n\n\n------\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. II., NO. 12--MARCH, 1866.\n\n------\n{721}\n\nTranslated from Le Correspondant\n\nPOSITIVISM.\n\n\nA. COMTE, LITTR\u00c9, H. TAINE.\n\n\nAn exposition of the various philosophical systems constructed in our\ntimes against Christianity, either as means of combatting it or as\nsubstitutes for it, and showing in the false assumption with which\nthey all start the reason of their failure, would be an interesting\nand instructive work. It would be a new _history of variations_, and\nof the impotence of the human mind when it assumes to be sufficient\nfor itself, and the natural complement to the first, were there a\nBossuet to write it. Now it is a chapter of this history not yet\nwritten, but which one day will be, that I propose to prepare in\nrendering an account here of the positivist philosophy, of which M.\nAuguste Comte was the inventor, and M. Littr\u00e9 is the learned and\nfervent defender. To enable my readers to understand, as well as may\nbe, this pretended philosophy, I will first state through what\naccidents and revolutions it has passed, then set forth its chief\nformulas, and finally conclude by passing on them such critical\njudgment as an impartial examination shall suggest.\n\nThe founder and chief of the positivist philosophy, Auguste Comte,\ndied at Paris in 1858, in the 59th year of his age. He was born in\n1798 at Montpellier, of Christian parents; but, placed early in the\nlyceum of that city, he soon lost there, under the influence of the\nreigning spirit of the school, the faith of his childhood. From the\nlyceum he went to the \u00c9cole Polytechnique, in which the worship of the\nConvention and revolutionary ideas was at that period held in high\nhonor. We recall these circumstances, because the childhood and youth\nof a man serve to explain his mature age.\n\nIt does not appear that M. Comte, on leaving the Polytechnic School,\nreceived, as is ordinarily the case, any appointment in the public\nservice, civil or military--wherefore we know not. Whatever may have\nbeen the reason, as he was without fortune he supported himself for\nseveral years by giving lessons in mathematics. {722} After a while,\nhowever, he was appointed repeater and examiner in the Polytechnic\nSchool, which position he held till the revolution of 1848. His\nprofession as well as his aptitudes devoted him to the study of the\nexact sciences; but he cherished a far higher ambition, and already\naspired to be the reformer and prophet of the human race. That this\nthought, was early germinating in his mind, is proved by a pamphlet\nwhich he published in 1822, when only twenty-four years of age,\nentitled \"_Syst\u00e8me de Politique Positiviste_\" (System of Positivist\nPolitics). He subsequently greatly modified and enlarged it, and his\npretensions above all greatly expanded as he advanced; but the first\nidea of his system, not difficult, however, to discover, it must be\nacknowledged was deposited in that publication.\n\nAbout this time he became connected with Henri Claude de Saint-Simon,\nand being much younger than the founder of Saint-Simonism, he\nnaturally yielded to his influence, and became very near being\nabsorbed in the god of the Rue de Taitbout. But Auguste Comte could\nnot consent to that; he would be master not disciple, and therefore,\nafter having written some articles in the Saint-Simonian journal, _Le\nProducteur_, he abandoned the sect, separated from Saint-Simon, and\nlamented bitterly the precious time which that _depraved juggler_, as\nhe called him, had made him lose. After this rupture he was restored\nto himself and freed from all restraint; he could devote himself to\nthe finishing stroke of the great work he meditated.   [Footnote 108]\nThe solemn moment approached. Hitherto he had only staked out his\nground and sown the seeds, but the synthesis, the real _cerebral_\nunity, to use his language, was wanting. Without further delay he set\nhimself resolutely at work, and a meditation continued for four score\nhours brought him to the conception, to the preamble as it were, of\nthe systemization of the whole positive philosophy.  [Footnote 109]\nBut, alas! the long meditation brought with the system an access of\nmadness. It was slight at first, he assures us, a simple passing\nenfeeblement of the cerebral organs, resulting from excessive labor;\nbut the physicians took hold of it, and then the evil grew so much\nworse that it became necessary to shut him up in a madhouse--him who\nhad just discovered the law of the universe! M. Littr\u00e9 complains that\none of his collaborators in the _Journal des D\u00e9bats_ threw up this\nfact against the doctrine of his master, and he cites instances of\nvery superior men who have had similar accidents befal them. This\ncannot be denied. No one can say that he is secure from such cruel\nattacks; but we may be permitted to remark that there is here an\nintimate correlation between the doctrine and the mental malady, since\nboth are produced at the same time and by the same intellectual\neffort.\n\n  [Footnote 108: M. de Chalambert forgets to add that the cause of\n  this rapture was precisely the attempt of Saint-Simon, after having\n  failed to kill himself, to found a new religion, which he called\n  _Nouveau Christianisme_, and of which the positive religion\n  professed afterwards by M. Comte is only a manifest\n  plagiarism.--TRANSLATOR]\n\n  [Footnote 109: A useless labor, for he might have learned it from\n  that _depraved juggler_, Saint-Simon, who had reached it as early as\n  1804. Auguste Comte never made any advance on his master, but to the\n  last remained rather behind him. With all his pretensions to\n  originality, he was never anything more than the disciple of\n  Saint-Simon.--TRANSLATOR.]\n\nTwo or three years passed thus, after which M. Comte, having recovered\nhis health, resumed his labors, and in 1829 published the first volume\nof his \"_Cours de Philosophie Positive_,\" in which for the first time\nhe gives the principal data of his new theory. Five other volumes, of\neight or nine hundred pages each, followed at long intervals, and it\nwas only in 1842 that the work could be completed; not that ideas were\nwanting, but money to pay the printers, as the author himself tells\nus. During that time he opened a course of lectures, in which, under\npretext of teaching astronomy, he essayed to indoctrinate the public\nin his principles. Thanks to these several methods of propagating his\nviews, he at length succeeded in gaining a {723} few disciples, not\nnumerous, indeed, but enough to encourage the hope of obtaining more.\n\nAmong those who from that time adhered to the positivist doctrine we\nmust cite M. Etex, an artist, M. Vieillard, a politician who, then\nunknown, afterward obtained some note, and, in fine, M. Littr\u00e9, a\nphilologist, a litterateur, and a member of the Academy of\nInscriptions and Belles-Lettres. This last especially was an important\nrecruit, an unhoped-far good fortune for the new school. M. Comte\n(they who have tried to read him know it but too well!) was\nessentially deficient in the art of explaining and expressing his\nideas. M. Littr\u00e9 knows precisely how to write, if not with brilliancy,\nat least with method and clearness. Moreover, he had under his\ninfluence an important public organ, _The National_, and used it to\nthe profit of the new philosophy. In 1844, M. Littr\u00e9 published in that\njournal, of which he was an editor, a series of articles in which he\nextolled the positivist philosophy, declared himself its disciple, and\ncarried his complaisance toward the master so far as to give him the\nbrevet of a man of genius. However, unknown to him perhaps, a great\ntransformation was about to be effected; the _affective_ element of\nthe new doctrine, hitherto neglected, was about to make its way to the\nlight and play its part.\n\nToward that epoch, M. Comte encountered a woman, still young, Madame\nClotilde de Vaux, who lived separate from her husband. The misfortunes\nof this unhappy wife, misunderstood and deserted, touched him deeply;\nhe received her into his house, and forthwith she became his Beatrix,\nor, rather, his Egeria, for it was from her that he received the\nrevelation of the new dogmas which he hastened to promulgate to the\nworld. All at once, under the inspired influence of Madame Clotilde de\nVaux, the positivist philosophy is changed into a religion, in which\nthe _affective_ element decidedly predominates. With dogma and morals,\nworship and the priesthood are promptly organized. The sovereign\npontificate belonged as a matter of right to M. Comte, and he would no\ndoubt have willingly shared it with his _holy_ companion, but she,\nalas! had already been removed by a premature death, and he must be\nresigned to proclaim himself alone, high priest or sovereign pontiff.\n\nThis metamorphosis was so much the bolder as hitherto one of the\nprincipal theses of the positivist philosophy had been precisely that\nthe time for religion was gone, and gone for ever. It might well\nstartle the adepts; but it failed to frighten M. Littr\u00e9, the most\nimportant among them, for we find him using still _The National_ and\npreaching in its columns, with all the zeal of the neophyte, the\ndogmas of the new religion--the religion of humanity. This was, it is\ntrue, in 1851, when each day saw born and die some new sect, and M.\nLittr\u00e9 and _The National_ no doubt judged that, socialism for\nsocialism, M. Comte's socialism was worth as much as any other, and in\nfact was more convenient. We are inclined, nevertheless, to believe\nthat M. Littr\u00e9 was really smitten and vanquished (for what is there in\nthe way of new religions of which a free thinker is not capable?), and\nwe are confirmed in our belief because, not content to aid the\nestablishment of the new worship with his pen, he actually contributed\nto it from his purse. The republic of 1848 was not a good mother for\nM. Comte, although he hailed it with enthusiastic acclamations and\npronounced it immortal; it despoiled him at once of his means of\nsubsistence. M. Comte was little relished by the _savans_, and\nrelished them still less, especially those of the Academy of Sciences,\nwho had obstinately refused to open their doors to him. M. Arago, to\nwhom M. Comte attributed his disgrace, judging, doubtless, that there\nmust be some incompatibility between the dignity of high priest and\nthe functions of a repeater and examiner in the Polytechnic {724}\nSchool, deprived him of these two employments, from which he drew his\nsupport. M. Littr\u00e9 then came generously to the aid of his spiritual\nfather, and headed an annual subscription by which the adepts must\nprovide for the wants of their pontiff.\n\nWhile these things were in progress there came the _coup d'\u00e9tat_ of\nthe 2d of December. M. Comte bore this trial with a scandalous\nresignation. The faithful, M. Littr\u00e9 among others, refused\nhenceforward all active concurrence. But, on another side he found in\nM. Vieillard, become a senator of the new empire, a useful protector,\nand, thanks to him, he could soon resume his preachments. It was, in\nfact, all he desired, for he was singularly free from all political\nambition.\n\nFrom this moment M. Comte's religious zeal only augmented, and his pen\nbecame more active and prolific than ever. From 1851 to 1854 he\npublished four huge volumes under the title of \"_Syst\u00e8me de Politique\nPositiviste_;\" then a \"_Cat\u00e9chisme Positiviste_,\" a \"_Calendrier\nPositiviste_,\" and announced new works for the following years, when\ndeath took him by surprise and cut short his labors. It cannot be said\nthat his efforts were crowned with success, and that the numbers of\nhis disciples was increasing; on the contrary, solitude was gathering\ncloser and closer around him; but his faith was not shaken, and he\nremained to the last full of confidence in the future. If\n_occidentality_ gave little, he hoped much from _orientality_, and, in\n1852, he wrote to the Emperor Nicholas of Russia, and to the Sultan of\nTurkey, to induce them to undertake to propagate positivism in their\nrespective dominions, by representing to them that it was the only\nmeans of salvation that remained to them.\n\nSuch is the succinct history of the positivist philosophy and\nreligion. The religion, indeed, ended with its founder, for he\ndeclared a short time before his death that he had found no true\nbeliever worthy to succeed him in the pontificate; but the philosophy\nleft disciples who, though they may not accept it in all its parts,\nyet continue to be inspired by its principles. Not long since they had\nan organ in the _Revue Philosophique_, in which they showed themselves\nmuch divided, and gravely discussed the question whether it must be a\nphilosophy or a religion with which they should gratify the human\nrace. They seem, however, after the advice of M. Littr\u00e9, to have\nfinally agreed that it is necessary first of all to reproduce the\neighteenth century; that is to say, to renew, in the name of the\nemancipated flesh, the war against the Church and the religion of the\nspirit. Events have seemed to favor them, and instead of regretting\nthe suspension of public liberty, by the establishment of the new\nempire, they even greet it as an advantage, since they remind us that\nit was under a similar _r\u00e9gime_ that the encyclopaedic  work of which\nthey claim to be the legal heirs was born, grew, and prospered. In\nshort, M. Littr\u00e9 published, a short while ago, a new _brochure_ under\nthe title of \"_Part\u00f3les de Philosophie Positive_,\" in which he\nsustains all the principles of his master, and vindicates for himself\nthe honor of having been his most faithful disciple.\n\nWe have joined the names of M. H. Taine with the names of Messrs.\nComte and Littr\u00e9, although he has never openly avowed himself an\nadherent of their school. But, beside the identity of his principles\nwith those of positivism, the lightness of his philosophical luggage\ndoes not permit us to devote to him a separate study. We know of him\non this subject only by the book entitled \"_Les Philosophes Fran\u00e7ais\ndu dix-neuvi\u00e8me si\u00e8cle_\" (French Philosophers of the Nineteenth\nCentury), a superficial work, but agreeable, in which he judges with\nwit, sometimes with justice, the chief representatives of the eclectic\nphilosophy, and to which he has added a concluding chapter that gives\nus an exposition of his method. It is to this {725} method which we\nshall, farther on, devote a few words.  [Footnote 110]\n\n  [Footnote 110: M. de Taine has, since this article was written,\n  published a work on English writers and literature, which has in\n  certain quarters been well spoken of, and which really has some\n  merit, though of a lighter sort.--TRANSLATOR. ]\n\nII.\n\nIt will readily be perceived that we cannot even attempt to set forth\nwithin our limits the positivist religion and philosophy in all their\ndetails and developments, and that we must confine ourselves to their\nchief points or leading principles. We shall take our analysis from\nthe works of M. Comte himself, and from the series of letters which M.\nLittr\u00e9 formerly inserted in _The National_, and which he has since\nrepublished in a volume entitled _R\u00e9volution, Positivism,\nConservatism_, Paris, 1851. M. Littr\u00e9 has reproduced the ideas of the\nmaster with a fidelity and disinterestedness rare in a disciple, and\nhe has over the master the advantage of style and method.\n\nPositivism assumes as its starting point that modern society is\nsuffering from a deeply rooted evil, that it is like a man in a fever\nwho tosses and turns in his bed, seeking a position in which he may\nrest at ease, and finding none. Do what it will it can find no stable\nposition. In vain has it effected immense progress, for this very\nprogress turns to its disadvantage. Beside, what does progress avail\nif society cannot enjoy it in order and peace? But whence comes this\nevil, this trouble, this feverish and sterile agitation? Evidently it\ncomes from intellectual and moral anarchy. Nobody any longer believes\nin anything; there is no longer any law, any principle, that unites\nall minds in a common symbol; every one draws from himself; divided\negotisms are in mutual conflict, and seek each other's destruction. If\nsuch is the nature of the malady, the remedy is obvious. It must be in\nobtaining a doctrine which accepted by all becomes the doctrine of\nall, a bond of union for them, and the principle of peace.\n\nBut where is this doctrine to be found? Is it a religious doctrine--\nCatholicity, for instance? The Catholic doctrine, indeed, gave\nformerly the result desired, and realized in the world an incomparable\nunity; but it has had its day; science has demonstrated the\nimpossibility of its dogmas, and it, in fact, finds now only here and\nthere a real believer--the great majority have ceased to believe it.\nWill Protestantism supply the doctrine needed? No; for Protestantism\nis only a degenerate and illogical Catholicism. Will Islamism give it?\nIslamism has certainly its grand sides, but its morality is too\ndefective, and its dogma is hardly less repulsive than the Christian.\nIt is, then, manifest that all existing religions are impotent for the\nfuture to rally and unite in a common bond the minds of men. But as\nreligion cannot do it, perhaps philosophy, metaphysics, can?\nMetaphysics is only the abstract form of religion, resting on the same\nbasis and sustained by it, and does nothing but substitute abstract\nbeings that have no reality for the supernatural beings imagined by\nreligion, and which science equally rejects. Metaphysics has, as\nreligion, been indeed useful, has aided science to show the inanity of\nreligions dogmas; but, if useful in the work of destruction, it is\nimpotent in that of rebuilding, and can henceforth serve only to\nperpetuate intellectual anarchy--that is to say, only aggravate the\nevil instead of curing it. If, then, the remedy can be found neither\nin religion nor in metaphysics, where can it be found?\n\nIt is to be found in a doctrine which substitutes for the supernatural\nbeings of religion, and the abstract entities of metaphysics, the real\nbeings which science demonstrates, and the existence of which nobody\ndisputes or can dispute. But how find or how construct such a\ndoctrine? The experience of what has been done in the exact sciences\ngives distinctly enough the answer. There was a time when mathematics,\nastronomy, physics, did not exist, and when men explained all the\nphenomena {726} of nature by chimerical hypotheses. Now, how has man\ncome forth from that ignorance? By observing instead of imagining, as\nhe had hitherto done; and in observing phenomena he discovered their\nlaws, and thus, with time and effort, he succeeded in creating the\nsciences which are called mathematics, astronomy, physics, chemistry.\nCan we doubt, after this, that by applying the same method or\nfollowing the same process in regard to the science of individual man,\nor _biology_, and the science of society, or _sociology_, we shall\nobtain the same result? And let it not be said that these sciences are\nof another order; the distinction attempted to be established between\nthem and the exact sciences is puerile and unfounded, as science\nexists only on condition of being exact, and if not exact it is not\nscience. Biology and sociology have, it is true, not yet the character\nof exact sciences; but why have they not? Simply because they are as\nyet in their infancy, as was chemistry two centuries ago; because, on\nthe one hand, they have been badly studied, and, on the other, because\nthey are more complex and less easily mastered. The difficulties, it\nis admitted, are therefore great; but it is necessary to conquer them,\nsince the salvation of the world can be secured on no other condition.\n\nThe terms of the problem are now distinctly stated, together with the\nmethod of its solution. The malady from which society suffers is\nintellectual anarchy, and intellectual anarchy will cease only when we\nhave made of the sciences of biology and sociology (it is known what\nthese sciences mean) sciences as exact as are mathematics, astronomy,\netc.; and to do this it is only necessary to use the same method in\nconstructing them that is used in constructing the so-called exact\nsciences.\n\nHowever, the whole is not yet said. Observation is, indeed, the true\nmethod, but observation of what? Of moral phenomena, the operations of\nthe soul? But what is the soul? Who has seen it? Certain\nmetaphysicians have, indeed, pretended to derive all science from the\nphenomena of the soul; but this is a gross error; psychology is an\nimpossible science. In psychology the subject, or rather the organ\nwhich observes, is precisely that which is observed--the eye striving\nto see itself. To what, then, is observation to be applied? To the\nbody, to the cerebral organs, and, primarily, to the external world;\nto the inorganic world at first, afterward to the organic world, to\nminerals, plants, animals. The study of animals is especially\nserviceable, since man, at most, has over the animal only the\nadvantage of some superior intellectual faculties, and even that\nadvantage appears doubtful, observes M. Comte, if we compare the acts\nof the mammiferae, the most elevated, with those of savages, the least\ndeveloped.\n\nAfter zoology, the most useful science is phrenology, the science\nwhich best teaches us what man really is. Dr. Gall under this relation\nhas rendered an immense service, and created the true science of man.\nHe erred, it is true, by too minute detail, and in wishing to\ndetermine at once the organs of theft, luxury, etc., which gave fair\nscope to criticism;  [Footnote 111] but it would be difficult to\nresist the accumulated proofs on which he had established his system.\nIn short, science is now in the position to give a classification of\neighteen interior functions of the brain, or a systematic _tableau_ of\nthe soul. Thus it is neither from metaphysics nor from religion, but\nfrom zoology, and, above all, from phrenology, that we must seek the\nknowledge of the laws which govern intelligence.\n\n  [Footnote 111: Nothing is new under the sun, says Solomon. Any one\n  curious on the subject of phrenology may read, as M. Cousin has well\n  remarked, in Plato's _Timoeus_, all that Gall and Spurzheim, and\n  their followers, have really established in their pretended\n  science.--TRANSLATOR.]\n\nHowever, _method_ alone does not suffice. There is needed also a\n_criterion_, and here M. Comte confesses that the difficulty is great.\n\nTo observe with profit, to be able, by observation, to abstract from\nthe {727} phenomena their laws, we most have an anterior law, a\ntype-law, to serve as the term of comparison, in like manner as a\nstandard is necessary to determine the value of a coin. Now, what\nfurnishes this type? Observation? But this is only to recommence the\ndifficulty. The embarrassment can be relieved only by reasoning from\nanalogy, and a historical theory. Positivism, after all, then, resorts\nto reasoning and theorizing! The sciences which are firmly seated on\npositive realities began in hypotheses, and it has been by the aid of\nhypotheses, ascertained afterward to be false, that observation has\nsucceeded in discovering the real laws of these sciences! It must be\nthe same with biology and sociology. Humanity began by religion, and\nreligion has passed through three phases, fetichism, polytheism, and\nmonotheism. Religion, truly, is only a fiction, but a useful fiction,\nand even necessary to the development of humanity. Fetichism, in\noffering plants to the adoration of man, taught him to cultivate them;\npolytheism, in creating supernatural beings, gave birth to poetry and\nthe fine arts; monotheism, in elevating minds, has fitted them for the\nculture of science. After religion came metaphysics, which, by\ntransforming the dogmas into abstractions, destroyed them; and, by\ndestroying them, opened the way for positivism. Now, what has taken\nplace for humanity in general must be reproduced for each man in\nparticular; each one of us must pass through the religious state and\nthe metaphysical state before we can arrive at the positivist state.\nThus, then, in like manner as it has been by means of false hypotheses\nthat the real laws of the science have been discovered, so by means of\nhypotheses equally false, religion and metaphysics, will be discovered\nthe true laws of biology.\n\nWe confess that we do not very clearly perceive what relation there is\nbetween this theory and the problem to be solved. The problem is how\nto find a criterion by the aid of which the true may be distinguished\nfrom the false; but this criterion escapes us still, and we have for\nit only a second method superposed on the first, or history coming to\nthe aid of physiology. True, we are not told what bond connects the\ntwo methods, or how we are to combine them, and from their combination\nobtain the type-law; but we must not be too difficult, and we forewarn\nour readers that they must not look for any real connection, any\nlogical nexus, between the various propositions which we are about to\nplace before them. Beyond the gross materialism which follows\nnecessarily from the positivist premises, all is arbitrary and\ncapricious; the master says it, and he must be believed on his word,\nwithout being asked for reasons, good or bad. Our readers will judge\nfor themselves if this be not so, and that they may not accuse us of\nexaggerating anything, we shall give generally textual citations.\n\nAfter having presented the formula of its method, or rather of its two\nmethods, the positivist school proceeds to the application and\nexposition of the consequences which are derived from it or them.\n\nIn the very outset they assert that there are no absolute truths, that\nall truth is relative; the true, the good, the fair, are such only by\na provisional title; what was virtue yesterday may be crime to-day,\nand what is crime to-day may be virtue to-morrow. Thus speaks M.\nLittr\u00e9:\n\n\"The positivist philosophy is experimental; . . . . it is composed of\nrelative not absolute notions. . . . When man, in the beginning of his\nscientific career, launched into unrestricted researches after the\nabsolute, he had only this way open to him; now another way has been\nopened, that of experience and induction. This way cannot conduct the\ninquirer to absolute notions, and when we demand them of reason we\ndemand of her more than she has. The mind of man is neither absolute\nnor infinite, and to try to obtain from it absolute {728} solutions is\nto go out of the _immutable_ conditions of human nature.\"  [Footnote\n112]--_Littr\u00e9, Conservatism, Revolution, and Positivism_, pp. 5, 38.\n\n  [Footnote 112: M. de Chalambert might here reply, granting man has\n  no infinite or absolute _notions_, which no finite mind can have, it\n  by no means follows that he has no notions or conceptions of that\n  which is infinite and absolute, or intuitions of necessary, eternal,\n  and immutable truth, as are the first principles of all science,\n  religion, and morals.--TRANSLATOR. ]\n\nIf there are no absolute truths, then there is no God:\n\n\"This conclusion,\" says M. Littr\u00e9 \"rests on the decisive results of\nall scientific exploration during the long course of the ages, namely,\nthat nothing of what is called first cause is accessible to the human\nmind, and the origin of the world can be explained neither by many\ngods nor by one god alone, neither by nature, chance, nor atoms. This\nresult, erected into a principle, gradually takes possession of modern\nintelligence, and bears in its womb the social organization of the\nfuture of the race. . . . If, for a childish and individual\nsatisfaction, the idea of some theological being, one or manifold, is\nretained, it is necessary to reduce the conception forthwith to a\nnullity, and to purely nominal and supererogatory functions; for the\nresult of scientific investigation is, that there is in the course of\nthings no trace of miracle or government from above, and nothing but\nan unbroken chain of laws modifiable, within certain limits, by the\naction from age to age of mankind. As Laplace says, such a being is\nhenceforth a useless hypothesis.\"--_lb. pp_. 279, 298.\n\nThe soul has no existence distinct from that of the body, and\ntherefore dies with it:\n\n\"This belief (concerning the survivance of the soul), which might be\ntrue, is not found to be so; science (always science!) has not been\nable to establish a single fact whatever of a life after death; and\nso, like a pond no longer alimented by inflowing streams, the opinion\nof an individual perpetuity gradually evaporates.\"--_lb., pp._128.\n\nThere is room for liberty only because the biological phenomena are\nvery complex:\n\n\"No science,\" says M. Littr\u00e9 (_ib_., p. 114), \"if the phenomenon has\nno law, and no power (liberty) if not complex enough to offer us\nstruggles duly proportioned to the complication.\"\n\nIt follows from this that the effect of the progress of science must\nbe to diminish human liberty, since in proportion as it elucidates\nquestions it diminishes their complexity.\n\nHowever, human intelligence must have an ideal:\n\n\"The ideal is its dream and its worship. Now what will be its ideal?\nHumanity itself. Humanity has a real existence; it is the great Being,\nreally a great collective body, having a regular growth of its own,\nand provided, like every individual body, with temporary organs, which\nlose their activity, wither, and disappear in default of employment\nand nutrition\" (_ib_., p. 118). \"Formerly, and conformably to the\nmedium in which they moved, theology and metaphysics, its slave, gave\ntheir demonstration of the divine existence. In like manner science\nto-day gives the demonstration of the existence of humanity. It is no\nlonger possible to mistake the growth of this ideal--the solidarity of\nits most remote past with its most distant future, and this powerful\nlife of which each man has been, is, and will be an organ\" (_ib_., p.\n283). \"Humanity is a real ideal, which it is necessary to know\n(education), to love (religion), to embellish (the fine arts), to\nenrich (industry), and which therefore holds our whole existence,\nindividual, domestic, and social, under its supreme direction\" (_ib_.,\np. 286).\n\nTo love and serve humanity is the whole positivist moral law. M.\nLittr\u00e9 says, pp. 291, 292: \"This morality is much superior to the\nmorality of the past, which was founded on selfishness. The\n'salvation' of the theologians is as much a selfish calculation as the\n'enlightened self-interest' {729} of the materialists. The\nmaterialists say, 'Do good: it is for thy interest in this life;' the\ntheologians say, 'Do good: it is for thy interest in another life.'\nNever was there a more perfect system of selfishness organized in the\nworld; and if powerful instincts, and, it is but justice to add,\nsacerdotal wisdom, had not in part counterbalanced the disastrous\neffects of such an habitual direction, individual asceticism and\naspiration to salvation would have dissolved all social bonds.\"\n\nIt is, we see, no longer God whom we are to love and serve, but\nhumanity, and as humanity has few or no rewards to bestow, the worship\nwe render her must needs be disinterested. Selfishness falls in\nproportion as the hope of reward vanishes. [But suppose one does not\nlove and serve humanity, will he suffer punishment or lose anything in\nconsequence? If so, what becomes of the positivist doctrine of the\ndisinterestedness of the worship of humanity?--TR.]\n\nSuch are the solutions offered by the positivist philosophy on the\nprincipal points of biology, or the science of the individual; we\nproceed now to sociology, or the science of society.\n\nPositivism, being at once a philosophy and a religion, must admit and\ndoes admit two distinct societies--a temporal society and a spiritual\nsociety. We begin with the first.\n\nThe aim of the temporal society M. Littr\u00e9, _ib_., p. 119, explains in\nthe following manner: \"The historic tradition itself, without anything\nforced, arbitrary, fortuitous, or transitory, conducts us to the reign\nof industry. Before industry the whole past successively falls and\ndisappears. For the modern man industrial activity is the only\ntemporal occupation, the only practical activity. . . . If the\naccession of the industrial regimen is inevitable, it is also\ninevitable that the chiefs of our industry should be our temporal\nchiefs. We have no need of patricians or of gentlemen to lead us to\nwar and conquest; we have no need of kings or kaisers to concentrate\nin their own hands the power of the sword. Their functions, formerly\npreeminent, are now without employment (!). But we have need of\ndirectors who can conduct the peaceful labors of industry with\nfirmness and intelligence, labors which certainly want neither\ncomplication nor difficulty nor grandeur. It is to this end that all\ntemporal power must aspire.\"\n\nIf so, if industry is the supreme and last end of humanity, evidently\nnothing is to be changed in the present condition of property, and\nthat the wealth of the rich should be augmented rather than\ndiminished. The constitution of the family must also be maintained.\nThe marriage bond is, therefore, declared indissoluble; the positivist\nlaw is in this respect even more severe than the Christian law, for,\nnot contented with prohibiting divorce, it even forbids second\nnuptials. In the purely political order the republican form must\nobtain.\n\n\"I have thought ever since February, 1848,\" said M. Littr\u00e9, in 1850,\np. 205, \"that the establishment of the republic is definitive in\nFrance, having for it the guarantee of manners which have ceased to be\nmonarchical, and after this wholly theoretical point of view, I have\nconstantly lived, and engage to live, in security.\"\n\nThis confidence, wholly positivist, has been but poorly justified by\nevents; yet there are compensations, and, in reality, the imperial\n_r\u00e9gime_, which has succeeded to the republic, differs not so much as\nmight be supposed from that which the positivists themselves wished to\nestablish. The principal conditions demanded by the positivist\nrepublic are: 1. Free discussion; 2. The preponderance of the central\npower; 3. The rigid restriction of the parliamentary or _local_ power\nto the vote of the budget; 4. In fine, the investment of the growing\npower in the hands of proletaries or working-men.\n\nM. Comte and M. Littr\u00e9 both agree on all these points; they both have\nan {730} equal horror of parliamentary government, under which, says\nM. Littr\u00e9, power passes into the hands of lawyers, pettifoggers, and\nsophists. Both desire three directors; but M. Comte judges it most\nsuitable to choose three bankers, because society is industrial, and\nbankers, who are the lessors of the funds of industry, are in a better\nposition than others to know its wants. M. Littr\u00e9 (he was writing in\n_The National_ in 1850) preferred three eminent proletaries. \"What is\nthe proletary,\" exclaims he, \"operative or peasant, who, if he has\nequal intelligence, that he should not be as capable as M. Thiers or\nM. Guizot of directing political affairs?\" He concedes, however, that\nas a counterpoise to the central proletarian power, the _Chamber of\nDeputies_ should be composed of rich men, who are the best fitted by\nhabit to vote the budget.\n\nMaster and disciple both agree, that Paris should elect the executive\ngovernment; and that the rest of the French people should have the\nright to obey. Fear you that from such a system despotism must result?\nM. Littr\u00e9 reassures you, with his strange apothegm, \"what is despotism\nin our days but government in the hands of the retrograde parties?\"\nThat is, despotism is simply power in the hands of those whose ideas\nare different from ours? Could he tell his secret with a more\nrefreshing simplicity? He has another word which might excite some\nuneasiness. \"The philosophical genius of the Convention was not\ninferior to its political genius, and, indeed, they were each the\nnecessary condition of the other. _Positivism is their direct heir_.\nThe whole positivist political theory, therefore, like all\nrevolutionary theories, ends at last in this: Below, as the very\ncondition of its existence, the sovereignty of the plebs; above, as\nthe crown of the edifice, the dictator.\n\nBut we pass to the spiritual society. We have seen under the influence\nof what sentiments the positive philosophy was suddenly transformed\ninto a religion. Madame Clotilde de Vaux had the initiative, and\ninspired, in 1845, the religious thought of M. Comte. From that moment\nit was no longer the intellect but the heart, no longer intelligence\nbut love, that predominated in the positivist school. The disciples\nwere transformed with the master. \"I recognize and profess as the\npositivist philosophy requires,\" says M. Littr\u00e9, p. 298, \"that this\n_affective_ side of human nature should always preponderate over the\nintellectual side.\" As soon as it was decided that religion should\ntake the place of philosophy, M. Comte proclaimed a great Being and\nthen a high priest. The great Being, who was none other than humanity\nitself, was defined to be \"the collection of all beings, past,\npresent, and to come, that freely concur in the completion of\nuniversal order,\" or more briefly, but not more clearly, \"the\ncontinuous whole of convergent beings.\"  [Footnote 113]\n\n  [Footnote 113: Aug. Comte, \"_Cours de Politique Positive_,\" t. 1, p. 30.]\n\nThe high priest (_le grand pr\u00e9tre_) was, as we have said, M. Comte\nhimself. After this came dogma and worship. The dogma had already its\nprincipal features in philosophy, and there was little to be added;\nbut for worship, _le culte_, all was to be created. The fertile\nimagination of M. Comte promptly provided for it. He engaged at first\nin compiling and publishing a positivist catechism, by the side of\nwhich M. Littr\u00e9 gravely tells us \"the Catholic catechism is only an\nembryo.\" He afterward constructed a calendar; he commences the new era\nwith the year 1793, and names it _Cycle of the Great Crisis_. The year\nis divided into thirteen months of four weeks each; the months take\nthe names of thirteen men of superior genius; instead of saying\nJanuary, February, we must say Moses, Aristotle, etc. The days have\nalso the names of celebrated men, but men of an inferior order.\nSeveral circular letters from the high priest to the faithful were\ndated the 4th of Moses, {731} 6th of the Great Crisis, or 6\nArchimedes, Great Crisis 64.\n\nThere was, or rather was to have been, a college of assessor\npriests--the number of whom was fixed at twenty thousand for Europe,\none-fourth of whom were allotted to France; positivist savans and\npoets were to compose the college faculty.\n\nTime and money failed for the construction of a temple for the new\nworship, and the apartment occupied by M. Comte, Rue des Fosses,\nMonsieur-le-Prince, held temporarily its place. The faithful\ncongregated there on appointed days, and every positivist believer was\nrequired to say three prayers daily. It was, doubtless, in consequence\nof one of these pious exercises that M. Littr\u00e9 exclaimed:\n\n\"I have too clearly perceived the efficacy of this regenerative\nsocialism in myself and in the little group of disciples, and the calm\ncontent with which it fills the soul, not to desire to take part in\nit. . . . In these times, when all things seem giving way, how\nsalutary and sweet to feel ourselves in communion with the immense\nexistence which protects us, with that humanity which is the spirit of\nour globe, and the providence of successive generations!\"--_M. Littr\u00e9,\nib._, p. 294.\n\nThe number of festival days was considerable; there were fourscore and\none a year. The festival of the great Being, those of the sun, the\ndead, the police, the press, etc. Nine sacraments were instituted:\n\n1. _The Presentation_, The parents present the new-born child to the\npriest, who accepts it, or, in some rare cases, rejects it. We are not\ntold what becomes of the new-born child that is rejected.\n\n2. _Initiation_. At fourteen the boy is delivered to the priesthood,\nwho take charge of his instruction.\n\n3. _Admission_. At twenty-one the adult is admitted to the service of\nhumanity.\n\n4. _Destination_. Seven years after the young man is admitted to the\nspecial office which he is judged capable of filling.\n\n5. _Marriage_. Marriage is not permitted after thirty-five in men and\ntwenty-eight in women. Three months continence before the definitive\ncelebration, eternal widowhood, save in some rare cases, of which the\nhigh priest alone is the judge, are enjoined.\n\n6. _Maturity_. At forty-two the man is admitted to the full maturity\nof the service of humanity.\n\n7. _Retirement_. This takes place at sixty-three.\n\n8. _Transformation_. Perfection is prepared by repentance.\n\n9. _Incorporation_. Burial in a garden in the midst of flowers.\n\nOnce entered into this way, M. Comte cannot stop, and he even arrives\nat the Utopia of a virgin mother, at first hazarded only as a bold\nhypothesis, but afterward proclaimed as the synthetic _r\u00e9sum\u00e9_ of the\nwhole positivist religion, in which are combined all its aspects. He\nwas preparing a special treatise on this grand discovery when death\ninterrupted him. A word on this conception of a virgin mother. Through\nthe indefinite progress of positivism, the wife may one day come to\nconceive without ceasing to be a virgin, and so universal continence\nbecome the supreme law of the positivist religion, without in other\nrespects abolishing the social bonds of marriage.\n\nBut at least humanity, after so many efforts, once elevated to this\nglorious state, will henceforth remain in it? M. Comte thinks not; he\ninclines, on the contrary, to the belief that in spite of the\npositivist virtue, humanity will end by decreasing and entirely\ndisappearing.\n\nBut we have detained our readers long enough with these sad\nlucubrations of a sickly brain. We could not well pass them over in\nsilence, for they belong to the intellectual history of our times, and\nit seems to us some useful lessons may be extracted from them.\n\nWe have promised to make known {732} the philosophical theory of M. H.\nTaine, but as the matter is small, the exposition may be short. His\ntheory may be reduced to the three following points:\n\n1. The philosopher in the study of science must be disinterested, and\ndraw his conclusions after having made his observations, without\ndisturbing himself as to their consequences. The philosopher, in a\nword, must set the man aside, forget that he is a son, a father, a\nhusband, a citizen, and regard science alone, nothing but science,\nwith the facts observation furnishes.\n\n2. Observation is the only method, and observation must be confined\nexclusively to physical phenomena, which alone are real. Metaphysical\nbeings, notions of the soul, of first cause, are pure illusions;\nconsequently nothing survives the body, and there is no God, at least\nno God that can be inferred from any observable phenomena.\n\n3. The highest synthesis to which observation can conduce is that\nthere is a vast assemblage of laws and phenomena which we call nature.\n\nAll this resembles positivism too closely to be separated from it. If\nwe have distinguished it, we have done so that M. H. Taine should not\naccuse us of making him, in spite of himself, the disciple of a master\nwhom, perhaps, he does not wish to own.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nBefore proceeding to examine this strange and incoherent system either\nin its general principles or in its particular application, we must\nreduce to their first value the two propositions which we set forth as\nits preamble, or rather as its pretext: 1. That modern society is in\nwant of a doctrine that unites all intelligences in a common symbol,\nand enables them to live in peace and harmony; and, 2. That this\ndoctrine cannot be in the future the Catholic doctrine, though that\ndoctrine for a long time in the past filled its office, for its dogmas\nare now known to be irreconcilable with the discoveries of science.\n\nOne of the most common practices of the sophistical spirit is not so\nmuch to deny facts as to distort them, exaggerate their reach, or\nconfuse those which are distinct. This is what our positivists do in\nthese propositions. That there is at present much intellectual\nanarchy, that many souls, having lost their faith, or suffered it to\nbe greatly weakened, refuse to recognize any law except the law which\nthey make for themselves, and that thence results a mental\nperturbation from which society suffers not a little, is a fact too\nevident and too lamentable to be questioned. It is only simple\njustice, however, to acknowledge that M. Comte has the merit of\npointing it out much earlier than the most of his friends [and\nSaint-Simon much earlier than even M. Comte.--TR.] Although strongly\nimbued with the revolutionary spirit he comprehended [had learned from\nSaint-Simon?--TR.] as early as 1822 that that spirit, powerful indeed\nto destroy, is radically incapable of establishing anything, and he\nnever spared the illusion of those who believed that the principles of\nthe Constituent Assembly of 1789, engrafted on religious unbelief,\ncould serve as the basis of the social edifice.\n\nBut if the evil denounced is only too real, it is not necessary to\nrepresent it as greater than it is, or to conclude, because faith in\nmany souls has grown feeble, that it has entirely perished, and is no\nlonger to be found among men. We know how difficult and how delicate\nit is to establish the balance-sheet of religious society. Appearances\nare deceptive, and to reach the real facts we must explore, to the\nbottom, the consciences of men, which only God can do. However, there\nare certain exterior circumstances which may enable us even on this\npoint to approximate the real facts in the case. It is undeniable that\nthere are in all the degrees of society men who really believe and\nfaithfully practise religion; others who believe but practise not;\n{733} and still others who make an open profession of not believing.\nThe first division have representatives in every social class, among\nthe poor as well as among the rich, in the sciences, in literature, in\nart, in industry, in politics. Their faith in general is equally firm\nand enlightened, for it has been thoroughly tried, and has withstood\nevery attack, both from within and from without.\n\nThe second class are more numerous, at least in the great centres of\npopulation, and form in those centres the bulk of society. They\nbelieve, but their faith is weak, or perhaps it were more proper to\nsay that they have not faith, but only vague and indecisive beliefs,\nwhose level rises or falls according to events. They recoil alike from\navowed apostasy and from distinct, precise, and frank affirmation of\nthe truth. As they have abandoned the practice of their religion, it\nmay be supposed that they have lost all belief, but that is far from\nbeing the case, for often the slightest breath from without suffices\nto rekindle what seems to be extinct, but is really only asleep. It is\nrare, above all, that at the last moment, when the passions have been\nappeased, when they stand face to face with reality and see it as it\nis, their last and solemn word is not a word of faith.\n\nThe third class, those who make an open profession of unbelief, are\nrelatively few; but they make up for their lack of numbers by their\nactivity and the powerful means at their disposal. They fill high\npositions in the state, control the greater part of the organs of\npublicity, and gain the multitudes to their side all the more easily\nbecause they excel in the art of caressing popular prejudices and\npandering to popular passions. Beside, their hatred of truth is\ngreater than their attachment to any doctrine whatever, and they can,\ntherefore, hold themselves free to attack the faith without being\nbound to defend anything of their own against it, or to maintain any\nself-consistency in their attacks. What moves and governs them is not\nthe desire to ascertain or defend the truth, but to appear to have\nindependence and hardihood of mind, and to pose themselves as\ndespisers of the past and precursors of the future.\n\nBut to appreciate the real situation of things, it is not enough to\nregard the present. We must also consider the past. No society makes\nitself such as it is, and every society holds infinitely more from the\ngeneration that went before than from the existing generation. Now, as\nthe society of the past was manifestly a Christian society, it cannot\nbe that the present should not remain Christian in the greater part of\nits elements; and in fact, notwithstanding the formidable efforts that\nhave been made to unchristianize modern society, and its numerous\ndeviations, it is still the Christian spirit that inspires the laws,\nmanners, and institutions, and so pervades the general intelligence\nthat even those who would attack the Christian dogmas are constrained,\nin order to render their attacks more effective, to appeal to the very\nprinciples which Christianity has brought to light and made\npredominant.\n\nMoreover, religious faith, far from decreasing, is actually\nprogressing, and, if it has not yet recovered all the ground it had\nlost, its gains since the commencement of the present century have\nbeen far greater than its losses.\n\nIt is not difficult to detect the vice of the first proposition. It\nconsists in assuming that Christian faith is dead, while it has only\nbeen lessened; that it has lost all authority over the intelligent,\nwhile, in fact, it continues to exercise, directly or indirectly, such\nan empire over them that its principles are universally regarded as\nthe foundation and support of the social edifice itself.\n\nBut not contented with assuming that Christianity is dead, the\npositivists go further, and pretend that it cannot be restored to\nlife, because its dogmas are found to be incompatible with the\ndiscoveries of science. This is not {734} a fact distorted, not a fact\ninvented, and for which no proof is offered or attempted to be\noffered. We have in vain sought in the writings of Messrs. Comte and\nLittr\u00e9 even the semblance of a reason of any sort in support of the\nallegation. The positivists announce it, affirm it, but make no effort\neven to prove it, or at most only stammer out by the way the name of\nGalileo, as if it had not been a thousand times answered, at first,\nthat the sacred writers must have spoken the language of their times,\nwhich after all is still the language of our times; afterward that\nCopernicus dedicated, in 1545, to Pope Paul III., his great work, in\nwhich he sets forth and defends the new or heliocentric system of the\nuniverse; that nearly a century elapsed before any censure of it\nintervened; that Galileo, although technically condemned, was neither\nloaded with chains nor cast into a dungeon; in fine--and it is the\nimportant point--that the holy office which condemned him, though\npossessing great and legitimate authority, is not the Church, and has\nno claim to infallibility.  [Footnote 114]\n\n  [Footnote 114: This was written before the Encyclical of the Holy\n  Father, dated December 8, 1864, otherwise the noble author might\n  have modified his expression so as not even to seem to incur its\n  censure. Without raising any question as to the infallibility of the\n  pontifical congregations when they render a dogmatic Judgment\n  approved by the Holy Father, it is evident that the judgment\n  rendered in the case of Galileo was not a dogmatic judgment in the\n  understanding of even Rome herself, for she has since rescinded it,\n  and has permitted the theory to be taught in her schools as science.\n  The judgment was disciplinary, not dogmatic, and assuming,\n  therefore, that Galileo held the scientific truth, it offers no\n  evidence of the incompatibility of Catholic _dogma_ with science,\n  any more than the condemnation of an unwarrantable insurrection in a\n  monarchical country in favor of democracy would prove that the\n  Church is hostile to liberty.--TRANSLATOR. ]\n\nUnable to produce any facts to support their thesis, the positivists\nresort to historical induction. They argue that the sciences have been\nin a state of continuous progress for three centuries; but during the\nsame three centuries they say faith has been in a state of continual\ndecline; there is, therefore, an intimate correlation between the two\nfacts, so intimate that we may assert the former as generating the\nlatter. But to a legitimate induction, all the facts on which it\ndepends should be carefully observed and reported, which in this case\nis not done.\n\nIt is not true that faith has declined in a fatal and continuous\nmanner; nor is it true that the sciences have made their greatest\nprogress in those epochs in which faith has most declined. Ask\nhistory. In the beginning of the sixteenth century occurred Luther's\nrevolt; It produced in the Christian world a universal shock. During\nseveral years heresy made every day new progress, and a part of Europe\nwas detached from the centre of unity; but very soon the movement was\narrested, and before the end of that same century a reaction against\nit had begun, followed by a religious revival or re-birth which\nproduced one of the grandest epochs in the history of mankind. In the\neighteenth century a new attack, more formidable than the first, is\nmade on faith; it triumphs, and seems to be on the point of destroying\nall truth. Yet from the beginning of the next century a second\nreligious restoration is effected, of which it may be as yet too early\nto determine the full bearing on the future, but which has already had\ntoo serious results to allow its great importance to be questioned.\nThus out of four centuries there are two, the sixteenth and the\neighteenth, in which faith has declined, and two, the seventeenth and\nthe nineteenth, in which faith has revived and increased. There is not\nthen a fatal and continuous march of faith in a certain direction.\nThere are two contrary currents that meet and combat each other,\nwithout its being lawful as yet from the point of view of science to\nsay which will ultimately triumph.\n\nBut at least they are the centuries of doubt and unbelief in which\nscience has made her greatest progress? Not at all. Precisely the\ncontrary is the fact. The sixteenth century did hardly anything for\nscience, but the seventeenth century, the age of the {735} Catholic\nrevival, was the age of the Galileos, the Pascals, the Des Cartes, the\nNewtons, the Leibnitzes--the age in which not only philosophy,\nletters, the arts, were carried to their highest degree of splendor,\nbut the great principles of modern science were discovered and\nestablished--principles from which have resulted all subsequent\ndiscoveries, which, it is well to remark, have been only an affair of\napplication and patience, not of invention and genius.\n\nBut the positivists insist again that, granting there is no absolute\nincompatibility between science and faith, since the masters of\nscience have been decided believers, and are so still; granting also\nthat there is no direct relation between the progress of science and\nthe decline of faith, since the periods in which science has grown are\nnot coincident with those in which faith has diminished--still the\ngeneral result of three centuries of activity is that science has\ngained and faith has lost, and it is difficult, therefore, to suppose\nthat these two facts are wholly foreign one to the other.\n\nWe reply that if this were proposed as a mere hypothesis, it might\npass, and there would be no inconvenience in admitting that the\nprogress of science may have indirectly, and so by way of reaction,\nhad some influence in weakening religious beliefs. In all progress, in\nevery increase of power, there is danger. Man is naturally weak, and\nas soon as he feels himself in possession of a new force he suffers\nhimself to be dazzled by it, attributes to himself all its merits, and\nsoon comes to believe that he can suffice for himself, and dispense\nwith all aid from above. Consider what takes place in our days.\nCertainly, it is impossible to conceive in what respect steam,\nchloroform, electricity, or photography conflicts with any Christian\ndogma. Religion, instead of standing aghast at these discoveries in\nthe application of science, applauds them, and sees in them new and\nmore efficient means of doing her own work, of ameliorating the\ncondition of a large number, of propagating the Gospel, and drawing\ncloser the bonds of unity throughout the world. Yet such is not the\nimpression which they produce on all minds. Certain persons, at sight\nof so many marvels, are so carried away with enthusiasm as to conclude\nthat man is on the eve of becoming God. The impression will, no doubt,\nsoon wear away, but till it does, the intoxication continues, and\nhearts are inflated. In this way science may come to the aid of\nunbelief; not by itself, nor by the results it gives; but by the\npresumptuous confidence with which it too often fills the mind. As it\nis not and cannot be the principal and efficient cause of the success\nof unbelief, we must seek that cause elsewhere, in the unloosing of\nthe passions, always impatient of the restraints of faith. History in\nfact teaches us that the great revolts of the intellect are\ncontemporary with those of the will and the senses; that it was in the\nscandals of the revival of ancient learning in the fifteenth century\nthat Protestantism was conceived; that more lately it was the _les\npetits soupers_ of the Regency and under the impure inspirations of\nthe Pompadours and the Du Barrys that was spun and woven the\nconspiracy against the God of Calvary. Modern unbelief may boast of\nthe independence it has acquired, but assuredly not, if it has any\nself-respect, of its shameful cradle.\n\nSo we see that the very propositions which serve as a pretext to the\npositivist system are belied by the historical facts in the case. Far\nfrom being ready to perish, religion is every day making new progress,\nand none of its dogmas have as yet been contradicted or weakened by\nany of the real discoveries of science.\n\nThe positivist system itself, it will be recollected, is based on the\nassumption that no doctrine can henceforth obtain the assent of the\nintelligent, save on condition of being positive, {736} that is, as\nrigidly demonstrable as are the physical sciences. Such a theory\nhardly needs refuting, so contrary is it to common sense and the\nuniversal beliefs of the race. But as it has been set forth at length\nin a series of huge volumes, maintained and lauded in an important\npolitical journal, counts still many adepts, has been recalled not\nlong since to the public attention by a work written by one of their\nnumber who has the honor of being a member of the Institute [and as it\nis gaining no little ground, under its philosophical aspect, in Great\nBritain and the United States--TR.], it is not permissible to neglect\nit, and we feel it necessary, if not to combat it directly, at least\nto point out the levity and inconsistency of its originators and\nadherents, who claim to be reformers of the human race, and with\nimperturbable gravity pretend that for six thousand years mankind has\nbeen the dupe of the grossest error, and that before their advent\nthere were only illusion and falsehood in the world.\n\nThe assumption from which the system proceeds is that the real, the\npositive, is restricted to the world of the senses, or the material\nuniverse, and that what transcends the material order is for us at\nleast unreal--a thesis directly opposed to that of Des Cartes, who\ntaught that thought is the phenomenon the most real, the most positive\nof all. Now which is right, the author of the \"Discourse on Method\" or\nM. Comte? No great effort is needed to prove that it is Des Cartes,\nand that the existence of spiritual phenomena is not only more certain\nthan that of physical phenomena, but more positive and more easily\nproved, because the knowledge of spiritual phenomena is direct and\nimmediate, while that of sensible phenomena is only indirect and\nmediate. All knowledge, rational or sensible, is a spiritual\nphenomenon. Matter may be the occasion or medium of it, but can never\nproduce it, for it is always spirit or mind that knows even in\nsensation or sentiment. We may be deceived as to the meaning of the\nphenomenon, but never as to its existence. [Footnote 115]\n\n    [Footnote 115: As a subjective fact, there can be no doubt of its\n    existence: but this, with all respect to M. de Chalambert, is\n    nothing to the purpose. All phenomena are subjective, and\n    therefore mental, if you will, spiritual; but is there an\n    objective spiritual reality revealed by these spiritual phenomena?\n    This is the question, and I need not say it is a question not\n    answerable on the Cartesian principle or method. Few persons\n    outside of France regard Des Cartes as worth citing as an\n    authority in philosophy, for, beginning with thought as a\n    psychological phenomenon, he never did and never could attain\n    scientifically to any objective existence, either spiritual or\n    material. The error of Des Cartes was in seeking to settle the\n    question of method before settling that of principles; the\n    principles determine the method, not the method the principles, as\n    M. Cousin, misled by his veneration for Des Cartes, pretends: and\n    the principles are necessarily _\u00e0 priori_, prior to experience--as\n    without them experience is not possible--given, intuitive, and\n    therefore objective. The real existence of the spiritual or\n    supersensible order, superior to and distinct from the material,\n    is certain from the demonstrable fact that the sensible has its\n    root only in the supersensible, and the material in the spiritual,\n    both as to the order of knowledge and as to the order of being.\n    The author maintains the truth against the positivists, but his\n    reasoning is not conclusive, because he is misled by the Cartesian\n    method, which is the method of the positivists themselves.\n    Malebranche followed in one direction the Cartesian method, and\n    lost the material world; the Abb\u00e9 Condillac followed it in another\n    direction, and lost the spiritual world; the positivists follow it\n    in both, and lose all reality, and, with Sir William Hamilton,\n    make truth purely relative; that is, subjective, and as pure\n    subjectivity is impossible, thus positivism is positive nihilism.\n    The author proceeds to refute, on the Cartesian method, the denial\n    by the positivists of the existence of spirit, of the absolute, of\n    God, and the immortality of the soul; but as I do not regard his\n    reasoning, though in defence of the truth, conclusive, I omit it,\n    and pass to his exhibition of the inconsistencies and absurdities\n    of positivism, in which he is admirable and perfectly\n    successful.--TRANSLATOR. ]\n\nNevertheless, after having denied all the truths or principles which\nare the basis of all moral and intellectual life, the positivists\npretend to pass from negation to affirmation, and undertake in their\nturn to dogmatize. But to affirm any doctrine whatever it needs a\nmethod, and we have shown that on the purely negative method which\nthey commence with, they can never legitimately affirm anything. What\nthen can they do? They invent another method, which they call\ninduction, because they pretend that it is from the observation of the\nfacts of history that they induce or draw their doctrine; but the\nprocess they adopt has none of the characters of a real induction.\n{737} To induction three things are necessary; the principle of\ncausality, general notions, and particular facts.  [Footnote 116]\n\n  [Footnote 116: I transfer the word _notion_, although no notion is\n  or can be general, because French writers frequently use it when\n  they really mean not _notion_, but the object or thing noted. I do\n  not approve of this use either in French or English. We may have\n  notions of the general, but not general notions; a notion, if you\n  will, as has been previously said, of the absolute (though absolute\n  is itself a bad term for necessary, eternal, immutable, and infinite\n  being), but not absolute notions. The _notion_ is subjective, the\n  _noted_ is objective. To all legitimate induction there is necessary\n  causality, the general--the universal, as say the schoolmen--and the\n  particular, and unless the mind has _\u00e0 priori_ knowledge or\n  intuition of them, no induction is possible. This is what the author\n  evidently means, and it is undoubtedly true.--TRANSLATOR.]\n\nExperience gives the particular facts, and, by the aid of the\nprinciple of causality, we determine by way of induction their laws;\nthat is, by means of particular facts we determine the general notions\nhitherto confused and vaguely perceived [that is, refer them to their\nrespective genera or species.---TRANSLATOR.] The positivists, then,\nwho recognize no principle [of causality, and deny all general notions\nor notions of the general prior to the particular facts.--TRANSLATOR.]\ncan make no induction, and have no scientific basis, no logical nexus\nfor their theories, and are left to the caprices of their own\nimagination. Imagination, and imagination alone, is the new method\nthey employ.\n\nThe human mind, according to the positivists, is radically incapable\nof knowing causes, and if it attempts to know them it exhausts itself\nwith fruitless efforts. This is wherefore they treat as illusions all\nthe causes which philosophers assign to phenomena. They deny the\nmetaphysical being, God as cause; yet they substitute the metaphysical\nbeing humanity, and not content with affirming it, they even define\nit, both as principle and cause, to be a great collective beings--\nliving a life of its own, and advancing continually through the ages\nfrom progress to progress, and from whom all individual existences\nproceed as their beginning, and to whom they all return as their end.\nNor is this all. After having defined this metaphysical being, they\nexplain it, and pretend to know what it has been, what it is, and what\nit will be--they, who declare that Plato, Aristotle, St. Augustine,\nSt. Thomas, Des Cartes, and Leibnitz have done nothing, because in\nattempting to penetrate the mystery of human life these master minds\nbroke against an insolvable problem--they, we say, do not hesitate to\nraise the veil, and to give us the complete solution of the far more\nformidable mystery of human destiny. They know its origin. Humanity\nhas begun in fetichism; M. Littr\u00e9, however, has discovered, since the\ndeath of his master, that prior to fetichism there was a state in\nwhich man like the brute sought only to satisfy his physical wants;\nbut he maintains that at any rate, if fetichism was not the first it\nwas at least the second state of humanity. If we ask him what proofs\nhe has of this, he confesses that if direct facts are demanded he has\nnone; but he has arguments, and here is the way in which he argues:\n\nIn America and the unexplored regions of Africa savage tribes are\nfound who were and still are fetich worshippers, _therefore_ so was it\nwith all men in the beginning! Such is the positivist induction.\n[Footnote 117]\n\n  [Footnote 117: How know the positivists that these savage tribes do\n  not represent the degenerate man, rather than the primitive man--man\n  cut off from communion with the central life of humanity, not man in\n  his first developments?--TRANSLATOR.]\n\nPositivism continues: From fetichism humanity passed to polytheism,\nand then from polytheism to monotheism. But it forgets that it is not\npermitted to take the part for the whole, and if Europe became\nChristian after having been pagan, it has not been the same with all\nthe world, for on one side we find the people Jewish, who have always\nbelieved in the unity of God, and, on the other side, we find many\nnations still remaining immersed in the darkness of idolatry. But we\nmust not be too exacting with the positivists. They have here really\nsome partial facts which they can use, though not legitimately as the\nbasis of an argument.  [Footnote 118]\n\n  [Footnote 118: Truth is older than error, and man began not in\n  error, but in the truth, the sole principle of life and growth.\n  Monotheism preceded, historically, both fetichism and polytheism,\n  and the earliest and most authentic historical documents that we\n  have prove that all the world began by believing in and worshipping\n  one God. Polytheism bears evident traces of a prior religion which\n  asserted the unity of God, of being not a development of fetichism,\n  but a corruption of monotheism, as positivism bears unmistakable\n  traces of its being a corruption of Christianity; a conclusive\n  evidence that it never could have originated in a society that had\n  never known and believed the Christian religion.--TRANSLATOR.]\n\nAs to the future, who can doubt that humanity will be positivist? Can\nany one prove the contrary? Is not the future a domain open to all,\nand where each may imagine for himself the part that pleases him? And\nyet, even in regard to the future, it is necessary to be circumspect.\nYoung as positivism is, it has had the pain of seeing more than one of\nits predictions falsified by the event. In 1850 M. Littr\u00e9 assured us\nthat the race had arrived at that degree of civilization that rendered\nwar henceforth impossible, and that the republic was definitively\nestablished in France. What does he think of either prediction now? He\nwould have obliged us if he had given us his explanations of these\npredictions in his last publication. The first would, perhaps, have\nembarrassed him; the second would give him less trouble, because the\ndestruction of the republic of 1848 by the empire accords only too\nwell with the positivist hostility to a really representative\ngovernment.\n\nIt is useless to press the matter further. There is in the positivist\ninduction no trace of a rational process, and positivism in the last\nanalysis is simply the product of pure imagination. Moreover, M.\nLittr\u00e9 is so well aware of it that he has taken in advance his\nprecautions against all unfavorable criticism. It may say what it\npleases, he will not hear or heed it; he professes to be a positivist,\nand positivist he will live and die. His decision is made. Beside, no\none who has not taken his degree of doctor in the mathematical,\nastronomical, physical, and chemical sciences, understands or can\nunderstand anything of positivism, and is incompetent to its\ndiscussion. But if instead of opposing one is disposed to accept it,\nhe is very accommodating, and by no means exacts so laborious and\npainful an initiation. He requires only one thing--namely, the denial\nof the supernatural order. To be received into the positivist school\nit is not necessary to affirm or to believe anything--simple denial\nsuffices.\n\nWe must in concluding make a single reference to M. Taine. As the\npositivists, M. Taine denies metaphysics, all metaphysical (spiritual)\nbeings, God, and the human soul, and like them he substitutes for\nthese others of his own fashioning. From Messrs. Comte and Littr\u00e9 he\nseparates only on a single point. To the cause _humanity_ he prefers\nthe cause _nature_. There is no disputing about tastes. We add merely\na word on one of the fundamental maxims of M. Taine's method. The\nphilosopher, he says, must be in the study of science perfectly\ndisinterested, and even to the degree of forgetting that he is a\nfather, a son, a husband, a citizen. He must take account only of the\nfacts furnished by observation, and in no respect trouble himself\nabout their practical consequences. Were the facts observed to prove\nthat paternal love, filial respect, conjugal tenderness, and devotion\nto one's country are empty words or dangerous illusions, he must not\nhesitate to immolate these sentiments on the altar of reality--or\nscience. We do not discuss such a doctrine. The irreflection of the\nauthor (we can suppose nothing else) is so great that we need only\nindicate it. Does not M. Taine comprehend that the disinterestedness\nor indifference of the philosopher must consist not in abjuring the\neternal principles of the just, the true, the good, the beautiful, and\nthe noblest sentiments of the human heart, but simply in silencing\nwithin {739} him the voice of prejudice and passion, so as to leave\nhis understanding free and unbiased? Knows he not that to know a fact\nhe must study it first in himself and in its essence, and then in its\nmanifold applications? The chemist asserts a substance only after,\nhaving resolved it into its elements, he has experimented on it in all\nits effects; in like manner, it is not enough for the philosopher to\nhave studied a doctrine in its principle, he must go further, and\nestablish that in its applications it conforms to the laws of the\njust, the true, and the beautiful. It is, in fact, this accordance\nthat is, all things considered, the surest test of its truth. The\nmoral is the counter-proof of the intellectual. M. Taine and his\nschool recognize, it is true, no principles anterior to facts, and\ntherefore want, as M. Comte avows, a type-law, a term of comparison,\nwhich may serve as the criterion of the judgment of facts themselves;\nbut is there a more manifest mark of the falsity of a theory than that\nit leaves the human mind without any means of determining the\nsignificance of phenomena, without a touchstone to determine whether\nthe metal be gold or copper?\n\nBut it is time to close. It is assuredly a grave fact, and one that\nmerits more attention than it receives, that a doctrine so thoroughly\nmaterialistic and atheistic can be produced in our age, that it can\nobtain adherents, and be recognized by important and widely\ninfluential public journals, which, without openly displaying its\nflag, insinuate its principles, and strive to infuse it into the minds\nof their readers. Yet this fact is nothing new. There are always\natheists in the world; even in the time of the Prophet King the\nimpious said: There is no God. _Non est Deus_. But we discover in the\npositivist system a sign or symptom, if not graver at least more\nalarming, in the manifest enfeeblement in our time of reason, and the\nrational faculties of the soul, which it supposes. We know that\nsociety is not responsible for all that is said or done in its bosom,\nbut we know also that people are in general treated as they deserve to\nbe treated, and that writers, journalists, and system-mongers, when\nthey believe they are addressing a community accustomed to think, to\nreason, to reflect, and to render an account to themselves of what is\naddressed to them, are on their guard and weigh carefully what they\nsay. They may assign bad reasons, but they will at least assign\nreasons of some sort, and take great pains to do it, as the thing most\nessential to their success. There have always been sophists, but the\nsophist of former times reasoned; the sophist of to-day reasons not,\nhe simply imagines. Do not attempt to refute him; he will not listen\nto you, for he understands not the language you speak; he denies or\naffirms with assurance, with audacity, even at the command of his\npassions or his caprices; he seeks not to convince, but to startle, to\nastonish, and neither proves nor cares to prove anything. Things have\ncome to such a pass that Voltaire himself, if he could return, would\nblush with shame for his children. He might still smile approvingly on\ntheir blasphemies; his good sense would be shocked with the\nincoherence and extravagance of their theories; and he would say to\nthem. Continue, my children, to deny, to crush _l'infame_, all that is\nwell, but do have the grace not to attempt to put anything in place of\nwhat you deny. You are not equal to that, and can only render\nyourselves ridiculous.\n\nThe evil is very real and very great, but it has already been\ndenounced by an authority so high, and with so much eloquence, that I\nneed not any further insist on it. I would simply add that it calls\nfor a prompt remedy, since the peril is great and imminent. When faith\ngrows weak in souls, and reason remains, there is hope; for reason\nwell directed leads back to faith, since human reason is the child of\nthe divine reason, and {740} cannot persist in denying her mother; but\nwhen reason in her turn goes, and leaves only imagination in her\nplace, there is no ground of hope; and everything is to be feared, for\nno means of salvation remain. Imagination is, indeed, one of the\npowers and one of the grandeurs of the human mind, which it elevates\nand adorns; but if it comes to predominate alone, without supporting\nitself on reason, it loses its virtue and its beauty, and is proper\nonly to dazzle, to pervert, to bewilder and mislead. It sheds\ndarkness, not light, or if it emits still some gleams, it is only to\ngild with a last and false splendor a dying civilization. When the\nbarbarians thundered at her gates, Rome still imagined, but she had\nlong since ceased to reason.\n\nCOUNT VICTOR DE CHALAMBERT\n\n------\n\nFrom Chambers's Journal.\n\nPLAIN-WORK.\n\n\n\"Thank goodness, Lizzie! you were taught to work.\"\n\nMy husband is constantly repeating this sentiment to me, and I\ndecidedly agree with him that it is a great cause for thankfulness. I\nmay say, in passing, that I don't believe I should ever have married\nmy husband at all if I had not been able to work, for one of his very\nfirst questions to me upon our becoming acquainted, was as to what\noccupation I took most pleasure in, and upon my answering\n\"Plain-work,\" a pleased smile came over his face. From that moment, he\nhas since confessed to me, he made up his mind that I should be his\nwife. I am now the mother of a large family, with constant demands\nupon my needle, and what I should do, if I had not early acquired the\nuse of it, I cannot think. I made a point of teaching my own girls as\nsoon as ever they became old enough to handle their needles, and if\nthey don't all turn out good plain-workers, it certainly won't be my\nfault.\n\nI look upon occupation as the true secret of happiness, and surely\nthere is no occupation so well suited to a woman, whether she is the\nwife of a gentleman or a laborer, as needle-work. I would encourage\nthe taste for it as early as possible in a girl, as I think it has\nsuch an influence for good on her character in making her womanly and\nsensible. It has also the effect of producing tidy habits, for no girl\nwho can thoroughly use her needle will be content to go about the\nhouse with her frock torn or a rip in her petticoat; but, upon the\nfirst appearance of a hole, she will sit down and carefully mend it.\nWhen still quite young, she works for her doll; a little older, for\nsome poor child in the village, or her own younger brothers and\nsisters. In either case, she is learning to be loving and kind, and\nthe habit of working for others and being useful is good for her.\n\nYou wish probably to fit your daughter for her future career in life,\nand you naturally look forward to her marriage as the aim and object\nof your most ardent desires. I know _I_ do with regard to my own\ngirls, for, being a happy and married woman myself, I cannot bear the\nidea of their becoming old maids. Well, if you want her to marry, and\nyou desire to train her to be a good wife, teach her to work; you are\nlaying the foundation of much future happiness, and her husband will\nbless you for it. Say she marries a man not too well off, who is\nconstantly engaged in his profession, and she is in consequence forced\nto spend {741} many hours of her day alone. This is very trying to her\nat first, fresh from a happy home and the bosom of a large family. She\nturns to her needle as her companion and solace during her husband's\nabsence, and finds her greatest interest and pleasure in working for\nhim. She keeps his clothes in good repair, and he never finds his\nsocks in holes or his shirts minus their buttons. Very likely--and\nhappy I consider it for her if it is so--his wedding outfit may have\nbeen small. In that case, she can employ herself in making him a new\nset of shirts; whilst her odd moments may be profitably spent in\nknitting him a set of warm socks against the coming winter. Depend\nupon it, he will never find any shirts that fit him so well, or any\nsocks so comfortable, as those made for him by his wife during the\nearly days of their married life. This gives her so much occupation\nduring her day that she has no time to be dull or discontented. She\ngladly puts away her work when she expects her husband's return, and\nshe meets him with a cheerful smile, being happy in her own mind and\nfeeling that she has been praiseworthily engaged. She is also ready to\nenter into his interests and pursuits, in which she finds an agreeable\nrelaxation.\n\nThen there's the coming baby to work for. What mother does not\nremember the delights of working for her first baby! The care and\nthought bestowed first upon purchasing the materials, then upon\ncutting them out to the best advantage, followed by many months of\nhappy employment in making them up. The little articles, when\nfinished, are carefully put away in a drawer set aside for the\npurpose, and bunches of lavender are placed amongst them.\n\nThe first baby is born, and others follow, and the cares of a family\ncome rapidly upon your child. She now feels the real use of her\nneedle, and she learns to thank you accordingly for the pains you took\nwith her. Not only can she sew well, but she knows how to cut out; and\nshe has such a first-rate eye, from long practice, that she can take\nher patterns from the shop-windows. She makes the best use of her\npowers of observation. That which makes men good soldiers, doctors,\nengineers, literary men, artists, and naturalists, makes her a good\nplain-worker. In her own line, she is not to be beaten. Perhaps she is\na little proud of her talent; but she uses it to good advantage, and\nher husband has the comfort of seeing his children well clothed, and\nof finding his bills comparatively small. Constant practice has also\ngiven her a capital knowledge of the value of materials, and she\nunderstands thoroughly the textures of different cotton, linen, and\nwoollen fabrics, so that it would be very difficult to impose upon\nher.\n\nI have taken it for granted that your daughter marries a poor man, as\npoor men unfortunately predominate in this world, and it is always as\nwell to be prepared for the worst. But her husband may be rich or, at\nall events, well enough off to render it unnecessary that his wife\nshould be a slave to her needle. You will still find that you have\ndone your girl no injury by imposing upon her the early habit of using\nthat instrument. You have, at all events, given her the power of\nsuperintending her servants, and seeing that their work is properly\ndone; and she will not so easily be taken in by her dressmaker, or\ntrampled upon by her nurse, who will soon find out that \"missis\" knows\nhow to work for her own children, and will respect her accordingly.\n\nBut supposing that your daughter does not marry at all, still her\nknowledge of plain-work will not be thrown away upon her. If left\npoorly off, she has her own clothes to make and mend, and if not,\nsurely there are plenty of claims upon her. There is her more\nfortunate sister, who married young, and is now a widow, with six\nchildren on her hands--think of the comfort and use her needle may be\nto them! Then her brothers are {742} most of them married with\nfamilies, and Aunt Susan's work is invaluable, If she has no brothers\nor sisters, but is left entirely alone in the world, and so well off\nthat she does not require to work for herself, let her turn to the\npoor, and give them the use of her needle; she will certainly find a\nnever-ending field amongst them. By the time she has worked for all\nthe babies in the parish, and helped the mothers about the clothes for\nthe elder children, she will find she has occupation enough for her\nfingers to keep her mind happy and interested, and to prevent her from\ndwelling upon her own loneliness. She can also spend some time\nprofitably in instructing the girls in the village-school how to cut\nout and sew. The ignorance upon these points in some schools is\nperfectly lamentable. I took a nursery-maid for my eighth baby\nstraight from a national school. She was a fine healthy girl of\nsixteen. It will hardly be credited that she could not hold her needle\nproperly! She doubled it up in her hand, and pushed it into her work\nin the most extraordinary manner. I tried in vain to teach her by\nevery means in my power, but if the knack of holding the needle is not\nlearned in early life, it is rarely acquired afterward. Although so\nvery awkward about her work, that girl had been taught to crochet\nridiculous watch-pockets, and to knit impossible babies' shoes, with\nsuch wonderful pointed toes that no infant I ever saw could get his\nfeet into them. At length I was obliged to part with her on this\naccount, though a tidy, active girl, and satisfactory in many ways.\nShe is not the only case I have had in my house of ignorance on the\nsubject of plain-work. Some of my servants have been able to sew well\nenough, but have not had the remotest idea of cutting-out and placing\ntheir work. I have often thought, if I had only time to spare, how\nmuch I should like to teach the rising generation the little I myself\nknow of the art of plain-work.\n\nIn these days of sewing-machines people think much less of needle-work\nthan they did formerly. I don't approve of sewing-machines myself. My\nhusband accuses me of being jealous of them, but in this he is unjust\nto me. I don't approve of them simply because I think that the work\nproduced from them--though I grant that the stitches may be regular\nenough--cannot be compared to good hand-work, particularly when\nemployed upon fine materials. I have seen machine-work in every stage,\nand from the very best sewing-machines, and I never could consider it\nequal to good hand-work. I feel convinced in my own mind that\nsewing-machines will have their day, and that when that day is over,\nplain-work done by hand will be at as high a premium again as ever.\nEven pillow-lace is now gradually recovering the place it once\noccupied in public estimation, and from which it was temporarily\nousted by lace produced from that unutterable abomination, the\n_machine_, and which used to be called \"Nottingham lace.\"\n\nI acknowledge machine-work may be all very well for cloth clothes, and\nuseful in families where there are many boys; but my ten children are\nmostly girls, and I don't at all covet a machine. My husband offers me\none periodically, and I as often refuse it. I could not bear to have\none in the house, it would be going so entirely against my own\nprinciples.\n\nIt is most important, when a girl is learning to work, that great care\nshould be taken with her to prevent her from acquiring bad habits;\nsuch habits, I mean, as clicking her needle with her thimble, pinning\nher work to her knee, biting the end of her thread, and sticking her\nneedle into the front of her dress. These habits once gained will\nprobably stick to her all her life, and she will find the greatest\ndifficulty in overcoming them. It is therefore advisable that she\nshould be taught to work by her mother, rather than be left to the\ninstruction of servants. A {743} ladylike manner of working is\nessential, and should be carefully cultivated, for work may be\nexecuted both neatly and rapidly without the acquirement of any of\nthese vulgar peculiarities. A great point to be learned connected with\nplain-work, and one that I consider quite indispensable, is the art of\ncutting out accurately and without waste of material. Far too little\nimportance is attached to that branch of work, and many women go to\ntheir graves without acquiring it, having been dependent all their\nlives upon their servants or some kind friend for having their work\ncut out and placed for them. When this is the case ladies are apt to\nbe too much under the thumb of their ladies' maids or nurses, who are\nnot slow to profit by their own superior knowledge, and domineer over\ntheir mistresses accordingly.\n\nWhere there are a number of the same articles of clothing to be made,\nit is advisable to cut out one garment first, being careful to take\nthe pattern in paper, and to complete it before cutting out the rest\nof the material. By this means an opinion can be formed as to whether\nit fits properly and any necessary alterations may be made. The other\narticles may then be cut out all together, care being taken to pin the\nseparate parts together, to avoid their being mislaid or any mistakes\nmade. It is no doubt essential that sewing should be neatly done, but\nI think this need not be achieved at the entire expense of all\nrapidity of execution. It really is perfectly ludicrous to see some\nwomen at their work. They look at each stitch when completed, and give\nit a little approving pat with the top of the thimble; and at this\nrate, though the neatness of the work may be undeniable, still so\nlittle is accomplished, that it is hardly worth the trouble of doing\nit at all. Method in plain-work is also highly necessary, and much\ntime and labor may be spared by keeping all the materials in the\nproper places. If every article when done with is put away carefully,\nit is sure to be forthcoming when again required. Thus, there is no\ntime wasted in searching for a missing reel of cotton, or hunting up a\npair of scissors. The cleanliness of the work is also thereby kept\nunimpaired.\n\nThe greatest care should be taken with the pieces of broken needles,\nwhich are too apt to be left carelessly about the floor, and which are\nmost dangerous, especially when there are any young children in the\nhouse. I must confess, and I do it with shame, that there was a time\nwhen I was not as careful as I am now. I never shall forget my\nhusband's indignation upon coming into my room one day, where our\nsecond baby was crawling about on the ground, at finding a piece of a\nbroken needle in her hand, quite ready to put it in her mouth. I think\nhe was more angry with me then than he had ever been before during our\nmarried life. It was certainly a good lesson to me, for I have been\nmost careful ever since, and I'll trouble him or anybody else to find\na broken needle about my carpet _now_. Waste should be carefully\navoided, both with regard to ends of cotton and pieces of material.\nThe scraps of the latter which are too small to be of any use, instead\nof being left littered about the room, should be thrown into a\nwaste-basket, to be cleared by the housemaid, and the larger pieces\nshould be tidily put away. The time will probably come when they will\nbe required for some purpose or other; and if pinned up in a tight\nbundle they will not occupy much space in a drawer or basket kept for\nthe purpose.\n\nI trust I have not ridden my hobby to death, nor worn out the patience\nof my readers, but it is a subject the importance of which I strongly\nfeel. It must not, however, be supposed that I advocate the\ncultivation of work to the exclusion of more intellectual pursuits, or\nthat I wish to take the bread from the mouth of my poorer sister. I\nconsider a thorough {744} knowledge of the science of plain-work to be\nessential to every woman, be she rich or poor, and that in it she will\nalways find a sphere of usefulness. It will, if cultivated, turn out\nfor her own benefit, and the comfort and happiness of those around\nher, and surely it shall be said of her that \"her children arise up,\nand call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.\"\n\n------\n\nTHE BIRTHPLACE OF SAINT PATRICK.\n\nBY J. CASHEL HOEY.\n\n\nThe question of the birthplace of St. Patrick--a question which has\nbeen debated with considerable learning and acrimony for several\ncenturies--has always seemed to me to have an interest far beyond the\nrival claims of clans and the jealous litigation of the antiquary. It\nis interesting not merely because it is in reality a curious\narchaeological problem, but also because it may in some measure afford\na clue to the character of one of the greatest saints and greatest men\nof his own age or of any other--a saint who was the apostle of a\nnation which he found all heathen and left all Christian; who\nsucceeded in planting the Catholic faith without a single act of\nmartyrdom, but planted it so firmly that it has never failed for now\n1,400 years, though tried in what various processes of martyrdom God\nand man too well know; a saint whose apostolate was the mainspring of\nan endless succession of missionary enterprises, prosecuted with the\nsame untiring zeal in the nineteenth century as in the fifth, wherever\nthe vanguard of Christendom may happen to be found, whether in\nAustria, in Gaul, in Switzerland, or in Iceland, as now at the\nfurthest confines of America and of Australasia. Add to these ordinary\nevidences of the supernatural efficacy of St. Patrick's mission the\ntestimony which is derived from the peculiar spiritual character of\nthe people that he converted. The Irish nation retains the impress\nwhich it received from the hands of St. Patrick in a way that I\nbelieve no other Christian nation has preserved the mould of its\napostle. If that nation has never even dreamed of heresy or schism, it\nis because, in terms as positive as an ultramontane of our own days\ncould devise,   [Footnote 119] St. Patrick established the supreme\nauthority of the Roman Pontiff as a chief canon of the Irish Church.\nPatience in poverty, an innate love of purity, prodigal alms-giving,\nand mutual charities, the practice of heavy penances and of long\nfasts, a peculiarly vivid sense of purgatory, and a strong devotion to\nthe doctrine of the Trinity, which the saint taught in the figure of\nthe shamrock--these have always been the distinguishing\ncharacteristics of Irish piety. They were the peculiar characteristics\nof the Christian of the fourth century, who had not yet learned to\nlive at peace with the world--who felt that as yet Christians were in\nthe strictest sense one family community--who practised mortification,\nas if the untamed pagan {745} blood were still burning in his veins,\nand the great temptation to whose faith was the heresy of Arius, and\nthe question of the relations of the three divine persons. But St.\nPatrick was not only a great saint--was not merely and simply the\napostle of the Irish; he was their teacher and their lawgiver, their\nCadmus and Lycurgus as well. The school of letters which he founded in\nIreland so well preserved the learning which had become all but\nextinguished throughout western Europe, that your own Alfred,\nfollowing a host of your nobles and clerics, went thither to be\ntaught, and the universities of Paris and Pavia owe their earliest\nlights to Irish scholars. The Brehon laws, which are at last to be\npublished, by order of Parliament, a complete code of the most minute\nand comprehensive character, were, according to the evidence of our\nannalists, carefully revised and remodelled by St. Patrick, with the\nconsent of the different estates of the kingdom of Ireland; and there\nis good reason to believe that this revision, of which there is\nabundant intrinsic evidence, had reference not merely to the Christian\ndoctrine and the canons of the Church, but to the body of the Roman\ncivil law.\n\n  [Footnote 119: \"Quaecunqne causa valde difficilis exorta fuerit\n  atque ignota cun?tis Scotorum gentis jadicils, ad cathedram\n  archiepiscopi Hibernensium, atque hujus antistitis examinationem\n  recte referenda. Si vero in illa, cum suis sapientibus, facile\n  sanari non poterit talis causa praedictae negotiationis, ad Sedem\n  Apostolicam decrevimus esse mittendam; id est, ad Petri Apostoli\n  cathedram, auctoritatem Romae urbis habentem.\" This canon of St.\n  Patrick is contained in the \"Book of Armagh,\" the antiquity of which\n  is instanced in the text of the present paper. The canon is of a\n  date early in the fifth century; and it would be difficult to show\n  so early, so emphatic and so complete a recognition of the Papal\n  authority in the ecclesiastical legislation of any other national\n  church.]\n\n\nIt would throw a certain light upon the character of a saint whose\nworks were so various and so full of vitality, if we could arrive at\nany solid conclusion as to the place of his nativity, the quality of\nhis parentage, and the sources of his education. The theory most\ngenerally accepted, and which certainly has the greatest weight of\nauthority in its favor, is that which assumes that St. Patrick was\nborn in Scotland, at Dumbarton, on the Clyde--the son, as we may\nsuppose, of a French or British official employed in the Roman service\nat that extreme outpost of their settlements in this island, where he\nwould have spent his youth surrounded by a perpetual clangor of\nbarbarous battle, amid clans of Picts and Celts swarming across the\nbarriers of the Lowland. The opinion that St. Patrick was a Scotchman\nhas the unanimous assent of all the antiquaries of Scotland; but I am\nnot aware that any of them has succeeded in identifying any single\nlocality named in the original documents with any place of sufficient\nantiquity in or near Dumbarton; nor could I, in the course of a\ncareful examination of the district and the recognized authorities\nconcerning its topography, arrive at any acceptable evidence on the\nsubject. I have to add to the Scotch authorities and pleadings,\nhowever, all the best of the Irish. That St. Patrick was born in\nScotland is the opinion of Colgan,  [Footnote 120] a writer whose\nservices to the history of the Irish Church cannot be excelled and\nhave not been equalled. The opinion of Colgan has overborne almost\nevery other authority which intervened between his time and the\npresent. The Bollandists  [Footnote 121] accepted it without\nhesitation; and I hasten to add to their great sanction that of the\ntwo most learned antiquaries of the latter days of Ireland, Dr. John\nO'Donovan and Professor Eugene O'Curry. They, I am aware, were also of\nColgan's opinion; and so, I believe, are Dr. Reeves and Dr. Todd,\nwhose views on most points of ecclesiastical antiquities connected\nwith Ireland are entitled to be named with every respect.\n\n  [Footnote 120: Colganus, R. P. F. Joannes, \"_Triadis Thaumaturgae,\n  sen Divorum Patricii, Columbae, et Brigidiaetrium Hiberniae\n  Patronorum, Acta_.\" Lovanii, 1647.]\n\n  [Footnote 121: \"_Acta Sanctorum Martii_\" a Joanne Bollando, tom. il.\n  Antverpiae, 1668.]\n\nStill it is to be said, on the other hand, that the opinion that St.\nPatrick was born in France has always had a traditional establishment\nin Ireland. It is asserted in one of the oldest of his lives, that of\nSt. Eleran, and indicated in another, that of Probus. Don Philip\nO'Sullivan Bearre  [Footnote 122] is not the first nor the last of the\nmore modern biographers of the saint who has held that he was of\nFrench birth, though of British blood. But before the time of Dr.\nLanigan, the most acute, the {746} most conscientious, and perhaps the\nmost generally learned of Irish historians, there appears to have been\nno really candid and scientific examination of the original documents\nand evidences. Irish scholars were too angrily engaged in the\ncontroversy of Scotia Major and Scotia Minor to be seriously regarded\nwhen they proposed to remove St. Patrick's birthplace from the\nneighborhood of Glasgow to the neighborhood of Nantes. Until Dr.\nLanigan published his Ecclesiastical History,  [Footnote 123] no one\nseems to have even attempted to identify he localities named in the\nvarious original documents which concern the saint. Dr. Lanigan came\nto the conclusion that he was born not at Dumbarton but in France, at\nor in the neighborhood of Boulogne-sur-Mer. I am able, I hope, to\nperfect the proof which Dr. Lanigan commenced, and which, if he had\nbeen enabled to follow it up by local research and by the light lately\ncast on the geography of Roman Gaul, would, I am sure, have come far\nmore complete from his hands.\n\n  [Footnote 122: D. Philippi O'Sullevani Bearri Iberni, \"_Patritiana\n  Decas_.\" Madrid, 1629.]\n\n  [Footnote 123: Lanigan, John, D.D. \"An Ecclesiastical History of\n  Ireland.\" Dublin, 1820.]\n\nI hold, then, with Doctor Lanigan, and with a tradition which has long\nexisted in Ireland, and also in France, that St. Patrick was born on\nthe coast of Armoric Gaul; and that Roman in one sense by descent--by\nhis education in a province where Roman civilization had long\nprevailed, where the Latin language was spoken, and the privileges of\nthe empire fully possessed--Roman too by the possession of nobility,\nwhich he himself declares, and of which his name was a curious\ncommemoration  [Footnote 124]--Roman, in fine, in the connection of\nhis family which he testifies with the Roman government and with the\nChurch, St. Patrick was a Celt of Gaul by blood. The fact that the\ndistrict between Boulogne and Amiens was at that time inhabited by a\nclan called Britanni has misled both those who supposed he must have\nbeen born in the island of Britain and those who held that, if born in\nFrance, he must have been born in that part of it which was\nsubsequently called Brittany.\n\n  [Footnote 124: Gibbon says (\"Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,\"\n  v. vi.) \"At this period the meanest subjects of the Roman empire\n  assumed the illustrious name of Patricius, which by the conversion\n  of Ireland has been communicated to a whole nation.\" It is supposed\n  that the name was conferred on St. Patrick in consideration of his\n  parting with his nobility for a motive of charity, as he mentions in\n  his Epistle to Coroticus. But he was certainly not the first of the\n  name. Patricius was also the name of St. Augustine's father, born\n  fully a century before.]\n\nThe original documents which bear on the point are only two in number\n--the \"Confession\" of St. Patrick himself, and the hymn in his honor\ncomposed by his disciple St. Fiech. Of the antiquity of these\ndocuments we have evidence the most complete that can be conceived.\nNot merely does written history certify the record of their age--they\nhave borne much more delicate tests. The hymn of St. Fiech is written\nin a dialect of Irish that is to the Irish of the Four Masters as the\nEnglish of Chaucer is to the English of Lord Macaulay. The quotations\nof Scripture which are given in the \"Confession\" of St. Patrick are\ntaken from the version according to the interpretation of the\nSeptuagint, and not according to the recent version of St. Jerome,\nwhich had indeed been just executed in St. Patrick's time, but had not\nyet been publicly received. At the same time, the \"Liber Armachanus,\"\nwhich contains the original copy of the \"Confession,\" contains also\nSt. Jerome's translation of the New Testament--thus curiously marking\nthe fact that the date of the one document by a little preceded the\ndate of the other. The manuscript itself has been subjected to a most\ncurious and rigorous examination. The authentic signature of Brian,\nImperator Hibernorum, commonly called Brian Boroimhe, on the occasion\nof his visit to Armagh, carries us back at a bound eight hundred years\nin its history; but the scholar who is expert in the hue of vellum and\nthe style of the scribe, will tell us that the \"Book of Armagh\" was\n{747} evidently a book of venerable age even then. The Rev. Charles\nGraves,  [Footnote 125] a fellow of the University of Dublin, and a\nscholar specially skilled in the study of the Irish manuscripts and\nhieroglyphs, published a paper some years ago in the \"Proceedings of\nthe Royal Irish Academy\" on the question of the age of the \"Book of\nAmagh.\" That the version at present preserved in the library of\nTrinity College is a copy from a far older version he says there can\nbe no doubt. The marginal notes of the scribe show that he found it\ndifficult in many places to read the manuscript from which he was\ntranscribing. But the same notes, the character of his writing, and a\nreference to the Irish primate of the time under whose authority the\nwork was undertaken, leave no doubt that the transcript was executed\nby a scribe named Ferdomnach, during the primacy of Archbishop\nTorbach, at a date not later than the year of Our Lord 807.\n\n  [Footnote 125: Graves, Rev. C, \"On the Age of the Book of Armagh:\n  Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy,\" vol. iii., p. 816.]\n\nOf the \"Confession,\" beside the original copy in the \"Book of Armagh,\"\nthere are several manuscript versions of great age in England: two at\nSalisbury; two in the Cotton library; one, I believe, at Cambridge;\nanother very interesting and valuable copy, that which was used by the\nBollandists in printing their edition of the \"Confession,\" existed\nuntil the time of the revolution in the famous French monastery of St.\nVedastus. Fragments of the precious manuscripts of that learned\ncongregation are scattered among the libraries of Arras, of Saint\nOmer, of Boulogne, and of Douai; but among them I could not find any\ntrace of the missing manuscript of St. Patrick's \"Confession;\" nor\ncould the present learned representatives of Bollandus, who were good\nenough to interest themselves in my inquiry, give me any room to hope\nthat it still exists. It would have been of much importance to have\nbeen able to compare the style and the text of the only existing\nFrench copy with the original in Ireland--especially as that French\ncopy belonged to the very district from which St. Patrick originally\ncame.\n\nThere are four localities designated in these documents; three of them\nin the \"Confession of St. Patrick,\" and one in the hymn of St. Fiech.\nIn the \"Confession,\" St. Patrick says of himself, \"Patrem habui\nCalphurnium Diaconum (or Diacurionem) qui fuit e vico\nBonaven-Taberniae; villam Enon prope habuit, ubi ego in capturam\ndecidi.\" The hymn of St. Fiech adds that the saint was born at a place\ncalled Nem-tur.\n\nThe ancient \"Lives of St. Patrick\" cite these localities with little\nvariation.\n\nThe first Life, given in Colgan's collection, and ascribed to St.\nPatrick junior, says, \"Natus est igitur in illo oppido, Nempthur\nnomine. Patricius natus est in campo Taburnae.\"\n\nThe second Life, which is ascribed to St. Benignus, is word for word\nthe same with the first on this point.\n\nThe third, supposed to be by St. Eleran, suggests that he was of Irish\ndescent through a colony allowed by the Romans to settle in Armorica;\nbut that his parents were of Strato Cludi (Strath Clyde); that he was\nborn, however, \"in oppido Nempthur, quod oppidum in campo Taburniae\nest.\" This life is of very ancient date, and shows clearly enough how\nold is the Irish tradition concerning the saint's birth in France.\n\nThe fourth Life, by Probus, says: \"Brito fuit natione . . . de vico\nBannave Tiburniae regionis, haud procul a mare occidentali--quem vicum\nindubitanter comperimus esse Neustriae provinciae, in qua olim\ngigantes.\" Here, again, we observe the same confused tradition of the\nsaint's French origin; for Neustria was the name in the Merovingian\nperiod of the whole district comprised between the Meuse and the\nLoire.\n\n{748}\n\nThe fifth and best known life, by Jocelyn, has it: \"Brito fuit natione\nin pago Taburniae--co quod Romanus exercitus tabernacula fixerant\nibidem, secus oppidum Nempthor degens, mare Hibernico collimitans\nhabitatione.\"\n\nThe sixth Life, by St. Evin, declares that he was \"de Brittanis\nAlcluidensibus, natus in Nempthur.\"\n\nThe Breviaries repeat the same names with as little attempt to fix the\nactual localities.\n\nThe Breviary of Paris says: \"In Britiania natus, oppido Empthoria.\"\nThe Breviary of Armagh: \"In illo Brittaniae oppido nomine Emptor.\" The\nold Roman Breviary says simply: \"Grenere Brito.\" The Breviary of\nRheims: \"In maritimo Brittaniae territorio.\" The Breviary of Rouen:\n\"In Brittania Gallicana.\" The Breviary of the canons of St. John of\nLateran: \"Ex Brittania magna insula.\"\n\nIt will be observed that in the principal of these authorities there\nis a concurrence in accepting the locality called so variously Nemthur\nand Empthoria, as well as the second of the localities, the Taberniae,\nnamed by St. Patrick himself; and also that there is no appearance of\ncertainty in the minds of the writers as to the exact sites of the\nplaces of which they speak. None of them ventures to name the exact\ndistrict or diocese where Empthoria or the Taberniae are to be found.\n\nBut certain scholia upon the \"Hymn of St. Fiech,\" which were for the\nfirst time published by Colgan in the \"Triadis Thaumaturgae,\" boldly\nlay down the proposition that \"Nemthur est civitas in Brittania\nSeptentrionali, nempe Alcluida;\" and the name is also translated as\nmeaning \"Holy Tower.\" The same writer, however, adds in another note\nthat St. Patrick was not carried into his Irish captivity from\nDumbarton, but from Boulogne, where he and his family were visiting\nsome of their friends at the time when the Irish pirates swept down\nupon the coast of Gaul. The Irish annals say that about the period of\nSt. Patrick's captivity, Nial of the Nine Hostages lost his life on\nthe Sea of Iccius between France and England. These long piratical\nforays were not uncommon at the time.  [Footnote 126] A little later,\nthe last of our pagan kings, Dathy, was killed by lightning near the\nRhaetian Alps.\n\n  [Footnote 126: Totum cum Scotus Iernem Movit, et infesto spumsvit\n  remige Tethys CLAUDIAN.]\n\nColgan with a curious credulity accepted this improbable solution of\nthe scholiast, of which it may in the first place be said that it is\nincompatible with the statement of St. Patrick himself, who declares\ndistinctly that he was captured at a country house belonging to his\nfather, near the town to which his family belonged.\n\nUsher, however, who had equal opportunities of studying the original\ndocuments, also adopted this explanation. Several Irish writers, and\nespecially Don Philip O'Sullivan, vaguely conscious of the tradition\nof St. Patrick's French origin, attempted to reconcile the fact of his\nbeing a Briton with the fact of his birth in France by the supposition\nthat he was a Breton of Brittany. This theory, however, falls\nsummarily to the ground when it is opposed to the fact that the\nprovince now known by the name of Brittany was not inhabited by any\ntribe which bore the name in the time of St. Patrick, \"The year 458,\"\nsays the Benedictine Lobineau  [Footnote 127] in his learned history\nof Brittany, \"is about the epoch of the establishment of the Bretons\nin that part of ancient Armorica which at present bears the name of\nBretagne.\" There was, however, a clan called Brittani, further toward\nthe north of France, a clan whose territory Pliny and the Greek\nDionysius Periegetes had long before designated with accuracy: Pliny\nin these words, \"Deinde Menapii, Morini, Oromansaci juncti pago, qui\nGessoriacus vocatur; {749} Brittani, Ambiani, Bellovaci.\"  [Footnote\n128] The Brittani of the time of St. Patrick are to be found in the\ncountry that lies between Boulogne and Amiens. It is there that\nLanigan came upon the first authentic traces of the origin\nof our apostle.\n\n  [Footnote 127: Lobineau. D. Gui Alexis, \"_Histoire de Bretagne_.\"\n  Paris, 1707.]\n\n  [Footnote 128: Plinii Secundi, \"_Historia Naturalis_; de Gallia,\" 1.\n  iv. The editors of the Dauphin's edition have a note on the word\n  Brittaui, which is worth quotation. \"Ita libri omnes. Hi inter\n  Gessoriacenses Ambianosqne medii, in ora similiter positi, ea loca\n  teuuere cert\u00e8, ubi nunc oppida Stapulae, Monetrolium, Hesdinium, et\n  adjacentem agrum, Ponticum ad Somonam amnem. Cluverius hic Briannos\n  legi mavult.\" See also the learned essay on the Britons of Armorica\n  in the \"_Acta Sanctorum, Vit\u00e2 S. Ursulae_;\" Octobris, vol. ix., p.\n  108. A glance at the map will show the close relation of the\n  district marked by the present towns of Etaples, Montreuil, Hesdin,\n  and Ponthieu to the localities named a little farther on. That the\n  Britons of Great Britain originally came from this district is\n  declared in the Welsh Triads, thus: \"The three beneficent tribes of\n  the Isle of Britain. The first was the nation of the Cymmry, who\n  came with Hu the mighty to the Isle of Britain, who would not\n  possess nor country nor lands through writing and persecution, but\n  of equity and in peace; the second was the stock of the Lioegrians,\n  who came from the land of Gwasgwyn (Gascolgne), and were descended\n  from the primitive stock of the Cymmry: the third were the Brython,\n  and from the land of Llydaw they came, having their descent from the\n  primary stock of the Cymmry.\" And again, Cynan is spoken of as lord\n  of Meirlon (probably a Celtic form of the word _Morini_) in Llydaw.\n  Taliessin also mentions the _Morini Btython_ in his _Prif Gyfarch_,\n  Lydaw, Latinized Letavia, is one of the early Celtic names of the\n  country of the Morini, as Neustria, in the Life by Probus, was that\n  given in the Merovingian period to the whole province between the\n  Meuse and Loire, including Boulogne of course. Pliny mentions\n  Boulogne itself as the _Portus Morinorum Brittanicus_. ]\n\nHe was guided to his conclusion, mainly, I think, by the \"History of\nthe Morini,\" published in the year 1639, by the Jesuit Malbrancq,\n[Footnote 129] and which seems strangely to have escaped the notice of\nevery earlier Irish writer. In this work, there are two chapters\ndevoted to the tradition of the connection of St. Patrick with the see\nof Boulogne. Malbrancq relates this tradition, which states that\nprevious to his departure for the Irish mission, St. Patrick remained\nfor some time at Boulogne, occupied in preaching against the Pelagian\nheresy, to contend with which Saint Germanus and Lupus had crossed\nover to Britain. Malbrancq refers, in proof of this fact, to the\n\"Chronicon Morinense,\" to the Catalogue of the Bishops of Boulogne,\nand to the \"Life of St. Arnulphus of Soissons.\" This tradition is to a\ncertain extent a clue in tracing the early and intimate connection of\nSt. Patrick with this country--but as yet it is nothing more.\n\n  [Footnote 129: Malbrancq, Jacobus, \"_De Morinis et Morinrum rebus_.\"\n  Tornaci Nerviorum,1639--1654.]\n\nThe critical question is, whether the four names given by St. Patrick\nhimself, and by St. Fiech, can be identified with any localities now\nknown either in the district of Boulogne or any other district in\nwhich toward the close of the fourth century it is possible to find\nthe conditions of Roman government and British blood combined? Before\nLanigan there was, it seems to me, no serious attempt made to solve\nthis question. The scholiast whose authority was so unhesitatingly\nadopted by Colgan and Usher simply says, \"Nempthur est civitas in\nBrittania Septentrionali, nempe Alcluid.\" There is not a word more. He\ndoes not attempt to show how Nempthur and Alcluid are to be considered\nas convertible terms. Nor does he attempt to interpret the names of\nthe three localities stated by St. Patrick himself. The same may be\nsaid, in the most sweeping way, of the biographies and the breviaries.\n\nI will now read the reasons which Lanigan gives for identifying\nBonaven with Boulogne, and Taberniae with a city very famous in the\nwars of the middle ages, long before Arras had been fortified by\nVauban or defended by General Owen Roe O'Neill. It will be observed\nthat Lanigan does not attempt to identify the two other localities\nEnon and Nempthur. The former he regarded as too insignificant, the\nlatter he did not believe had any existence. I will not say that his\nproof with regard to the identity of Boulogne with Bonaven is\nconclusive; but if the whole of his proof rested on as strong\npresumptive grounds, little would remain to be said on the subject.\nThe second part of it is, however, in my humble opinion, wholly\nerroneous. He says:\n\n{750}\n\n\"Colgan acknowledges that there is an ancient tradition among the\ninhabitants of Armoric Britain that St. Patrick was born in their\ncountry, and that some Irishmen were of the same opinion. He quotes\nsome passages from Probus and others whence they argued in proof of\ntheir position, but omits, through want of attention to that most\nvaluable document, the following passage of 'St. Patrick's\nConfession:' My father was Calpurnius, a deacon, son of Potitus, a\npriest of the town Bonavem Taberniae. He had near the town a small\nvilla, Enon, where I became a captive.' Here we have neither a town\nNemthor nor Alcluit. Nor will any British antiquary be able to find\nout a place in Great Britain to which the names Bonavem Taberniae can\nbe applied. Usher, although he had quoted these words, has not\nattempted to give any explanation of them, or to reconcile them with\nNemthur.\n\n\"The word Taberniae has puzzled not only Colgan, but some of the\nauthors of the Lives which he chose to follow; for while they left out\n_Bonavem_ as not agreeing with _Nemthur_, they retained Taberniae, or,\nas they were pleased to write it, _Taburniae_, which they endeavored\nto account for by making it a district that got its name from having\nbeen the site of a Roman camp in which there were tents or\ntabernacles. Colgan, who swallowed all this stuff, quotes Jocelin as\nhis authority for Taburnia being situated near the Clyde, at the South\nBank. Great authority, indeed! It is, however, odd that such a place\nshould be unnoticed by all those who have undertaken to elucidate the\nancient topography of Great Britain. The places of Roman camps in that\ncountry were usually designated by the adjunct _castra_, whence\n_chester_, or _cester_, in which the names of so many cities and towns\nin England terminate.\n\n\"Bonavem, or Bonaven, was in Armoric Gaul, being the same town as\nBoulogne-sur-Mer in Picardy. That town was well known to the Romans\nunder the name of Gressoriacum; but about the reign of Constantine the\nGreat the Celtic name Bonaven or Bonaun, alias Bonon, which was\nLatinized into Bononia, became more general. According to Bullet, who\ninforms us that Am, Aven, On, signify river in the Celtic language,\nthe town was so called from its being at the mouth of a river; _Bon_,\nmouth, _on_ or _avon_, river. Baxter also observes that Bononia is no\nother than _Bonavon_ or _Bonaun_, for _aven, avem, avon, aun_, are\npronounced in the same manner. The addition of _Taberniae_ marks its\nhaving been in the district of Tarvanna or Tarvenna, alias Tarabanna,\na celebrated city not far from Boulogne, the ruins of which still\nremain under the modern name of Terouanne. The name of this city was\nextended to a considerable district around it, thence called _pagus\nTarbannensis_, or _Tarvanensis regio_. Gregory of Tours calls the\ninhabitants Tarabannenses. It is often mentioned under the name of\n_Civitas Morinorum_, having been the principal city of the Morini, in\nwhich Boulogne was also situated. Boulogne was so connected with\nTarvanna that both places anciently formed but one episcopal see. Thus\nJonas, in his 'Life of the Abbot Eustatius,' written near twelve\nhundred years ago, calls Audomarus Bishop of Boulogne and Tarvanna. It\nis probable that St. Patrick's reason for designating Bonaven by the\nadjunct _Taberniae_ was lest it might be confounded with the Bononia\nof Italy, now Bologna, or with a Bononia in Aquitain, in the same\nmanner that, to avoid a similar confusion, the French call it at\npresent Boulogne-sur-Mer. Perhaps it will be objected that _Tabernia_\nis a different name from _Tarvenna_. In the first place, it may be\nobserved that, owing to the usual commutation of _b_ for _v_, and\n_vice vers\u00e2_, we might read _Tavernia_. Thus we have seen that\nTarvenna was called by some _Tarabanna_. To account for the further\ndifference of the names, nothing more is required than to admit the\n{751} transposition of a syllable or a letter, which has frequently\noccurred in old words, and particularly names of places. Nogesia, the\nname of a town, becomes Genosia. Dunbritton has been modified into\nDunbertane, Dunbarton, Dumbarton. Probus agrees with the 'Confession,'\nexcept that, according to Colgan's edition, for Bonavem Taberniae he\nhas 'Bannave Tyburniae regionis,' and adds that it was not far from\nthe Western sea or Atlantic ocean. Although we may easily suppose that\nsome errors of transcription have crept into the text of Probus, yet\nas to Bannave there is no material difference between it and Bonavem.\n_Ban_ might be used for _Bon_; and the final _m_, which was a sort of\nnasal termination, as it is still with the Portuguese, could be\nomitted so as to write for Bonavem, or Bonaum (_v_ and _u_ being the\nsame letter), Bonaue. Probus' addition of _regionis_ is worth\nnoticing, as it corresponds with what has been said concerning the\n_Tarvanensis regio_.\"\n\nI think the proof in this passage with regard to the word Bonaven is\nvery strong. The passage which Lanigan cites from Bexter distinctly\nsays, \"Gallorum Bononia eodem pene est etymo; quasi dicas Bon-avon\nsive Bonaun.\" The derivation of the word is clear enough. Avon even in\nEngland retains its Celtic signification of a river. But the passage\nidentifying the _Tabernia_ of Boulogne with Therouanne is in my\nopinion altogether incorrect. Where he accounts for the change in the\nstructure of the word by the usual transmutation of _b_ and _v_, he\noverlooks the letter _r_--a letter which does not melt into the music\nof patois by any means so easily. Again, he hardly lays sufficient\nstress on the fact that the word _Taberniae_ is invariably understood\nin all the scholia, and in all the lives, to mean the _Campus\ntabernaculorum_--the barracks and district occupied by a Roman army.\nIn fine, he confuses Therouanne, which is at a distance of thirty\nmiles from Boulogne, and certainly did not stand in the relation he\nsupposes to it, with another city some twenty miles still further\naway. But Malbrancq, who was his chief authority, does not omit to\nmention that Tervanna and Taruanna are two absolutely distinct places:\nTervanna was the old Roman name of the town now known as Saint Pol\n[Footnote 130]--Taruanna that of Therouenne.\n\n  [Footnote 130: \"_Comitum Tervanensium Annales Historici_,\"\n  Collectore Th. Turpin Paulinati. Ord. Predicat. 1731.]\n\nIt is very possible--I may add to the proof concerning the word\nBonaven--that it may have been written originally Bononen, for\nBononenses Taberniae. Any one familiar with the form of the letters of\nthe early Irish alphabet, indeed of almost all early manuscript, will\nreadily comprehend how easily an _o_ might be written for an _a_, an\n_n_ for a _v_, and _vice vers\u00e2_, by a scribe ignorant of the exact\nlocality, and copying from a half-defaced document. Any one who looks\nat the form of the letters in the alphabet of the \"Book of Kells,\"\ngiven in Dr. O'Donovan's Grammar, will conceive at a glance how this\nmight have happened.\n\nAssuming, however, that Lanigan is correct in his conjecture as to\nBoulogne, I have endeavored to discover whether the other localities\nnamed in the \"Confession\" and \"Hymn\" can be identified with localities\nnow existing within the proper circumscription of the Roman military\noccupation around that city, and of a certain and unquestionable\nantiquity. I need not inform the academy of the great military\nimportance of Boulogne at the time of which we treat. It was the point\nfrom which England had been invaded. It was the principal military\nsettlement of the Romans in Northern Gaul. Julian the Apostate had\nheld his headquarters there shortly before St. Patrick's birth. The\ncountry all around is marked by roads and mounds, which exhibit the\nrigid lines and stern solidity of Roman construction. I learn from a\nrecent essay by {752} M. Quenson, an accomplished scholar of Saint\nOmer, that eighty-eight different works have been written to settle\nthe site of the Portus Itius, whence Caesar embarked to invade\nBritain, and nineteen different localities assigned. Since M. Quenson\nwrote, M. de Saulcy has again opened, and this time I think finally\ndetermined, that controversy. Perhaps I am so far fortunate that the\nabsorbing zeal with which this difficult problem has been pursued, in\na country of such zealous scholars, still leaves to a stranger\nsomewhat to glean, in places far inland from the famous port which\nthey have so long labored to identify.\n\nThe localities to which St. Patrick refers have, I find, all been\npreserved with the least alteration of their etymology that it is\npossible to conceive in the space of so many centuries; and this, I\nmay add, is peculiarly wonderful in a country where so many Roman\nnames have, by the friction of the much mixed dialects of northern\nFrance, been almost frayed out of recognition. Who would suppose, for\nexample, taking some of the familiar names of the department, that\nFampoux was the _Fanum Pollucis_, Dainville _Dianae villa_, Lens\n_Elena_, Etaples _Stapulae_, Hermaville _Hermetis villa_, Hesdin\n_Helenum_, Souchez _Sabucetum_, Surques _Surcae_, Ervillers\n_Herivilla_, Tingry _Tingriacum_?  [Footnote 131] And yet regarding\nthese names there is no doubt that the modern French is a corruption\nof the old Latin form. Of the localities, which I proceed to\ndesignate, I submit that each has kept its original name with far less\nviolation of the ancient word. The _Enon_, the _Nemthur_, the\n_Taberniae_ of St. Patrick are, to my mind, manifest in comparison\nwith the majority of a hundred other localities in the Boulonnais\nwhich undoubtedly derive their titles from a Roman source.\n\n  [Footnote 131: The name of the neighboring village of Ardres has run\n  through the following traceable variations since the Roman period:\n  Horda, Ardra, Ards, Ardrea, Ardes, Ardres.]\n\nIn the first place, let us take the word Enon. The river Liane, which\nruns into the sea at Boulogne, was known to the Romans as the Fluvius\nEnna. It is so marked on the most ancient maps of northern Gaul. It is\nso written in Latin by Malbrancq. Near Desvres--once called\nDesurennes, or Desvres-sur-Ennes--there is marked a little village of\nthe same name, called also Enna. I will not be said to strain\nlanguage, which has survived so many centuries, very severely when I\nventure to identify St. Patrick's Enon with this undoubtedly Roman\nEnon.\n\nLanigan totally disbelieved in the existence of the town called\nNempthor. I could not do so; nor underrate the importance of\nidentifying it, if possible, in such an inquiry as this. But the\ndifficulty of discovering this place was hitherto greatly increased by\na mistranslation of its meaning, for which I believe Colgan is\nresponsible. The word was always supposed to mean \"Holy\nTower\"--_Neim_, holy, and _Tur_, tower--until Professor Eugene\nO'Curry, when compiling, some years ago, his valuable catalogue of the\nIrish MSS. of the British Museum, after a minute examination of the\nmanuscript, which is the oldest copy of the \"Hymn\" in existence, came\nto the conclusion that the word should really be written \"Emtur,\" as\nit is indeed, though by accident I take it, in some of the breviaries.\n\"The place of St. Patrick's birth,\" he says, \"is generally written\nNemtur; but there is clear evidence that the N is but a prefix\nintroduced to fill the hiatus in the text, and that Emtur is the\nproper form of the word.\" The word, then, means not holy tower, but\nthe tower of some place or person indicated by the word Em. Some eight\nmiles distant from Desvres, toward the north, still within the\nmilitary circumscription of which it is the centre, there is such a\nplace. The river Em, or Hem, flows past a village of so great an\nantiquity, that even in the ordinary geographical dictionaries the\nrecord is preserved that Julius Caesar slept {753} there on his way to\nembark for the invasion of Britain.  [Footnote 132] The town contains\na Roman arch and the ruins of a Roman tower, from which the village\nderives its name. The name is Tournehem, or, as it was written in\nMalbrancq's time, Tur-n-hem. The tower and the river show the\nderivation of the word at a glance. The exigencies of Irish verse\nsimply caused their transposition. I have only to add to Mr. O'Curry's\ningenious note on the subject the remark that the _n_ was not, as he\nsupposes, merely inserted to fill up a hiatus in the line, but was\nobviously a part of it. It is a copulative as common in Celtic words\nas _de_ in modern French, and has precisely the same meaning.\nBallynamuck, for example, means the town of, or on, the river Muck.\nTulloch na Daly (whose swelling dimensions the French afterward curbed\ninto the famous name of Tollendall) is a more apposite instance.\n\n  [Footnote 132: \"Ce lieu existait lorsque les l'egions romaines\n  pen\u00e9tr\u00e8rent dans la Morinie, l'an de Rome 697, ou 57 ans avant l'\u00e8re\n  valgaire, et consistait alors en un ch\u00e2teau fort garni de tours,\n  d'o\u00f9 eat venu, selon Malbrancq, la d\u00e9nomination de _Tournehem_ du\n  Latin _\u00e0 Turribus_. C\u00e9sar s'empara de ce ch\u00e2teau et y fit quelque\n  s\u00e9jour pour l'avantage de ea cavalerie. Environ deux si\u00e8cles et demi\n  apr\u00e8s, c'est \u00e0 dire en 218, Septime-S\u00e9v\u00e8re, autre empereur romain,\n  fit camper dans le voisinage de Tournehem (sur la montagne de Saint\n  Louis) une partie de son arm\u00e9e destin\u00e9e pour une exp\u00e9dition contre\n  le Grand Bretagne, qu'll effectua glorieusement la m\u00eame ann\u00e9e.\"--P.\n  Collet, \"_Notice Historique de Saint Omer suivi de celles de\n  Therouanne el de Tournehem_.\" Saint Omer, 1830. Both M. Collet and\n  P\u00e8re Malbrancq, however, overlook the obvious derivation of the\n  word--though both note the name of the river which flows through the\n  town, and which M. Collet calls \"la rivi\u00e8re de _Hem_ ou de _Saint\n  Louis_.\" Again, M. H. Piers, in the \"_M\u00e9moires de la Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 des\n  Antiquaries de la Morinie_\" (Saint Omer. 1834) says, '\"C\u00e9sar apr\u00e8s\n  s'\u00eatre empar\u00e9 des forteresses de la contr\u00e9e s'y rendit de Ther\n  ouanne, Sithieu et Tournehem, l'an 55 on 56 avant l'\u00e8re vulgaire,\n  pour subjuguer la Grande Bretagne.\" In the same volume there is an\n  interesting paper by M. Pigauit de Beaupr\u00e9 on the castle of\n  Tournehem, which, he says, was partially rebuilt by Baldwin II.,\n  Count of Guines, in 1174, and continued to be a principal residence\n  of the Dukes of Burgundy at so late a date as 1485. But the vastness\n  and solidity of the works which he describes, some of them\n  subterranean roads evidently used for communication with other\n  fortified works, clearly indicate their Roman character. Baldwin,\n  indeed, a prince far in advance of his age, seems to have attempted\n  to revive Roman ideas, and rebuild Roman works wherever he found\n  them within his dominions. The castle of H\u00e2mes, near Calais, which\n  he likewise rebuilt, and which he ceded to the English as part of\n  the ransom of King John of France, was also, as M. Pigault de\n  Beaupr\u00e9 shows, of Roman construction.]\n\nI have yet to identify the _Taberniae_. To the eye, and on the old\nmaps, they almost identify themselves. Desvres has all the characters\nof a great Roman military position--a vast place of arms, the tracings\nof fortified walls, the fosse, lines of circumvallation, and hard by\non the forest edge the _Sept Voies_ or _Septemvium_, the meeting of\nthe seven great military roads leading from and to the other principal\nstrongholds of the imperial power in northern and western Europe. Any\none who examines in particular the \"Carte des Voies Romaines du\nD\u00e9partement du Pas de Calais,\" published by the Commission of\nDepartmental Antiquities,  [Footnote 133] cannot fail to perceive that\nthis now obscure village, which certainly never was raised to the rank\nof a Roman city, was nevertheless once a great nucleus of Roman power.\nThe fragment of an ancient bridge is still known as the _Pont de\nCaesar_. The _Septemvium_, with its remarkable concentration of roads,\nis alone sufficient to indicate the importance of the place. There is\none road leading straight to Amiens; one that reaches the sea by the\nmouth of the Canche; another that runs to the harbor of Boulogne;\nanother that joins the roads from Saint Omer and from Tournehem, and\ncarries them on to Wissante and Sangate, the supposed Portus Itius and\nPortus Inferior; the fifth road was to Tervanna and Arras; the sixth\nto Taruanna; the seventh to Saint Omer. Would so many roads,\ncommunicating with places of such military importance, have been\nconcentrated by a race of such a centralizing talent as the Romans\nanywhere except at the cite of a great city or a great camp? On the\nancient maps, indeed, the country which lies between Desvres and\nBoulogne, along the Liane, is simply marked _Castrum_.\n\n  [Footnote 133: \"_Statistique Monurnentale du D\u00e9partement du Pas de\n  Calais. Publi\u00e9e par la Commission des Antiquit\u00e9s Departementales_.\"\n  Arras: chez Topino, Libraire, 1840.]\n\n{754}\n\nI now approach, not unconscious of its difficulties, the etymology of\nthe word. In the lax Latin of the middle ages, we find Desvres spoken\nof as _Divernia Bononiensis_. There is the epitaph of a churchman,\nborn in the place, which says on his behalf:\n\n\"Me Molinet peperit Divernia Bononiensis.\"\n\nThe local historian, Baron d'Ordre, speaks of the place as \"D\u00e9sur\u00e8ne,\nDivernia, aujourd'hui Desvres.\"  [Footnote 134] The name Desvres\nitself evidently has undergone strange, yet traceable, variations and\nmodifications.  [Footnote 135] Its first appearance as a French word\nis \"Desurennes,\" and this is derived from Desvres sur Enna, or Desvres\nupon the Enna or Liane, which, as I have said, flows past the place,\ngiving its name to a little village near the forest. By this\nderivation, however, only the first two letters of the original word\nDesvres are left. How do they disappear, why do they reappear in the\nmodern form of the word, and what is its original derivation?\n\n  [Footnote 134: \"Notice historique sur la ville de D\u00e9sur\u00e8ne Divernia,\n  aujourd'hui Desvres.\" Par M. d'Ordre. Boulogne, 1811.]\n\n  [Footnote 135: \"II n'y pas 50 ans que le nom de Desvres a prevalu\n  sur celul de Desurenne que cette ville avait tonjours port\u00e9\n  auparavant.\"--M. L. Cousin \"_M\u00e9moires de la Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 des Antiquarires\n  de la Morinie_,\" vol. iv., p. 239. M. Cousin's papers on Monthulin\n  and Tingry, in the Transactions of this society, are in general\n  accord with what I have said of the ancient military importance of\n  the whole district of Desvres.]\n\nIt is a very curious fact, that in England the Roman camps seem to\nhave been always known as \"Castra,\" while in Gaul the Tabernae is the\nname which generally adhered to them. Lanigan says, and correctly, so\nfar as I have been able to discover, that there is no trace of a Roman\nstation called _Tabernae_ in England, while the affix _chester_ is the\nmost common in its topography. In England, it may be said the Romans\nencamped; in France, the _Tabernae_ meant a more settled and familiar\nresidence, as familiar as the Caserne of the empire. It would be\ninteresting to inquire whether as many cities in France do not derive\ntheir origin from these military stations as England has of Chesters.\nBut the student who attempts this task will be sure to find the Latin\nword almost defaced beyond power of recognition by the etymological\nmaltreatment which it has sustained in that conflict of consonants\nwhich has resulted in the present high polish of Academic French. I\nmay mention one or two instances to show how little violence I do to\nFrench philology in identifying the _Divernia Bononiensis_ of the\nmiddle ages with the Tabenae of Boulogne. Saveme in Lorraine is well\nknown to be the _Tabenae Triborocrum_. It was known in a semi-Germanic\nform as _Elsas Tabern_. Gradually the sibilant _ss_ of the first word\ninvaded the second; and it has long settled down into one word in the\nform of Saveme. The _Tabernae Rhenanae_, on the other hand, retained\nthe hard _b_ instead of converting it into _v_, as inevitably happened\nin the south, and instead changed the T into Z Rhein-Zabren. In ages\nwhich had no hesitation in changing the pure dental T into the\nsibilant dentals S or Z, it will not be considered surprising that it\nwas sometimes changed into D--the only other pure dental sound.\nIndeed, of all the transmutations of letters, those of _d_ and _t_ and\nthose of _v_ and _b_, are notoriously the most common. \"The Irish\n_d_,\" says O'Donovan, \"never has such a hard sound as the English\n_d_.\" Again, \"In ancient writings, _t_ is frequently substituted for\n_d_.\" Again, \"It should be remarked that in ancient Irish MSS.\nconsonants of the same organ are very frequently substituted for each\nother, and that where the ancients usually wrote _p, c, t,_ the\nmoderns write _b, q, d._\"  [Footnote 136] Decline the Irish word\n_T\u00e2d_, father. It becomes _Ei d\u00e2d_, his father; _Ei th\u00e2d_, her father;\n_by nh\u00e2d_ my father. We carry the tendency into English. The mistake\nis one from which certain parts of Ireland as well as certain parts of\nFrance are not exempt even to the present day; and in Munster one may\nstill {755} hear, as in the times when the ballad of \"Lillibullero\"\nwas written, the letter _d_ occasionally used where the tongue\nintended _t_ or _th_. Nor is this vagary of speech confined to the\nIrish. Why do the Welsh say Tafyd for David? It is the most frequently\nrecurring of that systematic permutation of consonants which is one of\nthe chief difficulties of the Cymbric tongue. The Welsh _d_ and _t_\nturn about and wheel about in their mysterious alphabet without the\nslightest scruple. In Germany the convertibility of the same letters\nis also very marked. The German says _das_ for that, _Dank_ for\nthanks, _Durst_ for thirst; and again _Teufel_ for devil, _Tanz_ for\ndance, _Theil_ for dial. As to the same abuse in France, the\ndictionary of the Academy and that of Bescherelle  [Footnote 137] lay\ndown the principle very plainly: \"Le _t_ est une lettre \u00e0 la fois\nlinguale et dentale, comme le _d_ son correlatif, plus faible, plus\ndoux, avec lequel il est fr\u00e9quemment confondu, nonseulement dans les\nlangues germaniques, mais dans la plupart des langues. En latin, cette\nlettre so permute fr\u00e9quemment avec le _d: attulit_ pour _adtulit_. On\n\u00e9crivit primitivement set, aput, quot, haut, au lieu de sed, apud,\nquod, hand.\"\n\n  [Footnote 136: O'Donovan, John, LL.D., \"A Grammar of the Irish\n  Language.\" Dublin, 1845.]\n\n  [Footnote 137: \"_Dictionnaire de l'Acad\u00e9mie_ Fran\u00e7aise,\"\n  Bescherelle,  \"_Dictionnaire National_.\" Paris, 1857.]\n\nSo far as to the permutation of T and D. I will not waste the time of\nthe reader in order to show that the conversion of _v_ into _b_ is\neven more common. We find a familiar illustration of it in the old\nLatin name of Ireland, which, as every one knows, is variously written\nIbernia, Ivernia, Hibernia, Juvernia, and Iernia. But the English word\ntavern, which is exactly derived from the Latin Taberniae, is a still\nmore apposite illustration in the present case. In this word, finally,\nthe intermediate vowel swayed in sound with the consonants which\ninclosed it. As the primary Latin T changed into the softer and\nfeebler D, and the _b_ into _v_, the intermediate _a_ lost its full\nforce. The mediaeval Latin melts into _i_ in Divernia. The modern\nFrench form, Desvres, brings it half-way back toward its place at the\nhead of the alphabet. It does not run the whole gamut of the vowels,\nas from Ibernia to Juvernia.\n\nThis _Divernia Bononiensis_, then, I claim to identify with the\n_Taberniae Bononienses_, Tournehem with Nemtur or Emtor, Enna with\nEnon. If it were necessary even to push the proof a step further,\nthere is the district called _Le Wicquet_, which M. Jean Scoti, who\nwas _lieutenant particulier de la Sennechauss\u00e9e de Boulogne_, tells us\nis undoubtedly derived from the Latin Vicus, and which might naturally\nbe the _vico Bonaven Taberniae_ of which the \"Confession\" speaks; but\nthe historian of Desvres, Baron d'Ordre, whom I have already cited,\ndisputes this derivation, and says the word is Celtic, and comes from\n_Wic_, Celtic for wood, like our word wicket. Both may be right, for\nVicus may be a Latin form of the same word.  [Footnote 138] But the\npoint is not material.\n\n  [Footnote 138: Among the names of  villages in this district of\n  whose history I could find no trace, is one called Erin, the place\n  where Blessed Benedict Joseph Labre was born.]\n\nLet me now add to the etymological evidence a few historical\nillustrations.\n\nSt. Patrick is stated in almost all his biographies to have been a\nnephew of St. Martin of Tours. St. Martin, though said to be a Celt of\nPannonia, was during his military and early ecclesiastical career\nstationed in this identical district. The well known legend of his\ndivision of his cloak with the beggar, who proved to be our Lord\nhimself, is alleged to have taken place at Amiens. It is recorded that\nhe was baptized at Therouanne. The first church raised to his honor\nwas built there. The principal missionaries of the district are said\nto have been his disciples, and evidently entertained a deep devotion\nto him, of {756} which there are still abundant evidences.  [Footnote\n139]\n\n  [Footnote 139: Of the 420 churches comprised in the ancient diocese\n  of Boulogne, 82 had St. Martin for patron. I also find several\n  dedicated to the Irish St. Maclou and St. Kilian: but, strange to\n  say, not one to St. Victricius.--V. \"_Histoire des Ev\u00eaques de\n  Boulogne_,\" par M. l'Abb\u00e9 E. Van Drival. Boulogne, 1852. ]\n\nSt. Patrick, while in captivity at Slemish in Ireland, lived within\nsight of Scotland. A few miles only separate the coasts at Antrim. But\nwhen he escaped, he did not attempt to pass into Scotland. He made his\nway south, and passed through England to France. He says he was\nreceived among the Britons as if (_quasi_) among his own clan and kin.\nDoubtless there was close relationship of race and language between\nthe Britons of the island and of the continent. There were Britons and\nthere were Atrebates on both sides of the sea.  [Footnote 140] But\nBritain was not the saint's native place nor his resting-place. He\nwent on, and abode with those whom he calls his brethren of Gaul,\n\"seeing again the familiar faces of the saints of the Lord,\" until he\nwas summoned to undertake his mission to Ireland.\n\n  [Footnote 140: M. Piers, in the paper already cited, quotes H.\n  Am\u00e9d\u00e9e Thierry as saying; \"Les _Brittani_ furent les premiers qui\n  a'y fix\u00e8rent; il habitalent une partie de la Morinie; peut-\u00eatre par\n  un pieux souvenir ont-ils appel\u00e9 leur nouvelle patrie la Grande\n  Bretagne. Les _Atrebates_ anglais, originaires de Belgium,\n  r\u00e9sidaient \u00e0 _Caleva_ ou _Galena Atrebatum_,  \u00e0 22 milles de _Venta\n  Belgarum_ dans le canton o\u00f9 est aujourd'hui Windsor.\" H. Piers adds\n  that there is a tradition that a colony of the Morini had given\n  their name to a distant country of islands which they discovered;\n  but that he has found it impossible to discover the name in any\n  ancient atlas. Perhaps the district of Mourne, on the north-east\n  coast of Ireland, is that indicated. The Irish derivation of the\n  name is at all events identical with the French ]\n\nIn his own account of the vision which induced him to undertake the\napostolate of Ireland, he says he was called to do so by a man, whose\nname is variously written Victor, Victoricius, and Victricius. The\nreal name is in all probability Victricius; but if it were Victor or\nVictoricius, it would be equally easy (were it not for the fear of\nfailing by essaying to prove too much) to identify the source of the\nsaint's inspiration with the same district. Saint Victricius was the\ngreat missionary of the Morini at the end of the fourth century; but\nhe had been preceded in that capacity by St. Victoricius, who suffered\nmartyrdom with Sts. Fuscien and Firmin, at Amiens, in A.D. 286. Again,\nthe name Victor is that of a favorite disciple of St. Martin, whom\nSulpicius Severns sent to St. Paulinus of Nola,  [Footnote 141] and of\nwhom they both write in terms of extraordinary encomium. But the\nperson referred to in the \"Confession\" is far more probably St.\nVictricius,  [Footnote 142] who was an exact contemporary of St.\nPatrick, who was engaged on the mission of Boulogne at the time of his\nescape, and who is said to have been a French Briton himself.\nMalbrancq's \"Annals of the See of Boulogne\" aver that in the year 390\nthe \"Morini a Domino Victricio exculti sunt,\" and that in the year 400\nhe dedicated their principal church to St Martin.  [Footnote 143]\n\n  [Footnote 141: S. Paulini Nolani \"_Opera_.\" _Epistola_  xxiii. in\n  the \"_Patrologiae Cursus Compietus_\" of J. P. Migne, vol. lxi.\n  Paris, 1847. See also the two epistles to St. Victricius, who with\n  St. Martin persuaded Paulinus to withdraw from the world. I hare a\n  suspicion that the disciple of St. Victricius, named in these\n  epistles now as Paschasius, now as Tytichus or Tytius (the name\n  being evidently misprinted, but there being no doubt, as the\n  Bollandists say, that the two names refer to one and the same\n  person), may have been in reality St. Patrick. In his 17th Epistle,\n  St. Paulinus refers to the accounts he had heard from this young\n  priest of the anxiety of St. Victricius for the evangelization of\n  the most remote parts of the globe, and speaks of him as a disciple\n  in every way worthy of his master; \"In cujus gratia el humauitate,\n  quasi quasdam virtutam gratiarumque tuarum lineas velut speculo\n  reddente collegimus.\"]\n\n  [Footnote 142: Franciscus Pommeraeus, O. S. B.. In his \"History of\n  the Bishops of Rouen.\" says St. Victricius was also sometimes called\n  Victoricus and Victoricius.]\n\n  [Footnote 143: See also \"_Acta Sanctorum Augustii_;\" tom. ii., p.\n  193. Antverpiae, 1735.]\n\nWhen St. Patrick was on his way to Ireland, with full powers from Pope\nCelestine, it is recorded that he was detained at Boulogne by the\nrequest of Sts. Germanus and Lupus, who were proceeding into Britain\nin order to preach against the Pelagian heresy; and that during their\nabsence he temporarily exercised episcopal functions at Boulogne, and\nso came to be included in the list of its bishops. If St. Patrick were\na native of the island, is it not probable that Germanus and Lupus\nwould rather have {757} invited him to join their mission? But their\nobject in asking him to interrupt his own special enterprise for a\ntime in order to remain among the Boulonnais was, it is said, to guard\nagainst the spread of this heresy on the continent. And it is very\nnatural that they should have asked him to stay for such an object,\nand that he should have consented, if this were indeed his native\ndistrict, in which his intimacies were calculated to give him a\nspecial degree of influence; but not otherwise, hastening as he was\nunder the sense of a divine call to the conversion of a whole nation\nplunged in paganism.\n\nAnd, as I began by saying, all this proof is important mainly because\nit tends in some degree to elucidate the spirit and the work of the\nsaint. We begin to see how with the Celtic character of a French\nBriton, which made him easily akin to the Irish, he combined the Roman\nculture and civilization, which added to his missions peculiar\nliterary and political energy, that long remained. We see in him the\nfriend and comrade of the great saints of a great but anxious age. We\nsee how he connects the young Church of Ireland, not with Rome alone,\nbut with the great militant Christian communities of Gaul--a\nconnection which his disciples were destined so to develope and extend\nin the three following centuries; and we cease to wonder that both\nIreland and France have clung so fondly to a tradition which linked\ntogether in their earliest days two churches whose mutual services and\nsympathies have ever since been of the closest kind.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nTHE BETTER PART.\n\n\n  \"Sweet sister Lucille, I watch thee working,\n    From morning till nightfall, on cloth of gold,\n  On silks of purple, and finest linen,\n    And gems lie before you of worth untold.\n  Makest thou vestments for holy preacher,\n    And cloths to adorn the altar rare?\"\n  \"Ha, ha!\" quoth Lucille, \"thou simple creature!\n    The garments I make I intend to wear.\n\n  Dost thou not see I am nobly fashioned,\n    Regal indeed is my bearing and mien;\n  Are not my features as finely chiselled\n    As e'en were the features of Egypt's queen?\n  I'll work, and work, and I'll never weary,\n    Until rich garments be duly wrought,\n  Suited to clothe my unrivalled form.\n    For which tissues fitting cannot be bought.\n\n{758}\n\n  But, my gentle Mary, I watch thee praying.\n    And wasting many a precious day,\n  Sauntering out amid lanes and alleys,\n    And taking to beggars upon the highway.\n  You bring them on to sit at your table,\n    You feed them on savory meat and wine;\n  Are they above you, that you should clothe them,\n    And so humbly serve while they feast and dine?\"\n\n  Then answered Mary: \"God's poor, my sister,\n    Are more than our equals, I should say;\n  One day they'll feast in the kingdom of heaven,\n    For Christ will call them from hedge and highway.\n  I too am working a costly garment\n    With tears and penance, fasting and prayer;\n  'Tis to clothe my soul, and with God's needy\n    The raiment I weave I hope to wear.\"\n\n  Each walked her way through this vain world;\n    Lucille lived with courtiers who gave her praise,\n  Solicitous still to adorn her person,\n    She frittered time to the end of her days;\n  She work'd, and work'd, and never felt weary.\n    Changing her costume as changed her will;\n  When death came, unfinished still were her garments,\n    But withered and sinful he found Lucille.\n\n  Each walked her way through this vain world;\n    Mary sought neither courtiers nor praise,\n  But in the lazar-house, firm and steadfast.\n    Good she worked to the end of her days.\n  She smooth'd the couch of the sick and dying,\n    She taught the sinner the ways of the Lord,\n  She gave to the \"little ones\" drink refreshing;\n    Verily she shall not lose her reward.\n\n------\n{759}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nCONSTANCE SHERWOOD:\n\nAN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.\n\nBY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.\n\n\n(CONCLUDED.)\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n\nOn the night before the 10th of December neither Muriel nor I retired\nto rest. We sat together by the rush-light, at one time saying\nprayers, at another speaking together in a low voice. Ever and anon\nshe went to listen at her father's door, for to make sure he slept,\nand then returned to me. The hours seemed to pass slowly; and yet we\nshould have wished to stay their course, so much we dreaded the first\nrays of light presaging the tragedy of the coming day. Before the\nfirst token of it did show, at about five in the morning, the\ndoor-bell rung in a gentle manner.\n\n\"Who can be ringing?\" I said to Muriel.\n\n\"I will go and see,\" she answered.\n\nBut I restrained her, and went, to call one of the servants, who were\nbeginning to bestir themselves. The man went down, and returned,\nbringing me a paper, on which these words were written:\n\n\"MY DEAR CONSTANCE--My lord and myself have secretly come to join our\nprayers with yours, and, if it should be possible, to receive the\nblessing of the holy priest who is about to die, as he passeth by your\nhouse, toward which, I doubt not, his eyes will of a surety turn. I\npray you, therefore, admit us.\"\n\nI hurried down the stairs, and found Lord and Lady Arundel standing in\nthe hall; she in a cloak and hood, and he with a slouching hat hiding\nhis face. Leading them both into the parlor, which looketh on the\nstreet, I had a fire hastily kindled; and for a space her ladyship and\nmyself could only sit holding each other's hands, our hearts being too\nfull to speak. After a while I asked her when she had come to London.\nShe said she had done so very secretly, not to increase the queen's\ndispleasure against her husband; her majesty's misliking of herself\ncontinuing as great as ever.\n\n\"When she visited my lord last year, before his arrest,\" quoth she,\n\"on a pane of glass in the dining-room her grace perceived a distich,\nwrit by me in bygone days with a diamond, and which expressed hopes of\nbetter fortunes.\"\n\n\"I mind it well,\" I replied. \"Did it not run thus?\n\n  'Not seldom doth the sun sink down In brightest light\n  Which rose at early dawn disfigured quite outright;\n  So shall my fortunes, wrapt so long in darkest night,\n  Revive, and show ere long an aspect clear and bright.'\"\n\n\"Yea,\" she answered. \"And now listen to what her majesty, calling for\na like instrument, wrote beneath:\n\n  'Not seldom do vain hopes deceive a silly heart\n  Let all each witless dreams now vanish and depart;\n  For fortune shall ne'er shine, I promise thee, on one\n  Whose folly hath for aye all hopes thereof undone.'\n\n{760}\n\n\"We do live,\" she added, \"with a sword hanging over our heads; and it\nis meet we should come here this day to learn a lesson how to die when\na like fate shall overtake us. But thou hast been like to die by\nanother means, my good Constance,\" her ladyship said, looking with\nkindness but no astonishment on my swollen and disfigured face, which\nI had not remembered to conceal; grave thoughts, then uppermost,\nhaving caused me to forget it.\n\n\"My life,\" I answered, \"God hath mercifully spared; but I have lost\nthe semblance of my former self.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut!\" she replied, \"only for a time.\"\n\nAnd then we both drew near unto the fire, for we were shivering with\ncold. Lord Arundel leant against the chimney, and watched the\ntimepiece.\n\n\"Mistress Wells,\" he said, \"is like, I hear, to be reprieved at the\nlast moment.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" I cried, \"nature therein finds relief; yet I know not how much\nto rejoice or yet to grieve thereat. For surely she will desire to die\nwith her husband. And of what good will life be to her if, like some\nothers, she doth linger for years in prison?\"\n\n\"Of much good, if God wills her there to spend those years,\" Muriel\ngently said; which words, I ween, were called to mind long afterward\nby one who then heard them.\n\nAs the hour appointed for the execution approached, we became silent\nagain, and kneeling down betook ourselves to prayer. At eight o'clock\na crowd began to assemble in the street; and the sound of their feet\nas they passed under the window, hurrying toward the scaffold, which\nwas hung with black cloth, became audible. About an hour afterward\nnotice was given to us by one of the servants that the sledge which\ncarried the prisoners was in sight. We rose from our knees and went to\nthe window. Mr. Wells's stout form and Mr. Genings's slight figure\nwere then discernible, as they sat bound, with their hands tied behind\ntheir backs. I observed that Mr. Wells smiled and nodded to some one\nwho was standing amidst the crowd. This person, who was a friend of\nhis, hath since told me that as he passed he saluted him with these\nwords: \"Farewell, dear companion! farewell, all hunting and hawking\nand old pastimes! I am now going a better way.\" Mistress Wells not\nbeing with them, we perceived that to be true which Lord Arundel had\nheard. At that moment I turned round, and missed Muriel, who had been\nstanding close behind me. I supposed she could not endure this sight;\nbut, lo and behold, looking again into the street, I saw her threading\nher way amongst the crowd as swiftly, lame though she was, as if an\nangel had guided her. When she reached the foot of the scaffold, and\ntook her stand there, her aspect was so composed, serene, and\nresolved, that she seemed like an inhabitant of another world suddenly\ndescended amidst the coarse and brutal mob. She was resolved, I\nafterward found, to take note of every act, gesture, and word there\nspoken; and by her means I can here set down what mine own ears heard\nnot, but much of which mine own eyes beheld. As the sledge passed our\ndoor, Mr. Genings, as Lady Arundel had foreseen, turned his head\ntoward us; and seeing me at the window, gave us, I doubt not, his\nblessing; for, albeit he could not raise his chained hand, we saw his\nfingers and his lips move. On reaching the gibbet Muriel heard him cry\nout with holy Andrew, \"O good gibbet, long desired and now prepared\nfor me, much hath my heart desired thee; and now, joyful and secure, I\ncome to thee. Receive me, I beseech thee, as the disciple of him that\nsuffered on the cross!\" Being put upon the ladder, many questions were\nasked him by some standersby, to which he made clear and distinct\nanswers. Then Mr. Topcliffe cried out with a loud voice,\n\n\"Genings, Genings, confess thy fault, thy papist treason; and the\nqueen, no doubt, will grant thee pardon!\"\n\n{761}\n\nTo which he mildly answered, \"I know not, Mr. Topcliffe, in what I\nhave offended my dear anointed princess; if I have offended her or any\nother person in anything, I would willingly ask her and all the world\nforgiveness. If she be offended with me without a cause, for\nprofessing my faith and religion, or because I am a priest, or because\nI will not turn minister against my conscience, I shall be, I trust,\nexcused and innocent before God. 'We must obey God,' saith St. Peter,\n'rather than men;' and I must not in this case acknowledge a fault\nwhere there is none. If to return to England a priest, or to say mass,\nis popish treason, I here do confess I am a traitor. But I think not\nso; and therefore I acknowledge myself guilty of these things not with\nrepentance and sorrow of heart, but with an open protestation of\ninward joy that I have done so good deeds, which, if they were to do\nagain, I would, by the permission and assistance of God, accomplish\nthe same, though with the hazard of a thousand lives.\"\n\nMr. Topcliffe was very angry at this speech, and hardly gave him time\nto say an \"Our Father\" before he ordered the hangman to turn the\nladder. From that moment I could not so much as once again look toward\nthe scaffold. Lady Arundel and I drew back into the room, and clasping\neach other's hands, kept repeating, \"Lord, help him! Lord, assist him!\nHave mercy on him, O Lord!\" and the like prayers.\n\nWe heard Lord Arundel exclaim, \"Good God! the wretch doth order the\nrope to be cut!\" Then avoiding the sight, he also drew back and\nsilently prayed. What followeth I learnt from Muriel, who never lost\nher senses, though she endured, methinks, at that scaffold's foot as\nmuch as any sufferer upon it. Scarcely or not at all stunned, Mr.\nGenings stood on his feet with his eyes raised to heaven, till the\nhangman threw him down on the block where he was to be quartered.\nAfter he was dismembered, she heard him utter with a loud voice, \"Oh,\nit smarts!\" and Mr. Wells exclaim, \"Alas! sweet soul, thy pain is\ngreat indeed, but almost past. Pray for me now that mine may come.\"\nThen when his heart was being plucked out, a faint dying whisper\nreached her ear, \"Sancte Gregori, ora pro me!\" and then the voice of\nthe hangman crying, \"See, his heart is in mine hand, and yet Gregory\nin his mouth! O egregious papist!\"\n\nI marvel how she lived through it; but she assured us she was never\neven near unto fainting, but stood immovable, hearing every sound,\nlistening to each word and groan, printing them on the tablet of her\nheart, wherein they have ever remained as sacred memories.\n\nMr. Wells, so far from being terrified by the sight of his friend's\ndeath, expressed a desire to have his own hastened; and, like unto Sir\nThomas More, was merry to the last; for he cried, \"Despatch, despatch,\nMr. Topcliffe! Be you not ashamed to suffer an old man to stand here\nso long in his shirt in the cold? I pray God make you of a Saul a\nPaul, of a persecutor a Catholic.\" A murmur, hoarse and loud, from the\ncrowd apprised us when all was over.\n\n\"Where is Muriel?\" I cried, going to the window. Thence I beheld a\nsight which my pen refuseth to describe--the sledge which was\ncarrying away the mangled remains of those dear friends which so short\na time before we had looked upon alive! Like in a dream I saw this\nspectacle; for the moment afterward I fainted. Many persons were\nrunning after the cart, and Muriel keeping pace with what to others\nwould have been a sight full of horror, but to her were only relics of\nthe saintly dead. She followed, heedless of the mob, unmindful of\ntheir jeers, intent on one aim--to procure some portion of those\nsacred remains, which she at last achieved in an incredible manner;\none finger of Edmund Genings's hand, which she laid hold of, remaining\nin hers. This secured, she hastened home, bearing away this her\ntreasure.\n\n{762}\n\nWhen I recovered from a long swoon, she was standing on one side of me\nand Lady Arundel on the other. Their faces were very pale, but\npeaceful; and when remembrance returned, I also felt a great and quiet\njoy diffused in mine heart, such as none, I ween, could believe in who\nhave not known the like. For a while all earthly cares left me; I\nseemed to soar above this world. Even Basil I could think of with a\nsingular detachment. It seemed as if angels were haunting the house,\nwhispering heavenly secrets. I could not so much as think on those\nblessed departed souls without an increase of this joy sensibly\ninflaming my heart.\n\nAfter Lady Arundel had left us, which she did with many loving words\nand tender caresses, Muriel and I conversed long touching the future.\nShe told me that when her duty to her father should end with his life,\nshe intended to fulfil the vow she long ago had made to consecrate\nherself wholly to God in holy religion, and go beyond the seas, to\nbecome a nun of the order of St. Augustine.\n\n\"May I not leave this world?\" I cried; \"may I not also, forgetting all\nthings else, live for God alone?\"\n\nA sweet sober smile illumined Muriel's face as she answered, \"Yea, by\nall means serve God, but not as a nun, good Constance. Thine I take to\nbe the mere shadow of a vocation, if even so much as that. A cloud\nhath for a while obscured the sunshine of thy hopes and called up this\nshadow; but let this thin vapor dissolve, and no trace shall remain of\nit. Nay, nay, sweet one, 'tis not chafed, nor yet, except in rare\ninstances, riven hearts which God doth call to this special\nconsecration--rather whole ones, nothing or scantily touched by the\ngriefs and joys which this world can afford. But I warrant thee--nay,\nI may not warrant,\" she added, checking herself, \"for who can of a\nsurety forecast what God's designs should be? But I think thou wilt\nbe, before many years have past, a careful matron, with many children\nabout thy apron-strings to try thy patience.\"\n\n\"O Muriel,\" I answered, \"how should this be? I have made my bed, and I\nmust lie on it. Like a foolish creature, unwittingly, or rather\nrashly, I have deceived Basil into thinking I do not love him; and if\nmy face should yet recover its old fairness, he shall still think mine\nheart estranged.\"\n\nMuriel shook her head, and said more entangled skeins than this one\nhad been unravelled. The next day she resumed her wonted labors in the\nprisons and amongst the poor. Having procured means of access to\nMistress Wells, she carried to her the only comfort she could now\ntaste--the knowledge of her husband's holy, courageous end, and the\nreports of the last words he did utter. Then having received a charge\nthereunto from Mr. Genings, she discovered John Genings's place of\nresidence, and went to tell him that the cause of his brother^s coming\nto London was specially his love for him; that his only regret in\ndying had been that he was executed before he could see him again, or\ncommend him to any friend of his own, so hastened was his death.\n\nBut this much-loved brother received her with a notable coldness; and\nfar from bewailing the untimely and bloody end of his nearest kinsman,\nhe betrayed some kind of contentment at the thought that he was now\nrid of all the persuasions which he suspected he should otherwise have\nreceived from him touching religion.\n\nAbout a fortnight afterward Mr. Congleton expired. Alas! so\ntroublesome were the times, that to see one, howsoever loved, sink\npeacefully into the grave, had not the same sadness which usually\nbelongs to the like haps.\n\nMuriel had procured a priest for to give him extreme unction--one Mr.\nAdams, a friend of Mr. Wells, who had sometimes said mass in his\nhouse. He also secretly came for to perform the funeral rites before\nhis burial in the cemetery of St. Martin's church.\n\n{763}\n\nWhen we returned home that day after the funeral, this reverend\ngentleman asked us if we had heard any report touching the brother of\nMr. Genings; and on our denial, he said, \"Talk is ministered amongst\nCatholics of his sudden conversion.\"\n\n\"Sudden, indeed, it should be,\" quoth Muriel; \"for a more indifferent\nlistener to an afflicting message could not be met with than he proved\nhimself when I carried to him Mr. Genings's dying words.\"\n\n\"Not more sudden,\" quoth Mr. Adams, \"than St. Paul's was, and\ntherefore not incredible.\"\n\nWhilst we were yet speaking, a servant came in, and said a young\ngentleman was at the door, and very urgent for to see Muriel.\n\n\"Tell him,\" she said, raising her eyes, swollen with tears, \"that I\nhave one hour ago buried my father, and am in no condition to see\nstrangers.\"\n\nThe man returned with a paper, on which these words were written:\n\n\"A penitent and a wanderer craveth to speak with you. If you shed\ntears, his do incessantly flow. If you weep for a father, he grieveth\nfor one better to him than ten fathers. If your plight is sad, his\nshould be desperate, but for God's great mercy and a brother's prayers\nyet pleading for him in heaven as once upon earth.\n    \"JOHN GENINGS.\"\n\n\"Heavens!\" Muriel cried, \"it is this changed man, this Saul become a\nPaul, which stands at the door and knocks. Bring him in swiftly; the\nbest comfort I can know this day is to see one who awhile was lost and\nis now found.\"\n\nWhen John Genings beheld her and me, he awhile hid his face in his\nhands, and seemed unable to speak. To break this silence Mr. Adams\nsaid, \"Courage, Mr. Genings; your holy brother rejoiceth in heaven\nover your changed mind, and further blessings still, I doubt not, he\nshall yet obtain for you.\"\n\nThen this same John raised his head, and with as great and touching\nsorrow as can be expressed, after thanking this unknown speaker for\nhis comfortable words, he begged of Muriel to relate to him each\naction and speech in the dying scene she had witnessed; and when she\nhad ended this recital, with the like urgency he moved me to tell him\nall I could remember of his brother's young years, all my father had\nwritten of his life and virtues at college, all which we had heard of\nhis labors since he had come into the country, and lastly, in a manner\nmost simple and affecting, we all entreating him thereunto, he made\nthis narrative, addressing himself chiefly to Muriel:\n\n\"You, madam, are acquainted with what was the hardness of mine heart\nand cruel indifference to my brother^s fate; with what disdain I\nlistened to you, with what pride I received his last advice. But about\nten days after his execution, toward night, having spent all that day\nin sports and jollity, being weary with play, I resorted home to\nrepose myself. I went into a secret chamber, and was no sooner there\nsat down, but forthwith my heart began to be heavy, and I weighed how\nidly I had spent that day. Amidst these thoughts there was presently\nrepresented to me an imagination and apprehension of the death of my\nbrother, and, amongst other things, how he had not long before\nforsaken all worldly pleasure, and for the sake of his religion alone\nendured dreadful torments. Then within myself I made long discourses\nconcerning his manner of living and mine own; and finding the one to\nembrace pain and mortification, and the other to seek pleasure--the\none to live strictly, and the other licentiously--I was struck with\nexceeding terror and remorse. I wept bitterly, desiring God to\nilluminate mine understanding, that I might see and perceive the\ntruth. Oh, what great joy and consolation did I feel at {764} that\ninstant! What reverence on the sudden did I begin to bear to the\nBlessed Virgin and to the Saints of God, which before I had never\nscarcely so much as heard of! What strange emotions, as it were\ninspirations, with exceeding readiness of will to change my religion,\ntook possession of my soul! and what heavenly conception had I then of\nmy brother's felicity! I imagined I saw him--I thought I heard him. In\nthis ecstasy of mind I made a vow upon the spot, as I lay prostrate on\nthe ground, to forsake kindred and country, to find out the true\nknowledge of Edmund's faith. Oh, sir,\" he ended by saying, turning to\nMr. Adams, which he guessed to be a priest, \"think you not my brother\nobtained for me in heaven what on earth he had not obtained? for here\nI am become a Catholic in faith without persuasion or conference with\nany one man in the world?\"\n\n\"Ay, my good friend,\" Mr. Adams replied; \"the blood of martyrs will\never prove the seed of the Church. Let us then, in our private\nprayers, implore the suffrages of those who in this country do lose\ntheir lives for the faith, and take unto ourselves the words of\nJeremiah: 'O Lord, remember what has happened unto us. Behold and see\nour great reproach; our inheritance is gone to strangers, our houses\nto aliens. We are become as children without a father, our mothers are\nmade as it were widows.'\"\n\nThese last words of Holy Writ brought to mine own mind private\nsorrows, and caused me to shed tears. Soon after John Genings departed\nfrom England without giving notice to us or any of his friends, and\nwent beyond seas to execute his promise. I have heard that he has\nentered the holy order of St. Francis, and is seeking to procure a\nconvent of that religion at Douay, in hopes of restoring the English\nFranciscan province, of which it is supposed he will be first\nprovincial. Report doth state him to be an exceeding strict and holy\nreligious, and like to prove an instrument in furnishing the English\nmission with many zealous and apostolical laborers.\n\nMuriel and I were solitary in that great city where so many\nmisfortunes had beset us; she with her anchor cast where her hopes\ncould not be deceived; I by mine own folly like unto a ship at sea\nwithout a chart. Womanly reserve, mixed, I ween, with somewhat of\npride, restraining me from writing to Basil, though, as my face\nimproved each day, I deplored my hasty folly, and desired nothing so\nmuch as to see him again, when, if his love should prove unchanged\n(shame on that word _if!_ which my heart disavowed), we should be as\nheretofore, and the suffering I had caused him and endured myself\nwould end. But how this might happen I foresaw not; and life was sad\nand weary while so much suspense lasted.\n\nMuriel would not forsake me while in this plight; but although none\ncould have judged it from her cheerful and amiable behavior, I well\nknew that she sighed for the haven of a religions home, and grieved to\nkeep her from it. After some weeks spent in this fashion, with very\nlittle comfort, I was sitting one morning dismally forecasting the\nfuture, writing letter after letter to Basil, which still I tore up\nrather than send them--for I warrant you it was no easy matter for to\nexpress in writing what I longed to say. To tell him the cause of my\nbreaking our contract was so much as to compel him to the performance\nof it; and albeit I was no longer so ill-favored as at the first, yet\nthe good looks I had before my sickness had by no means wholly\nreturned. Sometimes I wrote: \"Your thinking, dear Basil, that I do\naffection any but yourself is so false and injurious an imagination,\nthat I cannot suffer you to entertain it. Be sure I never can and\nnever shall love any but you; yet, for all that, I cannot marry you.\"\nThen effacing this last sentence, which verily belied my true desire,\nI would write another: \"Methinks if you should see me now, yourself\nwould not wish otherwise than to dissolve a contract {765} wherein\nyour contentment should be less than it hath been.\" And then thinking\nthis should be too obscure, changed it to--\"In sooth, dear Basil, my\nappearance is so altered that you would yourself, I ween, not desire\nfor to wed one so different from the Constance you have seen and\nloved.\" But pride whispered to restrain this open mention of my\nsuspicious fears of his liking me less for my changed face; yet\nwithal, conscience reproved this misdoubt of one whose affection had\never shown itself to be of the nobler sort, which looketh rather to\nthe qualities of the heart and mind than to the exterior charms of a\nfair visage.\n\nAlas! what a torment doth perplexity occasion. I had let go my pen,\nand my tears were falling on the paper, when Muriel opened the door of\nthe parlor.\n\n\"What is it?\" I cried, hiding my face with mine hand that she should\nnot see me weeping.\n\n\"A letter from Lady Arundel,\" she answered.\n\nI eagerly took it from her; and on the reading of it found it\ncontained an urgent request from her ladyship, couched in most\naffectionate terms, and masking the kindness of its intent under a\nshow of entreating, as a favor to herself that I would come and reside\nwith her at Arundel Castle, where she greatly needed the solace of a\nfriend's company, during her lord's necessary absences. \"Mine own\ndear, good Constance,\" she wrote, \"come to me quickly. In a letter I\ncannot well express all the good you will thus do to me. For mine own\npart, I would fain say come to me until death shall part us. But so\nselfish I would not be; yet prithee come until such time as the clouds\nwhich have obscured the fair sky of thy future prospects have passed\naway, and thy Basil's fortunes are mended; for I will not cease to\ncall him thine, for all that thou hast thyself thrust a spoke in a\nwheel which otherwise should have run smoothly, for the which thou art\nnow doing penance: but be of good cheer; time will bring thee shrift.\nSome kind of comfort I can promise thee in this house, greater than I\ndare for to commit to paper. Lose no time then. From thy last letter\nmethinks the gentle turtle-dove at whose side thou dost now nestle\nhath found herself a nest whereunto she longeth to fly. Let her spread\nher wings thither, and do thou hasten to the shelter of these old\nwalls and the loving faithful heart of thy poor friend,\n  \"ANNE ARUNDEL AND SURREY.\"\n\nBefore a fortnight was overpast Muriel and I had parted; she for her\nreligious home beyond seas, I for the castle of my Lord Arundel,\nwhither I travelled in two days, resting on my way at the pleasant\nvillage of Horsham. During the latter part of the journey the road lay\nthrough a very wild expanse of down; but as soon as I caught sight of\nthe sea my heart bounded with joy; for to gaze on its blue expanse\nseemed to carry me beyond the limits of this isle to the land where\nBasil dwelt. When I reached the castle, the sight of the noble gateway\nand keep filled me with admiration; and riding into the court thereof,\nI looked with wonder on the military defences bristling on every side.\nBut what a sweet picture smiled from one of the narrow windows over\nabove the entrance-door!--mine own loved friend, yet fairer in her\nmatronly and motherly beauty than even in her girlhood's loveliness,\nholding in her arms the pretty bud which had blossomed on a noble tree\nin the time of adversity. Her countenance beamed on me like the\nmorning sun's; and my heart expanded with joy when, half-way up the\nstairs which led to her chamber, I found myself inclosed in her arms.\nShe led me to a settle near a cheerful fire, and herself removed my\nriding-cloak, my hat and veil, stroked my cheek with two of her\ndelicate white fingers, and said with a smile,\n\n\"In sooth, my dear Constance, thou art an arrant cheat.\"\n\n\"How so, most dear lady?\" I said, likewise smiling.\n\n{766}\n\n\"Why, thou art as comely as ever I thee; which, after all the torments\ninflicted on poor Master Rookwood by thy prophetical vision of an\neverlasting deformity, carefully concealed from him under the garb of\na sudden fit of inconstancy, is a very nefarious injustice. Go to, go\nto; if he should see thee now, he never would believe but that that\nmanagement of thine was a cunning device for to break faith with him.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" I cried; \"if I should be ever so happy, which I deserve\nnot, for to see him again, there could never be for one moment a\nmistrust on his part of a love which is too strong and too fond for\nconcealment. If the feebleness of sickness had not bred unreasonable\nfears, methinks I should not have been guilty of so great a folly as\nto think he would prize less what he was always wont most to treasure\nfar above their merits--the heart and mind of his poor Constance\n--because the casket which held them had waxed unseemly. But when the\nday shall come in which Basil and I may meet, God only knoweth. Human\nforesight cannot attain to this prevision.\"\n\nLady Arundel's eyes had a smiling expression then which surprised me.\nFor mine own heart was full when I thus spoke, and I was wont to meet\nin her with a more quick return of the like feelings I expressed than\nat that time appeared. Slight inward resentments, painfully, albeit\nnot angrily, entertained, I was by nature prone to; and in this case\nthe effect of this impression suddenly checked the joy which at my\nfirst arrival I had experienced. O, how much secret discipline should\nbe needed for to rule that little unruly kingdom within us, which many\nlook not into till serious rebellions do arise, which need fire and\nsword to quell them for lack of timely repression! Her ladyship set\nbefore me some food, and constrained me to eat, which I did merely for\nto content her. She appeared to me somewhat restless: beginning a\nsentence, and then breaking off suddenly in the midst thereof; going\nin and out of the chamber; laughing at one time, and then seeming as\nif about to weep. \"When I had finished eating, and a servant had\nremoved the dishes, she sat down by my side and took my hand in hers.\nThen the tears truly began to roll down her cheeks.\n\n\"O, for God's sake, what aileth you, dearest lady?\" I said, uneasily\ngazing on her agitated countenance.\n\n\"Nothing ails me,\" she answered; \"only I fear to frighten thee, albeit\nin a joyful manner.\"\n\n\"Frightened with joy!\" I sadly answered. \"O, that should be a rare\nfright, and an unwonted one to me of late.\"\n\n\"Therefore,\" she said, smiling through her tears, \"peradventure the\nmore to be feared.\"\n\n\"What joy do you speak of? I pray you, sweet lady, keep me not in\nsuspense.\"\n\n\"If, for instance,\" she said in a low voice, pressing my hands very\nhard,--\"if I was to tell thee Constance, that thy Basil was here,\nshouldst thou not be affrighted?\"\n\nMethinks I must have turned very white; leastways, I began to tremble.\n\n\"Is he here?\" I said, almost beside myself with the fearful hope her\nwords awoke.\n\n\"Yea,\" she said. \"Since three days he is here.\"\n\nFor a moment I neither spoke nor moved.\n\n\"How comes it about? how doth it happen?\" I began to say; but a\npassion of tears choked my utterance. I fell into her arms, sobbing on\nher breast; for verily I had no power to restrain myself. I heard her\nsay, \"Master Rookwood, come in.\" Then, after those sad long weary\nyears, I again heard his cheerful voice; then I saw his kind eyes\nspeaking what words could never have uttered, or one-half so well\nexpressed. Then I felt the happiness which is most like, {767} I ween,\nof any on earth to that of heaven: after long parting, to meet again\none intensely loved--each heart overflowing with an unspoken joy and\nwith an unbounded thankfulness to God. Amazement did so fill me at\nthis unlooked-for good, that I seemed content for a while to think of\nit as of a dream, and only feared to be awoke. But oh, with how many\nsweet tears of gratitude--with what bursts of wonder and admiration--I\nsoon learnt how Lady Arundel had formed this kind plot, to which\nMuriel had been privy, for to bring together parted lovers, and\nprocure to others the happiness she so often lacked herself--the\ncompany of the most loved person in the world. She had herself written\nto Basil, and related the cause of my apparent change; a cause, she\nsaid, at no time sufficient for to warrant a desperate action, and\neven then passing away. But that had it forever endured, she was of\nopinion his was a love would survive any such accident as touched only\nthe exterior, when all else was unimpaired. She added, that when Mr.\nCongleton, who was then at the point of death, should have expired,\nand Muriel gone beyond seas to fulfil her religious intent, she would\nuse all the persuasion in her power to bring me to reside with her,\nwhich was the thing she most desired in the world; and that if he\nshould think it possible under another name for to cross the seas and\nland at some port in Sussex, he should be the welcomest guest\nimaginable at Arundel Castle, if even, like St. Alexis, he should hide\nhis nobility under the garb of rags, and come thither begging on foot;\nbut yet she hoped, for his sake, it should not so happen, albeit\nnothing could be more honorable if the cause was a good one. It needed\nno more inducement than what this letter contained for to move Basil\nto attempt this secret return. He took the name of Martingale, and\nprocured a passage in a small trading craft, which landed him at the\nport of a small town named Littlehampton, about three or four miles\nfrom Arundel. Thence he walked to the castle, where the countess\nfeigned him to be a leech sent by my lord to prescribe remedies for a\npain in her head, which she was oftentimes afflicted with, and as such\nentertained him in the eyes of strangers as long as he continued\nthere, which did often move us to great merriment; for some of the\nneighbors which she was forced to see, would sometimes ask for to\nconsult the countess's physician; and to avoid misdoubts, Basil once\nor twice made up some innocent compounds, which an old gentleman and a\nmaiden lady in the town vowed had cured them, the one of a fit of the\ngout, and the other of a very sharp disorder in her stomach. But to\nreturn to the blissful first day of our meeting, one of the happiest I\nhad yet known; for a paramount affection doth so engross the heart,\nthat other sorrows vanish in its presence like dewdrops in the\nsunshine. I can never forget the smallest particle of its many joys.\nThe long talk between Basil and me, first in Lady Arundel's chamber,\nand then in the gallery of the castle, walking up and down, and when I\nwas tired, I sitting and he standing by the window which looked on the\nfair valley and silvery river Arun, running toward the sea, through\npleasant pastures, with woody slopes on both sides, a fair and a\npeaceful scene; fair and peaceful as the prospect Basil unfolded to me\nthat day, if we could but once in safety cross the seas; for his\ndebtors had remitted to him in France the moneys which they owed him,\nand he had purchased a cottage in a very commodious village near the\ntown of Boulogne-sur-Mer, with an apple-orchard and a garden stored\nwith gay flowers and beehives, and a meadow with two large\nwalnut-trees in it. \"And then bethink thee,\" he added, \"mine own dear\nlove, that right in front of this fine mansion doth stand the parish\nchurch, where God is worshipped in a Catholic manner in {768} peace\nand freedom; and nothing greater or more weighty need, methinks, to be\nsaid in its praise.\"\n\nI said I thought so too, and that the picture he drew of it liked me\nwell.\n\n\"But,\" quoth Basil suddenly, \"I must tell thee, sweetheart, I liked\nnot well thy behavior touching thine altered face, and the misleading\nletter thou didst send me at that time. No!\" he exclaimed with great\nvehemency, \"it mislikes me sorely that thou shouldst have doubted my\nlove and faith, and dealt with me so injuriously. If I was now by some\naccident disfigured, I must by that same token expect thine affection\nfor me should decay.\"\n\n\"O Basil!\" I cried, \"that would be an impossible thing!\"\n\n\"Wherefore impossible?\" he replied; \"you thought such a change\npossible in me?\"\n\n\"Because,\" I said, smiling,  \"women are the most constant creatures in\nthe world, and not fickle like unto men, or so careful of a good\ncomplexion in others, or a fine set of features.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut!\" he cried, \"I do admire that thou shouldst dare to utter so\ngreat a . . . .\" then he stopped, and, laughing, added, \"the last half\nof Raleigh's name, as the queen's bad riddle doth make it.\"  [Footnote 144]\n\n  [Footnote 144: \"The bane of the stomach, and the word of disgrace.\n  Is the name of the gentleman with the bold.\"]\n\nWell, much talk of this sort was ministered between us; but albeit I\nfind pleasure in the recalling of it, methinks the reading thereof\nshould easily weary others; so I must check my pen, which, like unto a\ngarrulous old gossip, doth run on, overstepping the limits of\ndiscretion.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nBefore I arrived, Lady Arundel had made Basil privy to a great secret,\nwith warrant to impart it to me. In a remote portion of the castle's\nbuildings was concealed at that time Father Southwell, a man who had\nnot his like for piety and good parts; a sweet poet also, whose pieces\nof verse, chiefly written in that obscure chamber in Arundel Castle,\nhave been since done into print, and do win great praise from all\nsorts of people. Adjoining to his room, which only one servant in the\nhouse, who carried his meals to him, had knowledge of, and from which\nhe could not so much as once look out of the window for fear of being\nseen, was a small oratory where he said mass every day, and by a\nsecret passage Lady Arundel went from her apartments for to hear it.\nThat same evening after supper she led me thither for to get this good\npriest's blessing, and also his counsel touching my marriage; for both\nher ladyship and Basil were urgent for it to take place in a private\nmanner at the castle before we left England. For, they argued, if\nthere should be danger in this departure, it were best encountered\ntogether; and except we were married it should be an impossible thing\nfor me to travel in his company and land with him in France. Catholics\ncould be married in a secret manner now that the needs of the times,\nand the great perils many were exposed to, gave warrant for it. After\nsome talk with Father Southwell and Lady Arundel, I consented to their\nwishes with more gladness of heart, I ween, than was seemly to\nexhibit; for verily I was better contented than can be thought of to\nthink I should be at last married to my dear Basil, and nevermore to\npart from him, if it so pleased God that we should land safely in\nFrance, which did seem to me then the land of promise.\n\nThe next days were spent in forecasting means for a safe departure, as\nsoon as these secret nuptials should have taken place; but none had\nbeen yet resolved on, when one morning I was called to Lady Arundel's\nchamber, whom I found in tears and greatly disturbed, for that she had\nheard from Lady Margaret Sackville, who {769} was then in London, that\nLord Arundel was once more resolved to leave the realm, albeit Father\nEdmunds did dissuade him from that course; but some other friend's\npersuasions were more availing, and he had determined to go to France,\nwhere he might live in safety and serve God quietly.\n\nMy lady's agitation at this news was very great. She said nothing\nshould content her but to go with him, albeit she was then with child;\nand she should write to tell him so; but before she could send a\nletter Lord Arundel came to the castle, and held converse for many\nhours with her and Father Southwell. When I met her afterward in the\ngallery, her eyes were red with weeping. She said my lord desired to\nsee Basil and me in her chamber at nine of the clock. He wished to\nspeak with us of his resolve to cross the seas, and she prayed God\nsome good should arise out of it. Then she added, \"I am now going to\nthe chapel, and if thou hast nothing of any weight to detain thee,\nthen come thither also, for to join thy prayers with mine for the\nfavorable issue of a very doubtful matter.\"\n\nWhen we repaired to her ladyship's chamber at the time appointed, my\nlord greeted us in an exceeding kind manner; and after some talk\ntouching Basil's secret return to England, our marriage, and then as\nspeedy as possible going abroad, his lordship said: \"I also am\ncompelled to take a like course, for my evil-willers are resolved to\nwork my ruin and overthrow, and will succeed therein by means of my\nreligion. Many actions which at the outset may seem rash and\nunadvised, after sufficient consideration do appear to be just and\nnecessary; and, methinks, my dearest wife and Father Southwell are now\nminded to recommend what at first they misliked, and to see that in\nthis my present intent I take the course which, though it imperils my\nfortunes, will tend to my soul's safety and that of my children. Since\nI have conceived this intent, I thank God I have found a great deal\nmore quietness in my mind; and in this respect I have just occasion to\nesteem my past troubles as my greatest felicity, for they have been\nthe means of leading me to that course which ever brings perfect\nquietness, and only procures eternal happiness. I am resolved, as my\ndear Nan well knoweth, to endure any punishment rather than willingly\nto decline from what I have begun; I have bent myself as nearly as I\ncould to continue in the same, and to do no act repugnant to my faith\nand profession. And by means hereof I am often compelled to do many\nthings which may procure peril to myself, and be an occasion of\nmislike to her majesty. For, look you, on the first day of this\nparliament, when the queen was hearing of a sermon in the cathedral\nchurch of Westminster, above in the chancel, I was driven to walk by\nmyself below in one of the aisles; and another day this last Lent,\nwhen she was hearing another sermon in the chapel at Greenwich, I was\nforced to stay all the while in the presence-chamber. Then also when\non any Sunday or holyday her grace goes to her great closet, I am\nforced either to stay in the privy chamber, and not to wait upon her\nat all, or else presently to depart as soon as I have brought her to\nthe chapel. These things, and many more, I can by no means escape, but\nonly by an open plain discovery of myself, in the eye and opinion of\nall men, as to the true cause of my refusal; neither can it now be\nlong hidden, although for a while it may not have been generally noted\nand observed.\"\n\nLady Arundel sighed and said:\n\n\"I must needs confess that of necessity it must shortly be discovered;\nand when I remember what a watchful and jealous eye is carried over\nall such as are known to be recusants, and also how their lodgings are\ncontinually searched, and to how great danger they are subject if a\nJesuit or seminary priest be found within their house, I begin to see\nthat either you cannot serve God in such {770} sort as you have\nprofessed, or else you must incur the hazard of greater sufferings\nthan I am willing you should endure.\"\n\n\"For my part,\" Basil said, \"I would ask, my lord, those that hate you\nmost, whether being of the religion which you do profess, they would\nnot take that course for safety of their souls and discharge of their\nconsciences which you do now meditate? And either they must directly\ntell you that they would have done the same, or acknowledge themselves\nto be mere atheists; which, howsoever they be affected in their\nhearts, I think they would be loth to confess with their mouths.\"\n\n\"What sayest thou, Constance, of my lord's intent?\" Lady Arundel said,\nwhen Basil left off speaking.\n\n\"I am ashamed to utter my thinking in his presence, and in yours,\ndearest lady,\" I replied; \"but if you command me to it, methinks that\nhaving had his house so fatally and successfully touched, and finding\nhimself to be of that religion which is accounted dangerous and odious\nto the present state, which her majesty doth detest, and of which she\nis most jealous and doubtful, and seeing he might now be drawn for his\nconscience into a great and continual danger, not being able to do any\nact or duty whereunto his religion doth bind him without incurring the\ndanger of felony, he must needs run upon his death headlong, which is\nrepugnant to the law of God and flatly against conscience, or else he\nmust resolve to escape these perils by the means he doth propose.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" exclaimed his lordship, with so much emotion that his voice\nshook in the utterance of the words, \"long have I debated with myself\non the course to take. I do see it to be the safest way to depart out\nof the realm, and abide in some other place where I may live without\ndanger of my conscience, without offence to the queen, without daily\nperil of my life; but yet I was drawn by such forcible persuasions to\nbe of another opinion, as I could not easily resolve on which side to\nsettle my determination. For on the one hand my native, and oh how\ndearly loved country, my own early friends, my kinsfolk, my home, and,\nmore than all, my wife, which I must for a while part with if I go, do\ninvite me to stay. Poverty awaits me abroad; but in what have state\nand riches benefited us, Nan? Shall not ease of heart and freedom from\nhaunting fears compensate for vain wealth? When, with the sweet\nburthen in thine arms which for a while doth detain thee here, thou\nshalt kneel before God's altar in a Catholic land, methinks thou wilt\nhave but scanty regrets for the trappings of fortune.\"\n\n\"God is my witness,\" the sweet lady replied, \"that should be the\nhappiest day of my life. But I fear--yea, much I do fear--the chasm\nof parting which doth once more open betwixt thee and me. Prithee,\nPhil, let me go with thee,\" she tearfully added.\n\n\"Nay, sweet Nan,\" he answered; \"thou knowest the physicians forbid thy\njourneying at the present time so much as hence to London. How should\nit then behoove thee to run the perils of the sea, and nightly voyage,\nand it may be rough usage? Nay, let me behold thee again, some months\nhence, with a fair boy in thine arms, which if I can but once behold,\nmy joy shall be full, if I should have to labor with mine hands for to\nsupport him and thee.\"\n\nShe bowed her head on the hand outstretched to her; but I could see\nthe anguish with which she yielded her assent to this separation.\nMethinks there was some sort of presentiment of the future heightening\nher present grief; she seemed so loth her lord should go, albeit\nreason and expediency forced from her an unwilling consent.\n\nBefore the conversation in Lady Arundel's chamber ended, the earl\nproposed that Basil and I should accompany him abroad, and cross the\nsea in the craft he should privately {771} hire, which would sail from\nLittlehampton, and carry us to some port of France, whence along the\ncoast we could travel to Boulogne. This liked her ladyship well. Her\neyes entreated our consent thereunto, as if it should have been a\nfavor she asked, which indeed was rather a benefit conferred on us;\nfor nothing would serve my lord but that he should be at the entire\ncharge of the voyage, who smiling said, for such good company as he\nshould thus enjoy he should be willing to be taxed twice as much, and\nyet consider himself to be the obliged party in this contract.\n\n\"But we must be married first,\" Basil bluntly said.\n\nLady Arundel replied that Father Southwell could perform the ceremony\nwhen we pleased--yea, on the morrow, if it should be convenient; and\nthat my lord should be present thereat.\n\nI said this should be very short notice, I thought, for to be married\nthe next day; upon which Basil exclaimed,\n\n\"These be not times, sweetheart, for ceremonies, fashions, and nice\ndelays. Methinks since our betrothal there hath been sufficient\nwaiting for to serve the turn of the nicest lady in the world in the\nmatter of reserves and yeas and nays.\"\n\nWhich is the sharpest thing, I think, Basil hath uttered to me either\nbefore or since we have been married. So, to appease him, I said not\nanother word against this sudden wedding; and the next day but one, at\nnine of the clock, was then fixed for the time thereof.\n\nOn the following morning Lord Arundel and Basil (the earl had\nconceived a very great esteem and good disposition toward him; as\ngreat, and greater he told me, as for some he had known for as many\nyears as him hours) went out together, under pretence of shooting in\nthe woods on the opposite side of the river about Leominster, but\nverily to proceed to Littlehampton, where the earl had appointed to\nmeet the captain of the vessel--a Catholic man, the son of an old\nretainer of his family--with whom he had dealt for the hiring of a\nvessel for to sail to France as soon as the wind should prove\nfavorable. Whilst they were gone upon this business, Lady Arundel and\nI sat in the chamber which looked into the court, making such simple\npreparations as would escape notice for our wedding, and the departure\nwhich should speedily afterward ensue.\n\n\"I will not yield thee,\" her ladyship said, \"to be married except in a\nwhite dress and veil, which I shall hide in a chamber nigh unto the\noratory, where I myself will attire thee, dear love; and see, this\nmorning early I went out alone into the garden and gathered this store\nof rosemary, for to make thee a nosegay to wear in thy bosom. Father\nSouthwell saith it is used at weddings for an emblem of fidelity. If\nso, who should have so good a right to it as my Constance and her\nBasil? But I will lay it up in a casket, which shall conceal it the\nwhile, and aid to retain the scent thereof.\"\n\n\"O dear lady,\" I cried, seizing her hands, \"do you remember the day\nwhen you plucked rosemary in our old garden at Sherwood, and smiling,\nsaid to me, 'This meaneth remembrance?' Since it signifieth fidelity\nalso, well should you affection it; for where shall be found one so\nfaithful in love and friendship as you?\"\n\n\"Weep not,\" she said, pressing her fingers on her eyelids to stay her\nown tears. \"We must needs thank God and be joyful on the eve of thy\nwedding-day; and I am resolved to meet my lord also with a cheerful\ncountenance, so that not in gloom but in hope he shall leave his\nnative land.\"\n\nIn converse such as this the hours went swiftly by. Sometimes we\ntalked of the past, its many strange haps and changes; sometimes of\nthe future, forecasting the manner of our lives abroad, where in\nsafety, albeit in poverty, we hoped to spend our days. In {772} the\nafternoon there arrived at the castle my Lord William Howard and his\nwife and Lady Margaret Sackville, who, having notice of their\nbrother's intent to go beyond seas on the next day, if it should be\npossible, had come for to bid him farewell.\n\nLeaving Lady Arundel in their company, I went to the terrace\nunderneath the walls of the castle, and there paced up and down,\nchewing the cud of both sweet and sad memories. I looked at the soft\nblue sky and fleecy clouds, urged along by a westerly breeze\nimpregnated with a salt savor; on the emerald green of the fields, the\ngraceful forms of the leafless trees on the opposite hills, on the\ncattle peacefully resting by the river-side. I listed to the rustling\nof the wind amongst the bare branches over mine head, and the bells of\na church ringing far off in the valley. \"O England, mine own England,\nmy fair native land--am I to leave thee, never to return?\" I cried,\nspeaking aloud, as if to ease my oppressed heart. Then mine eyes\nrested on the ruined hospital of the town, the shut-up churches, the\nprofaned sanctuaries, and thought flying beyond the seas to a Catholic\nland, I exclaimed, \"The sparrow shall find herself a house, and the\nturtle-dove a nest for herself--the altars of the Lord of hosts, my\nking and my God.\"\n\nWhen Basil returned, he told me that the vessel which was to take us\nto France was lying out at sea near the coast. Lord Arundel and\nhimself had gone in a boat to speak with the captain, who did seem a\nparticular honest man and zealous Catholic; and the earl had bespoken\nsome needful accommodation for Mistress Martingale, he said, smiling;\nnot very commodious, indeed, but as good as on board the like craft\ncould be expected. If the wind remained in the same quarter in the\nafternoon of the morrow, we should then sail; if it should change, so\nas to be most unfavorable, the captain should send private notice of\nit to the castle.\n\nThe whole of that evening the earl spent in writing a letter to her\nmajesty. He feared that his enemies, after his departure, would, by\ntheir slanderous reports, endeavor to disgrace him with the people,\nand cause the queen to have sinister surmises of him. He confided this\nletter to the Lady Margaret, his sister, to be delivered unto her\nafter his arrival in France; by which it might appear, both to her and\nall others, what were the true causes which had moved him to undertake\nthat resolution.\n\nI do often think of that evening in the great chamber of the\ncastle--the young earl in the vigorous strength and beauty of manhood,\nhis comely and fair face now bending over his writing, now raised with\na noble and manly grief, as he read aloud portions of it, which,\nmethinks, would have touched any hearts to hear them; and how much the\nmore that loving wife, that affectionate sister, that faithful\nbrother, those devoted friends which seemed to be in some sort\nwitnesses of his last will before a final parting! I mind me of the\nsorrowful, dove-like sweetness of Lady Arundel's countenance; the\nflashing eyes of Lady Margaret; the loving expression, veiled by a\nstudied hardness, of Lord William's face; of his wife my Lady Bess's\nreddening cheek and tearful eyes, which she did conceal behind the\ncoif of her childish namesake sitting on her knees. When he had\nfinished his letter, with a somewhat moved voice the earl read the\nlast passages thereof: \"If my protestation, who never told your\nmajesty any untruth, may carry credit in your opinion, I here call God\nand his angels to witness that I would not have taken this course if I\nmight have stayed in England without danger of my soul or peril of my\nlife. I am enforced to forsake my country, to forget my friends, to\nleave my wife, to lose the hope of all worldly pleasures and earthly\ncommodities. All this is so grievous to flesh and blood, that I could\nnot desire to live if I {773} were not comforted with the remembrance\nof his mercy for whom I endure all this, who endured ten thousand\ntimes more for me. Therefore I remain in assured hope that myself and\nmy cause shall receive that favor, conceit, and rightful construction\nat your majesty's hands which I may justly challenge. I do humbly\ncrave pardon for my long and tedious letter, which the weightiness of\nthe matter enforced me unto; and I beseech God from the bottom of my\nheart to send your majesty as great happiness as I wish to mine own\nsoul.\"\n\nA time of silence followed the reading of these sentences, and then\nthe earl said in a cheerful manner:\n\n\"So, good Meg, I commit this protestation to thy good keeping. When\nthou hearest of my safe arrival in France, then straightway see to\nhave it placed in the queen's hands.\"\n\nThe rest of the evening was spent in affectionate converse by these\nnear kinsfolk. Basil and I repaired the while by the secret passage to\nFather Southwell's chamber, where we were in turn shriven, and\nafterward received from him such good counsel and rules of conduct as\nhe deemed fitting for married persons to observe. Before I left him,\nthis good father gave me, writ in his own hand, some sweet verses\nwhich he had that day composed for us, and which I do here transcribe.\nHe, smiling, said he had made mention of fishes in his poem, for to\npleasure so famous an angler as Basil; and of birds, for that he knew\nme to be a great lover of these soaring creatures:\n\n  \"The lopped tree in time may grow again.\n  Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower;\n  The sorest wight may find release of pain.\n  The driest soil suck in some moistening shower;\n  Times go by turn, and chances change by course.\n  From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.\n\n  \"The sea of fortune doth not over flow,\n  She draws her favors to the lowest ebb;\n  Her time hath equal times to come and go.\n  Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web;\n  No joy so great but runneth to an end.\n  No hap so hard but may in fine amend.\n\n  \"A chance may win that by mischance was lost.\n  The well that holds no great, takes little fish;\n  In some things all, in all things none are crossed.\n  Few all they need, but none have all they wish;\n  Unmeddled joys here to no man befal,\n  Who least have some, who most have never all.\n\n  \"Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring;\n  No endless night, yet not eternal day;\n  The saddest birds a season find to sing;\n  The roughest storm a calm may soon allay;\n  Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all,\n  That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall.\"\n\nThe common sheet of paper which doth contain this his writing hath a\ngreater value in mine eyes than the most rich gift that can be thought\nof.\n\nOn the next morning. Lady Arundel conducted me from mine own chamber,\nfirst into a room where with her own hands she arrayed me in my bridal\ndress, and with many tender kisses and caresses, such as a sister or a\nmother would bestow, testified her affection for her poor friend; and\nthence to the oratory, where the altar was prepared, and by herself in\nsecret decked with early primroses, which had begun to show in the\nwoods and neath the hedges. A small but noble company were gathered\nround us that day. From pure and holy lips the Church's benison came\nto us. The vows we exchanged have been faithfully observed, and long\nyears have set a seal on the promises then made.\n\nBasil's wife! Oh, what a whole compass of happiness did lie in those\ntwo words! Yea, the waves of the sea might now rage and the winds\nblow. The haven might be distant and the way thither insecure. Man's\nenmity or accident might yet rob us each of the other's visible\npresence. But naught could now sever the cord, strong like unto a\ncable chain, which bound our souls in one. Anchored in that wedded\nunity, which is one of God's sacraments, till death, ay, and beyond\ndeath also, this tie should last.\n\nWe have been young, and now are old. We have lost country, home, and\nalmost every friend known and affectioned in our young years; but\n{774} that deepest, holiest love, the type of Christ's union with his\nChurch, still doth shed its light over the evening of life. My dear\nBasil, I am assured, thinks me as fair as when we did sit together\nfishing on the banks of the Ouse; and his hoary head and withered\ncheeks are more lovely in mine eyes than ever were his auburn locks\nand ruddy complexion. One of us must needs die before the other,\nunless we should be so happy that that good should befal us as to end\nour days as two aged married persons I have heard of. It was the\nhusband's custom, as soon as ever he unclosed his eyes, to ask his\nwife how she did; but one night, he being in a deep sleep, she quietly\ndeparted toward the morning. He was that day to have gone out\na-hunting, and it was his custom to have his chaplain pray with him\nbefore he went out. The women, fearful to surprise him with the ill\nnews, had stolen out and acquainted the chaplain, desiring him to\ninform him of it. But the gentleman waking did not on that day, as was\nhis custom ask for his wife, but called his chaplain to prayers, and,\njoining with him, in the midst of the prayer expired, and both were\nburied in the same grave. Methinks this should be a very desirable\nend, only, if it pleased God, I would wish to have the last\nsacraments, and then to die just before Basil, when his time cometh.\nBut God knoweth best; and any ways we are so old and so near of an\nage, one cannot tarry very long behind when the other is gone.\n\nBeing at rest after our marriage touching what concerned ourselves,\ncompassion for Lady Arundel filled our hearts. Alas! how bravely and\nhow sweetly she bore this parting grief. Her intense love for her\nlord, and sorrow at their approaching separation, struggled with her\nresolve not to sadden their last hours, which were prolonged beyond\nexpectancy. For once on that day, and twice on that which followed,\nwhen all was made ready for departure, a message came from the captain\nfor to say the wind, and another time the tide, would not serve; and\nalbeit each time, like a reprieved person, Lady Arundel welcomed the\ndelay, methinks these retardments served to increase her sufferings.\nLittle Bess hung fondly on her father's neck the last time he returned\nfrom Littlehampton with the tidings the vessel would not sail for some\nhours, kissing his face and playing with his beard.\n\n\"Ah, dearest Phil!\" her mother cried, \"the poor babe rejoiceth in the\nsight of thee, all unwitting in her innocent glee of the shortness of\nthis joy. Howsoever, methinks five or six hours of it is a boon for to\nthank God for;\" and so putting her arm in his, she led him away to a\nsolitary part of the garden, where they walked to and fro, she, as she\nhath since written to me, starting each time the clock did strike,\nlike one doomed to execution. Methinks there was this difference\nbetween them, that he was full of hope and bright forecastings of a\nspeedy reunion; but on her soul lay a dead, mournful despondency,\nwhich she hid by an apparent calmness. When, late in the evening, a\nthird message came for to say the ship could not depart that night, I\nbegun to think it would never go at all. I saw Basil looked at the\nweathercock and shrugged his shoulders, as if the same thought was in\nhis mind. But when I spake of it, he said seafaring folks had a\nknowledge in these matters which others did not possess, and we must\nneeds be patient under these delays. Howsoever, at three o'clock in\nthe morning the shipman signified that the wind was fit and all in\nreadiness. So we rose in haste and prepared for to depart. The\ncountess put her arms about my neck, and this was the last embrace I\never had of her. My lord's brother and sisters hung about him awhile\nin great grief. Then his wife put out her hands to him, and, with a\nsorrow too deep for speech, fixed her eyes on his visage.\n\n{775}\n\n\"Cheep up, sweetest wife,\" I heard him say. \"Albeit nature suffers in\nthis severance from my native land, my true home shall be wherever it\nshall please God to bring thee and me and our children together. God\ndefend the loss of this world's good should make us sad, if we be but\nonce so blessed as to meet again where we may freely serve him.\"\n\nThen, after a long and tender clasping of her to his breast, he tore\nhimself away and getting on a horse rode to the coast. Basil and I,\nwith Mr. William Bray and Mr. Burlace, drove in a coach to the port.\nIt was yet dark, and a heavy mist hung on the valley. Folks were yet\nabed, and the shutters of the houses closed, as we went down the hill\nthrough the town. After crossing the bridge over the Arun the air felt\ncold and chill. At the steep ascent near Leominster I put my head out\nof the window for to look once more at the castle, but the fog was too\nthick. At the port the coach stopped, and a boat was found waiting for\nus. Lord Arundel was seated in it, with his face muffled in a cloak.\nThe savor of the sea air revived my spirits; and when the boat moved\noff, and I felt the waves lifting it briskly, and with my hand in\nBasil's I looked on the land we were leaving, and then on the watery\nworld before us, a singular emotion filled my soul, as if it was some\nsort of death was happening to me--a dying to the past, a gliding on\nto an unknown future on a pathless ocean, rocked peacefully in the\narms of his sheltering love, even as this little bark which carried us\nalong was lifted up and caressed by the waves of the deep sea.\n\nWhen we reached the vessel the day was dawning. The sun soon emerged\nfrom a bank of clouds, and threw its first light on the rippling\nwaters. A favoring wind filled our sails, and like a bird on the wing\nthe ship bounded on its way till the flat shore at Littlehampton and\nthe far-off white cliffs to the eastward were well-nigh lost sight of.\nLord Arundel stood with Basil on the narrow deck, gazing at the\nreceding coast.\n\n\"How sweet the air doth blow from England!\" he said; \"how blue the sky\ndoth appear to-day! and those saucy seagulls how free and happy they\ndo look!\" Then he noticed some fishing-boats, and with a telescope he\nhad in his hand discerned various ships very far off. Afterward he\ncame and sat down by my side, and spoke in a cheerful manner of his\nwife and the simple home he designed for her abroad. \"Some years ago,\nMistress Constance,\" he said--and then smiling, added, \"My tongue is\nnot yet used to call you Mistress Rookwood--when my sweet Nan, albeit\na wife, was yet a simple child, she was wont to say, 'Phil, would we\nwere farmers! You would plough the fields and cut wood in the forest,\nand I should milk the cows and feed the poultry.' Well, methinks her\nwish may yet come to pass. In Brittany or Normandy some little\nhomestead should shelter us, where Bess shall roll on the grass and\ngather the fallen apples, and on Sundays put on her bravest clothes\nfor to go to mass. What think you thereof, Mistress Constance? and who\nknoweth but you and your good husband may also dwell in the same\nvillage, and some eighteen or twenty years hence a gay wedding for to\ntake place betwixt one Master Rookwood and one Lady Ann or Margaret\nHoward, or my Lord Maltravers with one Mistress Constance or Muriel\nRookwood? And on the green on such a day, Nan and Basil and you and I\nshould lead the brawls.\"\n\n\"Methinks, my lord,\" I answered, smiling, \"you do forecast too great a\ncondescension on your part, and too much ambition on our side, in the\nplanning of such a union.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" he said; \"if your good husband carrieth not beyond seas\nwith him the best earl's title in England, I'll warrant you in God's\nsight he weareth a higher one far {776} away--the merit of an\nunstained life and constant nobility of action; and I promise you,\nbeside, he will be the better farmer of the twain; so that in the\nmatter of tocher, Mistress Rookwood should exceed my Lady Bess or Ann\nHoward.\"\n\nWith such-like talk as this time was whiled away; and whilst we were\nyet conversing I noticed that Basil spoke often to the captain and\nlooked for to be watching a ship yet at some distance, but which\nseemed to be gaining on us. Lord Arundel, perceiving it, then also\njoined them, and inquired what sort of craft it should be. The captain\nprofessed to be ignorant thereof; and when Basil said it looked like a\nsmall ship-of-war, and as there were many dangerous pirates about the\nChannel it should be well to guard against it, he assented thereto,\nand said he was prepared for defence.\n\n\"With such unequal means,\" Basil replied, \"as it is like we should\nbring to a contest, speed should serve us better than defence.\"\n\n\"But,\" quoth Lord Arundel, \"she is, 'tis plain, a swifter sailer than\nthis one we are in. God's will be done, but 'tis a heavy misfortune if\na pirate at this time do attack us, and so few moneys with us for to\nspare!\"\n\nNow none of our eyes could detach themselves from this pursuing\nvessel. The captain eluded further talk, on pretence for to give\norders and move some guns he had aboard on deck; but it was vain for\nto think of a handful of men untrained to sea-warfare encountering a\nsuperior force, such as this ship must possess, if its designs should\nbe hostile. As it moved nigher to us, we could perceive it to be well\nmanned and armed. And the captain then exclaimed:\n\n\"'Tis Keloway's ship!\"\n\nThis man was of a notorious, infamous life, well known for his\nsea-robberies and depredations in the Channel.\n\n\"God yield,\" murmured the earl, \"he shall content himself with the\nsmall sum we can deliver to him and not stay us any further.\"\n\nA moment afterward we were boarded by this man, who, with his crew,\nthrice as numerous as ours and armed to the teeth, comes on our deck\nand takes possession of the ship. Straightway he walks to the earl and\ntells him he doth know him, and had watched his embarkation, being\nresolved to follow him and exact a good ransom at his hands, which if\nhe would pay without contention, he should himself, without further\nstop or stay, pass him and his two gentlemen into France, adding, he\nshould take no less from him than one hundred pounds.\n\n\"I have not so much, or near unto it, with me,\" Lord Arundel said.\n\n\"But you can write a word or two to any friend of yours from whom I\nmay receive it.\" quoth Keloway.\n\n\"Well,\" said the earl, \"seeing I have pressing occasion for to go to\nFrance, and would not be willingly delayed, I must needs consent to\nyour terms, no choice therein being allowed me. Get me some paper,\" he\nsaid to Mr. William Bray.\n\n\"Should this be prudent, my lord?\" Basil whispered in his ear.\n\n\"There is no help for it, Master Rookwood,\" the earl replied. \"Beside,\nthere is honor even amongst thieves. Once secure of his money, this\nman hath no interest in detaining us, but rather the contrary.\"\n\nAnd without further stopping, he hastily wrote a few lines to his\nsister the Lady Margaret Sackville, in London, that she should speak\nto Mr. Bridges, _alias_ Grately, a priest, to give one hundred pounds\nto the bearer thereof, by the token that was between them, that _black\nis white_, and withal assured her that he now certainly hoped to have\nspeedy passage without impediment. As soon as this paper was put into\nKelloway's hand, he read it, and immediately called on his men for to\narrest the Earl of Arundel, producing an order from the queen's\ncouncil for to prove he {777} was appointed to watch there for him,\nand carry him back again to land where her majesty's officers did\nawait him.\n\nAn indescribable anguish seized my heart; an overwhelming grief, such\nas methinks no other event, howsoever sad or tragical, or yet more\nnearly touching me, had ever wrought in my soul, which I ascribe to a\npresentiment that this should be the first link of that long chain of\nwoes which was to follow.\n\n\"O, my lord!\" I exclaimed, almost falling at his feet, \"God help you\nto bear this too heavy blow!\"\n\nHe took me by the hand; and never till I die shall I lose the memory\nof the sweet serenity and noble steadfastness of his visage in this\ntrying hour.\n\n\"God willeth it,\" he gently said; \"his holy will be done! He will work\ngood out of what seemeth evil to us.\" And then gaily added, \"We had\nthought to travel the same way; now we must needs journey apart. Never\nfear, good friends, but both roads shall lead to heaven, if we do but\ntread them piously. My chief sorrow is for Nan; but her virtue is so\ngreat, that affliction will never rob her of such peace as God only\ngiveth.\"\n\nThen this angelic man, forecasting for his friends in the midst of\nthis terrible mishap, passed into Basil's hands his pocket-book, and\nsaid, \"This shall pay your voyage, good friend; and if aught doth\nremain afterward, let the poor have their share of it, for a\nthank-offering, when you reach the shore in safety.\"\n\nBasil, I saw, could not speak; his heart was too full. O, what a\nparting ensued on that sad ocean whose waves had seemed to dance so\njoyously a short space before! With what aching hearts we pressed the\nyoung earl's hand, and watched him pass into the other ship,\naccompanied by his two gentlemen, which were with him arrested! No\nheed was taken of us; and Kelloway, having secured his prey, abandoned\nour vessel, the captain of which seemed uneasy and ill-disposed to\nspeak with us. We did then suspect, which doubt hath been since\nconfirmed, that this seeming honest Catholic man had acted a traitor's\npart, and that those many delays had been used for the very purpose of\nstaying Lord Arundel until such time as all was prepared for his\ncapture. The wind, which was in our favor, bore us swiftly toward the\nFrench coast; and we soon lost sight of the vessel which carried the\nearl back to the shores of England. Fancy, you who read, what pictures\nwe needs must then have formed of that return; of the dismal news\nreaching the afflicted wife, the sad sister, the mournful brother, and\nfriends now scattered apart, so lately clustered round him! Alas! when\nwe landed in France, at the port of Calais, the sense of our own\nsafety was robbed of half its joy by fears and sorrowing for the dear\nfriends whose fortunes have proved so dissimilar to our own.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nThe deep clear azure of the French sky, the lightsome pure air, the\nquaint houses, and outlandish dresses of the people in Calais; the\nsound of a foreign tongue understood, but not familiar, for a brief\ntime distracted my mind from painful themes. Basil led me to the\nchurch for to give thanks to God for his mercies to us, and mostly did\nit seem strange to me to enter an edifice in which he is worshipped in\na Catholic manner, which yet hath the form and appearance of a church,\nand resembles not the concealed chambers in our country wherein mass\nis said; an open visible house for the King of kings, not a\nhiding-place, as in England. After we had prayed there a short time,\nBasil put into a box at the entrance the money which Lord Arundel had\ndesigned for the poor. A pale thin man stood at the door, which, when\nwe passed, said, \"God {778} bless you!\" Basil looked earnestly at him,\nand then exclaimed, \"As I live, Mr. Watson!\" \"Yea,\" the good man\nanswered, \"the same, or rather the shadow of the same, risen at the\nlast from the bed of sickness. O Mr. Rookwood, I am glad to see you!\"\n\"And so am I to meet with you, Mr. Watson,\" Basil answered; and then\ntold this dear friend who I was, and the sad hap of Lord Arundel,\nwhich moved in him a great concern for that young nobleman and his\nexcellent lady. Many tokens of regard and interchange of information\npassed between us. He showed us where he lived, in a small cottage\nnear unto the ramparts; and nothing would serve him but to gather for\nme in the garden a nosegay of early flowerets which just had raised\ntheir heads above the sod. He said Dr. Allen had sent him money in his\nsickness, and an English lady married to a French gentleman provided\nfor his wants. \"Ah! that was the good madame I told you of,\" Basil\ncried, turning to me; \"who would have harbored . . . .\" Then he\nstopped short; but Mr. Watson had caught his meaning, and with tears\nin his eyes said: \"Fear not to speak of her whose death bought my\nlife, and it may be also my soul's safety. For, God knoweth, the\nthought of her doth never forsake me so much as for one hour;\" and\nthereupon we parted with much kindness on both sides. That night we\nlay at a small hostelry in the town; and the next morning hired a cart\nwith one horse, which carried us to Boulogne in one day, and thence to\nthis village, where we have lived since for many years in great peace.\nI thank God, and very much contentment of mind, and no regrets save\nsuch as do arise in the hearts of exiles without hope of return to a\nbeloved native country.\n\nThe awaiting of tidings from England, which were long delayed, was at\nthe first a very sore trial, and those which reached us at last yet\nmore grievous than that suspense. Lord Arundel committed to the Tower;\nhis brother the Lord William and his sister the Lady Margaret not long\nafter arrested, which was more grief to him, his lady wrote to me,\nthan all his own troubles and imprisonment. But, O my God! how well\ndid that beginning match with what was to follow! Those ten years\nwhich were spent amidst so many sufferings of all sorts by these two\nnoble persons, that the recital of them would move to pity the most\nstrong heart.\n\nMine own sorrows, leastways all sharp ones, ended with my passage into\nFrance. If Basil showed himself a worthy lover, he hath proved a yet\nbetter husband. His nature doth so delight in doing good that it wins\nhim the love of all our neighbors. His life is a constant exercise of\ncharity. He is most indulgent to his wife and kind to his children, of\nwhich it hath pleased God to give him three--one boy and two girls, of\nas comely visages and commendable dispositions as can reasonably be\ndesired. He hath a most singular affection for all such as do suffer\nfor their religion, and cherishes them with an extraordinary bounty to\nthe limits of his ability; his house being a common resort for all\nbanished Catholics which land at Boulogne, from whence he doth direct\nthem to such persons as can assist them in their need. His love toward\nmy unworthy self hath never decreased. Methinks it rather doth\nincrease as we advance in years. We have ever been actuated as by one\nsoul; and never have any two wills agreed so well as Basil's and mine\nin all aims in this world and hopes for the next. If any, in the\nreading of this history, have only cared for mine own haps, I pray\nthem to end their perusal of it here; but if, even as my heart hath\nbeen linked from early years with Lady Arundel's, there be any in\nwhich my poor writing hath awakened somewhat of that esteem for her\nvirtues and resentment of her sorrows which hath grown in me from long\nexperience of her singular worth; {779} if the noble atonement for\nyouthful offences and follies already shown in her lord's return to\nhis duty to her, and altered behavior in respect to God, hath also\nmoved them to desire a further knowledge of the manner in which these\ntwo exalted souls were advanced by long affliction to a high point of\nperfection--then to such the following pages shall not be wholly\ndevoid of that interest which the true recital of great misfortune\ndoth habitually carry with it. If none other had written the life of\nthat noble lady, methinks I must have essayed to do it; but having\nheard that a good clergyman hath taken this task in hand, secretly\npreparing materials whilst she yet lives wherewith to build her a\nmemorial at a future time, I have restrained myself to setting down\nwhat, by means of her own writing or the reports of others, hath\nreached my knowledge concerning the ten years which followed my last\nparting with her. This was the first letter I received from this\nafflicted lady after her lord's arrest:\n\n\"O MY DEAR FRIEND--What days these have proved! Believe me, I never\nlooked for a favorable issue of this enterprise. When I first had\nnotice thereof, a notable chill fell on my soul, which never warmed\nagain with hope. When I began to pray after hearing of it, I had what\nmethinks the holy Juliana of Norwich (whose cell we did once visit\ntogether, as I doubt not thou dost remember) would have called a\nforeshowing, or, as others do express it, a presentiment of coming\nevil. But how soon the effect followed! I had retired to rest at nine\nof the clock; and before I was undressed Bertha came in with a most\ndowncast countenance. 'What news is there?' I quickly asked,\nmisdoubting some misfortune had happened. Then she began to weep. 'Is\nmy lord taken?' I cried, 'or worse befallen him?' 'He is taken,' she\nanswered, 'and is now being carried to London for to be committed to\nthe Tower. Master Ralph, the port-master, hath brought the news. A\nman, an hour ago, had reported as much in the town; but Mr. Fawcett\nwould not suffer your ladyship to be told of it before a greater\ncertainty thereof should appear. O woe be the day my lord ever\nembarked!' Then I heard sounds of wailing and weeping in the gallery;\nand opening the door, found Bessy's nurse and some other of the\nservants lamenting in an uncontrolled fashion. I could not shed one\ntear, but gave orders they should fetch unto me the man which had\nbrought the tidings. From him I heard more fully what had happened;\nand then, in the same composed manner, desired my coach and horses for\nto be made ready to take me to London the next day at daybreak, and\ndismissed everybody, not suffering so much as one woman to sit up with\nme. When all had retired, I put on my cloak and hood; and listing\nfirst if all was quiet, went by the secret passage to the chapel-room.\nWhen I got there, Father Southwell was in it, saying his office. When\nhe saw me enter at that unusual hour, methinks the truth was made\nknown to him at once; for he only took me by the hand, and said: 'My\nchild, this would be too hard to bear if it were not God's sweet will;\nbut being so, what remaineth but to lie still under a Father's\nmerciful infliction?' and then he took out the crucifix, which for\nsafety was locked up, and set it on the altar. 'That shall speak to\nyou better than I can,' he said; and verily it did; for at the sight\nof my dying Saviour I wept. The whole night was spent in devout\nexercises. At dawn of day Father Southwell said mass, and I received.\nThen, before any one was astir, I returned to mine own chamber, and,\nlying down for a few moments, afterward rung the bell, and ordered\nhorses to be procured for to travel to London, whence I write these\nlines. I have here heard this report of my dear lord's journey from\none which conversed with Sir George Carey, {780} who commanded the\nguard which conducted him, that he was nothing at all daunted with so\nunexpected a misfortune, and not only did endure it with great\npatience and courage, but, moreover, carried it with a joyful and\nmerry countenance. One night in the way he lodged at Guildford, where\nseeing the master of the inn (who sometime was our servant, and who\nhath written it to one of my women, his sister), and some others who\nwished well unto him, weeping and sorrowing for his misfortunes, he\ncomforted them all, and willed them to be of good cheer, because it\nwas not for any crime--treason or the like--he was apprehended, but\nonly for attempting to leave the kingdom, the which he had done only\nfor his own safety. He is soon to be examined by some of the council\nsent to the Tower for this special purpose by the queen. I have sought\nto obtain access to him, but been flatly reused, and a hint ministered\nto me that albeit my residence at Arundel House is tolerated at the\npresent, if the queen should come to stay at Somerset House, which she\nis soon like to do, my departure hence shall be enforced; but while I\nremain I would fain do some good to persons afflicted as myself. I\npray you, my good Constance, when you find some means to despatch me a\nletter, therewith to send the names and addresses of some of the poor\nfolks Muriel was wont to visit; for I am of opinion grief should not\nmake us selfish, but rather move us to relieve in others the pains of\nwhich we feel the sharp edge ourselves. I have already met by accident\nwith many necessitous persons, and they do begin in great numbers to\nresort to this house. God knoweth if the means to relieve them will\nnot be soon lacking. But to make hay whilst the sun shines is a wise\nsaying, and in some instances a precept. Alas! the sunshine of joy is\nalready obscured for me. Except for these poor pensioners, that of\nfortune causeth me small concern.--Thy loving friend, A. A. and S.\"\n\n\"Will and Meg are at present in separate prisons. It is impossible but\nthat she shall be presently released; for against her nothing can be\nalleged, so much as to give a pretence for an accusation. My lord and\nWill's joint letter to Dr. Allen, sent by Mr. Brydges--who, out of\nconfidence, mentioned it to Mr. Gifford, a pretended priest, who lives\nat Paris, and is now discovered to be a spy--is the ground of the\ncharges against them. How utterly unfounded thou well knowest; but so\nmuch as to write to Dr. Allen is now a crime, howsoever innocent the\nmatter of such a correspondence should be. I do fear that in one of\nhis letters--but I wot not if of this they have possession--my lord,\nwho had just heard that the Earl of Leicester had openly vowed to make\nthe name of Catholic as odious in England as the name of Turk, did\nsay, in manner of a jest, that if some lawful means might be found to\ntake away this earl, it would be a great good for Catholics in\nEngland; which careless sentence may be twisted by his enemies to his\ndisadvantage.\"\n\nSome time afterward, a person passing from London to Rheims, brought\nme this second letter from her ladyship, written at Rumford, in Essex:\n\n\"What I have been warned of verily hath happened. Upon the queen's\ncoming to London last month, it was signified to me I should leave it.\nNow that Father Southwell hath been removed from Arundel Castle, and\nno priest at this time can live in it, I did not choose to be\ndelivered there, without the benefit of spiritual assistance in case\nof danger of death, and so hired a house in this town, at a short\ndistance of which a recusant gentleman doth keep one in his house. I\ncame from London without obtaining leave so much as once to see my\ndear husband, or to send him a letter or message, or receive one from\nhim. But this I have learnt, that he cannot speak with any person\nwhatsoever but in the presence and hearing of his {781} keeper or the\nlieutenant of the Tower, and that the room in which he is locked up\nhas no sight of the sun for the greatest part of the year; so that if\nnot changed before the winter cometh it shall prove very unwholesome;\nand moreover the noisomeness thereof caused by a vault that is under\nit is so great that the keeper can scarce endure to enter into it,\nmuch less to stay there any time. Alas! what ravages shall this\ntreatment cause on a frame of great niceness and delicate habits, I\nleave you to judge. By this time he hath been examined twice; and\nalbeit forged letters were produced, the falsity of which the council\nwere forced to admit, and he was charged with nothing which could be\nsubstantiated, except leaving the realm without license of the queen,\nand being reconciled to the Church of Rome, his sentence is yet\ndeferred, and his imprisonment as strict as ever. I pray God it may\nnot be deferred till his health is utterly destroyed, which, I doubt\nnot, is what his enemies would most desire.\n\n\"Last evening I had the exceeding great comfort of the coming hither\nof mine own dear good Meg, who hath been some time released from\nprison, with many vexatious restraints, howsoever, still laid upon\nher. Albeit very much advanced in her pregnancy, nothing would serve\nher when she had leave to quit London but to do me this good. This is\nthe first taste of joy I have had since my lord's commitment. In her\nface I behold his; when she speaks I hear him. No talk is ministered\nbetween us but of that beloved husband and brother; our common prayers\nare put up for him. She hath spied his spies for to discover all which\nrelates to him, and hath found means to convey to him--I thank God for\nit--some books of devotion, which he greatly needed. She is yet a-bed\nthis morning, for we sat up late yester-eve, so sweet, albeit sad, was\nthe converse we held after so many common sufferings. But methinks I\ngrudge her these hours of sleep, longing for to hear again those loved\naccents which mind me of my dear Phil.\n\n\"My pen had hardly traced those last words, when a messenger arrived\nfrom the council with an express command to Margaret from her majesty\nnot to stay with me another night, but forthwith to return to London.\nThe surprise and fear which this message occasioned hastened the event\nwhich should have yet been delayed some weeks. A few hours after (I\nthank God, in safety) a fair son was born; but in the mother's heart\nand mine apprehension dispelled joy, lest enforced disobedience should\nproduce fresh troubles. Howsoever, she recovered quickly; and as soon\nas she could be removed I lost her sweet company. Thine affectionate\nfriend to command,\n\n\"A. A. AND S.\"\n\nSome time afterward, one Mr. Dixon, a gentleman I had met once or\ntwice in London, tarried a night at our house, and brought me the news\nthat God had given the Countess of Arundel a son, which she had\nearnestly desired her husband should be informed of, but he heard it\nhad been refused. Howsoever, when he was urgent with his keepers to\nlet him know if she had been safely delivered, they gave him to\nunderstand that she had another daughter; his enemies not being\nwilling he should have so much contentment as the birth of a son\nshould have yielded him.\n\n\"Doth the queen,\" I asked of this gentleman, \"then not mitigate her\nanger against these noble persons?\"\n\n\"So far from it,\" he answered, \"that when, at the beginning of this\ntrouble, Lady Arundel went to Sir Francis Knowles for to seek by his\nmeans to obtain an audience from her majesty, in order to sue for her\nhusband, he told her she would sooner release him at once--which,\nhowsoever, she had no mind to do--than only once allow her to enter\nher presence. He then, her ladyship told me, rated her exceedingly,\nasking if she and her husband were not ashamed to make themselves\n{782} papists, only out of spleen and peevish humor to cross and vex\nthe queen? She answered him in the same manner as her lord did one of\nhis keepers, who told him very many in the kingdom were of opinion\nthat he made show to be Catholic only out of policy; to whom he said,\nwith great mildness, that God doth know the secrets of all hearts, but\nthat he thought there was small policy for a man to lose his liberty,\nhazard his estate and life, and live in that manner in a prison as he\nthen did.\"\n\nA brief letter from Lady Tregony informed me soon after this that,\nafter a third examination, the court had fined Lord Arundel in \u00a310,000\nunto the queen and adjudged him to imprisonment during her pleasure.\nWhat that pleasure proved, ten years of unmitigated suffering and slow\ntorture evinced; one of the most grievous of which was that his lady\ncould never obtain for to see him, albeit other prisoners' wives had\neasy access to them. This touching letter I had from her three years\nafter he was imprisoned:\n\n\"MINE OWN GOOD FRIEND--Life doth wear on, and relief of one sort\nleastways comes not; but God forbid I should repine. For such\ninstances I see in the letters of my dear lord--which when some of\nhis servants do leave the Tower, which, worn out as they soon become\nby sickness, they must needs do to preserve their lives--he findeth\nmeans to write to me or to Father Southwell, that I am ashamed to\ngrieve overmuch at anything which doth befal us--when his willingness\nand contentment to suffer are so great. As when he saith to that good\nfather, 'For all crosses touching worldly matters, I thank God they\ntrouble me not much, and much the less for your singular good counsel,\nwhich I beseech our Lord I may often remember; and to me this dear\nhusband writes thus: 'I beseech you, for the love of God, to comfort\nyourself whatsoever shall happen, and to be best pleased with that\nwhich shall please God best, and be his will to send. I find that\nthere is some intent to do me no good, but indeed to do me the most\ngood of all; but I am--and, thank God, doubt not but I shall be by his\ngrace--ready to endure the worst which flesh and blood can do unto\nme.' O Constance, flesh and blood doth sometimes rebel against the\nkeen edge of suffering; but I pray you, my friend, how can I complain\nwhen I hear of this much, long dearly cherished husband, ascending by\nsteps the ladder of perfection, advancing from virtue to virtue as the\npsalm saith, never uttering one unsubmissive word toward God, or one\nresentful one toward his worst enemies; making, in the most sublime\nmanner, of necessity virtue, and turning his loathsome prison into a\nreligious cell, wherein every exercise of devotion is duly practised,\nand his soul trained for heaven?\n\n\"The small pittance the queen alloweth for his maintenance he so\nsparingly useth, that most of it doth pass into the hands of the poor\nor other more destitute prisoners than himself. But sickness and\ndisease prey on his frame. And the picture of him my memory draweth is\ngradually more effaced in the living man, albeit vivid in mine own\nportraying of it.\n\nThere is now a priest imprisoned in the Tower, not very far from the\nchamber wherein my lord is confined; one of the name of Bennet. My\nlord desired much to meet him, and speak with him for the comfort of\nhis soul, and I have found means to bring it to effect by mediation of\nthe lieutenant's daughter, to whom I have given thirty pounds for her\nendeavors in procuring it. And moreover she hath assisted in conveying\ninto his chamber church-stuff and all things requisite for the saying\nof mass, whereunto she tells me, to my indescribable comfort, he\nhimself doth serve with great humility, and therein receives the\nblessed sacrament frequently. Sir Thomas Gerard, she saith, and Mr.\nShelly, which are likewise prisoners at this time, she introduces\nsecretly into his lodgings for to hear mass and have speech with {783}\nhim. Alas! what should be a comfort to him, and so the greatest of\njoys to me, the exceeding peril of these times causeth me to look upon\nwith apprehension; for these gentlemen, albeit well disposed, are not\nfamed for so much wisdom and prudence as himself, in not saying or\ndoing anything which might be an occasion of danger to him; and the\nleast lack of wariness, when there is so much discourse about the\ngreat Spanish fleet which is now in preparation, should prove like to\nbe fatal. God send no worse hap befal us soon.\n\n\"In addition to these other troubles and fears, I am much molested by\na melancholy vapor, which ascends to my head, and greatly troubles me\nsince I was told upon a sudden of the unexpected death of Margaret\nSackville, whom, for her many great virtues and constant affection\ntoward myself, I did so highly esteem and affection.\"\n\n\n\nFrom that time for a long while I had no direct news of Lady Arundel;\nbut report brought us woful tidings concerning her lord, who, after\nmany private examinations, had been brought from the Tower to the\nKing's Bench Court, in the hall of Westminster, and there publicly\narraigned on the charge of high treason, the grounds of which\naccusation being that he had prayed and procured others to make\nsimultaneous prayer for twenty-four hours, and procured Mr. Bennet to\nsay a mass of the Holy Ghost, for the success of the Spanish fleet.\nWhereas the whole truth of this matter consisted in this, that when a\nreport became current among the Catholics about London that a sudden\nmassacre of them all was intended upon the first landing of the\nSpaniards, this coming to the earl's ear, he judged it necessary that\nall Catholics should betake themselves to prayer, either for the\navoiding of the danger or for the better preparing themselves\nthereunto, and so persuaded those in the Tower to make prayer together\nfor that end, and also sent to some others for the same purpose,\nwhereof one of greater prudence and experience than the rest signified\nunto him that perhaps it might be otherwise interpreted by their\nenemies than he intended, wishing him to desist, as presently\nthereupon he did; but it was then too late. Some which he had trusted,\neither out of fear or fair promises, testified falsely against him--of\nwhich Mr. Bennet was one, who afterward retracted with bitter anguish\nhis testimony, in a letter to his lordship, which contained these\nwords: \"With a fearful, guilty, unjust, and most tormented conscience,\nonly for saving of my life and liberty, I said you moved me to say a\nmass for the good success of the Spanish fleet. For which unjust\nconfession, or rather accusation, I do again and again, and to my\nlife's end, most instantly crave God's pardon and yours; and for my\nbetter satisfaction of this, my unjust admission, I will, if need\nrequire, offer up both life and limbs in averring my accusation to be,\nas it is indeed, and as I shall answer before God, angels, and men,\nmost unjust, and only done out of fear of the Tower, torments, and\ndeath.\" Notwithstanding the earl's very stout and constant denial of\nthe charge, and pleading the above letter of Mr. Bennet, retracting\nhis false statement, he was condemned of high treason, and had\nsentence pronounced against him. But the execution was deferred, and\nfinally the queen resolved to spare his life, but yet by no means to\nrelease him. His estates, and likewise his lady's, were forfeited to\nthe crown, and he at that time dealt with most unkindly, as the\nfollowing letter will show:\n\n\"DEAR CONSTANCE--At last I have found the means of sending a packet by\na safe hand, which in these days, when men do so easily turn\ntraitors--notable instances of which, to our exceeding pain and\ntrouble, have lately occurred--is no easy matter. I doubt not but thy\nfond affectionate heart hath followed with a sympathetic grief the\nanguish of mine {784} during the time past, wherein my husband's life\nhath been in daily peril; and albeit he is now respited, yet, alas! as\nhe saith himself, and useth the knowledge to the best purpose, he is\nbut a doomed man; reprieved, not pardoned; spared, not released. Mine\nown troubles beside have been greater than can be thought of; by\nvirtue of the forfeiture of my lord's estates and mine, my home hath\nbeen searched by justices, and no room, no corner, no trunk or coffer,\nleft unopened and unransacked. I have often been brought before the\ncouncil and most severely examined. The queen's officers and others in\nauthority--to whom I am sometimes forced to sue for favor, or some\nmitigation of mine own or my lord's sufferings--do use me often very\nharshly, and reject my petitions with scorn and opprobrious language.\nAll our goods are seized for the queen. They have left me nothing but\ntwo or three beds, and these, they do say, but for a time. When\nbusiness requires, I am forced to go on foot, and slenderly attended;\nmy coach being taken from me. I have retained but two of my servants\n--my children's nurse being one. I have as yet no allowance, as is\nusual in such cases, for the maintenance of my family; so I am forced\nto pay them and buy victuals with the money made by the sale of mine\nown jewels; and I am sometimes forced to borrow and make hard shifts\nto procure necessary provisions and clothes for the children; but if I\nget eight pounds a week, which the queen hath been moved to allow me,\nthen methinks I shall think myself no poorer than a Christian woman\nshould be content to be; and I have promised Almighty God, if that\ngood shall befal us, to bestow one hundred marks out of it yearly on\nthe poor. I am often sent out of London by her majesty's commands,\nalbeit some infirmities I do now suffer from force me to consult\nphysicians there. Methinks when I am at Arundel House I am not wholly\nparted from my lord, albeit my humble petition, by means of friends,\nto see him is always denied. When I hear he is sick, mine anguish\nincreases. The like favor is often granted to Lady Latimore and others\nwhose husbands are at this time prisoners in the Tower, but I can\nnever obtain it. The lieutenant's daughter, whom I do sometimes see,\nwhen she is in a conversible mood doth inform me of my dear husband's\ncondition, and relates instances of his goodness and patience which\nwring and yet comfort mine heart. What think you of his never having\nbeen heard so much as once to complain of the loss of his goods or the\nincommodities of his prison; of his gentleness and humility where he\nis himself concerned; of his boldness in defending his religion and\nher ministers, which was alike shown, as well as his natural\ncheerfulness, in a conversation she told me had passed between her\nfather, the lieutenant, and him, a few days ago? You have heard, I\nween, that good Father Southwell was arrested some time back at Mr.\nBellamy's house; it is reported by means of the poor unhappy soul his\ndaughter, whom I met one day at the door of the prison, attired in a\ngaudy manner and carrying herself in a bold fashion; but when she met\nmine eye hers fell. Alas! poor soul, God help her and bring her to\nrepentance. Well, now Father Southwell is in the Tower, my lord, by\nMiss Hopton's melons, hath had once or twice speech with him, and doth\noften inquire of the lieutenant about him, which when he did so the\nother day he used the words 'blessed father' in speaking of him. The\nlieutenant (she said) seemed to take exception thereat, saying, 'Term\nyou him blessed father, being as he is an enemy to his country?' My\nlord answered: 'How can that be, seeing yourself hath told me\nheretofore that no fault could be laid unto him but his religion?'\nThen the lieutenant said: 'The last time I was in his cell your dog,\nmy lord, came in and licked his hand,' Then quoth my lord, {785}\npatting his dog fondly: 'I love him the better for it.' 'Perhaps,'\nquoth the lieutenant in a scoffing manner, it might be he came thither\nto have his blessing.' To which my lord replied, 'It is no new thing\nfor animals to seek a blessing at the hands of holy men, St. Jerome\nwriting how the lions which had digged St. Paul the hermit's grave\nstood waiting with their eyes upon St. Anthony expecting his\nblessing.'\n\n'Is it not a strange trial, mine own Constance, and one which hath not\nbefallen many women, to have a fondly loved husband yet alive, and to\nbe sometimes so near unto him that it should take but a few moments to\ncross the space which doth divide us, and yet never behold him; year\nafter year passing away, and the heart waxing sick with delays?\nHowsoever, one sad firm hope I hold, which keepeth me somewhat careful\nof my health, lest I should be disabled when that time cometh--one on\nwhich I fix my mind with apprehension and desire to defer the approach\nthereof, yet pray one day to see it--yea, to live long enough for this\nand then to die, if it shall please God. When mine own Philip is on\nhis death-bed, when the slow consumptive disease which devoureth his\nvitals obtaineth its end, then, I ween, no woman upon earth, none that\nI ever heard of or could think of, can deny me to approach him and\nreceive his last embrace. Oh that this should be my best comfort, mine\nonly hope!\"\n\nI pass over many intervening letters from this afflicted lady which at\ndistant intervals I received, in one of which she expressed her sorrow\nat the execution at Tyburn of her constant friend and guide, Father\nSouthwell, and likewise informed me of Mistress Wells's death in\nNewgate, and transcribe this one, written about six months afterward,\nin which she relates the closing scene of her husband's life:\n\n\"MINE OWN DEAR CONSTANCE--All is over now, and my overcharged heart\ncasteth about for some alleviation in its excessive grief, which may\nbe I shall find in imparting to one well acquainted with his virtues\nand my love for him what I have learnt touching the closing scenes of\nmy dear lord's mortal life. For think not I have been so happy as to\nbehold him again, or that he should die in my arms. No; that which was\ndenied me for ten long years neither could his dying prayers obtain.\nFor many months notice had been given unto me by his servants and\nothers that his health was very fast declining. One gentleman\nparticularly told me he himself believed his end to be near. His\ndevout exercises were yet increased--the bent of his mind more and\nmore directed solely toward God and heaven. In those times which were\nallotted to walking or other recreation, his discourse and\nconversation either with his keeper or the lieutenant or his own\nservant, was either tending to piety or some kind of profitable\ndiscourse, most often of the happiness of those that suffer anything\nfor our Saviour's sake; to which purpose he had writ with his own hand\nupon the wall of his chamber this Latin sentence, 'Quanto plus\nafflictionis pro Christo in hoc saeculo, tanto plus gloriae cum\nChristo in futuro;' the which he used to show to his servants,\ninviting them, as well as himself, to suffer all with patience and\nalacrity.\n\n\"In the month of August tidings were brought unto me that, sitting at\ndinner, he had fallen so very ill immediately upon the eating of a\nroasted teal, that some did suspect him to be poisoned. I sent him\nsome antidotes, and all the remedies I could procure; but all in vain.\nThe disease had so possessed him that it could not be removed, but by\nlittle and little consumed his body, so that he became like an\nanatomy, having nothing left but skin and bone. Much talk hath been\nministered anent his being poisoned. Alas! my thinking is, and ever\nshall be, the slow poison he died of was lack of air, of sunshine, of\nkindness, {786} of loving aid, of careful sympathy. When I heard his\ncase was considered desperate, the old long hopes, sustained for ten\nyears, that out of the extremity of grief one hour of comfort should\narise, woke up; but now I was advised not to stir in this matter\nmyself, for it should only incense the queen, who had always hated me;\nwhereas my lord she once had liked, and it might be, when she heard he\nwas dying, she should relent. She had made a kind of promise to some\nof his friends that before his death his wife and children should come\nunto him; whereupon, conceiving that now his time in the world could\nnot be long, he writ a humble letter to her petitioning the\nperformance of her promise. The lieutenant of the Tower carried this\nletter, and delivered it with his own hands to the queen, and brought\nhim her answer by word of mouth. What think you, mine own Constance,\nwas the answer she sent that dying man? God forgave her! Philip did;\nyea, and so do I--not fully at the time, now most fully. His crown\nshould have been less glorious but for the heart-martyrdom she\ninvented.\n\n\"This was her message: 'That if he would but once go to the Protestant\nchurch his request should not only be granted, but he should moreover\nbe restored to his honor and estate with as much favor as she could\nshow.' Oh, what were estates and honors to that dying saint! what her\nfavor to that departing soul! One offering, one sacrifice, one final\nwithdrawing of affection's thirsty and parched lips from the chalice\nof a supreme earthly consolation, and all was accomplished; the\nbitterness of death overpast. He gave thanks to the lieutenant for his\npains; he said he could not accept her majesty's offers upon that\ncondition, and added withal that he was sorry he had but one life to\nlose in that cause. A very worthy gentleman who was present at this\npassage related it to me; and Lord Mountague I have also had it from,\nwhich heard the same from his father-in-law, my Lord Dorset.\nConstance, for a brief while a terrible tumult raged in my soul. Think\nwhat it was to know one so long, so passionately loved, dying nigh\nonto and yet apart from me, dying unaided by any priest--for though he\nhad a great desire to be assisted by Father Edmund, by whose means he\nhad been reconciled, it was by no means permitted that either he or\nany other priest should come to him--dying without a kindred face to\nsmile on him, without a kinsman for to speak with him and list to his\nlast wishes. He desired to see his brother William or his uncle Lord\nHenry; at least to take his last leave of them before his death; but\nneither was that small request granted--no, not so much as to see his\nbrother Thomas, though both then and ever he had been a Protestant.\nAnd all this misery was the fruit of one stem, cruel, unbending\nhatred--of one proud human will; a will which was sundering what God\nhad joined together. Like a bird against the bars of an iron cage, my\npoor heart dashed itself with wild throbbings against these human\nobstacles. But not for very long, I thank God; brief was the storm\nwhich convulsed my soul. I soon discerned his hand in this great\ntrial--his will above all human will; and while writhing under a\nFather's merciful scourge, I could yet bless him who held it I pray\nyou, Constance, how should a woman have endured so great an anguish\nwhich had not been helped by him? Methinks what must have sustained me\nwas that before-mentioned gentleman's report of my dear lord's great\npiety and virtue, which made me ashamed of not striving to resemble\nhim in howsoever small a degree. Oh, what a work God wrought in that\nchosen soul! What meekness, what humility, what nobleness of heart! He\ngrew so faint and weak by degrees that he was not able to leave his\nbed. His physicians coming to visit him some days before his death, he\ndesired {787} them not to trouble themselves now any more, his case\nbeing beyond their skill. They thereupon departing, Sir Michael\nBlount, then lieutenant of the Tower, who had been ever very hard and\nharsh unto him, took occasion to come and visit him, and, kneeling\ndown by his bedside, in humble manner desired my dear Phil to forgive\nhim. Whereto mine own beloved husband answered in this manner, 'Do you\nask forgiveness, Mr. Lieutenant? Why, then, I forgive you in the same\nsort as I desire myself to be forgiven at the hands of God;' and then\nkissed his hand, and offered it in most kind and charitable manner to\nhim, and holding his fast in his own said, 'I pray you also to forgive\nme whatever I have said or done in anything offensive to you,' and he\nmelting into tears and answering 'that he forgave him with all his\nheart;' my lord raised himself a little upon his pillow, and made a\nbrief, grave speech unto the lieutenant in this manner: 'Mr.\nLieutenant, you have showed both me and my men very hard measure.'\n'Wherein, my lord?' quoth he. 'Nay,' said my lord, 'I will not make a\nrecapitulation of anything, for it is all freely forgiven. Only I am\nto say unto you a few words of my last will, which being observed,\nmay, by the grace of God, turn much to your benefit and reputation. I\nspeak not for myself; for God of his goodness hath taken order that I\nshall be delivered very shortly out of your charge; only for others I\nspeak who may be committed to this place. You must think, Mr.\nLieutenant, that when a prisoner comes hither to the Tower that he\nbringeth sorrow with him. Oh, then do not add affliction to\naffliction; there is no man whatsoever that thinketh himself to stand\nsurest but may fall. It is a very inhuman part to tread on him whom\nmisfortune hath cast down. The man that is void of mercy God hath in\ngreat detestation. Your commission is only to keep in safety, not to\nkill with severity. Remember, good Mr. Lieutenant, that God who with\nhis finger turneth the unstable wheel of this variable world, can in\nthe revolution of a few days bring you to be a prisoner also, and to\nbe kept in the same place where now you keep others. There is no\ncalamity that men are subject unto but you may also taste as well as\nany other man. Farewell, Mr. Lieutenant; for the time of my short\nabode come to me whenever you please, and you shall be heartily\nwelcome as my friend.' My dear lord, when he uttered these words,\nshould seem to have had some kind of prophetic foresight touching this\npoor man's fate; for I have just heard this day, seven weeks only\nafter my husband's death, that Sir Michael Blount hath fallen into\ngreat disgrace, lost his office, and is indeed committed close\nprisoner in that same Tower where he so long kept others.\n\n\"And now my faltering pen must needs transcribe the last letter I\nreceived from my beloved husband, for your heart, dear friend, is one\nwith mine. You have known its sufferings through the many years evil\ninfluences robbed it of that love which, for brief intervals of\nhappiness afterward and this long separation since, hath, by its\nsteady and constant return, made so rich amends for the past. In these\nfinal words you shall find proofs of his excellent humility and\nnotable affection for my unworthy self, which I doubt not, my dear\ninstance, shall draw water from your eyes. Mine yield no moisture now.\nMethinks these last griefs have exhausted in them the fountain of\ntears.\n\n\"'Mine own good wife, I must now in this world take my last farewell\nof you; and as I know no person living whom I have so much offended as\nyourself, so do I account this opportunity of asking your forgiveness\nas a singular benefit of Almighty God. And I most humbly and heartily\nbeseech you, even for his sake and of your charity, to forgive me all\nwhereinsoever I have offended you; and the assurance I have of this\nyour {788} forgiveness is my greatest contentment at this present, and\nwill be a greater, I doubt not, when my soul is ready to depart out of\nmy body. I call God to witness it is no small grief unto me that I\ncannot make you recompense in this world for the wrongs I have done\nyou. Affliction gives understanding. God, who knows my heart, and has\nseen my true sorrow in that behalf, has, I hope, of his infinite\nmercy, remitted all, I doubt not, as you have done in your singular\ncharity, to mine infinite comfort.\n\n\"Now what remaineth but in a few brief sentences to relate how this\nloved husband spent his last hours, and the manner of his death? Those\nwere for the most part spent in prayer; sometimes saying his beads,\nsometimes such psalms and prayers as he knew by heart. Seeing his\nservants (one of which hath been the narrator to me of these his final\nmoments) stand by his bedside in the morning weeping in a mournful\nmanner, he asked them 'what o'clock it was? they answering that it was\neight or thereabout, 'Why, then,' said he, 'I have almost run out my\ncourse, and come to the end of this miserable mortal life,' desiring\nthem not to weep for him, since he did not doubt, by the grace of God,\nbut all would go well with him; which being said he returned to his\nprayers upon his beads again, though then with a very slow, hollow,\nand fainting voice; and so continued as long as he was able to draw so\nmuch breath as was sufficient to sound out the names of Jesus and\nMary, which were the last words he was ever heard to speak. The last\nminute of his last hour being come, lying on his back, his eyes firmly\nfixed toward heaven, his long, lean, consumed arms out of the bed, his\nhands upon his breast, laid in cross one upon the other, about twelve\no'clock at noon, in a most sweet manner, without any sign of grief or\ngroan, only turning his head a little aside as one falling into a\npleasing sleep, he surrendered his soul into the hands of God who to\nhis own glory had created it. And she who writeth this letter, she who\nloved him since her most early years--who when he was estranged from\nher waited his return--who gloried in his virtues, doated on his\nperfections, endured his afflictions, and now lamenteth his death,\nhath nothing left but to live a widow; indeed with no other glory than\nthat which she doth borrow from his merits, until such time as it\nshall please God to take her from this earth to a world where he hath\nfound, she doth humbly hope, rest unto his soul.\"\n\nThe Countess of Arundel is now aged. The virtues which have crowned\nher mature years are such, as her youth did foreshadow. My pen would\nrun on too fast if it took up that theme. This only will I add, and so\nconclude this too long piece of writing--she hath kept her constant\nresolve to live and die a widow. I have seen many times letters from\nboth Protestants and Catholics which made unfeigned protestations that\nthey were never so edified by any as by her. As the Holy Scriptures do\nsay of that noble widow Judith, \"Not one spoke an ill word of her,\"\nalbeit these times are extremely malicious. For mine own part I never\nread those words of Holy Writ, \"Who shall find a valiant woman?\" and\nwhat doth follow, but I must needs think of Ann Dacre, the wife of\nPhilip Howard, earl of Arundel and Surrey.\n\n----\n\nAfter the lapse of some years, it hath been my hap to have a sight of\nthis manuscript, the reading of which, even as the writing of it in\nformer days, doth cause me to live over again my past life. This lapse\nof time hath added nothing notable except the dreadful death of\nHubert, my dear Basil's only brother, who suffered last year for the\nshare he had, or leastways was judged to have, in the Gunpowder Plot\nand treason. Alas! he which once, to improve his fortunes, denied his\nfaith, when fortune turned her back {789} upon him grew into a\nvirulent hatred of those in power, once his friends and tempters, and\nconsorted with desperate men; whether he was privy to their counsels,\nor only familiar with them previous to their crimes, and so fell into\nsuspicion of their guilt, God knoweth. It doth appear from some good\nreports that he died a true penitent. There is a better hope methinks\nfor such as meet in this world with open shame and suffering than for\nsecret sinners who go to their pompous graves unchastised and\nunabsolved.\n\nBy his brother's death Basil recovered his lands; for his present\nmajesty hath some time since recalled the sentence of his banishment.\nAnd many of his friends have moved him to return to England; but for\nmore reasons than one he refused so much as to think of it, and has\ncompounded his estate for \u00a3700, 8s. 6d.\n\nOur children have now grown unto ripe years. Muriel (who would have\nbeen a nun if she had followed her godmother's example) is now\nmarried, to her own liking and our no small contentment, to a very\ncommendable young gentleman, the son of Mr. Yates, and hath gone to\nreside with him at his seat in Worcestershire; and Ann, Lady Arundel's\ngod-daughter, nothing will serve but to be a \"holy Mary,\" as the\nFrench people do style those dames which that great and good prelate,\nM. de Gen\u00e8ve, hath assembled in a small hive at Annecy, like bees to\ngather honey of devotion in the garden of religion. This should seem a\nstrange fancy, this order being so new in the Church, and the place so\ndistant; but time will show if this should be God's will; and if so,\nthen it must needs be ours also.\n\nWhat liketh me most is that my son Roger doth prove the very image of\nhis father, and the counterpart of him in his goodness. I am of\nopinion that nothing better can be desired for him than that he never\nlose so good a likeness.\n\nAnd now farewell, pen and ink, mine old companions, for a brief moment\nresumed, but with a less steady hand than heretofore; now not to be\nagain used except for such ordinary purposes as housewifery and\nfriendship shall require.\n\n------\n\nUNSHED TEARS.\n\n  Once I believed that tears alone\n    Could tell of sorrow deep;\n  O blessed those whose eyes overflow!\n    Within my heart I weep.\n\n  And many think me calm, because\n    My cheek unwet appears;\n  The happy ones! they never know\n    The pain of unshed tears.\n\n------\n\n{790}\n\nFrom The Dublin Review.\n\n\nCALIFORNIA AND THE CHURCH.\n\n\n1. _The Resources of California_. By JOHN S. HITTEL. San Francisco.\n\n2. _Christian Missions_. By T.W.M. MARSHALL. Longmans.\n\n\nThe year 1769 will long be memorable in the annals of the world as the\ndate of the birth of the Emperor Napoleon and of the Duke of\nWellington. In the same year another event took place of small\nsignificance according to the thoughts of this world, but which in the\nnext world was assuredly regarded of infinitely greater importance;\nfor this was the year in which a poor despised Franciscan friar, the\nFather Junipero Serra, entered into California Alta, the first apostle\nof a land which has since, for such different reasons, become so\nfamous.\n\nHe was an Italian by birth, but had resided for many years in Mexico,\nwhere he had preached the gospel with great success among the heathen\nIndian population. A man of singular faith and piety, he lived the\nseverest life, considering, with his Father St. Francis, that poverty\nand suffering are keys wherewith the zealous missioner is certain to\nbe able to unlock the floodgates of grace which divide heaven from\nearth. He used to carry a stone with him, with which, like St. Jerome,\nhe would beat his breast for his sins, and he endeavored to bring home\nto the mind of his uncivilized hearers the malice of sin, by scourging\nhis innocent body till streams of blood flowed forth in their\npresence, by severe fasts, long prayers, and night watchings. He\nseldom rode on mule or horseback, but preferred to journey humbly on\nfoot. Shortly after his arrival in Mexico, his leg was attacked with a\ngrievous sore; still he gave himself no rest, but was constant in\njourneying and preaching. While he was laboring like an apostle among\nthe Mexicans, the Spanish monarch ordered D. Jose de Galvez (who\nbecame later minister-general for all the Indies) to form an\nexpedition from La Paz into Upper California.  [Footnote 145] Whatever\nmay be said of the rapacious cruelty of many of the Spanish governors\nand colonizers in America, the government at home was animated, on the\nwhole, with the most Catholic and loyal intentions. Its instructions\nand public documents were conceived in the most Christian sense; and\nif they were not always carried out in the same spirit, this arose\nfrom its inability to control subjects at an immense distance from the\nseat of government, and surrounded by exciting temptations and\npressing dangers. The following words were addressed by one of the\nSpanish monarchs to the Indies: \"The kings our progenitors, from the\ndiscovery of the West Indies, its islands and continents, commanded\nour captains, officers, discoverers, colonizers, and all other\npersons, that on arriving at these provinces they should, by means of\ninterpreters, cause to be made known to the Indians that they were\nsent to teach them good customs, to lead them from vicious habits, and\nfrom the eating of human flesh, to instruct them in our holy Catholic\nfaith, to preach to them salvation, and to attract them to our\ndominion.\" The same Catholic and religious spirit animates every part\nof the great codex {791} of Indian laws which were promulgated by\nsuccessive kings in that most Catholic country.\n\n  [Footnote 145: As far back as 1697 the Jesuits had, with apostolic\n  seal, founded many missions in Lower California; they never,\n  however, had pushed up into California Alta.]\n\nThough it often did happen that local governors were not ministers of\nthis Catholic spirit, but rather of their own rapacity and cruelty,\nthis was not always the case, and we have before us an instance. When\nGalvez set forth on his expedition to conquer California, the first\narticle of the instructions which he drew up, for the guidance of all\nwho were with him, ran in these terms: \"The first object of the\nexpedition is to establish the Catholic religion among a numerous\nheathen people, submerged in the obscure darkness of paganism, and to\nextend the dominion of our lord the king, and to protect this\npeninsula from the ambitious views of foreign nations.\" Nor were these\nmere words, written to salve a conscience or blind a critical public,\nas we shall now see: for he took Father Junipero, who was zealous for\nthe salvation of souls, into his counsels; and the priest and the\nlayman worked jointly together. Two small vessels, the _San Carlos_\nand _San Antonio_, were freighted to go by sea. Se\u00f1or Galvez details\nwith a charming simplicity how he assisted Father Junipero to pack the\nsacred vestments and other church furniture, and declared that he was\na better sacristan than the father, for he had packed his share of the\nornaments first, and had to go and help the father. Moreover, in order\nthat the new missions might be established with the same success as\nthose which had been already founded by F. Junipero in Sierra Gorda,\nGalvez ordered to be packed up and embarked all kinds of household and\nfield utensils, iron implements for agricultural labor, all kinds of\nseeds from Old and New Spain, garden herbs for food, and flowers for\nthe decoration of the altars. Then he sent on by land two hundred head\nof cattle to stock the country, so that there might be food to eat and\nbeasts to labor on the land.\n\nF. Junipero placed the whole enterprise under the patronage of the\nMost Holy Patriarch St. Joseph, to whom he dedicated the country. He\nblessed the vessels and sent on board of them three fathers, who\nshould accompany Galvez and his men. Two other parties were formed by\nland, which were to meet the ships on the coast far up the country;\nand all started, except Father Junipero, who was delayed some time by\nthe season of Lent and by his spiritual duties. When he overtook the\nconvoy, his leg and foot were so inflamed that he was hardly able to\nget on or off his mule. The fathers and their companions wished to\nsend him back; they thought he was not equal to the undertaking. But\nhe had faith that our Lord would carry him through. He called a\nmuleteer and said to him: \"My son, don't you know some remedy for the\nsore on my foot and leg?\" But the muleteer answered: \"Father, what\nremedy can I know? Am I a surgeon? I am a muleteer, and have only\ncured the sore backs of beasts.\" \"Then consider me a beast,\" said the\nfather, \"and this sore, which has produced the swelling on my legs and\nprevents me by its pain from standing or sleeping, to be a sore on a\nbeast, and give me the treatment you would apply to a beast.\" The\nmuleteer replied, smiling, \"I will, father, to please you;\" and taking\na small piece of tallow, mashed it between two stones with some herbs,\nheated it over the fire, and then anointed the foot and leg, and left\na plaster on the sore. The father slept that night, awoke in health\nand spirits, and astonished the whole party by rising early to say\nmatins and lauds and then mass, and proceeded on the journey quite\nrestored. After forty-six days' travelling by land, they reached the\nport of San Diego; and F. Junipero now established his first mission.\nHe then went on to the place since called San Francisco, and\nestablished there another mission. They fell short of provisions and\nsupplies, the {792} _San Antonio_, which had long been due, did not\narrive, and Portal\u00e1, the governor of the expedition, determined to\nabandon the mission, if they were not relieved by the 20th of March;\nbut on the feast of St. Joseph the ship hove into view, bringing an\nabundance of provisions, and the mission was then firmly established.\n\nThe usual way of erecting a mission was as follows: the locality was\ntaken possession of in the name of Spain by the lay authority; a tent\nor an adobe building was erected as the temporary chapel; the fathers,\nin procession, proceeded to bless the place and the chapel, on whose\nfront a crucifix, or a simple wooden cross, was raised; the holy\nsacrifice was then offered up, and a sermon was preached on the coming\nand power of the Holy Ghost. The _Veni Creator_ was sung, and a father\nwas charged with the direction and responsibility of the mission.\n\nThe Indians were attracted by little presents. To the men and women\nwere given pieces of cloth, or food, and to the children bits of\nsugar. They would soon gather round the missioners when they found how\ngood and kind they were, and the missioners were not slow in picking\nup the language. They became the fathers and instructors of the poor\nignorant Indians, catechized them in the mysteries of the faith,\ncollected them into villages round the mission church, and taught them\nto plough and cultivate the land, to sow wheat, to grind corn, to\nbake; they introduced the use of the olive, the vine, and the apple;\nthey showed them how to yoke the oxen for work, how to weave and spin\ncloth for clothing, to prepare leather from the hides, and taught them\nthe rudiments of commerce.\n\nThere was another feature in the mode followed by the Spaniards in\npreaching the gospel which is worthy of mention, and which shows how\nSpain recognized the independent action of the Church and her own duty\nto lend her every assistance and protection she might need. A presidio\nwas established, in which the secular governor, with a small number of\nofficers, soldiers, and officials, resided. These represented the\nmajesty of the King of Spain, and served, in case of need, for\nprotection and order. At some distance from the presidio and\nindependent of it, was formed the mission, a large convent for the\nfriars and for hospitality, and a church, built of \"adobe,\" or mud\nwalls, sometimes seven or eight feet in thickness. The land in the\nsurrounding neighborhood was assigned to the missions for the support\nof the Indians. In fact, the whole economy and arrangements, both of\npresidios and missions, were made subservient to the wants of\ncivilization and religion, which were introduced among the native\npopulation. This system remained in full force, consulting simply the\nbenefit of the poor Indian, till the liberal Cortes, in 1813,\noverturned the design of the Spanish monarchs, and began to introduce\nthe idea of colonization and usurpation. Up to this time the Church\nhad had full action upon the people, and what she wrought in the span\nof forty years was little less than miraculous. The Indians felt that\nthey had been lifted out of their state of abject misery and\nignorance, and that the strangers who had come among them had come\nsimply from disinterested charity, for their temporal and eternal\nwelfare. They felt that life was made to them less a burthen, and that\na way was opened out for them to endless happiness beyond the grave,\nDe Courcy, in his \"Catholic Church in the United States,\" assures us\nthat the fathers converted, within the few years they had control of\nthe Californian missions, no less than 75,000 Indians, for whom they\nalso provided food, clothing, and instruction. The system of\ncolonization brought in by the Spanish liberals in 1813 was an evil,\nbut it was a mere prelude to the confiscation of the Indian property\nwhich was perpetrated by the liberal {793} Mexican government in 1833.\nIt was pretended that the friars were unequal to the management of the\nmissions, and the natives' property was therefore transferred to the\nhands of laymen. Mr. Marshall, in his interesting work on \"Christian\nMissions,\" quotes the following statistics, comparing the two\nconditions:\n\n                        Under the              Under\n                       Administration          the Civil\n                        of the Friars.         Administration.\nChristian Indians           80,650                4,450\nHorned Cattle              494,000               28,220\nHorses and Mules            62,000                3,800\nSheep                      321,500               31,600\nCereal crop                 70,000                4,000\n\nAnd then he sums up in these words:\n\n  \"It appears, then, that in the brief space of eight years the\n  secular administration, which affected to be a protest against the\n  inefficiency of the ecclesiastical, had not only destroyed\n  innumerable lives, replunged a whole province into barbarism, and\n  almost annihilated religion and civilization, but had so utterly\n  failed even in that special aim which it professed to have most at\n  heart--the development of material prosperity--that it had already\n  reduced the wealth of a single district in the following notable\n  proportions: Of homed cattle there remained about _one-fifteenth_ of\n  the number possessed under the religious administration; of horses\n  and mules less than _one-sixteenth_; of sheep about _one-tenth_; and\n  of cultivated land producing cereal crops less than\n  _one-seventeenth_. It is not to the Christian, who will mourn rather\n  over the moral ruin which accompanied the change, that such facts\n  chiefly appeal; but the merchant and the civil magistrate, however\n  indifferent to the interests of religion and morality, will keenly\n  appreciate the cruel and blundering policy of which these are the\n  admitted results, and will perhaps be inclined to explain with Mr.\n  M\u00f6llhausen, 'It is impossible not to wish that the missions were\n  flourishing once more!'\"\n\nHow beautiful was the old Spanish system under which Father Junipero\nand his companions set forth to reclaim and convert the wandering\nIndian! Is it not the greatest glory of Spain that she can still cheer\nour dark horizon by the light of her past history, and shed a\nfragrance which remains for ever over lands which have been broken\ndown by the hoof of the invader, and desolated by his diabolical pride\nand insatiable rapacity? What was the Spanish system as exhibited in\nCalifornia? It was simply this: a recognition, without question or\njealousy, that our Lord, the great high priest, continues in his\npriesthood to be the shepherd, teacher, and minister of his people.\n\"To go and teach all nations,\" \"to minister to the least of the little\nones,\" to be the \"shepherd of the flock,\" \"to lay down life for the\nflock.\" This is distinctly the operation of Christ through his\npriests. That this was the real character of the Christian priesthood\nwas a clear and elementary principle, which admitted of no doubt in\nthe mind of the Spanish people.\n\nConscious of their power, and with a light burning within them which\nshone over the vast prospects that lay before them, of extending the\nfaith and saving innumerable souls, for whom the most precious blood\nhad been shed, the Spanish missioners went forth to extend their\nconquests over the heathen world. Rapine and plunder were not their\naim; they were introduced among colonizers by the snare of the devil.\nTo maintain the Indian on his territory, to raise, instruct, and\nChristianize him, giving him rights and equality before the law, this\nwas the policy of Catholic Spain. The priest, therefore, was regarded\nas the chief pioneer, his plans were recognized and acted upon, and he\nwas considered to be not a mere creature of the crown, who should\nextend its influence, but a minister and agent of his majesty the\nGreat King of Heaven, who had deigned in his infinite love to look\nupon Spain with a peculiar predilection, and to choose her as an {794}\ninstrument to save the souls for whom he once had died.\n\nA hundred years ago no European had ever fixed his abode in California\nAlta. Father Junipero and his devoted companions, led on by zeal \"to\nestablish the Catholic religion among a numerous heathen people,\nsubmerged in the obscure darkness of paganism,\" were, then, the real\npioneers of California. Three Protestant writers, quoted by Mr.\nMarshall, shall sum up for us in a few words the civilizing effects of\nthe Catholic education of the Indians in California. Captain Morrell\nsays:\n\n  \"The Indians are very industrious in their labors, and obedient to\n  their teachers and directors, to whom they look up as fathers and\n  protectors, and who, in return, discharge their duty toward these\n  poor Indians with a great deal of feeling and humanity. They are\n  generally well clothed and led, have houses of their own, and are\n  made as comfortable as they can wish to be. The greatest care is\n  taken of any who are affected with any disease, and every attention\n  is paid to their wants.\" And Mr. Forbes writes:\n\n  \"The best and most unequivocal proof of the good conduct of the\n  Franciscan fathers is to be found in the unbounded affection and\n  devotion invariably shown to them by their Indian subjects. They\n  venerate them not merely as fathers and friends, but with a degree\n  of devotedness approaching to adoration.\" And, lastly, Mr. Bartlett\n  observes:\n\n  \"They (the Indians) are represented to have been sober and\n  industrious, well clothed and fed. . . . . . They constituted a\n  large family, of which the padres were the social, religious, and,\n  we might almost say, political heads.\"\n\nSuch was the first planting in this vineyard of the Lord. Let us\nbriefly note the blight and destruction which followed. In 1827, a Mr.\nSmith established himself in California to make money. In 1834, three\nhundred Americans settled in the country for the same purpose. In\n1839, Captain Sutter built a fort and an American refuge. In 1841, he\ngot possession of a considerable tract of land. In 1844, a revolution\ntook place, and the American settlers sold themselves for a grant of\nland to the party which was afterward defeated.\n\nIn 1845, the people, being harassed by civil war, wished for the\nprotection of some strong external government. It was a chance whether\nCalifornia was to become English or United States territory. H.M.S.\n_Collingwood_ entered the port, we believe, of Monterey, and was asked\nto set up the Union Jack, and declare the country to be under British\nprotection. The captain replied that he would sail up the coast and\nascertain whether this was the will of the country, and if it were, he\nwould return and declare the protectorate. Meanwhile, the United\nStates ship _Savannah_, under Commodore Stoat, was on the watch; so\nthat when the _Collingwood_ returned, having ascertained the good will\nof the other ports, she found, to her surprise and dismay, that she\nhad been outstripped by the Yankee, and that the stars and stripes\nwere floating over the town. California from that time became the\nproperty of the United States. In 1848 gold was accidentally\ndiscovered, and an emigration set in with the violence of a spring\ntide, of a very different character to that of the pious Se\u00f1or Galvez\nor of the humble Father Junipero and his Franciscans.\n\nThen, indeed, the world began to ring with glad tidings of great joy:\nthe sun had at last arisen on a benighted land--its redemption was at\nhand. Every newspaper in Europe--we may say in the world--teemed with\nreports of a new _El Dorado_ discovered on the western coast of\nAmerica. This country was California. Adventurous spirits, athirst for\nwealth, from all parts of the world, were set in motion toward this\nland of promise. Ships were chartered and {795} freighted with men and\nyouths ready to spend all they had in order only to reach the golden\nbourne. Merchants from the United States and from Europe, ready\nspeculators, sent out their vessels laden to the water's edge with dry\ngoods, hardware, corn, spirits, and general merchandise. The\nexcitement and the recklessness were, perhaps, without a parallel.\nShips reached the great and beautiful bay of San Francisco, in which\nall the fleets of the world could ride at ease, and were often\nabandoned by their captain and crews, who scampered off to the gold\ndiggings, even before their cargo was discharged. Sometimes they fell\nto pieces in the bay; sometimes they became the property of\nadventurers, or were run aground, and served as temporary houses, and\nthen as the corners and foundations of streets, which energetic\nspeculators soon carried down upon piles into the water. There they\nstand to this day, monuments of the _auri sacra fames_.\n\nIt was, indeed, natural that none but the fiercest and most daring\nelements should prevail. The modest, the timid, the indolent, the\nsickly, the child, the woman, the aged, the leisure-learned, the owner\nof property, of good position, of fair prospects, the man of routine,\nthe unambitious, were all left behind. It was said, and said truly, in\nthe cities of Europe, America, and Australia, that men of desperate\ncharacter were on the road to California; that all went armed with\nknives and revolvers; that the way thither was a highway of rapine and\ncrime; and that none should start who were not prepared to fight it\nout any day in self-defence or in attack. There were a thousand\ndifficulties arising from the immense length of the journey, and from\nthe great numbers on the way; and a thousand other difficulties to be\naccepted on arrival in the country--expense, danger, uncertainty,\nperhaps sickness; and all these far away from home. Such were the\nprospects in those days, and such the normal condition of life in\nCalifornia.\n\nIt is not strange, then, that the men who formed the horde which,\nfifteen or sixteen years ago, began to flow into California, should\nrepresent to us a type of all that is rough, adventurous,\ndevil-may-care, elastic, light-hearted, and determined in human\nnature. The Australian population began with convicts and honest\nemigrants. The Californian population began with all kinds of\nunconvicted criminals from all parts of the world, with \"Sydney\nducks,\" as they called the ticket-of-leave men from New South Wales or\nTasmania; but, beside these, a considerable number of energetic,\nhonest emigrants, chiefly from Europe and the States. Then, we may add\nthat the Yankee element prevails in the Californian population, and\nthe John Bull element in the Australian. The American is lean, and all\nnerve and impatient energy; health and life are to him of no moment\nwhen he sees an object to be attained by the risk of them. If we may\nbe allowed to put it grotesquely, his body is human but his soul is a\nhigh-pressure steam-engine; he knows no delay and is reckless, and his\nbye-word is \"Go ahead.\" The Englishman, by contrast, is fat and\neasy-going; much more cautious of health and life, he calculates on\nboth. F. Strickland (\"Catholic Missions in Southern India\") happily\napplies to him the words of Holy Writ spoken of the Romans,\n\"Possederant omnem terram consilio suo et patientia.\" \"It is by wisdom\nin council, and by patiently watching their opportunity; . . . .\nwisdom which has often degenerated into Machiavellism, but has never\nneglected a single opportunity of aggrandizement; patience which has\nknown how to 'bide its time,' and to avoid precipitation\"--this is\nhow the Englishman succeeds. And so, to look at the Englishman in a\nPickwickian sense, he is a matter-of-fact, cautious gentleman, who\nwishes to make very sure of what he has got, {796} and when he feels\ncomfortably confident, says \"All right,\" and moves on deliberately to\nacquire more. An English traveller says:\n\n\"The first night we arrived in San Francisco we were kept awake all\nnight on board the steamer by the incessant cry of 'Go ahead,' which\naccompanied the launch from the crane which sent each article of\nluggage and goods on to the wharf. It reminded us of a story his late\neminence Cardinal Wiseman used to tell. He said the first Italian\nwords he heard on first landing, some forty years ago or more, in\nItaly from England, were, 'Pazienza, pazienza.' The Englishman sums up\nall things that happen with the words 'All right;* the Yankee with the\nwords, 'Go ahead.'\"\n\nMany merchants realized enormous fortunes in a few months--some even\nby one consignment; but many were hit hard and many were ruined. A\nperiod in which an egg was worth a dollar was followed by a glut in\nthe market of all kinds of goods and provisions. There was nobody to\nreceive them; there was no sale for them. Warehousage cost more than\nthe total value of goods and freight. Tons of sea-bread were\nabandoned; barrels of hams and bacon, cargoes of cheeses, dry goods,\nand even wine and spirits, were left unclaimed, and fell into the\nhands of \"smart\" men of business, or were spoiled by weather and\nneglect. Ships, captains, crews, and cargoes bound to California\nsailed as into a vortex, and were lost in the whirlpool of excitement.\nEven officers of men-of-war were seized by the gold mania, and \"ran\"\nto soil their white hands in the precious \"pay-dirt.\"\n\nSuch circumstances as these which occurred in 1849-50-51 are now past\nand can never recur, at least in California. The country is settling\ndown into a normal condition. The regular system of American states\ngovernment is permanently established. On two occasions, once in 1851\nand again in 1856, when the government of San Francisco fell into the\nhands of a set of low sharpers, who suspended the laws for punishment\nof crime and protected criminals, the people, trained from childhood\nto self-government, extemporized what was called a vigilance\ncommittee. They abrogated for the time the state laws, they caught\nthieves, tried them in the night, and hung them in the morning. They\nstruck terror into the \"Sydney ducks,\" and into the plunderers who had\ncome down upon San Francisco, like vultures upon their prey, from all\ncountries of the world. When the committee had effected its object it\npeaceably dissolved, and the regular form of government resumed its\nsway. California, however, still presents a spectacle unlike that of\nany other country of the world. Sydney, Melbourne, and Queensland have\nnot the diversity of population which California has. They are more\nlike \"home;\" a stronger government is exercised; there is more\nsecurity, less excitement, less incident, and less variety in life.\nThe traveller meets every day in the diggings and elsewhere men who\nhad come over from Australia, thinking to better themselves; they have\nnot done so, and they all complain that they have not found the same\norder and security for man and property; and most of them determine to\nreturn in the coming season.\n\nFor internal resources, in scenery and climate, and in variety of\nproduction, California is probably superior to the Australian\ncolonies. There is a continual excitement, and all the business of the\ncountry is done in San Francisco; it is the only port of any note; the\ntrade with California from the States, from South America, from\nEurope, Asia, and Australia, is to San Francisco. She is called the\n\"Queen of the Pacific,\" and it is expected that she will become one of\nthe largest cities of the world, and that the whole trade between\nChina, Japan, and Europe and the States will pass through her. She\nwill be one of the great ports, and the most magnificent harbor on the\n{797} high-road which, when the railroad across the plains is\ncompleted, will connect together in one line Pekin, Canton, Japan, San\nFrancisco, New York, London, and St. Petersburg; thus girdling in a\ngreat highway the northern hemisphere of the world. The market in San\nFrancisco is just large and manageable enough to produce the greatest\namount of excitement for the merchants. Exports and imports are\nreckoned at about eleven million pounds each; of the exports about\neight millions are of gold and silver. The highest game is played, and\nthe English houses, always safe and sure, are looked upon as slow and\nplodding in comparison with the American. The stakes are, day by day,\nfortune or ruin. The interest on loans varies from one to ten per cent\na month, according to the security. There are great losses and great\ngains. San Francisco is in a chronic state of exciting business\nfermentation; there is little amusement, no learned leisure, but\neverybody is occupied in trade or speculation. The people are well\ndressed--all the men wear broadcloth, nearly all the women silk; there\nare no beggars in the streets, and there is an air of healthiness,\nvigor, and buoyancy of life such as is not to be seen in any other\ncity in Europe or America. No market in the world, save, perhaps, that\nof London, is better supplied. Railroads run along the streets in all\ndirections. Churches, schools, hotels, and houses are lifted up from\ntheir foundations by hydraulic power; and if the owners wish to add a\nstory, instead of clapping it on above, they build it in below, and\nroof, walls, and floors all go up together uninjured.\n\nThe traveller is astonished to see a procession of solid-built houses\nslowly marching through the centre of one of the principal\nthoroughfares. In eight-and-forty hours an hotel, brick-built and\nthree stories high, will be carried, without interruption to business,\nfrom one part of the city to another. The country is full of\ninteresting incident and novel excitement. It contains all the\nprecious metals, gold, silver, platinum, copper, iron, coal,\nasphaltum, spring and mineral oil, borax, arsenic, cobalt. The largest\ncrops in the world have been grown on its soil. We quote the published\naccounts: Crops of 80 bushels of wheat to the acre have been grown in\nCalifornia. Mr. Hill harvested 82-1/2 bushels from an acre in Pajaro\nvalley in 1853, and obtained 660 bushels from ten acres. In 1851, Mr.\nP. M. Scooffy harvested 88 bushels, and Mr. N. Carriger 80 bushels, in\nSonoma valley. Again: In 1853 a field of 100 acres in the valley of\nthe Pajaro produced 90,000 bushels of barley, and one acre of it\nyielded 149 bushels. It was grown by Mr. J. B. Hill, and was mentioned\nas undoubtedly true by the assessor of Monterey county in his official\nreport; and a prize was granted by an agricultural society for the\ncrop. According to the assessor's report, the average crop of potatoes\nin Sacramento county in 1860 was 390 bushels per acre. Potatoes have\nbeen seen in the market weighing 7 lb. The largest beet-root was 5 ft.\nlong, 1 ft. thick, and 118 lb. in weight--it was three years old;\ncabbages 45 lb. and 53 lb. each; and a squash vine bore at a time\n1,600 lb. of fruit. Then the largest trees in the world are found in\nCalifornia, in mammoth-tree groves. Two are known to be 32 ft in\ndiameter, 325 ft high. \"One of the trees which is down must have been\n450 ft. high, and 40 ft. in diameter.\" The tree of which the bark was\nstripped for 116 ft., and sent to the Crystal Palace, continued green\nand flourishing two years and a half after being thus denuded. The\nhighest waterfall in the world is in the Yosemite valley, in\nCalifornia. It is 2,063 ft. high, according to the official surveyor.\nThe Californian Geysers are among the wonders of the world--a\nmultitude of boiling springs, emitting large quantities of steam with\na hissing, roaring, spluttering noise; while near them, within a {798}\nfew feet, are deliciously cold springs. There are mud volcanoes, which\ncan be heard ten miles off, and seen at a still greater distance. A\ngreat variety of wild beasts and birds--bears, panthers, wolves, deer,\nelk, the Californian vulture (next to the condor the largest bird that\nflies), make up other sources of interest, speculation, and excitement\nand contribute to give to Californians a certain peculiar character\nand sympathy one with another, which unite them together as\nhail-fellows-well-met in any part of the world in which they may\nchance to meet. There is travelling up the rivers in steamboats three\nand four stories high, which not unfrequently blow up or run into each\nother. A considerable portion of the country can be traversed in\nwagons called \"stages,\" whose springs are so very strong that ocular\ndemonstration is necessary as a proof of their existence. They cross\nplains and mountains, penetrate forests, and skirt precipices, along\nthe most difficult roads. Wooden bridges thrown across ravines or deep\ngullies or streams, and formed by laying down a number, of scantling\npoles, and covering them with loose planks, are taken by the\nfour-horse \"stage\" at a gallop, just as you ride at a ditch or rasper\nout hunting; patter, patter, go the horses' feet, up and down go the\nloose planks--one's heart in one's mouth--no horses have slipped\nthrough--no broken legs--it seems a miracle--and away onward goes the\nstage, conducted by dauntless and skilful drivers, to the everlasting\ncry of \"go ahead!\" But much of the country must be travelled on\nhorseback, and California has an admirable breed of thin, wiry little\nhorses, which will gallop with their rider over a hundred miles a day,\nrequiring little care and hardly any food. Much of the country is\nstill unexplored. There are mountains covered with perpetual snow, and\nimmense virgin pine forests covering their sides; long rolling plains,\nbaked by the sun; and rich luxuriant valleys, watered by the richest\nfish-streams. In extent the country is 189,000 square miles, or nearly\nfour times larger than England, and possesses within itself all the\nresources of the temperate and tropical zones. There are 40,000,000\nacres of arable land in the state, though not more than 1,000,000 are\nnow in cultivation.\n\n\"The climate near the ocean is the most equable in the world. At San\nFrancisco there is a difference of only seven degrees between the mean\ntemperature of winter and summer--the average of the latter being 57\u00b0\nand of the former 50\u00b0 Fahrenheit. Ice and snow are never seen in\nwinter, and in summer the weather is so cool that woolen clothing may\nbe worn every day. There are not more than a dozen days in the year\ntoo warm for comfort at mid-day, and the oldest inhabitant cannot\nremember a night when blankets were not necessary for comfortable\nsleep. The climate is just of that character most favorable to the\nconstant mental and physical activity of men, and to the unvarying\nhealth and continuous growth of animals and plants. By travelling a\nfew hundred miles the Californian may find any temperature he may\ndesire--great warmth in winter and icy coldness in summer.\"\n\nIt may be understood, then, from all these circumstances, that the\nblood of a Californian tingles with an excitement of its own. Indeed,\nit is constantly observed that men who leave California with their\nfortunes made, and with the intention of establishing themselves in\nthe Eastern states, or in Europe, are unable to settle down, and soon\nreturn to the Golden State.\n\nLet us now proceed with the subject before us, and draw out briefly\ntwo contrasts: one between the Spanish or Catholic and the Anglo-Saxon\nor non-Catholic conduct and policy toward the original lords of the\nsoil, the Indians; the other as between the names they gave to the\nlocalities which were the scenes of their respective labors. It will\nindicate a difference of {799} tone and spirit sufficiently\nremarkable.\n\nOf course all Californians are not to be held responsible for the acts\nof a low and heartless section of ruffians, any more than all\nEnglishmen are accountable for the atrocities which we have\nperpetrated in times past in India or Oceanica. But as we would not\npass over the crimes committed by the Anglo-Saxon race in India were\nIndia our topic, so neither will we be silent here on deeds of equal\natrocity with any of which we were guilty, committed in these latter\ndays by some of the new occupiers of California.\n\nThe love of souls and the love of wealth do not, indeed, grow in the\nsame heart. We have already faintly sketched the result of the\nChurch's love of souls on the temporal and spiritual well-being of the\nindigenous population of California. Under her gentle care was\nrealized for its inhabitants the happiness, peace, and plenty of\nParaguay. The Anglo-Saxon and the thirst for gold ushered in, alas! on\nthese poor creatures--made in the divine image, and called equally\nwith ourselves to an eternal share in the love of the Sacred\nHeart--not a miserable existence, but absolute destruction. The love\nof mammon has been the murderer of the native owners of the soil. The\niron heart and the iron arm of the Anglo-Saxon invaders have cleared\nall before them. In 1862, Mr. Hittel, who is not a Catholic, and whom\nwe hold to be an impartial witness, made a study of the subject, and\nhe thus speaks of the destruction of the Indian population of\nCalifornia, page 288:\n\n\"The Indians are a miserable race, destined to speedy destruction.\nFifteen years ago, they numbered 50,000 or more: now there may be\n7,000 of them. They were driven from their hunting-grounds and\nfishing-grounds by the whites, and they stole cattle for food (rather\nthan starve); and to punish and prevent their stealing, the whites\nmade war on them and slew them. Such has been the origin of most of\nthe Indian wars, which have raged in various parts of the state almost\ncontinuously during the last twelve years. For every white man that\nhas been killed, fifty Indians have fallen. In 1848 nearly every\nlittle valley had its tribe, and there were dozens of tribes in the\nSacramento basin, but now most of these tribes are entirely\ndestroyed.\"\n\nWe have been ourselves assured by eye-witnesses that such an incident\nas the following has frequently happened in the gold diggings. A man\nwould be quietly cleaning his gun or rifle on a Sunday morning, when\nhe would espy an Indian in the distance, and, without the least\nhesitation, would fire at him as a mark. The Indians were fair game,\njust as bear or elk were, and men would shoot them by way of pastime,\nnot caring whether the mark was a \"buck\" or a \"squaw,\" as they call\nthem--that is, a man or a woman. Murder became thus a relaxation. And\nwe must add, that not only American citizens, but also men who pride\nthemselves on the greater civilization and virtue of their country\nnearer home, thus imbrued their bands with reprobate levity in the\nblood of their fellow-creatures. We should be very sorry to imply that\nthese horrible deeds are perpetrated only by inhabitants of the United\nStates. On the contrary, it is certain that men who from circumstances\nlapse into a state of semi-savage life, without public opinion to\ncheck them, living in the wilderness and the bush, and without\nreligion, naturally become so enslaved to their passions that at last\nthey commit the foulest abominations and the most horrible murders as\nthough they were mere pastimes. We have read abundant examples of this\nin India and other British colonies. The American government passed\nmany wise and humane laws in favor of the Indian. It was not her fault\nthat pioneers, squatters, buccaneers, and outlaws, at a distance,\nlaughed at her laws and set them at defiance.\n\n{800}\n\nThe other contrast is quickly drawn. It shall be the contrast of\nnames. We do not wish to found any strong argument upon it. Names are\nnot actions, and yet to call a man hard names is the next thing to\ngiving him hard blows; and we know that \"out of the abundance of the\nheart the mouth speaketh.\" Let the two lists go down in parallel\ncolumns, and illustrate the old times and the new:\n\n_Spanish baptisms of localities or settlements._\n\n  San Francisco\n  Sacramento\n  La Purisima Concepcion\n  Trinidad\n  Jesus Maria\n  Santa Cruz\n  Nuestra Se\u00f1ora di Solidad.\n  Los Angeles,  Reina de.\n  San Jose\n  San Pedro\n  San Miguel\n  San Rafael\n  Santa Clara\n  Santa Barbara\n  San Luis Obispo\n  San Paolo\n  Buena Vista\n  Mariposa\n  San Fernando\n  Alcatraz\n  Contra Costa\n  San Mateo\n  Plumas\n\n_Yankee baptisms of localities or settlements_\n\n  Jackass Gulch\n  Jim Crow Ca\u00f1on\n  Loafer Gill\n  Whiskey diggings\n  Slap Jack Bar\n  Yankee Doodle\n  Skunk Gulch\n  Chicken Thief Flat\n  Ground Hog's Glory\n  Hell's Delight\n  Devil's Wood\n  Sweet Revenge\n  Shirt-tail Ca\u00f1on\n  Rough and Ready\n  Rag  Town\n  Git up and Git\n  Bob Ridley Flat\n  Humpback Slide\n  Swell-head Diggings\n  Bloody Run\n  Murderers' bar\n  Rat trap Slide\n  Hang town\n\nWe may now dismiss these contrasts, which we have only insisted on in\norder to bring into greater relief the spirit of God and the spirit of\nmammon. The Spaniard went with the tenderest devotedness to serve and\nsave the Indian, recognizing him from the first as a brother. The\nYankee came, straining every nerve and energy in the pursuit of\nwealth; the Indian was in his way; he recognized no spiritual ties of\nbrotherhood; his soul presented to him no divine image deserving of\nhis love and service; rather it was said, let him be trodden into the\nmire, or perish from the face of the land. The former cast over their\nhumble settlements, on the coast and inland, the sacred association of\nthe names of mysteries and holy saints, so that men for all\ngenerations might be reminded that they are of the race of the people\nof God; whereas the latter have named many of the places where they\nhave dug for gold with the names of their hideous crimes, and with\nterms compared to which the nomenclature of savage and uncivilized\ntribes is Christian and refined.\n\nThis sketch of the principal features of the two occupations of\nCalifornia, as they have borne upon the native population, may be\nsufficient for our present purpose. We shall presently dwell upon the\nbetter qualities in the American character--the natural foundations\nupon which religion has to be built. Our object is not to write a\npolitical or commercial essay; all we attempt is to note the action of\nthe Church at the present day upon the heterogeneous elements which\ncompose the population of California, and to record as briefly as may\nbe the several influences observable as making up that action.\n\nIt has long been a favorite theme with the anti-Catholic philosophers\nof the day to descant upon the feebleness of the Catholic Church. They\njudge her as a purely human institution, good in her day; but her day\nis gone. She was a good nurse, who held the leading-strings which\nmankind needed in early childhood. But we have grown to the ripeness\nof perfection; and the good nurse has grown old and past work: she may\nbe allowed therefore to potter about the world, as an old servant\nround her master's hall and grounds, till she dies and is buried away.\nWe may render some little service if we point to one more instance of\nher present vigor and vitality in our own day; if we can show that she\nis stamping her impress upon the lettered horde that has overrun the\nwestern shore, as she did formerly upon the unlettered hordes that\npossessed themselves of the plains of Italy or of the wolds of\nEngland. We believe that she is by degrees assimilating into herself\nthe strange mass of the Californian population; she is standing out in\nthe midst of them as the only representative of religions unity,\norder, and revelation. She is executing her commission in California\nto-day as faithfully as she did when Peter entered Rome, or {801}\nAugustine Kent, or Xavier Asia, or Solano the wilds of South America.\n\nThe work of grace, through the Church of Christ, is gaining sensibly\nand irresistibly upon the population of California. We are far from\nforeseeing a day when all its inhabitants will be of one faith and one\nmind, or from saying that the number of conversions to the faith is\nprodigious and unheard-of. But we affirm that the Catholic Church,\nwith a far greater rapidity than in England, is daily attaining a\nhigher place in the estimation of the people, is becoming more and\nmore the acknowledged representative of Christianity, and is actually\ngaining in numbers, piety, and authority. The sects there, as\nelsewhere in America, are ceasing by degrees to exercise any religious\nor spiritual influence upon the people; they act as political and\nsocial agents, and hold together as organizations by the force of\nlocal circumstances, which are wholly independent of religion. As\nforms of religion, the people see through them, and have no confidence\nin them; the consequence is, that an immense proportion are without\nany religion at all, and many join the Catholic Church. It was the\npolicy of imperial Rome to open her gates to every form of heathenism:\nevery god was tolerated, every god was accepted, no matter how\nincongruous or contradictory its presence by the side of others. The\nempire was intent upon one thing, self-aggrandizement; and for\nreligion it did not care. Thoughtful men smiled or sneered at those\nmythologies and divinities, and their forms of worship; and the people\nbecame cold and indifferent to them. They were dying of this contempt,\nwhen behold the newly imported presence of the Fisherman into their\nmidst, with his Catechism of Christian Doctrine, inspired one and all\nwith a new life and energy; the gods began to speak, and the people\nbegan to hear them. It was not that a new faith had been awakened in\ntheir old idolatry; but a new hostility and hatred had been aroused\nagainst the majesty of consistent truth, which stood before them\nhumble, yet confounding them. They began to believe themselves to be\ndevout pagans, and to prove the sincerity of their convictions by\nendeavoring to smite down the divine figure of the Catholic Church,\nwhich claimed a universal homage and a universal power. Events\nstrangely repeat themselves in the world. That which occurred among\nthe sects of ancient Rome is now taking place among the sects of\nAmerica. Men smile at their pretensions; their convictions are not\nmoulded by them, and they will not submit to their discipline or bow\nto their authority. But the sects object to death, and they think to\nprolong the term of their existence not by a life of faith, but by a\nlife of sustained enmity against the religion which is slowly gaining\nupon them, and supplanting them in the mind and affection of the\npeople.\n\nThere are many who believe that the day is not far distant when the\nCatholics of America will have to brace themselves up to go through\nthe fire, for American religious persecution would be like an American\ncivil war, determined and terrible. It would carry us beyond the\nlimits of our scope to attempt to trace the steps by which persecution\nis approaching. This spirit has ever existed in the New England\nstates. _Know-nothingism_ was a political and social form of it which\nfailed for a time; and the knowledge of the immense progress made by\nthe Church amidst the din of war, in the camp and in the hospital, in\nNorth and South, among officers and men, has quickened this movement.\nThe government is not to blame for this. We believe the American\ngovernment, in point of religion, to be perfectly colorless. It is\nnoteworthy that nowhere in the world has religion made more rapid\nprogress in this century than in the United States.\n\nWe cannot doubt that the Church is repairing in America the losses she\n{802} has suffered in Europe through the pride, abuse of grace, and\napostacy of many of her children.\n\nIn California the Church has no easy task before her. It is no longer\nthe simple and rude Vandal, Dane, or Lombard she has to lead into her\nfold, but a population composed of men of keen wits, of the most\nvaried, world-wide experiences, and drawn from countries in which they\nhave been more or less within the reach of Catholic teaching. These\nare the men whom she has now to reduce into the obedience of faith.\n\nWe are not of those who imagine that Almighty God has lavished all the\ntreasures of natural virtues upon one nation, and has withheld them\nproportionately from others. In intellectual gifts men differ much\nless one from another than is often supposed, as with their physical\nstrength and stature the difference, on the whole, is not very large.\nAnd so their moral natural gifts, if considered in their full circle,\nwill be found before the tribunal of an impartial judge to be on the\nwhole pretty evenly distributed among the nations. One nation has\nfaith and trust, another understanding and subtlety, another mercy and\ncompassion, another truthfulness and fidelity, another tenderness and\nlove, another humility and docility, another courage and energy,\nanother determination and patience, another purity, another reverence.\nThese natural virtues may be elevated into supernatural, and then that\nnation is _really_ the _greatest_ which has made best use of the grace\nof God. The bounteous hand of God has enriched every part of the\ncanopy of heaven with stars and planets, differing infinitely in\nlight, color, distance, size, and combination, and he leaves no\nportion in absolute poverty or darkness; and the \"distilling lips\" and\n\"shining countenance\" have scattered in every direction over his\nimmortal creation precious gifts of natural virtues, set like gems in\nthe souls of men the moment his fingers first fashioned them. It will,\nno doubt, often require the study and patient love of an apostle's\nheart to discover them, so defiled and obscured have they become; but\nthey are ever there, though dormant, and when once they become subject\nto the touch of divine grace, it is surprising what inclination and\nfacility toward their eternal Father break forth and become apparent.\n\nNow, in speaking of the sufferings of the Church in California, we\nhave been marking some of the worst features of the Anglo-Saxon\ninvasion. But in viewing, as we are about to do, the future prospects\nof the Church, we must, at the outset, point toward some of those\nbetter qualities and characteristics, upon which, under God, the\nChurch has to build her hopes.\n\nIf once turned to God from materialism and mammon-worship, we are\npersuaded that the American would rank among the foremost Catholics of\nthe world; not shining, perhaps, in the extraordinary gifts of faith,\nand in the offices of the contemplative life, like the children of\nItaly and Spain, but fruitful and overflowing in good works and in\npushing forward every active operation of charity.\n\nOf the Californians it may be said that they are bold and independent\nadventurers, and that they admire these qualities in others. They are\nquick and devoted in their own business, and appreciate devotedness in\nthe business (the Chinese call it \"sky business\") of priests and nuns.\nThey are practical and determined, and failure after failure does not\ndiscourage them. Health and life have no value when any temporal end\nis to be gained. And, therefore, they are struck by the Catholic\nChurch, her bishops and missionaries, steadily pursuing her\nsupernatural end, in spite, of the allurements, distractions, and\nthreats of the world; preaching always and at all times the same\ndoctrines of faith and charity; ready day and night to obey the call\nof her poorest member, in the camp and the battle-field, in the penury\nand hardship of' emigration, in {803} pestilence and fever-wards, in\nno matter what clime or among what people; always alike joyful to save\nthe soul of the negro, the red man, or the white man; esteeming\nsuffering, illness, contempt, poverty, and persecution, when endured\nfor God or for his souls, as so many jewels in her crown, and holding\nlife itself cheap and contemptible in comparison with the one end she\nhas in view.\n\nThe Californians are a singularly inquisitive and intelligent race.\nEverybody is able to read and write; and even the common laborer has\nhis morning newspaper brought every day of his life to his cottage\ndoor. The state prison of St. Quintin shows some curious statistical\nof the proportion of native Americans and foreigners who are able to\nread and write. The comparison, as will be seen, is in favor of the\nUnited States: January 1, 1862, there were 257 prisoners, natives of\nthe United States; of these only 29 were unable to read or write. And\nthere were 333 of foreign birth; of these 141 were unable to read or\nwrite. The spirit of free inquiry and private judgment, which brought\nabout the apostacy of the sixteenth century, is carried by\nCalifornians to its legitimate conclusions. They are not stopped\nhalf-way as Anglicans are by love or reverence for what may appear to\nbe a venerable, time-honored establishment, full of nationality and\nwealth, and hoary with respectability. They wish to learn the reason\n_why_ of everything, and they are little inclined to take anything\nupon a mere _ipse dixit._They love knowledge, and desire to obtain it\neasily, so they are great frequenters of lectures and sermons; and\nwill go anywhere to hear them when they believe them to be good. This\ngives the Catholic priest a strong and solid advantage over every\nother minister. He is able to give an account of his faith, to show\nthe reasonableness of submission, to prove that faith rests upon an\ninfallible basis, that religion is not a caprice of reason, not a mere\nexpedient, not a police, which was useful in ignorant days, and may be\nstill useful for superstitious minds and a leading-string for children\nand the weak. Show the American that the submission of his intellect\nto the divine intellect of the Church of God is not its destruction,\nbut its perfection, and elevation, and his intellectual pride will\nyield as quickly as any man's. Explain to them the doctrine of the\nHoly Ghost and his indwelling life in the Church and in the\nindividual, and they will be ready to call out, \"Give us also the Holy\nGhost.\" There are some natures so confiding and so simple that it is\nenough to address them as the centurion did his soldiers, or to tell\nthem what to believe, and they believe at once. It is a blessed thing\nto have the grace of little children to believe from the first; but\nthere are some who have placed themselves out of the pale of this\ngreat grace, or have been born outside it, on account of the sins of\ntheir parents, and the mould they have been formed in. This is the\ncase with the Anglo-Saxon race, and pre-eminently so with the\nAmerican. And the Church accommodates herself to the peculiarities of\nthe human mind, with infinite charity and condescension, seeking the\nsurest avenue to the conversion of the soul to God, in faith, hope,\nand charity. She is ready to meet the American on his own ground, and\nto give the clearest and most convincing of explanations. Again, the\nAmericans are what has been called \"viewy,\" and with all their\npractical power and love for the positive, they prefer to have the\ntruth presented to them as in a landscape, in which the imagination is\nable to throw the reason into relief on the foreground. Compare the\ninstructions and sermons of Peach, Gother, Fletcher, and Challoner,\nexcellent and solid though they be, where the imagination has no play,\nwith those of Cardinal Wiseman, Archbishop Manning, Dr. Newman, and\nour meaning is at once illustrated.\n\n{804}\n\nA priest who should draw his sermons out of Suarez or Petavius, rather\nthan from Perrone or Bouvier, or some hand-book of controversy--his\nhomilies on the gospel from, _e.g._, Dionysius the Carthusian,\nillustrating them from such works as \"Burder's Oriental Customs,\"\n\"Harmer's Observations,\" etc., rather than heap up platitudes and\ncommon generalities, or should even take our common little catechism\nand develop its doctrine and popularize it by abundant illustrations\nfrom Scripture, history, from the arts, science, commerce,\ngovernment--familiar themes to the American mind--would be certain to\nattract around his pulpit large audiences of anxious souls, and, by\nGod's blessing, to win them to Catholic truth with astonishing\nfacility.\n\nThe Americans are keenly alive to coarse or rough manners in a priest.\nThey will not suffer masterful or domineering language from him in the\npulpit or in private. Above all, they consider the \"brogue\" to be a\ncapital sin--_talem devita_. This is a little inconsistent in men who\nare not themselves remarkable either for the _suaviter in modo_ or for\na reticence of provincialisms and cant words and phrases. But still we\nconsider, unhesitatingly, that the brogue is more prejudicial to a\nclergyman's influence upon Americans than upon Englishmen; and also\nthat a priest, through refinement of mind and manners, can effect more\nin America than in England. Whether the reason for this fact is that\nthe latter qualities are rarer in the States than here, or that having\nno hereditary titles, Americans attach greater value to adornments of\nmind and manners, we may not pause to consider.\n\nAgain, they have been for the greater part cut off from the traditions\nof home and family. The parish clergyman or district minister under\nwhom they once sat, the bitter zeal of old ladies who consider\nCatholicity to be a species of sorcery, priests to be all Jesuits,\nJesuits to be one with the devil in cunning and malice, and who know\nhow to insert a sting into the life of the friend who withdraws from\ntheir opinions; the quiet humdrum of life in the States or in Europe,\nso favorable to the _status in quo_--all these anti-Catholic\ninfluences are far away, and there is little substitute for them in\nCalifornia, where there is a singular absence of public opinion and of\nsocial despotism.\n\nOn the other hand it may be said that they have come into the presence\nof the life of Catholicity in ways which impress them by the novelty\nof their situation. In the first place, their belief in the\npossibility of living for an invisible and supernatural end is\nquickened by their experience of the country they have come to. They\ncame to seek for fortune, and they thought they were the first, but\nthey found that the Catholic Church had been there long before them,\nperfectly satisfied without the gold and silver which has drawn\n_them_, in the accomplishment of her mission of peace and salvation.\nFor long years Catholic missioners had abandoned home and civilization\nin order to reside on the rolling plains, or valleys, or sea-coast,\nwith the untutored and debased Indian, with no other recompense than\none they looked for hereafter. They had not become savages and wild\nmen as men often do, conforming to the Indian, who lived upon\ngrasshoppers, and worms, and insects, or roots and grasses or fruits,\nor at best on the produce of the chase. But by the constraining power\nof love, and with a divine message, they had drawn the wild Indians\naround them, taught them various arts and trades, the growth of the\nolive, of the vine, and of corn, how to spin and weave, the first\nelements of peace and commerce. They had instructed them in the\nChristian faith and helped them on the way to heaven. The old remains\nof their work are scattered over the country in some five-and-twenty\nprincipal mission establishments. The great \"adobe\" walls of their\nchurches, varying from four to eight feet thick, {805} the rude\nsculpture, the gaudy frescoes, the paintings and carvings brought all\nthe way from Spain and Mexico, the little square belfry standing\nalone, the cemetery, and the avenue of trees planted by the friars\nalong the roads which lead up to the mission; the orchards still\nfruitful, where the swine besport themselves and the coney burrows, as\nat Santa Clara; the mournful olive-trees of the mission, which, in\nspite of age, yield the best oil in the country; the crosses,\nmemorials of piety and faith, set up here and there, and the Christian\ntraditions still left among a few survivors of the old inhabitants,\noften speak solemnly and instructively to the heart of the pioneer who\nhas come in hot haste to seek a fortune. How can he help at times\nbeing touched, when he is with his own thoughts in solitude, perhaps\nin sadness and disappointment, in the presence of these old remnants\nwhich tell of pioneers who came with another and holier end in view\nthan that in which he sees himself foiled and mistaken? We will\nventure to say that these ancient memorials of the faith and\ndevotedness of the Catholic missionaries are as sweet, and as dear,\nand as impressive to many a Californian, as the gorgeous old piles of\nCatholic piety in England are to the dense and civilized Protestant\npopulation which lives around them and profits by their revenues.\n\nAmong the first pioneers of California, before the discovery of gold,\nin search of an agricultural district and of a genial climate, came a\nhardy band of earnest Irishmen. They were in a high sense pioneers,\nfor they were the first caravan that found a way across the plains and\nRocky Mountains from the Eastern states. They passed many long months\non the road, and were exposed to every imaginable hardship and\ndifficulty. They had to clear the forest as they went, to make a\npassage for their wagons. Sometimes they would spend a week breaking a\nroad through great rocks and enormous boulders, which obstructed a\nriver-bed or a mountain-pass; their wagons often came to pieces\nthrough hardship and exposure; they cut down trees to mend them, and\nhad to extemporize wheels and harness as they journeyed slowly on.\nThey had placed all their trust and confidence in God--in the rain and\nwind, in the thick forest, and on the snowy mountain, they always\nturned to him--they served and worshipped him as well as the\ncircumstances would allow, and he led them at last into the land of\npromise which they looked to.\n\nAfter them came another caravan from the States, but formed of men of\na very different stamp. License, crime, and disorder of the most\nappalling character marked their steps. We will enter into no details.\nThey suffered innumerable hardships, they fell so short of provisions,\nand were reduced to such straits, that, finally, in despair of ever\nreaching the rich plains of California, they killed one of their\nparty, and made their evening meal upon human flesh. The next morning\none mile off they descried the land they longed for, and immense herds\nof elk feeding on the plains. They felt that the hand of God had\nstruck them. The Irish Catholics soon rallied round the few pastors\nwho remained in the country; they established themselves near the\nmissions. Soon they lifted up their voice calling for more spiritual\nassistance. The riches of earth were of little value to them without\nthe blessings of heaven. The zeal of the Holy See anticipated their\nown. Missionaries were on the way to the scene of labor, and a devoted\nbishop was soon appointed to rule over them.\n\nWhen, after 1849, the rush to the diggings took place, and all men\nwere suffering from \"the gold fever\" and \"silver on the brain,\"\nspending their money in wholesale gambling, making fortunes one week\nand losing them the next, and every man's head seemed to be turned by\nthe helter-skelter excitement, the Catholic Church, in {806} her calm\nmajesty, was growing up in the midst of the turmoil, and occupying her\nposition as the city on the mountain, and the light shining before\nmen. The zeal of the archbishop and clergy and faithful Irish knew no\nlimits. Churches sprang up on the conspicuous eminences of the city of\nSan Francisco, and in the principal thoroughfares. And that vast\nassemblage of men, who had come together from all parts, without\nreligion or God in their hearts, began to see that they were in the\npresence of the Catholic Church, and that the shadow of the Catholic\ntowers and crosses had fallen upon them. As soon as the Holy See gave\nto San Francisco an archbishop, the zealous sons of St. Patrick\ndetermined to build him a cathedral. The wages of a common hodman were\n\u00a32, 10s. a day; nevertheless, while the Catholic with one hand worked\nor scrambled for wealth, with the other he freely gave to that which\nis always dearest to his heart. The deep foundations of the cathedral\nwere sunk, the walls arose, its massive time-keeping tower crowned the\ncity, its solemn services were inaugurated. It was the result of\nfabulous sums of money, and of heroic devotedness on the part of\npastors and people. Nor was this all. Large and handsome churches have\nsprung up in various parts of the city, like St. Ignatius's and St.\nFrancis's, and others, such as the French church, St. Patrick's, St.\nJoseph's, the German church, and a number of smaller chapels. The\nunbelieving speculator, the \"smart\" trader, the land-owner, and the\nminer, on his visit to the city, were all struck with these visible\ntokens of sincerity and zeal, without stint of generous alms, put\nforth by the Catholic Church from the very outset. Later, and\nstimulated by Catholic example, the various sects of Protestantism,\nJews, infidels, and pagans, erected in several places their churches,\ntemples, chapels, lecture-halls, and joss-houses. In point of\nchurches, in numbers and construction, the Catholic communion in San\nFrancisco stands far ahead of all others. But it is not in the\nerection of churches alone that Catholicity has, with the vigor of her\nperpetual youth, outstripped the sects, all of which, before they\nattain to half a century, become old and decrepit; for no sooner did\nthe population roll in from the ocean and across the plains, than new\nwants at once arose--hospitals for the sick from the city, the\ncountry, and the mines; homes for the orphans who were left alone in a\nfar-off country, where men die in thousands from accident and\nviolence, as well as from disease and natural causes; and schools for\nchildren, who are born more numerously, it is said, in California than\nin any other country. Here again the Catholic Church was first in\ndevoted charity and anxious zeal for souls.\n\nAs to popular schools, before the Atlantic and Pacific oceans were\nbridged together by the iron rails of Panama, the gentle and devoted\nSisters of the Presentation from Ireland, ladies by birth, tradition,\nand refinement, left their tranquil convents for the storm and\ntroubles of life into the midst of which they were to be thrown in San\nFrancisco. They, in their strict and peaceful inclosure, were to be\ncalm, like the point which even in the whirlwind is always to be still\nand at rest. There, day by day, they teach one thousand children from\ninfancy up to womanhood, the poor according to their wants, and the\nrich according their requirements, and all this entirely _gratis_,\nlooking to God alone to be their \"reward exceeding great.\" Moreover,\nthe only school in the state of California for Indians and negroes is\nestablished and taught by them. In the state schools no colored child\nwould be allowed to set his foot. Thousands of children of Catholic,\nof Protestant, and infidel parents have passed out into the world from\nunder their considerate and enlightened care, and they bless them\neverywhere evermore. Such disinterested charities, such daily\nself-denial, such {807} gentle and kindly sympathy, are not lost upon\nthe wayward, go-ahead, and hardened Yankee. These are the lives which\ntouch and melt and win him. This, he says, is practical religion.\nNext, in a state like California, orphanages became an early and a\nprimary want. The Sisters of Charity first supplied them. Then\nhospitals were needed; and the Sisters of Mercy from Ireland said,\n\"Here are hospitals.\" They possess the best hospital in the state.\nThey watch the sick with a mother's care; and many a man learns on his\nbed of pain from their lips lessons which he has never heard in\nchildhood, or has forgotten in manhood. In all these departments of\npopular instruction, orphanages, and hospitals, the Catholic Church in\nCalifornia leads the way, extending aid and care to all, without\ndistinction of creed or nation. The Catholic convents and\nestablishments stand out conspicuously to all the world on the heights\nand in the principal thoroughfares of San Francisco. These are all\nworks which we attribute to the zeal of the Irish, and which prove to\nAmericans, and they admit the proof, the faith and charity of the\nCatholic Church. They are an appeal to their heart and to their\nreason. And now for the appeal to their sense of honesty and justice.\nTake the Catholics of California as a body, and they stand before any\nother body for honesty in business. They nearly all came to the state\npoor men; some had to borrow money for their journey; but they have\nworked their way up; and now, though the Jews are the largest\ncapitalists, and the Yankees, from being more numerous, hold\nabsolutely a greater amount of wealth, the Irish and Catholics, as a\nclass, are more uniformly well off. The mean of comfort and\nsufficiency is probably higher among them than among others. And they\nhave obtained for themselves a high reputation for honesty and\nhonorable conduct in business. It is impossible for a person without\nexperience to form an idea of the amount of cheating and rascality\nwhich is often practised in trade and commerce. Robbery and lying,\nupon however large or mean a scale, when successful, will be called by\na great number only \"smart conduct.\" A man is not tabooed and banished\nthe exchange and the market for cheating his creditors, and defrauding\nthe public, as he would be in London or Liverpool. He can live down\nsuch public opinion as there is, and many of his friends extend a\nmisplaced pity to him, or think none the worse of him for his\nbehavior. A man may become bankrupt three or four times, and become\nricher each time; this is not uncommon; and there are certain persons\nwith whom it is taken for granted that they are thus \"making their\npile.\" \"So and so has just caved in,\" said a merchant; \"and he had\n$20,000 worth of goods from me last week, and all that's 'run into the\nground,' and no two ways about that. He'll be through the courts\nwhite-washed in a few weeks.\" \"Well,\" said the interlocutor, \"you\nwon't let him have more goods without ready money?\" \"Yes, I shall.\nHe'll just come to me for goods to set up again; and he knows I'll let\nhim have them, for he's a 'smart' fellow; he will be better able to\npay me then than he ever has been before.\" In confirmation of our\ngeneral statement, we may quote the words of Mr. Hittel:\n\n  \"Insolvencies legally declared and cancelled by the courts are more\n  frequent in San Francisco, in proportion to its population, than in\n  any other part of the world. Our laws provide that any man who\n  declares himself unable to pay his debts, and petitions to be\n  released from them, may obtain a judicial discharge, unless he has\n  been guilty of fraud; and as the fraud must be distinctly proved\n  upon him before the discharge will be denied, the release is almost\n  invariably obtained.\"\n\nFrom this testimony of a long resident and man of business in\nCalifornia {808} it will be readily understood how closely men's\npersonal character for honesty will be scrutinized by persons who are\nnot anxious to suffer in dealing with them. Now, inquiries have been\nmade in various parts of the country, and it has been ascertained\nbeyond a doubt that the Irish, or American Irish Catholics, are\nconsidered the safest class of men to do business with. Whether it be\nearly training, religion, the confessional, or the influence of the\npriests, so it is; they are trusted by a Yankee more readily than\nothers are. Far be it from us to impeach the honesty, and sense of\nhonor, of all save the Irish and Catholics. These natural virtues\nshine with the greatest brilliancy in many an unbelieving man of\nbusiness. We but record a fact which is highly creditable to the\nIrish, and spreads the good odor of the religion they profess.\n\nWe have now to notice the direct action of the archbishop and of the\nclergy upon the population. The bishop is the \"forma gregis facta ex\nanimo,\" \"the city on the hill,\" \"the candle placed high upon the\ncandlestick,\" giving its light around; and on each prelate bestows\nwhat gifts he pleases. With these he illumines the world in the person\nof his minister.\n\nGo, then, up California street, turn round the cathedral of St.\nMary's, and you will enter a miserable, dingy little house. This is\nthe residence of the Archbishop of San Francisco and his clergy, who\nlive with him in community. To the left are a number of little yards,\nand the back windows of the houses in which the Chinamen are swarming.\nBroken pots and pans, old doors, and a yellow compost, window-frames,\nfagots, remnants of used fireworks, sides of pig glazed and varnished,\nlong strings of meat--God only knows _what_ meat--hanging to dry,\ndog-kennels, dead cats, dirty linen in heaps, and white linen and blue\ncottons drying on lines or lying on rubbish--such is the view to the\nleft. The odors which exhale from it who shall describe? A spark would\nprobably set the whole of these premises in a conflagration; and one\nis tempted to think that even a fire would be a blessing. To the\nright, adjoining the cathedral, is the yard where the Catholic boys\ncome out to play; and in this yard stands a little iron or zinc\ncottage, containing two rooms. This is where the archbishop lives; one\nis his bedroom, the other his office, where his secretaries are at\nwork all day. No man is more poorly lodged in the whole city; and no\nman preaches the spirit of evangelical poverty, a detachment in the\nmidst of this money-worshipping city, like this Dominican Spanish\nArchbishop of San Francisco. From ten in the morning to one p.m. every\nday, and for two or three hours every evening, his grace, arrayed in\nhis common white habit, and with his green cord and pectoral cross,\nreceives all who come to consult him, to beg of him, to converse with\nhim, be they who they may--emigrants, servants, merchants, the\nafflicted, the ruined, the unfortunate. The example of such a life of\ndisinterested zeal, holy simplicity, and poverty has told upon the\ninhabitants of San Francisco with an irresistible power. It has been\none of the Catholic influences exercised by the Church on the\npopulation.\n\nOn taking possession of his see, when San Francisco was yet forming\nand building itself up, the first thing Dr. Alemany looked around for\nwas an edifying and zealous body of clergy. There were, indeed,\nalready before him some few who are laboring in the vineyard to this\nday, but there was also there the refuse of Europe, men of scandalous\nlife, and men affecting to be priests who were impostors. Whereupon he\nwent over to Ireland, and entering into relations with the College of\nAll Hallows, which had supplied so many devoted priests to other\nparts, he began to draw from that splendid seminary apostles for\nCalifornia: of whom, we believe, the first was the present bishop at\n{809} Marysville, Dr. O'Connell, so distinguished for his gentleness,\nlearning, piety, and zeal for the salvation of the Indian as well as\nof the white man. May that college long continue to send forth its\nheroic bands of laborers, who may be recognized everywhere as they are\nin California, as a virtuous and exemplary clergy! But the archbishop,\nwith the eye of a general, perceived that in order to make a deep\nimpression upon the masses which were forming themselves with\nincredible activity in San Francisco and the country, it was\nnecessary, in addition to the secular clergy, which were stationed in\npickets through the city and country, to form a strong body of\nindefatigable men, who should act upon the population with all the\naccumulated power of a compact square. He therefore called into the\nfield the Jesuit fathers. They came down in little numbers from Oregon\nand the Rocky Mountains, from the Eastern states, and from Piedmont.\nHe assigned to them the old mission of Santa Clara, about forty miles\nfrom San Francisco, in order that they should at once open a college\nfor the better classes; and also a site in San Francisco, among the\nsand-hills, in order to form a day college for the inhabitants of the\ncity; and a church in which they should bring into play all those\nindustries of devotion, retreats, sermons, lectures, novenas, and\nsodalities, which constitute so considerable an element of their\ninfluence in Rome, and upon the various populations in the midst of\nwhich they establish themselves.\n\nWe have already shown that the Church was foremost in the formation of\nhospitals, orphanages, and schools for the poor. She is also first in\nreputation for the excellence and solidity of her higher education.\nThe College of Santa Clara has a public name all down the western\ncoast, in Mexico and Peru, as being, the most efficient house of\neducation on the Pacific. But in order to appreciate the value of this\nwork, it is necessary to understand something of the infidelity,\nimmorality, and vice against which it acts as a barrier. Precocity in\nvice in California exceeds anything we know in England; and the\ndomestic inner life of the family, except among the Irish, who still\nmaintain its sanctity in a wonderful degree, and a certain small\nminority of others, has probably less existence than in the Eastern\nstates. In the state system, boys and girls attend the same schools up\nto seventeen and eighteen. We have heard of a college in which boys\nand girls were educated together and live under the same roof; and we\nhave been told of even girls' boarding-schools having been broken up\non account of vice and disease. But rather than speak ourselves, we\nprefer to quote the published evidence of a Californian as to the\nmoral state of society:\n\n  \"In no part of the world is the individual more free from restraint.\n  Men, and women, and children are permitted to do nearly as they\n  please. High wages, migratory habits, and bachelor life are not\n  favorable to the maintenance of stiff social rules among men, and\n  the tone of society among women must partake to a considerable\n  extent of that among men, especially in a country where women are in\n  a small minority, and are therefore much courted. Public opinion,\n  which as a guardian of public morals is more powerful than the forms\n  of law, loses much of its power in a community where the inhabitants\n  are not permanent residents. A large portion of the men in\n  California live either in cabins or in hotels, remote from women\n  relatives, and therefore uninfluenced by the powers of a home. It is\n  not uncommon for married women to go to parties and balls in company\n  with young bachelor friends. The girls commence going into \"society\"\n  about fifteen, and then receive company alone, and go out alone with\n  young men to dances and other places of amusement. In this there is\n  a great error: too much liberty is allowed to girls in the states on\n  the Atlantic slope, and still greater {810} liberty is given here,\n  where, as they ripen earlier, they should be more guarded.\"\n  [Footnote 146]\n\n  [Footnote 146: \"Resources of California,\" p, 364. ]\n\nAgain:\n\n  \"The relation between the sexes is unsound. Unfortunate women are\n  numerous, and separations and divorces between married couples\n  frequent. No civilized country can equal us in the proportionate\n  number of divorces. Our laws are not so lax as those of several\n  states east of the Mississippi; but the circumstances of life are\n  more favorable to separation. The small proportion of women makes a\n  demand for the sex, and so when a woman is oppressed by her husband\n  she can generally find somebody else who will not oppress her, and\n  she will apply for a divorce. The abundance of money is here felt\n  also. To prosecute a divorce costs money, and many cannot pay in\n  poorer countries. During 1860, eighty-five divorce suits were\n  commenced in San Francisco, and in sixty-one of these, or\n  three-fourths of the cases, the wives were the plaintiffs.\"\n\nWe need add no comment. Such being the tone and condition of society,\nof what inestimable value must not good Catholic colleges be to the\nwhole country! They are highly appreciated by many who are not\nCatholics: for they send their children to Santa Clara, and to the\nconvents of Notre Dame, being fully persuaded that they will not only\nbe educated in the soundest principles of morality, and be fenced in\nfrom evil, but will receive a higher intellectual training than they\ncould elsewhere. Society, indeed, must modify any particular system of\neducation; and the Jesuits have had to depart from their traditional\npractice of a thorough classical training, in favor of positive\nsciences, especially chemistry and mineralogy, and to adopt the\nutilitarian line of instruction rather than that which is the habit in\nEurope. Their colleges in Santa Clara and in San Francisco, and the\nschools of Notre Dame, must be marked as the principal educational\nestablishments in California; and they are telling steadily upon the\npeople.\n\nThe archbishop has also opened another college in behalf of the middle\nclasses, which no doubt will bear its fruit. All are thus amply\nprovided for; and no one points a finger of scorn toward the Catholic\nChurch for ignorance and neglect of education; rather she is looked\nupon as pre-eminent in her training, and men external to her communion\nsend their children to learn wisdom at her establishments.\n\nThe sand-hills in the midst of which the college and church of St.\nIgnatius were placed, have long since been carried away by the\nvigorous application of steam-power, and these religious buildings\nstand out prominent upon the widest street in California.\n\nA brief allusion to the work carried on in this church, and we come to\na conclusion. We have already referred at some length to the sermon\nand lecture-going habit of the Americans, and to the conquests which\nthe Catholic Church alone has the power to make among them, by\naddressing herself to their good qualities, and thus leading them to\nGod by the cords of Adam. Long ago the archbishop perceived this, and\nacted promptly by planting in the capital, in addition to the busy,\nactive secular clergy, this community of St. Ignatius, with its\nleisure, talent, and training, to meet special requirements; and\nstatistics would show with what success his grace's plans have been\ncrowned. But we must pass on, and confine our notice to a particular\nindustry of the society, which at San Francisco has received a special\nblessing. Or rather, it is not a specialty of the society, but a\ncommon arm in the armory of the Church; we refer, to the system of\nsodalities and confraternities. The idea was first introduced by St.\nFrancis and St. Dominic in their third orders, and was perfected and\npractically {811} applied to various devout ends by St. Charles, St.\nIgnatias, and St. Philip, in the sixteenth century St. Charles covered\nhis diocese with confraternities as with so many nets. St. Philip\norganized the little oratory, and the Jesuits wherever they establish\nthemselves are careful to found the sodality of the B. Virgin, and\nthat of St. Joseph as the patron of the _Bona Mors_, in their colleges\nor among the frequenters of their public churches. Nothing can exceed\nthe importance of these sodalities and confraternities, and we dwell\non the subject all the more willingly, because of our own need of\ntheir more perfect development and spread among ourselves. It strikes\nus that such associations are more than ever desirable in countries\nlike England and America, where external dangers and seductions are so\nnumerous and insidious, and ecclesiastical influence so limited.\n\nIn Catholic countries the population is studded with religious houses,\nconvents, and communities, and the priesthood is numerous, visible to\nthe eye of the public, clothed in its own dress, affecting all classes\nof society, and holding a political and national status of its own.\nTheir influence, therefore, is strong and ever present. It is\notherwise with the English clergy, who have not one of the advantages\nalluded to, but are absorbed in begging and building with one hand,\nwhile with the other they hastily baptize, absolve, and anoint the\nnew-born, the viator, and the dying. Now well-organized sodalities of\nlaymen supply the absence of those more powerful influences, of which\nwe daily lament the loss. They are a security to each member against\nhimself, and they quicken him with a new zeal and activity for his\nneighbor. In San Francisco there is a sodality for men and one for\nwomen. They hold their respective meetings, sing the office of the\nBlessed Virgin, receive instructions, and frequent the sacraments on\nappointed days: they have also their library. The object is purely\nspiritual, and we believe there is no kind of obligatory subscription.\nIs a youth being led away, or in the midst of dangers, his friend\ninduces him to join him in the sodality. It is a spiritual citadel\ninto which all may enter, and find a new armor and strength against\nself and the world. Those newly born to the faith are gradually and\neasily edified and perfected in their new religion, by contact with\nthe more fervent members whom they find in the sodality. Such a system\ncannot be too widely spread. Why should not a sodality be established\nin every considerable parish? After a time, all would loudly proclaim\nthat they had built up a tower of strength within the Church. But we\nmay not dwell longer on these topics.\n\nThe great spiritual dangers in California are rank infidelity and\nunblushing naturalism: the one and only promise of religion, the one\nhope of salvation, is in the attitude and position of the Catholic\nChurch. Mr. Hittel sums up the relative numbers thus: about fourteen\nper cent, of the male population frequent some place of worship; of\nthe remaining eighty-six per cent., one-third occasionally go to\nchurch, according to the attraction there, and two-thirds never go\nnear a church, and are not to be counted as Christians. He estimates\nthe Protestants at 10,000, of whom the Episcopalians are numbered at\nonly 600 communicants, with twenty churches and eighteen clergymen;\nthe Jews at 2,000. The Catholic priests, he adds, claim 80,000\ncommunicants in their church, and they are more attentive to the forms\nof their faith than are the Protestants. In a word, Catholicity is in\nthe ascendant, the sects are in the decline, and the battle is between\npaganism with a mythology of dollars, and the Church of God with her\nprecepts of self-denial and her promises of eternal life.\n\n------\n\n{812}\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nPATIENCE.\n\nFROM THE GERMAN.\n\n\n  All through this earth we live in\n    A silent angel goes,\n  Sent by the God of mercy\n    To soften earthly woes.\n  Sweet peace and gracious pity\n    In his meek eyes abide;\n  That angel's name is Patience--\n    Oh, take him for your guide.\n\n  His gentle hand will lead thee\n    Through paths of grief and gloom;\n  His cheering voice will whisper\n    Of brighter days to come;\n  For when thy heart is sinking,\n    His courage faileth not;\n  He helps thy cross to carry,\n    And soothes the saddest lot.\n\n  He turns to chastened sadness\n    The anguished spirit's cry;\n  The restless heart he calmeth\n    To meek tranquillity;\n  The darkest hour will brighten\n    At his benign command,\n  And every wound he healeth\n    With slow but certain hand.\n\n  He dries, without reproving.\n    The tears upon thy cheek;\n  He doth not chide thy longings.\n    But makes them calm and meek;\n  And if, when storms are raging,\n    Thou askest, murmuring, \"Why?\"\n  He answers not, but pointeth\n    With quiet smile on high.\n\n  He hath not ready answer\n    For every question here;\n  \"Endure,\" so runs his motto--\n    \"The time for rest is near.\"\n  So, with few words, beside thee\n    Fareth thine angel-friend;\n  Thinking not of the journey,\n    But of its glorious end.\n\n------\n\n{813}\n\n\nFrom The Literary Workman.\n\nTHE TWO FRIENDS OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.\n\n\nThe first attraction to all Catholics who visit Antwerp is its\ncathedral, which still remains after so many tempests of war and\nsedition the glory of the city.\n\nBut there exists in one of the other churches a monument which has an\ninterest for English and Scotch Catholics almost personal; it is in\nthe church of St. Andrew, which was founded in the year 1529. Like\nmost of the churches in Belgian towns, it is of considerable size and\nlofty. It contains one of the pulpits for which Belgium, more than any\nother country in Europe, is famous. On the floor of the church, in\nfront of the pulpit, and immediately under the preacher, is a\nrepresentation in carved wood of the great event recorded in the\nsixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth verses of the first chapter of\nSt. Mark's Gospel:\n\n\"And passing by the sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew his\nbrother casting nets into the sea, for they were fishermen: and Jesus\nsaid to them, Come after me and I will make you to become fishers of\nmen. And immediately leaving their nets, they followed him.\"\n\nThe same event is recorded in St. Matthew. The whole scene is\nrepresented in the most life-like manner. The figures of our blessed\nLord, of St. Peter and St. Andrew, are of the size of life, or nearly\nso. Our blessed Lord stands by himself, toward the east, looking down\nthe church. One of the apostles is seated in a boat round which\nshallow waves are rippling. The other stands by the boat on the shore.\nA net contains fish, which show all the attitudes of fish just caught\nand brought to land. The figure of our blessed Lord, and the attitude\nof the future apostles listening to him with the utmost reverence, are\ngiven with profound truth, and are full of the purest sentiment of\nreligion. The pulpit has a sounding-board on which stands the cross of\nSt Andrew, supported by small angelic figures. It is however the scene\non the floor of the church which is the great object of admiration.\nThe pulpit is fixed against one of the pillars of the nave, and a\nlittle eastward of it, beyond the next pillar, is an altar inclosed by\na marble screen. Against the pillar nearest to the altar, and behind\nit, is placed the monument which has so great an attraction for\nCatholics speaking the English tongue.\n\nIt is called in the guide-books, \"A marble monument raised to the\nmemory of Mary Stuart by two English ladies.\"\n\nBut this is not exactly true. It is the monument, as will be seen, of\ntwo English ladies: and it was obviously intended also to honor the\nmemory of their sovereign and mistress the queen. It is placed high up\nthe pillar, quite out of reach; but the inscription upon it can be\nread perfectly by spending some time and trouble in considering it.\n\nThe inscription occupies the whole centre of the monument. It is in\nLatin, and the following is a literal translation of it:\n\n\"Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland and France, mother of James, King of\nGreat Britain, coming into England in the year 1568, for the sake of\ntaking refuge, was beheaded through the perfidy of her kinswoman\nElizabeth, reigning there, and through the jealousy of the heretical\nparliament, {814} after nineteen years of captivity for the sake of\nreligion. She consummated her martyrdom in the year of our Lord 1587,\nand in the 45th year of her age and of her reign.\n\n\"Sacred to God, beat and greatest.\n\n\"You behold, oh traveller, the monument of two noble matrons of Great\nBritain who, flying to the protection of the Catholic king from their\ncountry, for the sake of orthodox religion, here repose in the hope of\nthe resurrection.\n\n\"First, Barbara Mowbray, daughter of the Lord John, Baron Mowbray,\nwho, being lady of the bedchamber to the most serene Mary Stuart,\nQueen of Scotland, was given in marriage to Gilbert Curle, who for\nmore than twenty years was privy councillor. They lived together\nhappily for twenty-three years, and had eight children. Of these six\nhave passed to heaven; two sons, still alive, were trained in liberal\nstudies. James entered the Society of Jesus at Madrid, in Spain;\nHippolytus, the younger, made his choice to be enrolled in the army of\nChrist in the Society of Jesus in the province of French Flanders. He,\nsorrowing, and with tears, made it his care to place this monument to\nthe memory of his admirable mother, who, on the last day of July, in\nthe year 1616, and in the 57th year of her age, exchanged this\nunstable life for the life of eternity.\n\n\"Secondly, the memory of Elizabeth Curle, his aunt, of the same noble\nrace of the Curles, who also was the faithful companion of the chamber\nand the imprisonment of Queen Mary for eight years; and to whom the\nqueen at her death gave her last kiss; who never married, and lived a\nlife eminent for piety and chastity. Hippolytus Curle, son of her\nbrother, in great good will, in memory of her deserts, and as an\nexpression of his own love and gratitude, placed this monument here.\nShe ended her life in the year of our Lord 1620, on the 29th day of\nMay, in the 60th year of her age.\n\n\"May they rest in peace. Amen.\"\n\nOpposite to your left hand, as you look at the monument, by the side\nof the inscription, is the figure of a female saint holding a book,\nand underneath, in large letters, ST. BARBARA.\n\nOn the other side of the inscription is another female saint, holding\nup her dress, with gold loaves in it, under her left arm, and one gold\nloaf in her right hand. Underneath her is written ST. ELIZABETH. This\nis St. Elizabeth of Hungary. At the top of the monument, inclosed in a\npediment of marble, is a very agreeable painting of the queen, and at\nthe bottom of the monument, below the inscription, is a lozenge of\nwhite marble, showing the arms of Scotland, France, and England,\ncarved, but not colored.\n\nMiss Strickland, in the last volume of her life of Mary, Queen of\nScots, gives a version of this epitaph, and mentions the fact of the\nburial of these ladies in the church of St. Andrew. The version of the\nepitaph which we have given is more exact than that given by Miss\nStrickland; and Miss Strickland is mistaken in saying that the church\nof St. Andrew is a \"small Scotch church.\"\n\nIndeed it is difficult to know how such an expression could be applied\nto St. Andrew's church. It is certainly not a small church, as we have\nsaid; and is certainly not a Scotch church, in any intelligible sense\nof that expression. It was built in 1529, under the government of\nMargaret of Austria, Duchess of Parma. Miss Strickland mentions the\npainting at the top of the monument as having been brought over to\nAntwerp by Elizabeth and Barbara Curle. But in speaking of the family,\nof Mowbray she has failed to do justice to the religion of these\nladies.\n\nShe says that \"Barbara and Gillies Mowbray, the two youngest daughters\nof the Laird of Barnborough, a leading member of the Presbyterian\nCongregation, . . . sought and succeeded in obtaining the melancholy\nprivilege of being added to the prison-household {815} of their\ncaptive queen--a favor they might probably have solicited in vain if\nthey had not been Protestants, and their father, Sir John Mowbray, a\nstaunch adherent of the rebel faction\" (p. 380).\n\nShe gives no authority for her statement as to the religion of the\ndaughters, Barbara and Gillies, and the probabilities, in the absence\nof evidence, seem all to lie the other way. But in any case, it is\nobvious that they were Catholics in Antwerp.\n\nMiss Strickland, in describing the absurd travestie of a funeral\nperformed by the Protestant ministers in Peterborough cathedral over\nthe body of the Scotch queen, five months after she had been murdered,\nmentions that none of the queen's train would attend at the Protestant\nservices, \"with the exception of Sir Andrew Melville and the two\nMowbrays, who were members of the Reformed Church.\"\n\nIf it is true that those two ladies did consent to be present when all\nthe others refused, with great contempt, there certainly is a\npresumption that at that time they continued in the religion of Knox.\n\nThe fact is, indeed, capable of another very natural explanation. They\nmight have chosen to see the last of their mistress; remaining present\nwithout taking any part in the shameful ceremonies.\n\nOne significant statement in the epitaph which we have given, and\nwhich Miss Strickland has omitted, makes it certain that if Gillies\nMowbray continued in Knox's or any other form of heresy, her sister\nBarbara Mowbray, wife of Gilbert Curie, was a Catholic before leaving\nEngland. The words omitted by Miss Strickland we now reprint in\nitalics: \"You behold, oh traveller, the monument of two noble matrons\nof Great Britain, _who, flying to the protection of the Catholic king\nfrom their country for the sake of orthodox religion, here repose in\nthe hope of the resurrection._\"\n\nMiss Strickland's account of the monument also omits to notice the\nqueen's arms which we have mentioned. This Widow's Lozenge tells the\nwhole case against her rival Elizabeth. Persons who understand the\nlaws of heraldry see its meaning at once. But for general readers it\nis enough to say that the arms of Scotland are put first, then the\narms of England as they were used at that period by English\nsovereigns. Now, if Elizabeth had been legitimate, and had a just\ntitle to the throne, Queen Mary would have had no just right to place\nthe English arms in her lozenge. The act of placing these arms on the\nmonument of the Curles was a protest against the illegitimate usurper\nwho had murdered the true heir.\n\nMiss Strickland furnishes the date of the marriage of Gilbert Curie\nand Barbara Mowbray. It took place in Tutbury Castle, in\nStaffordshire, in November, 1586, a few weeks after the sisters had\narrived there to attend upon the queen. Very soon afterward, at\nFotheringay, they had to attend her on her way to death. Elizabeth\nCurle was one of the two, Jane Kennedy being the other, who were\nallowed by the wretches who directed her murder to stand by her and\nsee it done.\n\nMiss Strickland mentions that the conduct of the attendants of Queen\nMary at Peterborough was probably the reason why they were sent back\nto Fotheringay Castle, instead of being liberated after the pompous\nfuneral of their murdered mistress. \"They were cruelly detained there\nnearly three months, in the most rigorous captivity, barely supplied\nwith the necessaries of life, and denied the privileges of air and\nexercise.\"\n\nAmong those so detained were Gillies Mowbray, and Barbara (Mowbray)\nCurle, and Elizabeth Curle. James, then King of Scotland only, sent\nSir John Mowbray to Elizabeth to remonstrate on the treatment of Queen\nMary's servants and to demand their release. Then, having been joined\nby Gilbert Curle, {816} Barbara's husband, they sought the protection\nof the Catholic king in Antwerp.\n\nThere they rest in the church of the great apostle, the patron of\nScotland.\n\nThe unhappy woman who occupied the English throne obtained entire\nsuccess--she gained the English crown, murdered her rival, and pursued\nCatholics with death, ruin, and exile. But probably no well informed\nperson--certainly no Catholic--will doubt that these ladies, in their\nexile, their devout lives and pious deaths, enjoyed happiness unknown\nto Elizabeth in her guilty prosperity.\n\nOur readers will not be displeased to receive this short memoir of two\nladies who were the attendants of Mary, Queen of Scots, during life,\nand at her death.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.\n\nBY ROBERT CURTIS.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nThe moment it had been ascertained that Emon-a-knock had been so\nseriously hurt, _somebody_ thought--oh, the thoughtfulness of some\npeople!--that some conveyance would be required, and she was\ndetermined to take time by the forelock. Jamesy Doyle it was who had\nbeen despatched for the jennet and cart, with a token to the only\nservant-woman in the house to put a hair-mattress--she knew _where_ to\nget it--over plenty of straw in the cart, and to make no delay.\n\nJamesy Doyle was the very fellow to make no mistake, and to do as he\nwas bid; and sure enough there he was now, coming up the boreen with\neverything as correct as possible. Phil M'Dermott and Ned Murrican led\npoor Emon to the end of the lane just as Jamesy Doyle came up.\n\n\"This is for you, my poor fellow,\" said he, addressing Emon. \"An' I'm\nto lave you every foot at your own doore--them's my ordhers from th'\nould masther himsel'.\"\n\nEmon was about to speak, or to endeavor to do so; but M'Dermott\nstopped him.\n\n\"Don't be desthroyin' yourself, Emon, strivin' to spake; but let us\nlift you into the cart--an' hould your tongue.\"\n\nEmon-a-knock smiled; but it was a happy smile.\n\nOf course there was a crowd round him; and many a whispered\nobservation passed through them as poor Emon was lifted in, fixed in a\nreclining position, and Jamesy Doyle desired \"to go on,\" while Phil\nM'Dermott and big Ned Murrican gave him an escort, walking one on each\nside.\n\n\"It was herself sent Jamesy Doyle for the jennit, Judy; I heerd her\ntellin' him to put plenty of straw into the cart.\"\n\n\"Ay, Peggy, an' I heerd her tellin' him to get a hair-matt_ress_, an'\npat it atop of it. Isn't it well for the likes of her that has\nhair-matt_resses_ to spare?\"\n\n\"Ay, Nelly Gaffeny, an' didn't I hear her tellin' him to dhrive fur\nhis life!\"\n\n\"In troth an' you didn't, Nancy; what she said was, 'to make no\ndelay;' wasn't I as near her as I am to you this minute?\"\n\n\"Whist, girls!\" broke in (as Lever would say) a sensible old woman--\n\"it was ould Ned Cavana himself {817} sent Jamesy off; wasn't I\nlookin' at him givin' him the kay of the barn to get the sthraw? Dear\nme, how pleasant ye all are!\"\n\n\"Thrue for you, Katty avrone; but wasn't it Winny that put him up to\nit, an' the tears coming up in her eyes as she axed him? an' be the\nsame token, the hankicher she had in her hand was for all the world\nthe very color of Emon-a-knock's cap an' sleeves.\"\n\nThere was a good deal of truth, but some exaggeration, in the above\ngossip.\n\nIt was old Ned Cavana himself who had despatched Jamesy Doyle for the\njennet and cart, and he had also given him the key of the barn--old\nKatty was quite right so far.\n\nNow let it be known that there was not a man in the parish of\nRathcash, who was the owner of a horse and cart, who would not have\ncheerfully sent for it to bring Emon-a-knock home, when the proper\ntime arrived to do so--and Winny Cavana knew that; she knew that her\nfather would be all life for the purpose, the moment it was mentioned\nto him; and she was determined that her father should be \"first in the\nfield.\" There was nothing extraordinary in the fact itself; it was the\nrelative positions of the parties that rendered it food for the gossip\nwhich we have been listening to. But old Ned never thought of the\ngossip in his willingness to serve a neighbor. Winny had thought of\nit, but braved it, rather than lose the chance. It was she who had\nsuggested to her father to send Jamesy for the jennet, and to give him\nthe key of the barn where the _dry_ straw was. If the gossips had\nknown this little turn of the transaction, doubtless it would not have\nescaped their comments.\n\nBut we must return to the common, and see how matters are going on\nthere.\n\nTom Murdock had witnessed from no great distance the arrival of the\njennet and cart; and of course he knew them. He did not know, however,\nthat it was Winny Cavana who had sent for them--he only guessed that.\nHe saw \"that----whelp\"----he put this shameful addition to it in his\nanger--lifted into it; and if he had a regret as to the accident, it\nwas that the blow had not been the inch-and-a-half lower which Father\nFarrell had blessed his stars had not been the case. This was the\nsecond time his eyes had seen the preference he always dreaded. He had\nnot forgotten the scene with the dog on the road. He had not been so\nfar that he could not see, nor so careless that he did not remark, the\nhandkerchief; nor was he so stupid as not to divine the purport of the\namicable little battle which apparently took place between them about\nit. The color of Lennon's cap and sleeves now also recurred to his\nmind, and jealousy suggested that it was _she_ who made them.\n\nBut his business was by no means finished on the common. He could not,\nas it were, abscond, deserting his friends; and ill as his humor was\nfor what was before him, he must go through with it. It would help to\nkeep him from thinking for a while, at all events. Beside, the sooner\nhe saw Winny Cavana now the better. He would explain the accident to\nher as if it had happened to any other person, not as to one in whom\nhe believed there was a particular interest on her part. To be silent\non the subject altogether, he felt would betray the very thing he\nwished to avoid.\n\nThe hurling match over, it had been arranged that the evening should\nconclude with a dance, to crown the amicable feelings with which the\ntwo contending parishes had met in the strife of hurls. The boys and\ngirls of Rathcash and Shanvilla, whichever side won, were to mingle in\nthe mazy dance, to the enlivening lilts of blind Murrin the piper,\nwho, as he could not see the game, had been the whole afternoon\nsquealing, and droning, and hopping the brass end of his pipes {818}\nupon a square polished-leather patch, stitched upon the knee of his\nbreeches.\n\nThere now appeared to be some sort of a hitch as to the dance coming\noff at all, in consequence of the \"untoward event\" which had already\nconsiderably marred the harmony of the meeting; for it would be idle\nto deny that dissatisfaction and doubt still lingered in the hearts of\nShanvilla. Both sides had brought a barrel of beer for the occasion,\nwhich by this time it was almost necessary to put upon \"the stoop;\"\nTom Murdock superintending the distribution of that from Rathcash, and\na brother of big Ned Murrican's that from Shanvilla.\n\nBlind Murrin heard some of the talk which was passing round him about\nthe postponement of the dance. Like all blind pipers he was sharp of\nhearing, and somewhat cranky if put at all out of tune.\n\n\"Arra, what would they put it off for?\" said he, _looking_ up, and\nclosing his elbow on the bellows to silence the pipes. \"Is it because\nwan man got a cut on the head? I heerd Father Farrell say there\nwouldn't be a haporth on him agen Sunda' eight days; an' I heerd him,\nmore be token, tellin' the boys to go an' ask the Rathcash girls to\ndance. Arra, what do ye mane? Isn't the counthry gotthered now; an'\nthe day as fine as summer, an' the grass brave an' dhry, an' lashin's\nof beer at both sides, an' didn't I come eleven miles this mornin' a\npurpose, an' what the diowl would they go an' put off the dance for?\nDo you mane to say they're _onshioughs_ or _aumadhawns_, or--what?\"\n\n\"No, Billy,\" said a Shanvilla girl, with good legs, neat feet, black\nboots, and stockings as white as snow,--\"no, Billy; but neither the\nShanvilla boys nor girls have any heart to dance, after Emon-a-knock\nbein' kilt an' sent home.\"\n\n\"There won't be a haporth on him, I tell you, agen Sunda'. Didn't I\nhear Father Farrell say so, over an' over again? arra _badhershin_,\nKitty, to be sure they'll dance!\"\n\nWhile blind Murrin was \"letting off\" thus, Phil M'Dermott was seen\nreturning by a short cut across the fields toward them.\n\n\"Here's news of Emon, anyway; he's aither better or worse,\" continued\nKitty Reilly; and some dread that it was unfavorable crept through the\nShanvillas.\n\n\"Well, Phil, how is he? well, Phil, how is he?\" greeted M'Dermott from\nseveral quarters as he came up.\n\n\"All right, girls. He's much better, and he sent me back for fear I'd\nlose the first dance--for he knew I was engaged;\" and he winked at a\nvery pretty Rathcash girl with soft blue eyes and bright auburn hair,\nwho was not far off.\n\n\"Arra, didn't I know they'd dance?\" said Murrin, giving two or three\ndumb squeezes with his elbow before the music came, like the three or\nfour first pulls at a pump before the water flows.\n\nIt then ran like lightning through the crowd that the dance was going\nto begin, and old Murrin blew up in earnest at the top of his power.\nHe had, with the help of some of the best dancers amongst the girls on\nboth sides, selected that spot for the purpose, before the game had\ncommenced; and he had kept his ground patiently all through, playing\nall the planxties in Carolan's catalogue. But not without wetting his\nwhistle; for as he belonged to neither party, he had been supplied\nwith beer alternately by both.\n\nPhil M'Dermott whispered a few words to the pretty Rathcash girl, and\nleft her apparently in haste. But she was \"heerd\" by one of our\ngossips to say, \"Of course, Phil; but I will not say 'with all my\nheart;' sure, it is only a pleasure postponed for a little,--now\nmind, Phil.\"\n\n\"Never fear, Sally.\" And he was off through the crowd, with his head\nup.\n\nPhil's expedition was to look for Winny Cavana, to whom Emon-a-knock\nhad been engaged for the first dance; and as he knew where the {819}\nbonnet trimmed with broad blue ribbon could be seen all day, he made\nfor the spot. As he came within a few perches of it, he saw Tom\nMurdock in seemingly earnest conversation with the object of his\nsearch, and he hung back for a few minutes unperceived.\n\nTom Murdock, we have seen, was not a man to be easily taken aback by\ncircumstances, or to stand self-accused by any apparent consciousness\nof guilt. Guilty or not, he always braved the matter out, whatever it\nmight be, as an innocent man would, and ought. As the dance was now\nabout to begin, and old Murrin's pipes were getting loud and\nimpatient, Tom made up to Winny. He had watched an opportunity when\nshe was partly disengaged from those around her; and indeed, to do\nthem justice, they \"made themselves scarce\" as he approached.\n\n\"They are going to dance, Winny; will you allow me to lead you out?\"\nhe said.\n\nWinny had been pondering in her own mind the possibility of what had\nnow taken place; and after turning and twisting her answer into twenty\ndifferent shapes, had selected one as the safest and best she could\ngive, with a decided refusal. Now, when the anticipated moment had\narrived, and she was obliged to speak, she was almost dumb. Not a\nsingle word of any one of the replies she had shaped out--and least of\nall the one she had rehearsed so often as the best--came to her aid.\n\n\"Will you not even answer me, Winny?\" he added, after an unusually\nlong pause.\n\n\"I heard,\" she said hesitatingly, \"that, as a proof of the good-will\nwhich was supposed to exist between the parishes, the Rathcash men\nwere to ask the Shanvilla girls, and Shanvilla the Rathcash.\"\n\n\"That may be carried out too; but surely such an arrangement is not to\nprohibit a person from the privilege of asking a near neighbor.\"\n\n\"No; but you had better begin, as leader, by setting the example\nyourself. You were head of the Rathcash men all day, and they will be\nlikely to take pattern by you.\"\n\n\"Well, I shall _begin_ so, Winny; but say that you will dance with me\nby-and-by.\"\n\n\"No, Tom, I shall not say any such thing, for I do not intend to do\nso. I don't think I shall dance at all; but if I do, it shall be but\nonce--and that with a Shanvilla man.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say, Winny, that you came here to-day intending to\ndance but once?\"\n\n\"I mean to say,\" she replied rather haughtily, \"that you have no right\nto do more than ask me to dance. That is a right I can no more deny\nyou than you can deny me the right to refuse. But you have no right to\ncross-question me.\"\n\n\"If,\" he continued, \"it is in consequence of that unfortunate\naccident, I protest--\"\n\n\"Here, father,\" said Winny, interrupting him and turning from him;\n\"shall we go up toward the piper? I see they are at it.\"\n\nTom stood disconcerted, as if riveted to the spot; and as old Ned and\nhis daughter walked away, he saw Phil M'Dermott come toward them. He\nwatched and saw them enter into conversation.\n\nThe first question old Ned asked, knowing that Phil had gone a piece\nof the way home with him, was of course to know how Emon was.\n\n\"So much better,\" said Phil, \"that he had a mind to come back in the\ncart an' look on at the dancin'; but of course we would not let him do\nso foolish a turn. He then sent me back, afeerd Miss Winny here would\nbe engaged afore I got as far as her. He tould me, Miss Winny, that he\nwas to take you out for the first dance yourself; an' although Phil\nM'Dermott is a poor excuse for Emon-a-knock in a dance, or anywhere\nelse, for that matther, I hope, Miss Winny, you will dance with me.\"\n\n{820}\n\n\"_Ceade mille a faltha_, Phil, for your own sake as well as for his,\"\nsaid Winny, putting her arm through his, and walking up to where they\nwere \"at it,\" as she had said.\n\nTom Murdock had kept his eye upon her, and had seen this transaction.\nWinny, although she did not know it, felt conscious that he was\nwatching her; and it was with a sort of savage triumph she had thrust\nher arm through Phil M'Dermott's and walked off with him.\n\n\"Surely,\" said Tom to himself, \"it is not possible that she's going to\ndance with Phil M'Dermott, the greatest clout of a fellow in all\nShanvilla--and that's a bold word. Nothing but a bellows-blower to\nhis father--a common nailor at the cross-roads. Thank God, I put Emon,\nas she calls him, from dancing with her, any way. He would be bad\nenough; but he is always clean at all events, that's one thing--_neen\nhan an shin_. See! by the devil, there she's out with him, sure\nenough. I think the girl is mad.\"\n\nNow Tom Murdock's ill-humor and vexation had led him, though only to\nhimself, to give an under-estimate of Phil M'Dermott in more respects\nthan one. In the first place, Phil's father, so far from being a\ncommon nailor, was a most excellent smith-of-all-work. He made\nploughs, harrows, and all sorts of machinery, and was unequivocally\nthe best horse-shoer in the whole country. People were in the habit of\nsending their horses five, ay ten, miles to Bryan M'Dermott's\nforge--\"establishment\" it might almost be called--and Tom Murdock\nhimself, when he kept the race-mare, had sent her past half-a-dozen\nforges to get her \"properly fitted\" at Phil M'Dermott's.\n\nPhil himself had served his time to his father, and was no less an\nadept in all matters belonging to his trade; and as to \"driving a\nnail,\" there never was a man wore an apron could put on a shoe so\nsafely. A nail, too, except for the above purpose, was never made in\ntheir forge. If sometimes Phil threw up his bare hairy arm to pull\ndown the handle of the bellows, it was only what his father himself\nwould do, if the regular blower was out of the way.\n\nIn fact, \"Bryan M'Dermott and Son, Smiths,\" might have very justly\nfigured over their forge-door; but they were so well known that a\nsign-board of any kind was superfluous.\n\nThen as to being a _clout_, Phil was the very furthest from it in the\nworld, if it can have any meaning with reference to a man at all.\nThere are _nails_ called _clouts_; and perhaps as a nailor was\nuppermost in Tom's cantankerous mind, it had suggested the epithet.\n\nWe have now only to deal with the dirt--the _neen han an shin_ of his\nspite.\n\nThat Phil M'Dermott was very often dirty was the necessary result of\nhis calling, at which the excellence of his knowledge kept him\nconstantly employed. But on this occasion, as on all Sundays and\nholidays, Phil M'Dermott's person could vie with even Tom Murdock's,\n\"or any other man's,\" in scrupulous cleanliness. Now indeed, if there\nwere some streaks and blotches of blood upon the breast of his shirt,\nhe might thank Tom Murdock's handiwork for that same.\n\nSuch as he was, however, bloody shirt and all, Winny Cavana went out\nto dance with him before the whole assembly of Rathcash boys,\nspeckless as they were.\n\nKate Mulvey had been endeavoring to carry on her own tactics privately\nall the morning, and had refused two or three Shanvilla boys, saying\nthat she heard there would be no dance, but that if there was, she\nwould dance with them before it was over. She now _accidentally_ stood\nnot very far from where Tom had been snubbed and turned away from by\nher bosom friend, Winny Cavana. Tom Murdock saw her, and saw that she\nwas alone as far as a partner was concerned.\n\nDetermined to let Winny see that there were \"as good fish in the sea\nas {821} ever were caught,\" and that she had not the power to upset\nhis enjoyment, Tom made up to Kate, and, assuming the most amiable\nsmile which the wicked confusion of his mind permitted, he asked her\nto dance.\n\n\"How is it that you are not dancing, Kate? Will you allow me to lead\nyou out?\"\n\n\"I would, Tom, with the greatest possible pleasure; but I heard the\nRathcash boys were to dance with the Shanvilla girls, and so by the\nothers with the Rathcash girls.\"\n\n\"That's the old story, Kate. It was thrown up to me just now; but\nthere is no such restriction upon any of us at either side. And I'll\ntell you what it is, Kate Mulvey--not a Shanvilla girl I'll dance with\nthis day, if I never struck a foot under me!\"\n\nKate was not sorry to find him in this humor. If she could soothe\nround his feelings on her own account now, all would be right. Under\nany phase of beauty, Kate's expression of countenance was more amiable\nthan Winny Cavana's, although perhaps not so regularly handsome, and\nshe felt that she was now looking her best.\n\n\"Fie, fie, Tom; you should not let that little accident put you\nthrough other like that, to be making you angry. I heard that was the\nrule, and I refused a couple of the Rathcash boys. But if you tell me\nthere is no such rule, sure I'll go out with you, Tom, afore any man\nin the parish.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Kate; and if you wish to know the truth, there's not a\ngirl in Rathcash, or Shanvilla either, that I'd so soon dance with.\"\n\n\"Ah,_na bocklish_, Tom; you'll hardly make me b'lieve that.\"\n\n\"Time will tell, Kate dear,\" said he, and he led her to the ring.\n\nKate made herself as agreeable as possible; amiable she always was.\nShe rallied her partner upon his ill-humor. \"It is a great shame for\nyou, Tom,\" she said, \"to let trifles annoy you--\"\n\n\"They are not trifles, Kate.\"\n\n\"The way you do, where you have so much to make you happy; plenty of\nmoney and property, and everybody fond of you.\"\n\n\"No, not everybody.\"\n\n\"And you can do just as you like.\"\n\n\"No, I can't.\"\n\n\"And there won't be a pin's-worth the matter with young Lennon in a\nfew days; and sure, Tom, every one knows it was an accident.\"\n\n\"No, not _every_ one,\" thought Tom to himself. The other interruptions\nwere aloud to Kate; but she kept never minding him, and finished what\nshe had to say.\n\n\"It is not that all but, Kate,\" said Tom.\n\n\"Oh, I see! I suppose Winny has vexed you; I saw her laying down the\nlaw.\"\n\n\"She'd vex a saint, Kate.\"\n\n\"Faix, an' you're not one, Tom, I'm afeerd.\"\n\n\"Nor never will, _I'm afeerd_,\" said he, forgetting his manners, and\npronouncing the last word as she had done, although he knew better.\n\nShe saw he was greatly vexed, but she did not mind it.\n\n\"If I were you, Tom,\" she continued, \"I would not be losing my time\nand my thoughts on the likes of her.\"\n\nThis last expression was not very complimentary to her friend; but\nKate knew she would excuse it (for she intended to tell her), as it\nwas only helping her out.\n\n\"You are her bosom friend, Kate,\" he went on, \"and could tell me a\ngreat deal about her, if you liked.\"\n\n\"I don't like, then; and the sorra word I'll tell you, Tom. If you're\nnot able to find out all you want yourself, what good's in you?\"\n\n\"Well, keep it to yourself, Kate; I think I know enough about her\nalready.\"\n\n\"See that, now; an' you strivin' to pick more out of me! This much\nI'll tell you, any way, for you're apt to find it out yourself--that\nshe's as stubborn a lass as any in the province of Connaught What she\nsays she won't do, she _won't_.\"\n\n{822}\n\n\"And what I say I will do, I _will_; and I'll take that one's pride\ndown a peg or two, as sure as my name is Tom Murdock, and that before\nEaster Monday.\"\n\n\"Whist, Tom agra; she's not worth putting yourself in a passion about:\nand she's likely enough to bring her own pride low enough. But betune\nyou an' me, I don't think she has very much. Whisper me this, Tom; did\nshe ever let on to you?\"\n\n\"Never, Kate; I won't belie her.\"\n\n\"Answer me another question now, Tom; did she ever do th' other\nthing?'\n\n\"You are sifting me very close, Kate. Do you mean did she ever refuse\nme?\"\n\n\"I do, just; and what I'm saying to you, Tom, is for your good. I'm\nafeerd it's for her money you care, and not much for herself. Now,\nThomas Murdock, I always thought, an' more than myself thought the\nsame thing, that the joining of them two farms in holy wedlock was a\nbad plan, and that _one_ of you would find it a dear bargain in the\nend.\"\n\n\"Which of us, Kate?\"\n\n\"Not a word you'll tell, Tom avic. There's the floore idle; come out\nfor another dance;\" and she gave him one of her most beautiful looks.\nHe was glad, however, that her volubility prevented her from observing\nthat he had not answered her _other_ question.\n\nKate succeeded during this second dance in putting Tom into somewhat\nbetter humor with himself. He had never thought her so handsome\nbefore, nor had he until now ever drawn a comparison between herself\nand Winny Cavana as to beauty of either face or figure, neither of\nwhich it now struck him were much, if at all, inferior to that\ncelebrated beauty; and he certainly never found her so agreeable. He\nlistened with a new pleasure to her full rich voice, and looked\noccasionally, unperceived (as he thought) into her soft swimming eyes,\nand were it not for pure spite toward \"that whelp Lennon,\" and indeed\ntoward that \"proud hussy\" Winny Cavana herself he would, after that\nsecond dance, have transferred his whole mind and body to the said\nKate Mulvey on the spot. He considered, at all events, that he had\nKate Mulvey hooked, however slightly it might be. But he would play\nher gently, not handle her too roughly, and thus keep her on his line\nin case he might find it desirable to put the landing-net under her at\nany time. He never thought she was so fine a girl.\n\nBut then he thought again: to be cut out, and hunted out of the field,\nwith all his money, by such a fellow as that, a common day-laborer,\nwas what he could not reconcile himself to. As for any real love for\nWinny Cavana, if it had ever existed in his heart toward her, it had\nthat day been crushed, and for ever; yet notwithstanding the favorably\ncircumstances for its growth, it had not yet quite sprung up for\nanother. A firm resolve, then, to see his spite out, at any cost to\nhimself, to her, and to \"that whelp,\" was the final determination of\nhis heart after the day closed.\n\nWinny Cavana, having danced with Phil M'Dermott until they were both\ntired, sat down beside her father on a _furrum_. Several of the\nShanvilla, and some of the Rathcash, boys \"made up\" to her, but she\nrefused to dance any more, pleading fatigue, which by-the-bye none of\nthem believed, for it was not easy to tire the same Winny Cavana\ndancing. After sitting some time to cool, and look on at the neighbors\n\"footing it,\" she proposed to her father to go home; and he, poor old\nman, thought \"it was an angel spoke.\" He would have proposed it to\nWinny himself long before, but that he  did not wish to interfere with\nher enjoyment. He thought she would have danced more, but was now glad\nof the reprieve; for to say the truth it was one to him. He, and\nWinny, and Bully-dhu, who had been curled up at his feet all day, then\nstood up, and went down the boreen together; Bully careering and\nbarking round them with his usual activity.\n\n{823}\n\nWe need not remain much longer at the dance ourselves. In another half\nhour it was \"getting late,\" the beer was all out, Murrin's pipes were\ngetting confused, and Rathcash and Shanvilla were seen straggling over\nthe hills in twos and threes and small parties toward their respective\nhomes.\n\nWe cannot do better than end this chapter with a hearty Irish wish--\n\"God send them safe!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nThis great hurling match, although much spoken of before it came off,\nwas so universally believed to be a mere amicable, a _bona-fide_ piece\nof holiday recreation, and not an ostensible excuse for the ulterior\npurposes of Ribbonism, or a fight, that no precautions had been deemed\nnecessary by the police to detect the one or to prevent the other. The\nsub-inspector (then called chief constables) had merely reported the\nfact that it would take place to the _resident_ magistrate--_lucus \u00e0\nnon_. But \"in the absence of sworn informations\" of an intended row,\nhe would neither attend himself, nor give orders for the police to do\nso, leaving the responsibility, if such existed, entirely to the\njudgment and discretion of the chief in question; who, wishing to\nenjoy the day otherwise himself, was satisfied with the report he had\nmade, and did not interfere by his own presence or that of his men\nwith the game. Thus, as \"in the absence of sworn informations\" the\nresident magistrate would not attend, and in the absence of the\nresident magistrate the chief would not attend, Rathcash and Shanvilla\nhad it all to themselves. Perhaps it was so best for the _denouement_\nof this story; for had the police been present, the whole thing from\nthat point might have ended very differently.\n\nBut although it had not been thought necessary that a police-party\nshould put a stop to the day's sport on the common, it is not to be\nsupposed that they could hear of a man \"having been murdered\" on the\noccasion without being instantly all zeal and activity. Like the three\nblack crows, the real fact had been exaggerated, and so distorted as\nto frighten both the chief and the resident magistrate, but\nprincipally the latter, as the intended assembly had been reported to\nhim. However, \"better late than never.\" They heard that the man was\nnot yet dead, and away they started on the same jarvey, to visit him,\non the morning after the occurrence.\n\nTheir whole discussion during the drive--if an explanation by the\nmagistrate could be called a discussion--was on the safest and the\nmost legal method of taking a dying man's depositions, and wondering\nif he knew who struck the fatal blow in this instance, and if the\npolice had him in custody, etc.\n\nThey soon arrived at the house, but saw no sign of a crowd, or of\npolice, whom the chief would have backed at any odds to have met on\nthe road with a prisoner.\n\n\"Is he still alive?\" whispered the resident magistrate to the father,\nwho came to the door.\n\n\"Oh yes, your honor, blessed be God! an' will soon be as well as\never,\" he replied. \"It was a mere scratch, an' there won't be a\nhaporth on him in a day or two. He wanted to go back to look at them\ndancin', but I kep' him lying on the bed.\"\n\n\"Does he know you?\" said the magistrate, believing that the man wanted\nto make light of it, as is generally the case.\n\n\"Does he know me, is it? athen why wouldn't he know his own father?\"\n\n\"Oh, he is sensible, then?\"\n\n\"Arrah, why wouldn't he be sensible? the boy was never anything else.\"\n\n{824}\n\n\"That's right. Does he know who struck the blow?\"\n\n\"Ochone, doesn't every one know that, your honor? Sure, wasn't it Tom\nMurdock? an' isn't his heart bruck about it?\"\n\nHere the constable and two men of the nearest police station came up\nat the \"double\" wiping their faces, to make inquiries for report; so\nthat they were not so remiss after all, for it was still early in the\nmorning.\n\nOld Lennon was annoyed at all this parade and show about the place,\nand continued, \"Athen, your honor, what do ye's all want here, an'\nthese gentlemen?\" inclining his head toward the police; \"sure there's\nnothing the matther.\"\n\n\"We heard the man was killed,\" said the chief.\n\n\"And we heard the same thing not an hour ago,\" said the constable.\n\n\"Arrah, God give ye sinse, gentlemen! Go home, an' don't be making a\nshow of our little place. I tell you there's not a pin's-worth upon\nthe boy, and the tip he did get was all accidents.\"\n\n\"I must see him nevertheless, my good man; and you need not be\nuncivil, at all events.\"\n\n\"I ax your honor's pardon; I didn't mane it. To be sure you can see\nhim; but there's no harm done, and what harm was done was an accident.\nSure Emon will tell you the whole thing how it was himself.\"\n\n\"That is the very thing I want Let me see him.\"\n\nLennon then led the way into the room where Emon was sitting up in the\nbed; for he had heard the buzz of the discussion outside, and caught\nsome of its meaning.\n\nLennon took care \"to draw\" the police into the kitchen; for there was\nnothing annoyed him more--and that, he knew, would annoy his son--than\nthat they should be seen about the place. He had taken his cue from\nEmon, who did not wish the matter to be made a blowing-horn of.\n\nA very few words with the young man sufficed to show the magistrate\nand the chief that their discussion upon the subject of taking a dying\nman's deposition had been unnecessary in this instance, however\nprofitable it might prove on some future occasion. Emon, except that\nhis bead was still tied with a handkerchief, showed no symptom\nwhatever of having received an injury. He cheerfully explained how the\nmatter had happened, untied the handkerchief promptly at the request\nof the magistrate, and showed him \"the tip,\" as he called it, he had\nreceived from Tom Murdock's hurl. There was no mystery or hesitation\nin Emon's manner of describing the matter. Murdock himself had been\nthe very first to admit and to apologize for the accident; and they\ndid not wish that any fuss should be made about it As to prosecuting\nhim for the blow, which had been casually asked, he might as well\nthink of prosecuting a man who had accidentally jostled him in the\nstreet.\n\nAll this was a great relief to the magistrate, who at once took the\nsensible view of the case, and said he was delighted to find that the\nwhole matter had been exaggerated both as to facts and extent, and\ncongratulated both himself and the police upon this happy termination\nto their zeal.\n\nThe magistrate then spoke of the propriety of \"the doctor\" seeing\nyoung Lennon, saying that these sort of \"tips\" sometimes, required\nmedical care, and occasionally turned out more serious than might at\nfirst be anticipated. But Emon told him that Father Farrell, who was\nan experienced doctor himself, had examined the wound, and declared\nthat it would not signify.\n\nThe fact was that the magistrate, in his justifiable fright, had on\nthe first report of the \"murder\" sent off four miles for the\ndispensary doctor, in case \"the man might not be yet dead,\" and he\nexpected his arrival every moment, as the point at which his valuable\naid would be required was plainly to be explained to him by the\nmessenger.\n\n{825}\n\nFinding that matters were much less serious than rumor had made them,\nand perceiving that the Lennons were far from gratified at the\nexhibition already made, he was not anxious that it should appear he\nhad sent for the doctor to raise, as it were, young Lennon from the\ndead. He was therefore determined to watch his approach, and to\npretend he was passing by on other business, and that it was as well\nto bring him in. But the doctor had not been at home when the\nmessenger called; he had been at a _real_ case--not of murder, but of\nbirth; and the magistrate and chief could not now await his arrival\nwithout awkwardness for the delay.\n\nThe magistrate was annoyed; but the chief soon set him to rights by\ntelling him that the doctor could not come there except by the road by\nwhich they should go home, and that if on his way they must meet him,\nand so they did--_powdhering_ on his pony, truly as if for life or\ndeath.\n\n\"I suppose it is all over, and that I am late,\" he said, pulling up.\n\n\"No, you are time enough,\" said the chief. \"It is nothing but a\nscratch, and was a mere accident.\"\n\n\"And there is nothing then for me to do,\" said the doctor.\n\n\"Nothing but to go _'bock again'_ like the Scotchman.\"\n\n\"No trepanning, nor 'post-mortem,' doctor,\" added the R.M. He was a\ndroll fellow, was the R.M.\n\nIt was a great satisfaction to each of these officials, as they\nsecretly considered their positions in this affair, that no person had\nbeen seriously hurt, and that the slight injury which had really taken\nplace was entirely accidental. The R.M. felt relieved upon the grounds\nthat the intended assembly had been officially reported to him and\nthat he had declined to attend, or to give any directions to the chief\nto use any precautions to preserve the peace. But then he reconciled\nhimself with the burthen of his excuse upon all such occasions, that,\n\"in the absence of sworn informations,\" he would have been safe under\nany circumstances. Still he was better pleased as it was.\n\nThe chief was relieved, because he had some idea that having reported\nthe intended assembly to the resident magistrate might have been\ndeemed insufficient, had a real homicide taken place, and that he\nshould upon his own responsibility have had a party of police in\nattendance. These officials were therefore both ready to accept,\nwithout much suspicion, the statement of young Lennon, that the blow\nwas purely accidental, and that the consequence would be of a trifling\nnature. But they were \"dark\" to each other as to the grounds upon\nwhich their satisfaction rested.\n\nThe doctor finding that there was no chance of earning a fee from the\ncoroner, turned his horse's head round and followed the car at a much\neasier pace than he had met it. He of all the officials--for he was\nconstab. doc--was least gratified with the favorable position of\naffairs. He had not only started without his own breakfast, but had\nbrought his horse out without a feed; and they had galloped four miles\nupon two empty stomachs. No wonder that he was dissatisfied as\ncompared with the magistrate and the chief. But we must recollect that\nthere was no responsibility upon him, beyond his skill involved in the\naffair; with its origin, or the fact of its having been permitted to\noccur at all, he had nothing to do. There were, therefore, no points\nof congratulation for him to muse upon, and he was vexed accordingly.\nFrom his experience of himself in the treatment of broken heads in the\ndistrict, he had no doubt that his attendance would have \"ended in\nrecovery,\" and that at least three pounds would have come down,\n\"approved\" by the government upon the chiefs report, which would be\nmuch better than the coroner's one-pound note. The disappointment had\ncompletely taken away his own hunger, but he forgot that his horse did\nnot understand these things, so he grumbled slowly home.\n\n{826}\n\nA contemplative silence of some minutes ensued between the two\nexecutives on the car, which was ultimately broken by the magistrate.\nHe, like the doctor, had had no breakfast, so certain was he of a\nmurder; but the whole thing being a bottle of smoke, he was now both\nhungry and cross. It was the chiefs car they were on, and he was\ndriving--the R.M. \"knocked that much out of him, at all events\"--so\nthere was no driver to damp the familiarity of conversation.\n\n\"It was fortunate for you, my young friend, that nothing more serious\noccurred at this same hurling match,\" said the magistrate.\n\n(Certainly he was no prig in his choice of language. He was of course\nmuch older than the chief and considered that he could carry a high\nhand with \"a mere boy\" without any experience.)\n\n\"I am extremely glad,\" replied the chief, \"for _both_ our sakes, that\nit was a mere trifle and an accident.\"\n\n\"For both our sakes! Oh, you know, my dear young friend, that, in the\nabsence of sworn informations, I was not concerned in the matter at\nall. I conceive that the whole responsibility--if there be any--in a\nmere casual meeting of the kind, where there is admittedly no\napprehension of a breach of the peace, rests entirely upon your own\njudgment and discretion. To be plain with you, except where a breach\nof the peace may be fairly anticipated, and sworn informations lodged\nto that effect, I do not think the magistrate's time should be\ninterfered with. I might have lost a petty-sessions to-day, inquiring\ninto a mere accident.\"\n\n\"But it might not have been one; and we could not have known until we\nsaw the injured man and made inquiries. But the absence of sworn\ninformations, and the fact that there was no apprehension of a row,\nwould have exonerated me from all blame as well as you. Beside, I so\nfar took the precaution of reporting the intended assembly to you,\nwith its professed object, and I took your instructions upon the\nsubject.\"\n\n\"No, you didn't; for I did not give you any.\"\n\n\"Well, I reported the meeting to you, and asked for instructions.\"\n\n\"That is the very thing which I object to--making reports without\nsufficient grounds. I should decline to act again under similar\ncircumstances.\"\n\n\"That you would do so, I have no doubt; but that you _should_ do so, I\nhave some.\"\n\n\"I am right, young sir, as well in my grammar as in my view of the\ncase; _ought_ is the word you _should_ have used, to have properly\nexpressed what you intended.\"\n\nThe chief was nettled. He was not quite certain that the R.M. was not\nright, and merely replied:\n\n\"Perhaps so, sir; but it really was not of _Lindley Murray_ I was\nthinking at the time.\"\n\nThe magistrate was softened. He felt that he had been sparring rather\nsharply with a lad not much more than one-third of his age.\n\n\"Well, I really beg your pardon,\" he said; \"I did not intend to be so\nsharp.\"\n\n\"Granted,\" said the chief, laughing; for he was not an ill-tempered\nfellow. \"But here we are at my box; come in and have some breakfast,\nand I'll drive you to petty-sessions after.\"\n\n\"Thank you very much, I'll take breakfast; for I came away in a horrid\nfuss without saying a word as to when I should be back again. I will\nnot trespass upon you, however, to do more than you have already done\nin the driving way. I had some fears when we started that we should\nhave breakfasted at dinner, some time this evening, after a coroner's\ninquest. But this is better.\"\n\nThey then gave \"the trap\" to the \"private orderly,\" and proceeded to\npunish the tea, toast, eggs, and cold ham in a most exemplary manner.\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\n{827}\n\n\nTranslated from Etudes Religieuses, Historiques et Litt\u00e9raires, par\ndes P\u00e8res de la Compagnie de J\u00e9sus.\n\n\nTHE LAST EFFORT OF CHARLES II. FOR\nTHE EMANCIPATION OF THE CATHOLICS OF ENGLAND.\n\n\nWe have already seen what fruit grew from the mission of Father James\nStuart to Whitehall; how the Duke of York and, in all probability,\nKing Charles also, abjured the Protestant faith; and how the royal\nneophyte, in the presence of his brother and his trusty counsellors,\nArundel, Clifford, and Arlington, declared his readiness to suffer\nanything, to undertake any enterprise, in order to secure liberty of\nworship for himself and his Catholic subjects.\n\nThe king knew that his conversion would arouse violent opposition,\nwould perhaps become a signal for revolt and civil war. He felt that\nhe could do nothing without the assistance of the King of France. To\nsecure his aid he secretly dispatched to Versailles Lord Arundel of\nWardour and Sir Richard Bellings, the same prudent ambassador whom he\nhad formerly dispatched to Pope Alexander VII. Out of this embassy\nresulted the treaty of Dover and the offensive alliance of France and\nEngland against Holland. Up to the present time an impenetrable veil\nhas concealed from us the real object of this treaty, and the details\nof the negotiations which led to it. Charles has been almost\nuniversally accused of submitting himself to a disgraceful vassalage\nto the French monarch, and of selling to the Bourbon for money the\nglory, the liberty, and the religion of his country. But the\nunexpected disclosures of the diplomatic archives now enable us to\nshed a new light upon this subject, and to ascertain whether Charles\nwas really moved by religions impulse when he asked Louis XIV. for\nassistance in the reestablishment of Catholicism in England, or was,\nas Lingard says, all the while trying to deceive his royal ally.\n\nLord Arundel had already been discussing the \"Catholic project\" for\nnine months with the French king before Louis' minister, Colbert, was\nlet into the secret. Colbert de Croissy, the minister's brother and\nFrench ambassador to London, was now made acquainted with Arundel's\npropositions and Louis' answers to them, and on the 12th of November,\n1669, had an interview with Charles, of which he gives the following\naccount:\n\n  \"The King of England was ready to assure me that he had no\n  unwillingness to make me acquainted with the most important secret\n  of his life. . . . In reading these papers, I could not help\n  thinking that he and the persons to whom he had intrusted the\n  conduct of this matter, were mad to think of re-establishing the\n  Catholic religion in England. In fact, no one acquainted with the\n  state of this kingdom and the disposition of the people could\n  entertain a different opinion; but, in spite of all, he hoped that,\n  with your majesty's assistance, the great enterprise would be\n  successful. The Presbyterians and other dissenters are still more\n  averse to the Anglican Church than to the Catholic. All that these\n  sectaries want is the free exercise of their own form of worship;\n  and provided they get that--and his majesty purposes to give it\n  them--they will not oppose his change of religion. Moreover, he has\n  good troops who are affectionately disposed toward him; and if the\n  late king, his father, {828} had had as many, he would have stifled\n  in their cradle the disturbances which prayed his ruin. He will\n  increase the army on the best pretexts that he can find. The\n  arsenals are all at his disposal and are well stocked. He is assured\n  of the principal places of England and Scotland. The governor of\n  Hull is a Catholic; those of Portsmouth, Plymouth, and many other\n  places which he named to me--Windsor among the rest--would never\n  depart from the obedience which they owe him. As for the troops in\n  Ireland, he hopes that the Duke of Ormond, who has preserved great\n  credit there, will always be faithful to him; and even should he\n  fail in his duty, Lord Orrery, who is a Catholic at heart, and has\n  still greater influence with that army, will lead the soldiers\n  wherever he is ordered. . . . . Finally, he told me that he was\n  driven to declare himself a Catholic both by his conscience and by\n  the confusion which he saw daily increasing in his kingdom, to the\n  detriment of his authority; and that, beside the spiritual benefit\n  which he trusted to obtain, he believed that this was the only means\n  of establishing the monarchy.\" (_Letter of Nov._13, 1669.)\n\nBut English writers maintain that, behind all this apparent zeal,\nCharles concealed an ulterior design, and wished to impose upon Louis\nfor his own ends. There would be some plausibility in the supposition\nif the conversion of England had been a matter so near to the heart of\nthe French king as is commonly imagined; but, unfortunately, it is now\nevident that \"the Catholic project\" filled only a secondary place in\nLouis XIV.'s policy. The object which then employed his chief desires\nwas the humiliation of Holland; and the more eager he was to secure\nthe cooperation of England in this enterprise, the less anxious was he\nfor a sudden return of the royal family of Whitehall to the ancient\nfaith--a change in which his penetrating eye saw grave danger to\nCharles and, by consequence, disappointment to himself. He writes in\nreply to Croissy's letter: \"I will not commence a war with Holland,\nunless the King of England join me;\" and the ambassador is instructed\nto look upon the Dutch question as the most important affair in hand.\n(_Letter of November_ 24, 1669.)\n\nCharles, too, had his plan, and to our thinking a very good one.\nColbert writes, December 5:\n\n  \"Arlington tells me that the king his master, having weighed all the\n  reasons for and against, has finally determined to begin by\n  satisfying his conscience. He adds, nevertheless, that the king may\n  change his mind; but I see plainly that he will not advise him to do\n  so; for he is persuaded that his royal master, having Spain, Sweden,\n  and Holland attached to his interests, and assured at the same time\n  of your majesty's friendship by a secret treaty, will overpower all\n  the seditions that might be excited in the kingdom by such a\n  declaration much more easily than by the way your majesty advises.\n  Moreover, I do not find him very hot against the Dutch; and I\n  confess, sire, that I am still doubtful whether the proposition to\n  attack them, conjointly with your majesty, after the declaration of\n  Catholicism shall have been successfully made, is sincere, at all\n  events on the minister's part.\"\n\nA few days afterward the draft of a treaty was sent by Arlington to\nthe Marquis de Croissy, in which occurred these words: \"The King of\nGreat Britain, after having declared himself a Catholic, . . . leaves\nto the most Christian king liberty to designate the time for making\nwar, with their united forces, upon the States General.\"\n\nLouis, on his part, ordered Colbert to stand firm: \"It would be well\nfor you not to allow Lord Arlington and the others to hope that I will\never consent to what you propose in the last place, that the treaty of\nwar against Holland should be laid aside, {829} and that we should\nagree only upon the two other points; thus the desire which they feel\nfor assistance in money and troops toward the declaration of\nCatholicism, which is what they are most anxious about, may induce\nthem to further more zealously than they do now the project for a war\nagainst Holland.\" (_Letter of Feb_. 16, 1670.)\n\nThe negotiation dragged along slowly. Disputed points became more and\nmore numerous; and the effect of all these difficulties and delays\nupon such a timid soul as Charles's may easily be imagined. As the\ntime for openly breaking with Anglicanism drew near, the obstacles in\nhis way seemed to grow more formidable than ever. His resolution was\nnot shaken; but his religious ardor gradually cooled, and human\nprudence overcame his faith. This change of disposition was observed\nby Colbert de Croissy, but does not seem to have alarmed him. He\nwrites, on the 15th of May, 1670:\n\n  \"The king has not yet determined when to make his declaration,\n  notwithstanding the urgency of those to whom he has confided his\n  secret. M. Bellings informs me that the commissioners themselves are\n  not agreed about the time; some advising that it be before the\n  meeting of parliament, and others wishing the declaration to be made\n  in full assembly of the two houses; that the King of England appears\n  to favor the latter plan, because it affords more time for delay;\n  and moreover that it cannot be later than October next, which is the\n  time for the re-adjournment. I can see that the precautions which\n  his majesty has taken are not sufficient. The troops in Scotland and\n  Ireland are nearly all Presbyterians, with whom the concession of\n  freedom of worship will weigh as nothing in the scale with their\n  hatred of the Catholics. Even the captain of the royal guard, who\n  belongs to this party, will probably be opposed to the execution of\n  his royal master's design. In fine, those who are in the secret are\n  greatly alarmed at all these dangers. _They cannot alter the kind's\n  resolution_; but a sort of libertinism (if I may use the word) makes\n  him procrastinate as much as he can.\"\n\nBut Louis XIV. was prepared with an instrument for overcoming all the\ndifficulties which Charles threw in his way. The amiable Duchess of\nOrleans, the beloved sister of the English monarch, crossed the\nChannel for no other purpose than to bring her brother's hesitation to\nan end. \"All the points of the treaty,\" says Mignet, \"had been agreed\nupon by both sides before this interview. Madame had therefore no\nquestions to negotiate with her brother; but Louis XIV. relied greatly\nupon her influence in inducing Charles II. to sign the treaty, to\nadvance the exchange of ratifications, and, what was of the utmost\nconsequence to him, to declare war against Holland before declaring\nhimself a Catholic.\" On the 30th of May, five days after the arrival\nof Henrietta, the French ambassador wrote to his court: \"Madame tells\nme that she has made an impression upon her brother's mind, and she\ncan see that he is almost disposed to declare war against the Dutch\nbefore doing anything else.\" On the 1st of June, 1670, Arlington,\nArundel, Clifford, and Bellings, on the part of England, and Colbert\nde Croissy on the part of France, affixed their signatures to the\ncelebrated treaty of Dover. If the text contains no mention of the\nmodification obtained by the young duchess, the reason undoubtedly is,\nthat, to avoid the delay which would have ensued had a new draft been\nmade out, the two sovereigns instructed their commissioners to sign it\nin its present form, with a verbal clause, guaranteed by Charles's\nword of honor, that the war against Holland should precede the formal\nacknowledgment of the king's conversion.\n\nSuch was the mysterious journey of Henrietta of England upon which\nBossuet has conferred so much undeserved celebrity. {830} When, only\ntwenty-seven days afterward, the unfortunate duchess in the midst of\nher vain triumph was overtaken by the pangs of death, it may be\ndoubted whether the recollection of her zeal for the postponement of\nher brother's conversion soothed her conscience or alleviated for her\nthe terrors of divine judgment.\n\nThe Duke of York always looked upon the war with Holland as an\nunfortunate complication which frustrated the re-establishment of the\nCatholic worship in England. In this part of the treaty of Dover he\nbeheld the first and perhaps the most dangerous of the rocks among\nwhich the Stuart dynasty ultimately foundered and disappeared for\never. Charles at first looked at things from a more assuring point of\nview. A letter to his sister, the duchess, dated June 6, 1669, shows\nhim full of hope, almost of enthusiasm, at the thought of this\nexpedition. The English navy was to take a brilliant revenge for the\ninsult received a short while before, when the Dutch flag waved\ninsolently under the walls of affrighted London. He himself,\nassociated with Louis in glory and good fortune, was finally to\ntriumph over the disasters of his family, and to enjoy for the rest of\nhis days the blessings he so ardently desired, liberty of conscience\nand peace upon the throne. But these alluring dreams were even then\ndisturbed by presentiments and uneasiness too well founded to escape\nhis penetrating mind. If he yielded after a year's resistance, it was\nthrough weakness and weariness, not through conviction.\n\nIn concluding this portion of our article, it is not amiss to inquire\nwhat purpose Charles could have had in view in attempting \"to deceive\nthe King of France.\" To be sure, surrounded as he was at home by\ndifficulties and dangers without number, he was compelled to look\nabroad for assistance and protection. But if he had consulted only his\nworldly interests, if he had not been inspired by religious motives,\nwhere would he naturally have sought for aid? Certainly he would have\nturned toward the Protestant, not the Catholic, states. His natural\nallies would have been warlike Sweden and rich and powerful Holland,\nwhose last stadtholder, William II., had espoused a princess of the\nhouse of Stuart, Charles's own sister Mary. Nothing was more popular\nat that time, throughout Great Britain, than the triple alliance. Why\nshould he break it? Why should the son of Charles I., overcoming the\nunpleasant recollections of his former sojourn at Paris, have so far\noffended the instincts and prejudices of his people as to offer the\nhand of fellowship and brotherhood to Louis XIV., and intrust to him\nhis destinies?\n\nA parallel naturally suggests itself here between the two kings; and\nperhaps if we had to assign their respective places we should not give\nthe preference to the abler or the more powerful. Louis, still young\nand engrossed, heart and soul, in his projects of greatness and\nmagnificence, was guilty of the grave wrong of making religion\nentirely subordinate to politics. Charles, no doubt, shows himself\nthrough the course of these negotiations just what he always was. Too\nsagacious not to see the dangers into which each step conducted him,\nand too timid to confront them; now urged forward by the impatient\nzeal of the Duke of York, now drawn back by his minister and confidant\nArlington--one hardly knows what he wanted to do. His frivolity, his\ninconstancy, his perpetual wavering, his disingenuousness, all the\nchief traits of his character, in fine, were displayed in these\nnegotiations of Dover. We are not disposed to deny that he was\nsensible of the temporal advantages which the friendship of his\nbrother of France seemed to promise him; but, taking all things into\nconsideration, it is he that shows the greater heart, and with him the\ncalculations of selfish humanity are sometimes at least forgotten in\nthe sovereign importance of his eternal interests.\n\n{831}\n\nThe treaty of Dover concluded, Charles secretly made preparations for\nthe war with Holland, which had now been deferred to a more distant\nday; but there were other preparations in which he took a much more\nlively interest. He knew that a terrible storm would break forth\nwhenever he should issue his bill of indulgence in favor of those who\ndisagreed with the state Church. Both French and English writers have\noften said that the king hoped to accomplish his plans by means of\nabuse of the royal prerogatives, and unconstitutional measures taken\nunder the protection of that ambitious neighbor across the channel\nwhom the Stuarts had rashly allowed to interfere in the affairs of the\nUnited Kingdom. But this is a mistake. Without the slightest violence\nor transgression of the law, Charles might have anticipated by two\nhundred years the emancipation of the Catholics of England. The\nconstitution gave him no right to change any of the existing laws; but\nit gave him power to dispense with the exaction of the penalties\nprescribed for their violation. Well, he proposed to make use of this\nprerogative in behalf of all dissenters without exception, whether\nProtestant sectaries or Catholics, and whenever a fitting opportunity\narrived to lay before parliament a new bill of indulgence.\n\nOn the 15th of March, 1672, two days before the declaration of war\nwith Holland, he issued a proclamation, in which, after remarking that\nthe experience of twelve years had proved the inutility of coercive\nmeasures in matters of conscience, he declared his good pleasure that\nevery penal law against nonconformists and recusants of every\ndescription should thenceforth be suspended. Dissenters were\nauthorized to establish places of worship; but Catholics were not\npermitted to assemble for religious exercises except in private\nhouses. This discrimination against the Catholics was the doing of the\nSecretary Bridgman, who stoutly refused to sign the document, and\nthreatened to resign, if the same privileges granted to other\nrecusants were also accorded to the Catholics. Bridgman's resignation\nwould have given the alarm to the hostile parties; so, to avoid a\ngreater evil, Charles had to submit to this odious restriction.\n\nThere was a diversity of opinions about the declaration of the 15th of\nMarch, but at first there was nothing in the state of public opinion\nto excite alarm. As for the war, if the people looked upon it without\nmuch favor, at least no one could assert that it was contrary to the\nnational interests. There were recent injuries to be avenged, glory\nand profit to be won; above all, immense advantages to accrue to\nEnglish commerce from the crippling of one of its most formidable\nrivals: all these considerations kept the minds of the nation in\nsuspense.\n\nBut unfortunately one naval engagement after another was fought with\nno decisive results; and while the French gained brilliant victories\non land, the English seemed to be only humble, docile instruments in\nthe hands of their allies. The Protestants eagerly seized upon these\ncircumstances to arouse an undertone of discontent among the masses.\nThe Duchess of York had just died a Catholic. The Duke of York, the\nheir presumptive to the throne, was strongly suspected of having\nembraced the Catholic religion. Then there was England in league with\nCatholic France against Protestant Holland; and the little army which\nCharles had sent to the continent, though placed under the command of\nSchomburg, a Calvinist (but for all that a Frenchman), had among its\nsubordinate officers a major-general, Fitzgerald, and many other\nCatholics. All these things, they said, taken in connection with the\nrecent declaration, boded nothing but evil to the Reformed churches.\n\nSuch was the state of public feeling when, after a recess of two\nyears, parliament opened at the beginning of February, 1673. In the\ntroubles {832} which he saw were coming, the king relied for\nassistance in the houses principally upon Clifford, whom he had\nappointed a lord of the treasury, and the Chancellor Ashley, recently\ncreated Earl of Shaftesbury, a man of no principle, but of great\nability and value in critical emergencies. At the opening of the\nsession Charles spoke of the French alliance, of the causes of his\nrupture with the States General, and of the declaration of indulgence,\nwhich he declared himself resolved to stand by.\n\nThe opposition had already matured their plan of campaign, and their\nfirst measure was to deprive the Catholics of their new allies by\npersuading the dissenting sects to renounce the precarious advantages\nof the declaration for the toleration, less complete, perhaps, but\nmore assured, which they would infallibly obtain from the favorable\ndispositions of the Commons. The manoeuvre was perfectly successful.\nThe Catholics were completely isolated. The \"Country Party,\" as they\ncalled themselves, then opened fire with more confidence in\nParliament. \"The attack was made,\" says Macaulay, \"not in the way of\nstorm, but by slow and scientific approaches. The Commons at first\nheld out hopes that they would give support to the king's foreign\npolicy, but insisted that he should purchase that support by\nabandoning his whole system of domestic policy. Their first object was\nto obtain the revocation of the declaration of indulgence. Of all the\nmany unpopular steps taken by the government, the most unpopular was\nthe publishing of this declaration.\" In fact, the annulment of the\nedict was a matter of life or death for the Protestants. They wanted,\nhowever, a constitutional argument, and they had not far to look for\none. We quote Macaulay again:\n\n\"It must in candor be admitted that the constitutional question was\nnot then quite free from obscurity. Our ancient kings had undoubtedly\nclaimed and exercised the right of suspending the operation of penal\nlaws. The tribunals had recognized that right. Parliaments had\nsuffered it to pass unchallenged. That some such right was inherent in\nthe crown, few even of the Country Party ventured, in the face of\nprecedent and authority, to deny. Yet it was clear that, if this\nprerogative were without limit the English government could scarcely\nbe distinguished from a pure despotism.\" A hypocritical fear of\ndespotism and inviolable respect for the law were to be the standard\nunder which the dissenters should fight, and it was agreed that the\nAnglicans should intrench themselves behind the ramparts of the\nconstitution.\n\nThe opposition in parliament did not disapprove of toleration in\nitself; they only blamed the form of the edict. They were perfectly\nwilling to alleviate the condition of the Protestant nonconformists,\nprovided it could be done through the regular parliamentary channels.\nEven if the king could remit a penalty, he could not suspend a law in\necclesiastical, any more than in civil, matters. In support of this\nposition they argued at great length, with a good deal of passion and\nobscurity and a great lack of common sense, for more than a month. The\nreal strength of the party lay in its popularity, and in that\nirresistible power which the daring aggressors of a declining monarchy\nalways possess, in every country. The partizans of the court, by their\ninjudicious defence of the crown, did their best to aid the opposite\nparty. Instead of defending the prerogative by the precedents afforded\nby previous reigns, they grounded its exercise upon the necessity for\nsome _ad interim_ power which, during the recess of parliament, might\nact upon urgent cases, and, if need were, suspend the laws. \"An\nexempting power,\" they said, \"must of necessity exist somewhere;\notherwise cases may arise, when parliament is not in session, in which\nthe welfare and even the safety of the state would be sacrificed to\nimpolitic and unreasonable {833} fears.\" This was playing directly\ninto their adversaries' hands. After long discussions, several times\ninterrupted by adjournments, the House of Commons, by a vote of 168\nagainst 116, resolved \"that the penal laws touching ecclesiastical\nmatters could not be suspended except by an act of parliament.\"\n\nIn replying to the message of the Commons, Charles declared himself\ndeeply concerned that they should question the ecclesiastical\nauthority of the crown, which had never been contested during the\nreigns of his ancestors. He certainly pretended to no authority to\nsuspend any law touching the property, rights, and liberties of his\nsubjects. His only object in the exercise of his ecclesiastical power\nwas the relief of the dissenters. He was not disposed to reject the\nadvice of parliament, and would always be found ready to agree to any\nbill which might seem better adapted than his declaration to\naccomplish the chief object which he had in view--the welfare of all\nhis subjects, and the tranquillity and stability of England. This\nmoderate language did not satisfy the house. A second address\nadmonished the sovereign that his counsellors had deceived him, and\nthat none of his ancestors had ever claimed or exercised the power of\nsuspending statutes touching ecclesiastical matters; and his faithful\nCommons implored his majesty to give them a more satisfactory and\ncomplete answer. The king felt the insult, and did not conceal his\nresentment. His course was chosen. He would dissolve parliament,\nrather than submit to the dictation of his enemies. But he hoped to\nsubdue the opposition by exciting a conflict of opinion between the\ntwo houses. He went to the House of Lords, and in a short and spirited\naddress complained that the Commons usurped the royal authority, laid\nbefore their lordships the two addresses from the lower house, with\nhis replies, and concluded by asking the advice of the hereditary\ncounsellors of the throne. Clifford followed, and pleaded with his\naccustomed fire and energy the cause of offended majesty. But the\nspirit of defection had spread even among the chiefs of the\ngovernment. The chancellor went over to the enemy. \"Shaftesbury,\" says\nMacaulay, \"with his proverbial sagacity, saw that a violent reaction\nwas at hand, and that all things were tending toward a crisis\nresembling that of 1640. He was determined that such a crisis should\nnot find him in the situation of Strafford. He therefore turned\nsuddenly round, and acknowledged in the House of Lords that the\ndeclaration was illegal.\" A month had not passed since, in another\nplace, Ashley had appealed to the justice of his fellow-subjects\nagainst the adversaries of the edict of toleration. The lords made\nhaste to follow the example of the prudent chancellor. Ten years\nbefore they had solemnly declared their opinion that Charles II. had\nreceived from the English people a legitimate mission to establish\nliberty of conscience; to-day, after maturely considering the royal\nmotion, they resolved \"that the proposal of his majesty to settle the\ndispute by parliamentary ways was a good and gracious answer.\"\n\nThe disapprobation of the Upper House filled the timid monarch with\nconsternation. Three days afterward Colbert presented himself* as the\nbearer of officious advice from Louis XIV. The King of France felt but\nlittle regret at the turn affairs were taking with his new allies; for\nthe Commons, who, in order to overthrow more surely the royal plan,\nproposed to demolish it slowly, piece by piece, had not uttered a\nsingle murmur against the French alliance or the war. Not only that,\nbut with a calculating shrewdness they had offered the king a\ncompensation for the sacrifices which they demanded of him, and\ngranted a subsidy of \u00a31,260,000 sterling, destined to be expended in\nmore vigorously pushing forward hostile operations on land and sea.\nPleased with these favorable {834} dispositions, Louis XIV.\nrepresented to his brother of England the sad consequences of a\nrupture with parliament. The wisest course was to submit to necessity.\nAt the return of peace, when Louis would have troops and money to\nspare, he would place both at the service of the Stuarts, and it would\nthen be easy to repair these temporary misfortunes. Charles listened\nwillingly to the ambassador. The offers of money he did not refuse;\nbut as for the assistance of French troops, he declared that he would\nnever use them against his subjects, unless a Second civil war should\nreduce him to the very last extremity, as it had reduced his father.\nThe same day, in council with his ministers, he withdrew his edict of\ntoleration; and the next morning, the 8th of March, he annulled it\nagain, in presence of the Lords and Commons, promising that it should\nnever serve as a precedent. The royal communication was received with\nacclamations of joy, and at night innumerable bonfires illuminated the\nstreets and squares of the capital.\n\nThe opposition party had received an impetus in its course, and it\nneeded a stronger arm than that of a Stuart to check it. The House of\nCommons was already discussing its famous test bill, by the provisions\nof which every Englishman holding any civil or military office was\nrequired to take an oath of allegiance and subscribe to the royal\nsupremacy; he was to receive the sacrament according to the rites of\nthe Established Church, and to sign a declaration against\ntransubstantiation; and the penalty for violation of this law was a\nfine of \u00a3500 sterling, and disqualification from filling any public\nfunction or dignity whatsoever, from prosecuting any cause before the\ncourts, from acting as guardian or testamentary executor, or receiving\nany legacy or deed of gift. Together with the test bill another was\nintroduced for the relief of the Protestant nonconformists. The former\npassed quickly through both houses, and became that odious law which\nEngland kept upon her statute-books until far into the present\ncentury. As for the other bill, all the well-known arts of\nparliamentary tricksters were brought to bear upon it. It was\npostponed; it was amended again and again; it was thrown out; it was\nbrought in again. At last the end of the session found it effectually\nkilled; and, despite the insidious promises which had effected a\ndivision among the several victims of the Anglican episcopacy, no new\nact was passed with regard to the dissenters.\n\nIn a single day the test act deprived the Catholic cause of all its\ndefenders. The Duke of York, who, as lord high admiral, directed the\noperations of the combined fleets of England and France, resigned his\ncommand and his commission. Clifford, though a new convert, laid down\nthe white rod. All the Catholic officials, governors, magistrates,\nnaval and military officers, retired at once. One only--who had been\nbold enough to praise the bill in the House of Lords as a wise and\nopportune measure--was exempted from taking the test oath and branded\nwith the disgrace of a national recompense. This was the same Earl of\nBristol whom the Bishop of Salisbury had regarded as the inspirer of\nthose popish tendencies which he boasted of having detected under\nCharles's dissimulation.\n\nThere was none of the cabinet whose fidelity Charles could now trust.\nShaftesbury had betrayed him; and it seemed certain that Buckingham,\nArlington, and Lauderdale were secretly in league with the chief\nagitators. In return for their services parliament granted them\ncomplete impunity for the past by freely condoning all the offences\ncommitted previous to the 25th of March.\n\nThus the isolation of the king at home was complete. Louis XIV. was\nstill left him, but he was soon to lose even this last support. At the\nbeginning of 1674 the French alliance offered only very doubtful\nadvantages. On the continent the war had assumed the proportions of a\nconflict of all Europe, and Montecuculli, seconded by {835} the Prince\nof Orange, what successfully against the genius of Turenne. On the\nsea, Prince Rupert, the successor of the Duke of York, with\nninety-ships of the line, had gained not a single notable advantage,\nthough he ought to have swept all the Dutch fleets before him. As\nLingard says, he was too intimately allied with the opposition party\nto be very eager for a victory which would have given the ascendency\nto their adversaries. Finally, the Commons manifested, from the\nopening of the new session, a decided unwillingness to vote a subsidy.\nCharles listened, therefore, to the proposals of the allied powers,\nand, of his own accord, without asking the consent of \"his suzerain\"\n(as Macaulay charges), concluded a special peace on the most honorable\nconditions. \"Necessity forbade him any longer to assist France as an\nally,\" he said to Louis' ambassador; \"but he hoped to be able to serve\nhis good brother as a mediator between him and his enemies.\"\n\nThus all Charles's plans were overthrown, and England was delivered\nfor two centuries from the twin misfortunes against which she\nstruggled with equal energy--a French alliance and the inroads of\nPopery.\n\nUnder the enormous pressure brought to bear upon him the unhappy king,\ndeserted by all his auxiliaries and all his friends, gave way, and\ntried to stifle the voice of conscience. No doubt he is gravely to\nblame when he receives the sacrament in the Protestant chapels of his\npalace, and urges the Duke of York to imitate his unworthy weakness,\nwhen he renews the protestations--which nobody believes--of his firm\nadhesion to Anglicanism. He is inexcusable for his apostacy. But that\nthese criminal actions were not incompatible with a sincere resolve to\nreturn to the Roman Catholic Church, and that one can trace in\nCharles's conduct a plan seriously conceived and for three years\nperseveringly followed, to establish freedom of Catholic worship\nthroughout the United Kingdom--these are the points which we have\nendeavored to prove. We are not without hope that we have shed some\nlight upon an important series of events, which for two centuries have\nbeen enveloped, through the bad faith of historians, in an obscurity\nthat until now the keenest glance has failed to pierce.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nSAINTS OF THE DESERT.\n\nBY THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D.\n\n\n1. A careless brother said to Abbot Antony, \"Pray for me.\"\n\nThe old man made answer: I shall not pity thee, nor will the Highest,\nunless thou hast pity on thyself, and makest prayer to God.\n\n\n2. Abbot Arsenius used to say: I have often had to repent of speaking;\nnever of keeping silence.\n\n\n3. Abbot Theodore said: If God impute to us our negligences when we\npray, and our distractions' when we sing, we cannot be saved.\n\n\n4. Abbot Pastor said: One man is at rest and prays; another is sick\nand gives thanks; a third ministers cheerfully to them both.\n\nThey are three; but their work and their merit is one.\n\n{836}\n\n5. A brother said to Abbot Sisoi: \"What must I do to keep my heart?\"\n\nThe old man made answer: Look to your tongue first, for it is nearest\nto the door.\n\n\n6. Abbot Abraham said: Passions live even in the saints here below;\nbut they are chained.\n\n\n7. Abbot John said to his brother, \"I do not like working; I wish to\nbe in peace, and to serve God without break, like an angel;\" and he\nset off to the desert.\n\nIn a week's time he returned, and knocked at his brother's door,\nsaying, \"I am John.\"\n\nHis brother answered, \"No, you are not; for John is an angel.\" He\ninsisted, \"Yes, but I am John.\"\n\nHis brother opened to him, saying, \"If you are a man, why don't you\nwork? If you are an angel, what do you knock for?\"\n\n------\n\nFrom Chambers's Journal.\n\nLITTLE THINGS.\n\n  Often, little things we hear,\n    Often, little things we see.\n  Waken thoughts that long have slept,\n    Deep down in our memory.\n\n  Strangely slight the circumstance\n    That has force to turn the mind,\n  Backward on the path of years,\n    To the loved scenes far behind!\n\n  'Tis the perfume of a flower.\n    Or a quaint, old-fashioned tune;\n  Or a song-bird 'mid the leaves.\n    Singing in the sunny June.\n\n  'Tis the evening star, mayhap.\n    In the gloaming silver bright;\n  Or a gold and purple cloud\n    Waning in the western light.\n\n  'Tis the rustling of a dress.\n    Or a certain tone of voice,\n  That can make the pulses throb.\n    That can bid the heart rejoice.\n\n  Ah, my heart! But not of joy\n    Must alone thy history tell.\n  Sorrow, shame, and bitter tears\n    Little things recall as well.\n\n------\n{837}\n\nFrom The Month.\n\n\nTHE POEMS OF ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.  [Footnote 147]\n\n  [Footnote 147: \"Legends and Lyrics.\" By Adelaide Anne Procter. With\n  an Introduction by Charles Dickens. New edition, with additions.\n  Illustrated by W.T.C. Dobson, A.B.A., Samuel Palmer, J. Tenniel,\n  George H. Thomas, Lorenz Fr\u00f6hlich, W. H. Millais, G. du Maurier.\n  W.P. Burton, J.D. Watson, Charles Keene, J.M. Carrick, M.E. Edward,\n  T. Morten. (Bell & Daldy.) \"A Chaplet of Verses.\" (Longman.)]\n\n\nThe appearance of the beautiful edition of Miss Procter's poems lately\nissued among the Christmas gift-books of the season forms a fitting\noccasion for some remarks upon the special character and genius of the\nauthoress whose verses are inscribed upon its delicately-toned pages.\nOf both the first and second series of Miss Procters \"Legends and\nLyrics\" numerous editions have been called for by the public: they are\nnow collected into a quarto, illustrated by many excellent artists,\nand are prefaced by a slight biographical introduction from the pen of\nMr. Charles Dickens, who, being intimately acquainted with Miss\nProcter's family, had known her from her early girlhood, and\nentertained for her the truest admiration and the most cordial esteem.\n\nIn attempting an analysis of Miss Procter's poetry, we may well\npreface it by a few words concerning her life and character, because\nthese were the roots of her verse. To speak of the dead is at all\ntimes a sacred thing, demanding heedful words and careful justice. To\nspeak of the beloved dead is always a doubly difficult task, requiring\na specially sober modesty of expression, even while giving some scope\nto that instinctive power of true appreciation which affection best\ninsures. The writer of these pages knew and loved her long and well;\nand in so far is qualified to speak of what she was: yet of a nature\nwhich was all womanly, and which retained to its last earthly moments\na singular charm of childlike playfulness and innocence--having been,\nas it were, at all times sheltered from life's rougher experiences--it\nis not quite easy so to speak as to bring out a distinctive image to\nthose who knew it not.\n\nAdelaide Anne Procter was born in October, 1825, in Bedford Square,\nLondon; the eldest child, the \"sweet beloved first-born,\" of Brian\nWaller Procter, best known to literature as Barry Cornwall. We have\noften heard her described as she was at three years old--\"the\nprettiest little fairy ever seen,\" with fair delicate features and\ngreat blue eyes; always frail in health, but exceedingly intelligent.\nMr. Dickens tells of a tiny album, made of note-paper, into which her\nfavorite passages of poetry were copied for her by her mother's hand\nbefore she herself could write; and she very soon began to acquire\nforeign languages, and even to learn geometry. One of her early\naccomplishments was drawing--she composed little figure pieces with\ngrace and facility; and we remember hearing from a loving relative of\nMiss Procter's, many long years ago, of a certain set of sketches of\nthe Seven Ages of Man, done by her in pencil when she was yet a little\ngirl. Being at the time still younger, we heard of it with a sort of\nadmiring awe, which it is now pathetic to remember; considering in our\nown mind what a wonderful and even alarming little girl this must be.\nSome five-and-twenty years later (since her death) those little\nsketches came to light; the sight of them smiting upon the heart with\nthe memory of that long-ago conversation, so full of fond hope and\npride.\n\n{838}\n\nMiss Procter was very thoroughly educated, and from her youth went\nmuch into society, possessing in a marked degree the best\ncharacteristics of a woman of the world. Mr. Dickens says that she had\nnothing of the conventional poetess about her; was neither melancholy,\nnor affected, nor self-absorbed. What she _had_, was the ease, the\npolish, and the extreme readiness which we are taught to consider the\ntraditionary charm of a Frenchwoman of the old school. To perfect\nself-possession she added a sort of feminine mastery of those about\nher. Single out any of the famous Parisians gifted with the power to\nwin and to keep, and imagine this sort of power grafted on to a nature\n_au fond_ very simple and sterling; and thus the reader will attain to\na conception of what she was in social life. She had deep and strong\nfeeling, which she poured out in her poetry; but it did not come\nuppermost in her conversation. _That_ was always vivid and usually\nlively, and, moreover, edged with marvellous finesse. \"Sweet-briar\"\none loving friend used to call her.\n\nHer outward life was not very varied; but her conversion to the\nCatholic faith, which took place when she was about four-and-twenty,\ngave her a wide circle of intellectual interests beyond those of\nordinary English minds. Two years later she went to Piedmont, and\npassed a year with a relative there. She always recalled this Italian\nexperience with lively pleasure; and it colored many of her poems. Her\nletters home were very lively and pictorial, showing that she would\nhave excelled in prose composition.\n\nOf her first entrance into literature Mr. Dickens has given an amusing\naccount: how she sent poems to _Household Words_ under the signature\nof Miss Berwick, and how at the office they all made up their minds\nshe was a governess; and how Miss Berwick turned out, after all, to be\nthe daughter of his old friend Barry Cornwall, who preferred to win\nher spurs with her visor down. When, some years later, she was with\nmuch difficulty induced to collect her poems into a volume, with her\nname, their success was immediate; both that volume and a second\nseries passed through edition after edition, till she truly became a\n_household word_ in England.\n\nThere is not, alas! very much more to tell. Just when she became\nfamous, and opportunities of literary exertion were opening on every\nside, her health began to fail. For three or four years before her\ndeclared illness she was very delicate, and, with the fatal animation\nof her peculiar temperament, always overworking herself. But that\ndread malady, consumption, the scourge of England, can rarely be\naverted when once it has marked its prey. In November, 1862, her\nincreasing illness first confined her to her room, and very shortly to\nher bed. For fifteen long months she lay there, wasting gradually\naway; yet not only was she patient and thoroughly resigned, but up to\nthe very last her bright cheerfulness never quite deserted her. When\nnot actually in pain, she would enter into conversation with all her\nold zest, taking just the same interest in her friends and their\naffairs; lively, sympathetic, and helpful to the end. On the very last\nevening of all, one of her friends, thinking to interest her in the\nold pursuit, brought her a little poem in proof. It was a Catholic\nballad for _The Lamp_, Miss Procter was sitting up in bed, supported\nby pillows. She was too weak to speak any unnecessary word; but her\nlarge blue eyes roused into their wonted intelligence as she listened;\nand then, with the sweet sympathy which she at all times gave to\nothers, she made a slight applauding motion with those slender wasted\nfingers, and smiled into the reader's face. It was such a very slight\nthing, and yet so utterly characteristic--courtesy and kindness and a\nsort of unselfish readiness surviving to the very end.\n\n{839}\n\nThat night, an hour after midnight, on the 2d of February, the summons\ncame. She had been reading a little book--trying to read, rather--and\nas the clock was on the stroke of one she shut it up, and with some\nsudden mysterious rush of consciousness, having suffered greatly all\nthe evening from oppressed breathing, she asked quietly of her mother,\nwho was holding her in her arms:\n\n\"Do you think I am dying, mamma?\"\n\n\"I think you are very, very ill tonight, my dear.\"\n\n\"Send for my sister. My feet are so cold--lift me up.\"\n\nHer sister entering as they raised her, she said: \"It has come at\nlast.\"\n\nAnd then, with so soft a change that the anxious eyes bent upon those\nsunken features could hardly detect the moment of her ceasing to\nbreathe, death came to the beloved of so many hearts. The prayers of\nthe Church, of which she was so devoted a child, were audibly uplifted\nthroughout that closing scene; they were the last earthly sounds that\ncan have reached the dulling ear. Opposite to her, as she lay upon her\nlittle bed, was a photograph from that loveliest image by Francia of\nthe dead Saviour lying upon his mother's knees. At all times ardently\nreligious, the last days of her frail life were elevated and cheered\nby the holy rites of her faith. As she lay in her coffin, a crucifix\nupon her breast, and camellias and violets sprinkled over her fair\nwhite garments, she looked the loveliest image of peace which a pure\nand pious life could bequeath to perishable clay. The delicate face\nwas but little changed. Up to the very last it had retained its bright\nspiritual expression, just as her voice had retained its musical\ninflections, and her smile its blended charm of affectionate sympathy\nand childlike gaiety. In death that smile had vanished for ever, but\nsomething of its sweetness still lingered about the brow and mouth.\nThe tapers for which she had asked a little while previously (for the\ndue keeping of Candlemas-day) burnt at the head of the coffin, and\nshed their soft light down upon that still face. When at length it was\ncovered up from mortal sight, and all that remained of her laid in the\ngrave at St. Mary's Cemetery, the sun shone out with the first\ncheerfulness of early spring. Coming from behind a little cloud, that\nsunshine lit up the white vestment of the priest, who, standing by her\ncoffin in the little chapel, spoke of the joyful resurrection of the\nchildren of God. There is a little garden upon that simple grave,\nwhere fresh flowers bloom every spring; and beside it many prayers are\noffered up with each returning season of the year.\n\nBut we must linger no longer on memories and associations which are\nalmost too sacred for more than a passing word. To the world at large\nMiss Procter is known through her genius only; but it is, perhaps, not\ntoo much to say, that through it she is also endeared in a singular\ndegree to thousands who never looked upon her face. To some\nconsideration of her poems we will therefore address ourselves; the\nless reluctantly that they were truly so much a revelation of her\nlife.\n\nIf canons of criticism be based on something deeper than mere\nsuperficial rules in regard to the expression of the sublime and\nyouthful, it must be doubly interesting to trace the causes of a\nwide-spread popularity attaching to any series of works from the same\npen. Such an appreciation cannot be won by a trick of form, or by a\ndeliberate appeal to well-known popular sympathies. It must arise from\nthe touching of universal emotions; from a true correspondence with\nthose thoughts and feelings which are the heritage of the race under\nits most general conditions, or which have become the common property\nof a people in all its various grades of culture.\n\n{840}\n\nThere are two theories regarding the nature of poetry and of that\nGenius which creates poetry, whether in literature or in the sphere of\nany art. They will never be harmonized; for, like many other opinions,\ndoctrines, and theories, of which we are separately forced to\nacknowledge the truth, they are irreconcilable by any effort of the\nhuman understanding. One of these theories says that genius is rare,\nrecondite, unusual; that its creations are, by the very nature of\nthings, little likely to be appreciated; that, indeed, the higher and\nthe deeper it is, the more likelihood there is that it will not be\nentered into by numbers. Such genius found its embodiment in the\nphantasmagoria of Blake, in the poetry of Shelley, in the profound\ninsight of this or that thinker. It is the vivid but momentary flash\nof lightning irradiating a sombre sky; it is the gnarled and solitary\npine; the deep still tarn upon the mountain-side; it is the vein of\nbright ore buried in the darkness of the mine; the electric thrill\nevoked from inert matter, interesting, delightful, and suggestive from\nthe very strangeness of its apparition. Who shall deny this is _one_\ndefinition of genius, one way of picturing the idea of high art?\n\nBut there is another theory, which says that genius is that which\npossesses the faculty of incarnating universal affections in a type\nreadily and instinctively appropriated by the imagination; that it\npainted the Huguenots, and wrought out the image of Jeanie Deans; that\nit sung the simple melody of \"Auld Robin Gray,\" and accumulated the\nmassive choruses of Handel; that--putting aside those greatest men,\nthe Shakespeares, Groethes, and Raphaels, regarding whom criticism or\ndefinition are alike exhaustless and for ever inconclusive--the most\nadmirable genius is that which thrills in the ballads, the religions\nliterature, and imitative art of a people, and which a whole nation\n\"will not willingly let die.\" Such genius, such art, is like the fair\nsunshine upon corn-fields, the rippling of the running stream, the\nsilver surface of the lake, the profuse luxuriance of spring and\nautumn woodlands. It embodies light, air, and the song of birds, the\nsolemnity of the universal twilight, and the radiance of the universal\ndawn. Almost every one can see and feel it in _some_ wise, though the\nkeenness of the appreciation will be in proportion to the\nsensitiveness of the eye and ear. Who shall deny that this is another\nand equally true description of the highest genius and the noblest\nart?\n\nThe poems we are now considering, and which have won such general\nadmiration wherever they have become known, belong to the latter class\nof works of art. Their simple, delicate beauty appeals alike to men\nand women, and to the soul of the young child; their transparent\nclearness is that of an unusually lucid intellect; their profoundness\nis only that of a believing heart. She who wrote them would often say,\nwith a certain characteristic simplicity, \"I only write verses--I do\nnot write poetry;\" and would fasten upon the products of some powerful\nand mystic mind as an illustration of what genuine poetry ought to be.\nBut the mis-estimate was great. The absolute absence of claptrap, of\nany appeal to the passions of the hour or the popular idols of the\nEnglish people, showed that if these volumes lay on so many tables,\nand their contents were so often sung and quoted in public and in\nprivate, as expressing just that which everybody had wanted to say,\nthe reason lay deeper than the ring of the verse-writer who knows how\nto play into the fancy of the multitude. They are popular because they\nare instinct with dainty feminine genius, and reach the hearts of\nothers with the sure precise touch of slender fingers awakening the\nsilver chords of a harp.\n\nThree volumes originally comprised the whole of Miss Procter's\nwritings: a first and second series of legends and lyrics, and one of\nreligious poems, published for a night-refuge {841} kept by Sisters of\nMercy. The two former have now been printed in this rich quarto by\nMessrs. Bell & Daldy; and it may not be amiss to say that the whole\n_three_ have been republished in America in one small but excellently\ngot-up volume, at once a casket and a shrine (Ticknor & Fields,\nBoston). Of the secular poems now brought before our English public in\nso beautiful a dress, we would attempt a slight analysis of contents.\nThere are fourteen legends or stories, long and short--little tales in\nverse, of which the gist generally lies in some very subtle and\npathetic situation of the human heart. Anything like violent wrong or\nthe ravages of unruly passion seemed rarely to cross this gentle\nimagination; and yet the legends are nearly all sorrowful; but the\nsorrow seems to spring from nobody's fault and perhaps for that very\nreason it is all the more sorrowful, for repentance will not wash it\naway. Little dead children borne to heaven on the bosom of the angels\nwhile their mothers weep below; or a dying mother, dying amidst the\nsplendors of an earl's home, and calling to her bedside the son of an\nearlier and humbler marriage, revealing herself to him at the last; or\nthe history of a stepmother, long loved but late wedded, and who had\ngiven up the lover of her own youth to a younger friend, and afterward\ntaken the charge of that friend's jealous and reluctant children; or\nthe pitiful tale, since elaborately wrought out by Tennyson in his\n\"Enoch Arden,\" of the sailor who returns home to find his wife the\nwife of another man. In one and all the pathos is wrought out and\nexpressed with the most extraordinary delicacy of touch. The reader\nsays to himself, \"Nay, is it so sad after all?\" And yet it is; sad and\nspiritually hopeful too; sad for this earth, hopeful for heaven. This\nseems the irresistible conclusion of almost every tale; even the story\nof the stepmother, supposed to come quite right at last, is made\ninexpressibly plaintive by being told by the first wife's nurse--she\nwho \"knew so much,\" and had lived with her young mistress from\nchildhood, and would not call the cold husband unkind; \"but she had\nbeen used to love and praise.\"\n\nIn others of these legends the telling of the tale is simpler, the\npathos more direct, but almost always strangely subtle. In \"Three\nEvenings of a Life\" a sister sacrifices her own hopes of married life\nthat she may devote herself to a young brother who needs her care. But\nthe young brother marries--a catastrophe which she does not seem to\nhave contemplated; and she finds too late that her sacrifice was\nuseless; and, what was worse, that the bride is ill-fitted to sustain\nhim in his life or in his art; and the unhappy sister\n\n  \"----watched the daily failing\n  Of all his nobler part;\n  Low aims, weak purpose, telling\n  In lower, weaker art.\n\n  And now, when he is dying,\n  The last words she could hear\n  Must not be hers, but given\n  The bride of one short year.\n  The last care is another's;\n  The last prayer must not be\n  The one they learnt together\n  Beside their mother's knee.\"\n\nHerbert sickens and dies, leaving the poor weak little Dora to Alice's\ncare; and we are told how Alice cherishes her, and bears with her\nwaywardness through sad weeks of depression, till news comes in spring\nthat Leonard--the rejected lover--is returning from India. Now Alice\nis free! Now she may love Leonard and lean upon his strength. He\ncomes; the little household smiles once more. Summer succeeds to\nspring; when one twilight hour Alice is aware of the perfume of\nflowers brought into their London home. She goes out into the passage,\nand through a half-opened door hears Leonard's voice:\n\n{842}\n\n  \"His low voice--Dora's answers;\n  His pleading;--yes, she knew\n  The tone, the words, the accents;\n  She once had heard them too.\n  'Would Alice blame her? Leonard's\n  Low tender answer came.\n  'Alice was far too noble\n  To think or dream of blame.'\n  'And wishes sure he loved her?'\n  'Yes, with the one love given\n  Once in a lifetime only;\n  With one soul and one heaven?'\n\n  Then came a plaintive murmur:\n  'Dora had once been told\n   That he and Alice--' 'Dearest,\n  Alice is far too cold\n  To love: and I, my Dora,\n  If once I fancied so,\n  It was a brief delusion.\n  And over long ago.'\"\n\nVery tender and touching is the description of the forlorn woman's\nrecoil upon her brother's memory:\n\n  \"Yes, they have once been parted;\n  But this day shall restore\n  The long-lost one; she claims him:\n  'My Herbert--mine once more!'\"\n\nOne of the most highly finished of the legends is \"A Tomb in Ghent,\"\nsetting forth the life of a humble musician and his young daughter. It\ncontains lovely touches of description both of music and architecture.\nHow the youth knelt prayerfully in St. Bavon--\n\n  \"While the great organ over all would roll,\n  Speaking strange secrets to his innocent soul,\n  Bearing on eagle-wings the great desire\n  Of all the kneeling throng, and piercing higher\n  Than aught but love and prayer can reach, until\n  Only the silence seemed to listen still;\n  Or, gathering like a sea still more and more.\n  Break in melodious waves at heaven's door.\n  And then fall, slow and soft, in tender rain,\n  Upon the pleading, longing hearts again.\"\n\nNot only what he heard, but what he saw, is thus exquisitely imaged in\nwords:\n\n  \"Then he would watch the rosy sunlight glow.\n  That crept along the marble floor below,\n  Passing, as life does with the passing hours.\n  How by a shrine all rich with gems and flowers.\n  Now on the brazen letters of a tomb;\n  Then, again, leaving it to shade and gloom,\n  And creeping on, to show distinct and quaint,\n  The kneeling figure of some marble saint;\n  Or lighting up the carvings strange and rare\n  That told of patient toil and reverent care;\n  Ivy that trembled on the spray, and ears\n  Of heavy corn, and slender bulrush-spears.\n  And all the thousand tangled weeds that grow\n  In summer where the silver rivers flow:\n  And demon heads grotesque that seemed to glare\n  In impotent wrath on all the beauty there.\n  Then the gold rays up pillared shaft would climb.\n  And so be drawn to heaven at evening time;\n  And deeper silence, darker shadows flowed\n  On all around--only the windows glowed\n  With blazoned glory, like the shields of light\n  Archangels bear, who, armed with love and might,\n  Watch upon heaven's battlements at night.\"\n\nThe second critical division of Miss Procter's poems comprises those\nbeautiful lyrics, many of which have been set to music, and all of\nwhich are full of the melody of rhythms--inspired, as it were, by a\ndelicate AEolian harmony, having its source in the fine intangible\ninstinct of the poet's ear. Amidst more than a hundred of such short\npoems and songs, selection seems nearly impossible to the critic. Many\nof the little pieces and many of the separate verses are destined to\nfloat on the surface of English literature with the same secure\nbuoyancy as Herrick's \"Daffodils,\" or Lyttleton's verses to his fair\nwife Lucy, or Wordsworth's picture of the maid who dwelt by the banks\nof Dove. They have that short felicity of expression, that perfect\nfinish in their parts, that cause such poems to abide in the memory,\nor, as the expression is, to \"dwell in the imagination.\" In the six\nverses of \"The Chain,\"\n\n  \"Which was not forged by mortal hands.\n  Or clasped with golden bars and bands,\n\nis one--the third--which exemplifies our assertion. It reads like one\nof those immemorial quotations we have known from infancy:\n\n  \"Yet what no mortal hand could make.\n  No mortal power can ever break;\n  What words or vows could never do.\n  No words or vows can make untrue;\n  And if to other hearts unknown,\n  The dearer and the more our own,\n  Because too sacred and divine\n  For other eyes save thine and mine.\"\n\nTwo songs, written in the quaint, irregular metre delighted in by the\nseventeenth-century poets, seem like forgotten scraps by one of the\nmore elegant contemporaries of Milton; these are, \"A Doubting Heart,\"\nand \"A Lament for the Summer,\" of which the first and last verses are\ninstinct with the feelings of October days:\n\n      \"Moan, O ye Autumn winds--\n      Summer has fled;\n  The flowers have closed their tender leaves, and die;\n      The lily's gracious head\n  All low must lie.\n      Because the gentle Summer now is dead.\n\n  Mourn, mourn, O Autumn winds--\n      Lament and mourn;\n  How many half-blown buds must close and die!\n      Hopes, with the Summer born,\n  All faded lie,\n      And leave us desolate and earth forlorn.\"\n\n{843}\n\nEqually musical, but full of the more personal sentiment of our\ncentury, is that lovely song, \"A Shadow,\" beginning,\n\n  \"What lack the valleys and mountains\n  That once were green and gay?\"\n\nQuite different in tone, full of ringing harmony, is the little poem\nof \"Now?\"\n\n  \"Rise, for the day is passing,\n  And you lie dreaming on;\n  The others have buckled their armor,\n  And forth to the fight are gone.\n  A place in the ranks awaits you--\n  Each man has some part to play;\n  The Past and the Future are nothing\n  In the face of the stern To-day.\"\n\nAnd so on, through four spirited verses. Something in these strikes\nthe ear as peculiarly illustrative of the active pious spirit of her\nwho wrote them, of the voice whose every tone was so dear, and of the\nsmile whose arch intelligence conveyed the same expression of lively\ndecision.\n\nWe must now bring our remarks to a close, having tried to indicate the\ndifferent qualities of Miss Procter's verse. The permanent place which\nit will retain in English literature it is not for us to decide. She\nhas had the power to strike the heart of her own generation by its\nsimple pathos. That it is purely original of its kind can hardly be\ndenied; but it is hard, if not impossible, so far to separate\nourselves from the standard of our own generation as to judge where\nthe limits of the _special_, and therefore the _transient_, elements\nof fame are passed. But we at least must not be wanting in gratitude\nto one of the sweetest singers of the day that was hers and our own.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Sixpenny Magazine.\n\nTHE ADVENTURE.\n\n\nSir Brian O'Brian McMurrough commenced life as possessor of a\n_nominal_ rent-roll of twelve thousand pounds sterling per annum,\nalthough in reality, between mortgages, and rent-charges, and\nincumbrances of every possible shape and hue, probably five would\nrepresent the net sum received by the proprietor. Still, it was not\nthe age of economical reflection, nor was the young baronet either a\nfinancier or a philosopher. He had been cradled in luxury, and bowed\ndown to with slavish senility; he had been educated at Cambridge, and,\none way or other, his bills there had been met, though not always\npleasantly, by his father. He had travelled over Europe, Asia, and a\ngood part of America, for four years, and at last a letter had caught\nhim at Vienna, telling him that his father, Sir Patrick, had died\nsuddenly, \"full of years and honors,\" and that he was now the\nrepresentative of one of \"the oldest and best families in Ireland,\"\nand possessor of its splendid estates, etc. On his return home he was\nsurrounded by troops of friends and hordes of sycophants, and for some\nyears was far too much engaged in pleasure not to let business attend\nto itself. His fathers had lived \"like kings,\" and he had too much the\nspirit of an Irish, gentleman to let prudence or economy come \"between\nthe wind and his nobility.\" He married, too, and chose for his wife a\nfar-descended and beautiful pauper, with tastes to the full as\nreckless and extravagant as his own. This lady had brought him a\ndaughter, who lived, and in four years after {844} a son, who had died\na few hours after his birth, and whose death preceded that of his\nmother by a single day. After her death Sir Brian became more careless\nand reckless than ever. His spirits sank as his debts mounted; he saw\nfrom the first that ruin was inevitable; section after section of his\nsplendid estates were put up for sale and swept away; until at last\nall that remained to him was a half-ruined building, called \"The Black\nAbbey,\" which he sometimes used as a shooting and fishing lodge in\nhappier days, and a tract of mountain land, wild, and for the most\npart sterile and unprofitable, and for part of which he paid rent. In\nthe present gloomy temper of his soul, however, it suited his humor.\nThe building stood halfway up a mountain, the base of which was almost\nwashed by the waters of a broad lake, or lough, and from which it was\nonly separated by a slip of meadow. The lake itself was several miles\nin extent, and at least three miles and a half broad immediately\nopposite the abbey, to which the only access from the mainland was by\na skiff or boat, except you chose to travel several miles round so as\nto head the lake. It was a romantic but utterly desolate retreat, made\nstill more so, if possible, by the sullen gloom which had now taken\npossession of the fallen man. He had secured some remnants of a once\nsplendid library, and sometimes amused himself by teaching his\ndaughter Eva, although there were weeks at one time when a restless\nand morose spirit beset him, and then with a gun in his hand he\nwandered idly through the mountains, or with a boy, named Paudre\u00e8n,\ntook to his yacht, and was never to be seen on shore, sometimes\nsleeping on board, or bivouacking on some of the many small islands\nwhich dotted the loch.\n\nAt such times Eva was left in possession of the abbey, accompanied by\nold Deb Dermody and her husband Mogue (or Moses), who, of all his\nfollowers, had stuck steadily to Sir Brian, and would not be shaken\noff. Before utter ruin had come upon them, Eva had been for a year, or\nsomewhat better, at a boarding school, the mistress of which had\nevidently done her duty by the child. The little girl, indeed, \"showed\nblood\" in more ways than one: she was small but hardy, and, without\nbeing critically beautiful, she was very lovely to look upon: her\nfeatures were delicate but full of animation. Her temper was lively,\nbut all her instincts were genial and generous, and she had, in a\nparticular manner, the gift of conciliating the affectionate regards\nof all who came within the sphere of her innocent influence. True it\nwas, her worshippers were neither numerous nor select. A few hands\nemployed by the \"steward\" (as Mogue was magniloquently called) to till\nthe ground and attend to the \"stock,\" consisting of mountain sheep and\nKerry cows, together with stray \"cadgers,\" pedlars, and other\nwanderers who occasionally visited the neighborhood, and the\n\"neighbors\" on both banks of the lough (the hither and thither),\nconsisting for the most part of an amphibious sort of population, who\nnetted fish in the lake, or cultivated patches of ground to keep life\nand soul together. Beside these, now and then the \"agent\" of the\nestate, Mr. Redmond Hennessey, sometimes visited at the abbey, to look\nfor or receive the rents paid by Sir Brian, and another more welcome\noccasional visitor was Father John Considine, the P.P. of a long,\nstraggling parish, which extended over both sides of the mountain, and\nwhose house and church lay in the valley which separated Ballintopher,\non which Sir Brian lived, from Ballinteer, a higher hill which ran\nbeyond. Sir Brian and his daughter belonged to the old faith, and as\nthe priest was a large-minded, liberal man, with a well-cultivated\nmind, and a good-humored and even jovial temperament, his visits\nalways enlivened the abbey, and sometimes won a smile from its\nproprietor. His literary tastes and recollections, also, were\nexceedingly {845} useful to the young girl, particularly as he\nsometimes ran up to Dublin, or even over to London or Paris, in the\nsummer holidays, from whence he was sure to bring back the gossip for\nSir Brian, and a budget of new books, periodicals, and songs for his\nfavorite. Thus matters went on for some years--nothing better, nothing\nworse, apparently--until Eva was in her eighteenth year. The large\nestates originally owned by Sir Brian had, in a great measure, fallen\ninto the hands of a single proprietor, Sir Adams Jessop, a rich London\nmerchant and banker, who had purchased them by lots on speculation,\nbecause, in the first place, they were sold low (as at first all the\nIrish estates were under the Incumbered Estates Court), and because he\nhad advanced large sums to the holders of the mortgages, etc., with\nwhich they were embarrassed, and thus sought to recoup himself. Since\nthey came into his possession he had been over for a few days\ntwice--once to look over the property, and again to appoint an agent\nrecommended to him by some neighboring proprietors, who all spoke of\nMr. Redmond Hennessey as a man of zeal and industry, who always had\nhis employer's interest at heart, and detested a non-paying or\ndilatory tenant as he did a mad dog. Under this gentleman's\nsupervision the estates put on a new aspect; rents were raised, and\ncovenants insisted on, such as \"the oldest inhabitant\" had never even\ndreamed of; and as Mr. Hennessey was a solicitor as well as an agent,\nprocesses followed defalcations, and the only sure road to his\nfriendly sympathy was punctuality in payment, and liberality (in the\nshape of gifts, such as fowl, butter, eggs, fish, socks, flannel, and\nso forth) from those who had favors to ask or bargains to make. Of\ncourse he was a thriving man, but it was remarked that illicit\ndistillation, poaching, and illegal practices of all kinds were\ngreatly on the increase; and when Sir Brian heard of all this, and saw\nthat additional magistrates were sworn in, and a large draft of\nconstabulary and preventive police sent into the new barracks\nspecially constructed for them, he grimly triumphed in the change, and\nmade no secret of his sympathy with the malcontents, since, as he\nsaid, \"what better could be expected on the estate of an absentee?\"\n\nNeither did matters seem to mend when Sir Adams Jessop died somewhat\nsuddenly, and was succeeded by his only son, now Sir William Jessop,\nwho was understood to be a gay young man of indolent habits and roving\npropensities, and who seemed to have even less sympathy for his Irish\ntenants than his father--if, indeed, that were possible. Mr.\nHennessey's power and authority were now unlimited, and stories were\ntold of his rapacity and impatience of all control which appeared\nincredible. Whole townships were depopulated by his _fiat_; families\nwere reduced to beggary and desperation by his determination to \"make\nthe estate pay;\" and some said (for every man has his enemies) that\nwhen his new master informed him by letter of appeals being made and\nof his wish that they should be attended to and the appellants dealt\nmore lightly with, his answer invariably was, that the accusers were\nestablished liars, who would be the first to shoot down Sir William\nhimself should he ever be foolish enough to venture amongst them.\n\n\nII.\n\nLike all inland lakes of considerable extent, that which lay before\nthe windows of the Black Abbey was subject to violent changes of\ntemper on slight and sudden provocation. In the morning it would lie\ndimpling and smiling before you, as full of placid beauty and as\nincapable of a wrathful outburst as a ball-room belle; while at noon\nits aspect would become as terrible as that of a virago, whose whole\nfamily and neighborhood tremble and fly from the fearful storm which\nno submission can allay. On such occasions, considerable danger {846}\nmenaced those who sailed on business or pleasure over the waters of\nthe lake, and it so happened that on the eve of a September day, the\nyacht of Sir Brian McMurrough was caught in one of those sudden bursts\nwhich had swept down from the mountains, accompanied by torrents of\nrain and violent thunder and lightning, although in the morning, and\nuntil after midday, there had been no warning of a gale.\n\nTo make matters worse, Miss McMurrough was known to be on board the\nboat, as she had accompanied her father to a town at the other end of\nthe lake to make household purchases for the coming winter; and the\namount of agitation evidenced by a group of men who stood on the banks\nof the lough and witnessed the fearful struggles of the little craft,\namounted gradually to extreme terror as they saw the principal sail\ngive way and flutter in the wind like ribands, while the waves washed\nover the helpless vessel and threatened speedily to engulf her.\n\n\"It will never do, boys,\" at last said one of the men, \"to stand idly\nby and see the best blood of the country die the death of a drowned\ndog without putting out a hand or an oar to save him. Run up, Patsy,\nand tell Mick Mackesy to come down at once, while we launch _Sheelah_,\nwho never turned her back to the whitest horses that ever gallopped\nover any water that ever ran; and don't let grass grow to your heels,\nfor a life may hang on every step you take. Away with you.\"\n\n\"Has he far to go?\" asked another of the group.\n\n\"About a mile, sir,\" replied the man, touching his cap to the\nquestioner, who had been a stranger to him until on hour or two\nbefore; \"and the worst of it is Mick may be out, or drunk, and then\nwe're done for.\"\n\n\"Don't send for him, then,\" said the stranger; \"I have pulled an oar\nat college and elsewhere, and am pretty well up to the management of a\nboat. Where is your craft?\"\n\n\"Yonder in the cove, sir; but it's a bad business.\"\n\n\"Then the sooner we get rid of it the better, my friend,\" said the\nenergetic stranger. \"Come, boys, I have a sovereign or two to spare,\nand I promise you that no man shall lose by his humanity. Now, my\nfriend, lead on.\"\n\n\"May I never,\" said the first speaker, whose name was Andy Monahan,\n\"but you've a stout heart in your bazzom, whoever you are, and it's a\npity to baulk you!\"\n\nIn an incredibly short space of time the boat was launched, and the\ngentle _Sheelah_ fled on her mission of mercy, impelled by four pair\nof hands who knew right well how to handle her. By this time the\nbaronet's yacht was a sheer wreck, and although the owner and his boy\nstruggled hard to keep her head to the wind, it was evident that if\nshe did not fill and go down, she would drive bodily on the ragged\nrocks which shot perpendicularly up on that part of the shore toward\nwhich she was drifting. The boat reached her safely, however, and by\nthe excellent management of the volunteer boatman mainly. Miss\nMcMurrough was got into the shore-boat, and her father and the boy\nfollowed, while an anchor was let go in the yacht and she was then\nleft to her fate.\n\nIn moments of great danger and excitement there is little room for\nceremony or introduction, and on the present occasion only a few\nwords, and those of direction, passed on any side. Sir Brian's main\ncare was for his daughter, who, drenched and terrified as she must\nnecessarily be, bore up wonderfully, and even managed to murmur a few\nwords of gratitude to the stranger who so sedulously bore her into the\nboat, and, so far as he could, protected her. When all was done, the\nboat's head was again turned to the shore, and \"in less than no time,\"\nas Andy promised, its wave-worn load was safely landed, wet, weary,\nand chilled, but otherwise unharmed. After a few words in private\n{847} with Andy, the boat-owner, Sir Brian turned to the stranger and\naddressed him.\n\n\"I am told by my friend here, sir,\" he said, \"that it is to your\ndexterity and courage my own preservation and that of my daughter is\nmainly due. I trust that you will accompany me to my residence, and\nallow me, when I have regained my presence of mind, more suitably to\nthank you for the signal service you have done me than I can find\nwords adequately to do now.\"\n\n\"You are very kind, sir,\" was the prompt and cordial reply, \"and I\nshall be very happy to accept your hospitable offer, as I am\naltogether a stranger here, and the boatman tells me that I will have\nto cross the mountain before I can reach an inn.\"\n\nIn the meanwhile, the storm had lulled considerably, and half a score\nof women had come from the surrounding cottages, some with cloaks,\nblankets, and shawls for \"Miss Eva,\" and some with \"poteen\" jars or\nbottles, to \"warm the hearts\" of the rescued mariners. But Sir Brian\npersisted in going home, and refused the proffers of profuse\nhospitality pressed on him, accepting a \"wrap\" for his daughter, and\nsanctioning the attendance of the stranger, on whose offered arm she\nleaned as they began their walk to the abbey. Before they set off,\nhowever, the stranger found time to thrust five sovereigns into Andy's\nhand, saying to him, in a low voice--\n\n\"Divide them among your brave comrades, my good friend, and say\nnothing to Sir Brian. I only wish I could make it ten times as much,\nsince every man of them is worth--nay, don't refuse them, or I shall\nsay that you are too proud to be obliged by a friend. You and I must\nbecome better acquainted hereafter.\"\n\nHe hastened away, and Andy pocketed the gratuity, which he had neither\nexpected nor was at all anxious to receive.\n\n\"We'll drink his health anyway,\" he said, as he pocketed the money;\n\"and if he stays in the country, we'll find a way to pay him back, if\nnot in his own coin, maybe in one that'll please him as well. A brave\nchap he is, and feathers an oar as well as myself, who was born, I may\nsay, with one in my right hand.\"\n\nThe stranger had requested that a small, neat knapsack, which he had\nflung down when he stripped for the lake, should be sent after him to\nthe abbey, at which, on arriving at it, he was warmly welcomed by the\nmaster, and was ushered to a spare bed-chamber by Deb Dermody herself,\nwho had been advertised of the coming of the party by a \"runner,\" and\nhad everything prepared to receive them.\n\nWhen the stranger had dried his clothes and changed his linen by the\nhuge turf fire which blazed in the room allotted him, he descended to\nthe \"refectory,\" of general dining and drawing-room, and so called\nfrom its use by the monks \"lang syne.\" He found the baronet and his\ndaughter ready to receive him, a large fire in the grate, a table\nready laid for dinner, and a fresh arrival in the sturdy person of\n\"Father John,\" who had come on one of his periodical visitations.\nEvidently the good priest had heard of the adventure, and of the\ngallant part which the stranger had performed in it, and, when\npresenting him his hand, had good-humoredly thanked him for helping to\npreserve two lives that were so precious to all who knew their worth.\nThe young man, in his turn, found it necessary to introduce himself,\nand stated that he was an idle rover, with some taste for drawing,\nliterature, and music, and who came on an exploratory expedition to\nsee what he could pick up in the way of old airs or legends, or new\nscenery, to forward some speculations of his own. His name was\nRedland, and he considered himself fortunate in having been able to\nassist Sir Brian and Miss McMurrough in their difficulty, etc.\n\n{848}\n\nThe dinner was good. Fish from the lake, game from the mountain, fowl\nfrom the stubble, and a capital ham, fed and cured by the \"steward,\"\nwho prided himself on fattening and killing swine. The night sped\npleasantly by. Redland was evidently a gentleman, and both the baronet\nand the priest knew what that meant right well. He was light and\ncheerful without being frivolous, and seemed more inclined to ask for\ninformation from others than to obtrude his own. He spoke well without\nspeaking too much, and greatly pleased Father John by the interest he\ntook in Irish affairs. In the course of the evening the management of\nthe \"Jessop property\" was spoken of, and incidentally the character of\nthe agent was discussed.\n\n\"After all,\" said Sir Brian, \"the devil is not so black as he is\npainted; Hennessey is not the worst among the bad. I for my own part\nhave always found him civil and obliging, and not at all pressing for\nthe rent of my miserable holding, which, as you well know, Father\nJohn, I never ought to be called on to pay a shilling for; but\nHennessey's not to blame for that; no more, I dare say, than for other\nthings laid to his charge. He sent Eva a whole chestful of books to\nread last week, and baskets of fruit from his hot-houses, although I\ndare say he was the first of his family that had any better sort of\nhouse than a mud cabin to rear pigs instead of grapes and peaches in.\"\n\n\"He is a confirmed scoundrel, however, and a curse to the country that\nholds him,\" ejaculated the priest, sternly and gravely.\n\n\"You ought to blame his absentee master rather than him,\" said Sir\nBrian.\n\n\"Under your pardon, Sir Brian, I ought to do no such thing,\" persisted\nthe priest; \"his master knows nothing of his doings, of that I am\ncertain, or if he did, as an English merchant, as a man of humanity,\nhe would be the first to reject and put down such intolerable tyranny,\nwhich is equally miserable and profitless. In fact, the fellow is true\nto no one or nothing but his own selfish interests, for he throws the\nblame of his own cruelties on his employer, and perpetrates enormities\nsufficient to draw down God's vengeance, under the plea of being\ndriven to it by a man to whom such cheese-parings and petty gains can\nbe of no possible account.\"\n\n\"I should think then, sir,\" said the stranger, \"that it is high time\nfor him to look to his interests and good name, if your account be\ntrue, and my only wonder is that he delays it so long.\"\n\n\"Poh! the present proprietor is a gay young fashionable fop, they were\ncalled dandies in my day, who well pockets his rents and only thinks\nof his Irish tenants when his purse runs, dry,\" said Sir Brian,\nbitterly.\n\n\"Is not that a harsh estimate, papa,\" said Eva, gently and timidly,\n\"when you can only speak by surmise?\"\n\n\"Then why is he not here?\" asked Sir Brian; \"why does he leave his\ntenantry to be ground to powder or driven to desperation, if he could\ncure it by his presence?\"\n\n\"That question may be answered, too,\" said the priest; \"it is\nHennessey's interest to keep him away as long as he can, and you may\nbe pretty sure that he has painted us in colors that would not waste a\nlong journey to witness them. I, however, have taken upon myself the\nliberty of writing to Sir William Jessop, and it will not be my fault\nif he does not see reason in my statements to come and have a look at\nus himself.\"\n\n\"You will get into a mess with Hennessey if that comes to his ears,\"\nsaid the baronet, laughing.\n\n\"He knows right well I don't care a farthing for either his friendship\nor his enmity,\" replied Father John. \"'Be just, and fear not,' is my\nmotto, and if it please God to let him injure me, I will bow to the\nchastisement, since it will be in a good cause.\"\n\n{849}\n\n\"I think that your act was both justifiable and merciful,\" said the\nstranger; \"and I should say that Sir William will be little better\nthan a heartless fool if he should not respond to your application as\nhe ought.\"\n\n\"He'll never do it,\" said the obstinate host; \"he'll be thinking of\nhis tallow and cotton, and molasses, as matters infinitely superior in\nhis estimation to Irish kernes and their wrongs.\"\n\n\"Ought we not to hope and pray that he will take a more considerate\nview of Father John's application to him, papa?\" said Eva. \"He is an\nEnglish gentleman, and they are always alive to the interests of\nhumanity--at least I have always heard so.\"\n\n\"And you have heard right, my dear Miss Eva, so we'll hope for the\nbest,\" replied the priest. \"So now let us have one cup of tea, and\nafterward we'll trouble you for 'Love's Young Dream,' or 'The Minstrel\nBoy,' or 'Silent, O Moyle!' or 'The Young May Moon,' and I'll grumble\na bass in 'St. Senanus and the Lady,' if Mr. Redland will help us\nout.\"\n\nThe tea was drunk, and the songs sung to the accompaniment of a wild\nIrish harp, which made excellent music in Eva's fair hands. A light\nsupper followed, and then to bed, after various arrangements for the\nfollowing days, which Sir Brian insisted Redland should give to them;\nwhile Father John, whose time was his own, as he had a curate,\npromised to remain at the abbey also for a few days.\n\nNear to midnight Redland found himself in a very tidy and comfortable\nroom with a blazing fire, and as he undressed his thoughts took the\nform of soliloquy.\n\n\"Pleasant enough all this,\" he said, as he sat before the fire, \"and\nnot a bad beginning, at all events. Sir Brian is a gentleman\ncertainly, although his prejudices--natural, too--master him; the\npriest, however, is my strong card, and I must stick to him; while as\nto Eva--Miss McMurrough--who in the world could have thought of\nfinding such a choice and beautiful blossom in such a site? She is\nequally Rich in blood and beauty, and no mistake, and her soprano has\na great deal of the Jenny Lind fine _timbre_ about it. I'm in luck, at\nany rate, so here goes to enjoy and make the most of it.\" Thus saying\nhe went to bed.\n\nFor the next few days a great deal was done. The yacht was recovered\nand made available; fish were caught, birds shot, views taken,\ncottages visited, histories detailed, dinners eaten, songs sung, and\nconversations enjoyed, in all which the stranger took part, making\nhimself both useful and agreeable; putting Sir Brian in mind of \"the\ngood days,\" charming the priest by his humane and liberal philosophy,\nand gradually stealing into Eva's good graces so far, that when one\nevening he said to her he must think of going, she sighed, and said\nplaintively--\n\n\"Yes, that's the worst of your coming, Mr. Redland, for when you leave\nus how shall we ever get over your loss? Though of course one ought to\nbe always prepared for misfortune, and no one who wished you well\nwould think of detaining you in so dreary a place.\"\n\n\"Dreary! it has been a paradise to me, I assure you. Miss McMurrough,\nand when duty demands my presence elsewhere, inclination will be sure\nto draw me back by the hair of the head, and--and by the cords of the\nheart as well.\"\n\nThe latter part of the sentence was spoken partly to himself and\nescaped Eva's ear.\n\nIt so chanced that, the next morning, Father John left them, after a\nhearty invitation to Redland to visit his cottage at the side of the\nmountain; but it was doomed that his place was supplied about mid-day,\nor rather toward dinner-time, by no less a person than the formidable\n\"agent,\" Mr. Redmond Hennessey, himself who announced to his \"friend,\"\nSir Brian, that, having a day to spare, he came to tax his\nhospitality.\n\n{850}\n\n\"Beside,\" he said, as he and Sir Brian sat in conclave, while Redland\nand Eva were wandering on the banks of the lough--\"beside, Sir Brian,\na report has reached me that a stranger has intruded himself on your\nhospitality whom I think you ought to beware of.\"\n\n\"He is a fine young fellow, and saved my life,\" replied the baronet.\n\n\"Specious, I dare say; flippant, but anything but safe company, I\nshould say, if my information be correct,\" said Mr. Hennessey.\n\n\"What has he done?\" demanded Sir Brian.\n\n\"A great deal that he should have left undone,\" was the reply. \"I have\nheard of the goings on of him and that confounded priest, whose finger\nis in every man's dish; of their visitings to tenants, and their\nbribes for information; in point of fact, I look upon him as a\ndangerous person--one of those English radicals who, driven from their\nown country, come to ours to plunge it into convulsion and confusion.\"\n\n\"I think you are mistaken in your estimate,\" replied Sir Brian.\n\n\"You will change your opinion by-and-bye,\" said Hennessey; \"the proof\nof the pudding is the eating of it; I have received three threatening\nletters since he has been here, short as it is, and I mean, after\ndinner, to draw him out a bit, and make him show his true colors, if\npossible.\"\n\n\"You had better not, perhaps,\" was the reply; \"he is an outspoken\nyoung fellow, and seems to fear no man, no matter how potential he may\nthink himself. Better let him alone, for your detectives have tracked\nthe wrong man this time, Mr. Hennessey, I assure you.\"\n\n\"We shall see, however,\" said the agent, made more obstinate by\nopposition.\n\nThe young people did not return until dinner was ready, and then\nRedland and Hennessey were introduced to each other. The agent was\nsuperciliously cold, and Redland hardly civil, so reserved was his\ndemeanor. It seemed to be \"hate at first sight on both sides.\" Under\nthese circumstances, conversation was slow and restrained; Mr.\nHennessey talked of himself a good deal; of the improvements in his\nhouse, his grounds, and gardens, and of his associations with the\naristocracy of the district; while Redland conversed with Eva in a low\nvoice, mercilessly inattentive to the utterings of the great man,\nwhich were frequently interrupted by the ill-repressed laughter of Eva\nat what her companion was saying. At last, however, dinner was done,\nand when Eva left the room, Mr. Hennessey began his \"drawing-out\"\nsystem by a point-blank question addressed to Redland.\n\n\"I understand, Mr. Redland,\" he said, \"that you have been very\nparticularly anxious in your inquiries about the state of Sir William\nJessop's extensive property. I presume you are an author, and mean to\npublish your travels in a neat volume, with wood-cut illustrations?\"\n\n\"No, no; you are altogether mistaken,\" was the chilly reply; \"I am\ncontent to read books, without having the ambition to write them.\"\n\n\"Well, then, the greater compliment to us poor Irish that such an\nindependent inquirer should come amongst us,\" said Hennessey. \"I hope\nyou are satisfied with what you have observed.\"\n\n\"I do not wish to answer your question, sir, since, without intending\nit, I might give you offence,\" was the guarded reply.\n\n\"Pray don't spare me, young gentleman,\" sneered the agent, \"as I am\nused to misconstruction, and have shoulders broad enough to bear it.\nYou find fault with my management, of course?\"\n\n\"Not of course, sir,\" replied Redland, \"but if you insist on having my\nopinion, I think that Sir William Jessop's estates are very wretchedly\nmanaged indeed.\"\n\n{851}\n\n\"Hah! that is candor with a vengeance!\" said the agent, startled out\nof his self-possession; \"you must be a disinterested observer to jump\nat once to so decided a conclusion.\"\n\n\"I had my eyes and ears, sir, and made use of them,\" answered the\ncomposed stranger; \"where everything is miserable, and everybody\nwretched, on an estate which pays eight or ten thousand a year to its\nowner, somebody must be to blame, since there can be no possible cause\nfor it.\"\n\n\"Go on, sir, go on,\" said the agent, winking at Sir Brian.\n\n\"At your invitation, I will, sir,\" was the cool reply. \"Seeing what I\nhave seen, and hearing what I have heard, I do not wonder that\ndiscontent and disaffection should prevail amongst men whom no\nindustry can raise, and no good conduct can protect. It is the\nskeletons of a population that I have been among, and not men and\nwomen of flesh and blood; and as to their homes, I profess that the\nsnow-hut of an Esquimaux would be less inhabitable. I shall call Sir\nWilliam Jessop a bad Englishman, and a worse Christian, if he shall\npersist in sanctioning a state of things, which, of course, must be\nout of your control, since I presume you act according to your orders,\nand cannot help witnessing the terrible miseries which you are every\nday compelled to increase.\"\n\n\"You have been in America, sir, I suppose?\" was the irrelevant reply\nof Hennessey.\n\n\"I have--both North and South.\"\n\n\"And have been a practitioner of 'stump' oratory? I thought so,\"\nreplied Hennessey, with a coarse laugh. \"Here's to your health, young\nCicero, and a better way of thinking to you!\"\n\n\"To both of us, sir, if you please,\" replied Redland, touching his\nglass, and then leaving the room.\n\n\"A dangerous fellow, just what I thought him,\" said Hennessey, when\nthe door closed. \"But now that I see his game, I am prepared for him;\nwe'll have no stump orators--no Captain Rocks or Sergeant Starlights\namongst us here, if we can help it, Sir Brian. But let it rest--let it\nrest; we have not quite done with him yet. And now, Sir Brian, to turn\nto a pleasanter theme; the last time I was here I did myself the honor\nof making known to you my ardent good wishes for a closer connection\nwith you, through the medium of Miss McMurrough, whose humble slave I\nhave long been.\"\n\n\"I have trusted the matter to my daughter, Mr. Hennessey, and find\nthat her objections are insuperable; she would not listen to me,\nexcept at the risk of tears and hysterics,\" said Sir Brian. \"I am\nobliged to you, but we will speak no more of it, if you please.\"\n\n\"I am sorry for it,\" 'replied Hennessey, \"as I thought that, under\nsuch circumstances I might find means to allow your arrears, and the\nfifty borrowed from myself, to stand over. I fear I can't promise\nanything of the sort now, but I suppose you are prepared to back up,\nand the sooner the better, as Sir William is pressing hard for money\nand must have it. Let me have all, if possible, before Saturday, and\nso save trouble to both of us. With thanks for your hospitality, and\nwishing you a safer guest under your roof, I bid yon good-night.\"\n\nIn three minutes more he had left the house, and Sir Brian felt that\nhe had an enemy for life. He said nothing to his guest or his\ndaughter, however, save that Mr. Hennessey had been obliged to\nleave--on business, he supposed.\n\nThe next day, Mogue, who had been at the other side of the lake,\nbrought back word that there was \"great ructions\" in the town of\nBallinlough, as Mr. Hennessey had been fired at early that morning, on\nriding to one of his farms, and that \"a whole pound of bullets had\nlodged in his hat.\" Everything was in commotion; the \"peelers\" were\nout, and \"a whole bunch (bench?) of magistrates were to meet\nimmediately.\" So that day passed over; but the next morning a new\nstate of affairs occurred. About {852} ten o'clock, half a dozen\npolicemen, with an officer at their head, arrived at the abbey and\nshowed a warrant of arrest for Mr. William Redland, as a suspicious\nperson, etc., with a civil intimation that his body was to be produced\nbefore the bench of magistrates now sitting at Ballinlough. Of course,\nto hear was to obey.\n\n\"My accuser will make nothing of it, sir,\" said Redland to the\nofficer, \"and if I really wished him evil he has now afforded me an\nopportunity of doing it.\"\n\n\"You may require bail, however,\" said Sir Brian, \"so I have dispatched\na messenger for Father John, although we can easily defeat him by an\n_alibi_.\"\n\n\"Or by telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,\"\nsaid Redland, with a smile.\n\nWhen they arrived at the courthouse of Ballinlough, they found at\nleast a dozen magistrates in full conclave, who all scowled on \"the\nprisoner,\" as Hennessey was their friend.\n\nRedland at once confronted this august assembly, and without waiting\nfor his accuser to begin, thus commenced:\n\n\"In order to save time and trouble, gentlemen,\" he said, \"I think it\nnecessary to make a confession for which you may be unprepared.**\n\n\"Too late, my fine fellow,\" said Hennessey; \"you should have thought\nof what you were about before. I heard you myself at Sir Brian's table\nspout as much treason as would set all Ireland in a flame. I do not\nwish to prosecute you vindictively, however, although I was near\nlosing my life by your preaching and teaching, so if you will\nundertake to leave the country, after telling us who and what you are,\nI will give up the prosecution, and you may go about your business.\"\n\n\"You are very considerate, sir, and I accept your offer,\" said the\nundismayed prisoner. \"I acknowledge, therefore, that both my name and\nmy occupation have been assumed----\"\n\n\"I  knew it--I could swear it from the first moment I laid eyes upon\nyou,\" said the triumphant agent; \"but go on; you have told us who and\nwhat you are not, now oblige us with similar information as to whom\nand what you are.\"\n\n\"Willingly, sir,\" replied the young man. \"My real name is not Redland,\nbut Jessop--a baronet by rank, an Englishman by birth, and your\nemployer, I think, into the bargain. I am called, then, Sir William\nJessop, and my occupation here has been quietly to supervise my\nestates--and a very wretched supervision it was, as I had the honor to\ntell you in Sir Brian McMurrough's house. I am willing to remain under\narrest until I am fully identified, and as you are not vindictively\ninfluenced, I trust you will accept bail for my appearance when called\nupon.\"\n\nHennessey was foiled and defeated by his employer's ruse, and he saw\nit. He was crestfallen, too, for his warmest friends crowded round\n\"Sir William,\" and left him in the lurch, although his employer was\nmore merciful.\n\n\"I, and my father before me,\" he said, \"have been to blame for not\nsufficiently making ourselves acquainted with the serious\nresponsibility we had undertaken. I have seen with my own eyes that my\nestates are sadly mismanaged, and I have reason to complain that your\nconduct has been both selfish and unjust; selfish, in thinking solely\nof your own interests--and unjust, in saddling me with your faults.\nWe cannot act longer together, Mr. Hennessey, and you will be good\nenough to prepare your accounts, so as that they may be duly audited\nas soon as possible. I will remain the guest of Sir Brian McMurrough,\nat whose house I am for some little time to be found.\"\n\nHennessey left the court-house, degraded and dismissed, leaving with\nhim \"his hat with the pound of bullets in it.\" \"I always knew it was\nMiles Casidy the driver put them m {853} it by Hennessey's order,\"\nsaid Andy Monahan, \"and more be token be hinted as much himself\nyesterday after the seventh glass.\"\n\nSir William Jessop went back to the Black Abbey in triumph; and never\nleft it until he had made Eva McMurrough his bride, so that the\nestates still run with the \"auld stock,\" and Sir Brian and Father\nJohn, who is almoner-general to Sir William, are as happy as kings.\n\n------\n\nMISCELLANY.\n\n\n_The Source of the Nile_.--Mr. S. W. Baker read a paper before the\n\"Royal Geographical Society,\" London, giving an \"Account of the\nDiscovery of Lake Albert Nyanza.\" The author commenced by saying that\nhe began in 1861 the preparation of an expedition, in the hope of\nmeeting Speke and Grant at the sources of the Nile. He employed the\nfirst year in exploring the tributaries of the Atbara, and afterward\nproceeded to Khartoum, to organize his party for the great White Nile.\nIn December, 1862, he started from Khartoum with a powerful force,\nembarked on board three vessels, and including twenty-nine animals of\ntransport, camels, horses, and asses. Pursuing his course, he entered\nupon a dreary waste of water and reedy banks, where he soon lost his\nonly European attendant, who was killed by fever. The remainder of the\nparty safely reached Gondokoro, which is a wretched place, occupied\nonly occasionally by traders seeking for slaves and ivory. After\nfifteen days the firing of guns announced some new arrivals, and a\nparty arrived, among whom were two Englishmen, who proved to be\nCaptains Speke and Grant, clothed in humble rags, but with the glory\nof success upon them. Captain Speke told him the natives declared that\na large lake existed to the westward, which he believed would turn out\nto be a second source of the Nile, and that he himself had traced the\nriver up to 2\u00b0 20' N., when it diverged to the west, and he was\nobliged to leave it. Mr. Baker undertook to follow up the stream, and\nmade his arrangements to join a trading party going southward. The\ntrade along the White Nile really consisted of cattle-stealing,\nslave-catching, and murder, and the men whom he was obliged to engage\nat Khartoum were the vilest characters. He had applied through the\nBritish consul at Alexandria to the Egyptian government for a few\ntroops to escort him; but the request was refused, although an escort\nwas granted to the Dutch ladies upon the request of the French consul.\nAfter Speke and Grant had left him, his men mutinied and tried to\nprevent his proceeding into the interior. His forty armed men\nthreatened to fire upon him, and the Turkish traders whom he intended\nto accompany set off without him, and forbade him to follow in their\ntrack. At that time, beside his wife, he had but one faithful\nfollower. But he managed to get back the arms from the recalcitrants,\nand induced seventeen of the men to go with him to the eastward,\nalthough none would undertake to go to the south. It was imperative\nthat he should advance, and he followed the trading party who had\nthreatened to attack him, and to excite the Ellyria tribe, through\nwhom he must pass, against him. However, the chief of the trading\nparty was brought over, and on the 17th of March, 1862, they safely\narrived in the Latooka country, 110 miles east of Gondokoro. That\ncountry was one of the finest he had ever seen, producing ample\nsupplies of grain and supporting large herds. The towns are large and\nthickly populated, and the inhabitants are a warlike but friendly\nrace, who go naked, and whose chief distinction is their hair, which\nthey train into a kind of natural helmet. The bodies of those of the\ntribe who are killed in fight are not buried, but those who die\nnaturally are buried in front of the house in which they had dwelt,\nand at the expiration of a fortnight the bodies are exhumed, the flesh\nremoved, and the bones put in earthen {854} pots, which are placed at\nthe entrance of the towns. Like all the tribes of the White Nile, the\nLatookas seemed entirely devoid of any idea of a Supreme Being.\nIndeed, the only difference between them and the beasts is that they\ncan cook and light a fire. There are forests abounding with elephants,\nbut cattle cannot live there on account of the \"tsetse\" fly. The chief\nwas an old man, who was held to possess the power of producing or\nrestraining rain by a magic whistle; but one day Mr. Baker happening\nto whistle upon his fingers in a loud key, the natives assumed that he\nhad a power to control the elements, and frequently called upon him to\nexercise it. From Latooka he proceeded to Kamrasi's country, across an\nelevated region, the water-shed of the Sobat and White Nile rivers.\nFrom the ridge he descended into the valley of the Asua, which river\nCaptain Burton regarded as the main stream of the White Nile, but\nwhich, when Mr. Baker crossed it in January, did not contain enough\nwater to cover his boots. On arriving at Shooa, a large number of the\nporters deserted him, but he pushed on for Enora. He crossed Karuma\nFalls in the same boat which had carried Captain Speke across, but he\nwas detained for some days by the disinclination of the King Kamrasi\nto allow strangers to pass over, and it was only when Mr. Baker had\nexhibited himself on an elevated spot in full European costume that he\nreceived the desired permission. It appeared that a trading party,\nheaded by one Debono, a Maltese, who had escorted Speke and Grant, had\nmade a foray upon Kamrasi's country, and Mr. Baker was therefore\nlooked upon with suspicion. From Karuma Falls the Nile flows due west,\na rapid stream, bordered with fine trees. King Kamrasi, who was a\nwell-dressed and cleanly person, although a great coward, was very\nsuspicious, and sought to prevent Mr. Baker continuing his journey by\nrepresenting that the great lake was six month's journey--a statement\nwhich Mr. Baker, himself ill, with his wife prostrate from fever, and\nhis attendants refractory, received as a fatal blow to all his hopes.\nLearning, however, from a native salt-dealer that the lake could be\nreached in something like ten days, he induced Kamrasi, by the present\nof his sword, to drink blood with his head man, and to allow them to\ndepart. In crossing the Karan river on the way to the lake Mrs. Baker\nwas struck down by a sunstroke, and remained almost insensible for\nseven days, during which time the rain poured down in torrents. On the\neighteenth day after leaving Kamrasi they came in sight of the\nlooked-for lake, a limitless sheet of blue water sunk low in a vast\ndepression of the country. He descended the steep cliffs, 1,500 feet\nin height, leading Mrs. Baker by the hand, and, reaching the clean\nsandy beach, drank of the sweet waters. The western shore, sixty miles\ndistant, consisted of ranges of mountains 7,000 feet in height. Upon\nachieving the object of their journeys, Mr. Baker named the lake\nAlbert Nyanza. That lake, together with that of Victoria Nyanza, may\nbe accepted as the great reservoir of the Nile. Embarking in canoes\nupon the lake, the party proceeded for thirteen days to the point\nwhere the upper river from Karuma Falls enters the lake by a scarcely\nperceptible current, while the lake itself suddenly turned westward;\nbut its boundaries in that direction, as well as those of its southern\ntermination, are unknown. The Nile issued from the lake precisely as\nthe natives had reported to Speke and Grant, and from its exit the\nriver is navigable as far as the narrows near the junction of the\nAsua. The author saw altogether from elevations three-fourths of the\ncourse of the Nile between its issue from the lake to Miani's Tree.\nMr. Baker's progress up the Upper or Karuma river was stopped, at\nfifteen miles distance, by a grand waterfall, which had been named\nMurchison Falls, in honor of the distinguished president of the\nGeographical Society. Upon their return to Kamrasi's country the\ntravellers were detained nearly twelve months, the king being so\nimpressed with the skill and knowledge of his European visitors that\nhe could not be persuaded to let them leave him. Ultimately the\ntravellers managed to get free, and, after a variety of difficulties\nwith their attendants and the traders, arrived safely at Alexandria.\n\n------\n\n{855}\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nLIFE OF SAINT TERESA.\nEdited by the Archbishop of Westminster. London: Hurst & Blackett. 1865.\n\nSt. Philip Neri, that gentle and wise guide of souls, advised those\nunder his direction to read frequently the \"Lives of the Saints.\"\nExperience teaches how very profitable this is as an incitement to\nvirtue. As we get a better idea of a person, a place, or an event by\nan accurate representation than by the most graphic description, so\nthe detailed account of the workings of grace in a faithful soul\noftentimes captivates the heart for God which frequent and fervent\nexhortation has failed to reach. But the amount of good which even the\nmost striking example will produce upon the mind of the reader, will\ndepend very materially upon the way in which the incidents in the life\nare presented. In the work before us we have the varied experience of\none of the very noblest and most courageous souls, through a long and\neventful life, related in language which charms while it inspires. St.\nTeresa's spirit was peculiarly one of chivalry and honor. She was a\ntrue child of her native Spain, that land of romance, the mother of so\nlarge a proportion of the more distinguished of the canonized saints\nof the Church. Avila, her birthplace, was known as the \"City of\nKnights.\" She tells us herself how in youth and early womanhood she\nhad revelled in stories of hazardous adventure, of deeds of valor, and\nacts of self-devotion, to a degree which, on reflection in after\nyears, she thought had been very perilous to her fidelity to virtue.\nBut grace led captive that warm and impassioned heart, and stimulated\nher to do for God what many a brave knight is said to have done for\nthe object of his love. As St. Paul said, \"I can do all things in him\nwho strengtheneth me.\" So, the more rough and jagged the front of the\nobstacles she had to oppose, the more invincible she proved herself to\nbe. \"No, my Lord!\" she said on one occasion, \"it is no fault of thine\nthat those who love thee do not great things for thee; the fault is in\nour own cowardice and fears, because we never do anything without\nmingling with it a thousand apprehensions and human considerations.\"\nThe Holy Ghost had infused into her energetic soul a holy\nrestlessness, and work, ceaseless work, hard work, alone could satisfy\nits cravings. While the foundations of Valentia and Burgos were in\ncontemplation, so many difficulties came up, one after another, and\namong them ill health and the feebleness natural to a life now in its\ndecline, that it seemed impossible that they could be effected. In\nspeaking of this particular time she says: \"It seems to me that one of\nthe greatest troubles and miseries of life is the want of noble\ncourage to bring the body into subjection; for though pain and\nsickness be troublesome, yet I account this as nothing when the soul\ncan rise above them in the might of her love, praising God for them,\nand receiving them as gifts from his hand. But on the one hand to be\nsuffering, and on the other to be able to do nothing, is a terrible\nthing, especially for a soul that has an ardent desire to find no\nrest, either interior or exterior, on earth, but to employ herself\nentirely in the service of her great God.\" She was in this unsettled\nstate, her mind oppressed with doubt, when she begged light of our\nLord at communion. He answered her interiorly: \"Of what art thou\nafraid? When have I been wanting to thee? I am the same now that I\nhave ever been. Do not neglect to make these two foundations.\" She\nthen adds, \"O great God! how different are thy words from those of\nmen! I became so resolute and courageous that all the world would not\nhave been able to hinder me.\" Here we have the key to her whole life.\nHer stimulus, as well as strength, was personal love for our Lord.\nWhen circumstances threw her back for a moment upon her own\nfeebleness, she was powerless; but let her only hear an encouraging\nword from him, for which she instinctively listened, and in a moment\nshe was fearless and unconquerable. Spiritual cowardice is the great\nobstacle which lies between numberless well-disposed {856} souls,\nnowadays, and perfection. How valuable, then, and how opportune, this\nlife of the great-hearted St. Teresa! We offer our thanks and\ngratitude to the devout and active Archbishop of Westminster, under\nwhose editorship this useful life appears. From private authority we\nlearn that its authoress is a religious of a convent of Poor Clares\nunder the direction of the Oblate Fathers of St. Charles, in London.\nWe are tempted to envy this good religious the satisfaction and\npleasure she must feel at having been instrumental in giving her\nCatholic brethren so welcome and powerful an aid to lead a holy life.\nAlthough the name of the Oblate Fathers of St. Charles does not appear\nin connection with this work, their very recent connection with Dr.\nManning, and their existing relation to the convent from which this\nwork has issued, compels us before closing this notice to thank them\nfor the share which we suspect them to have had in its publication.\nThis suspicion is strengthened by the fact that from their hands we\nhave received that perfect specimen of a beautiful book, \"The Works of\nSt. John of the Cross;\" in unity of labor, as in spirit, the\ntwin-brother of St. Teresa.\n\n\nTHE LIFE AND PUBLIC SERVICES OF ANDREW JOHNSON, SEVENTEENTH PRESIDENT\nOF THE UNITED STATES, including his State Papers and Public Speeches.\nBy John Savage, author of \"Our Living Presidents,\" etc. Derby &\nMiller. 8vo, pp. 408.\n\nThe life of a man like Andrew Johnson must command the profound\nattention of every one who wishes to understand the age and country.\nIt is deeply interesting to ourselves, who have raised him from\nobscurity to the highest position in the nation, and are prepared to\ngive him, without reference to party or opinion, our cordial and loyal\nsupport in his efforts to carry out the organic idea of national life.\n\nThe biography of Andrew Johnson is a history of the epoch. He is a\nrepresentative man of his class and age. It illustrates the power of\nwill to conquer and bring to its support a vast amount of coeval will,\nmaking itself the controlling and representative _will_. Few men are\nelected who are not in intrinsic as well as extrinsic harmony with the\npower electing. Fraud, chicanery, and deception have less to do with\nthe results of our popular elections than is generally and flippantly\nasserted. The great characteristics of President Johnson are strong\nnatural ability, invincible determination, courage, ambition, loyalty\nto the Union, fidelity to his own convictions, and contempt for\nprivilege and prescription.\n\nMr. Savage has written the text well and carefully, and interwoven the\ncoincident history with more than ordinary correctness. There is one\nlittle point to which we would call attention, in, the contents of\nChapter XVII. the passage occurs, \"_Granger and Thomas relieve\nBurnside._\" In the same chapter, page 281, he says, \"Granger and\nSherman were sent into East Tennessee to relieve Burnside and raise\nthe siege of Knoxville.\" Granger and Thomas did _not_ relieve\nBurnside. The opportune arrival of General Grant, the intelligent and\nvigorous co-operation of Sherman and Hooker on the extreme flanks, and\nthe almost spontaneous charge of the center by the troops of the army\nof the Cumberland up and over Missionary Ridge, won the glorious\nvictory of Chattanooga. General Grant immediately dispatched Sherman\nto the relief of Knoxville. Gordon Granger commanded a corps\ntemporarily under Sherman, and was not distinguished for alacrity or\nzeal on that occasion. Sherman relieved Knoxville as a part of\nGrant'^s grand plan of the campaign. The work is issued in handsome\nstyle, and has a correct steel engraving of the President.\n\n\nTHE LETTERS OF WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1769-1791). Translated from\nthe collection of Ludwig Nohl by Lady Wallace; with a portrait and\nfac-simile. 2vols., 12mo. New York: Hurd & Houghton. 1866.\n\nThe many thousands living who know, and the many thousands who are yet\nto know, the works of the great Mozart, will not fail to welcome this\ntrue picture of his artist life. It forms, indeed, rather a continuous\njournal, very little short of an autobiography, than a mere chance\ncollection of letters; extending as they do from a date when he was\nbut thirteen years old up to within a few days of his death. One would\nlook in these letters, of course, for a great deal about music, and\nmusical composition, operas, concerts, and the {857} like, but hardly\nexpect to find so much as there is of Mozart's personal life, his\nthoughts, plans, detailed descriptions of nearly all he saw and heard,\nrevealing to the reader, better than any biographer could, the real\ncharacter of this crowned master of the heavenly art. Possessing an\nintensely vivid imagination and a sprightly wit, his letters sparkle\nwith humor. He dearly loves to say odd, pleasant things to make them\nlaugh at home. Here is one taken at random:\n\n  \"VIENNA, April 11, 1781.--_Te Deum Laudamus!_ at last that coarse,\n  mean Brunetti is off, who disgraces his master, himself, and all the\n  musicians: so say Cecarelli and I. Not a word of truth in any of the\n  Vienna news, except that Cecarelli is to sing at the opera in Venice\n  during the ensuing carnival. _Potz Himmel!_ and all sorts of devils!\n  I hope that is not swearing, for if so, I must at once go to\n  confession again, from which I have just returned, because to-morrow\n  (Maunday Thursday) the archbishop is to administer the sacrament to\n  the whole court in his own gracious person. Cecarelli and I went to\n  the Theatine monastery to try to find Pater Froschauer, as he can\n  speak Italian. A _pater_ or a _frater_, who was at the altar\n  trimming the lights, assured us the Pater, as well as another who\n  perfectly knows Italian, were not at home, and would not return till\n  four o'clock. What did please me was, that on my saying to the\n  clerical candle-snuffer that eight years ago I had played a violin\n  concerto in this very choir, he instantly named me. Now, as far as\n  swearing goes, this letter is only a _pendant_ to my former one, to\n  which I hope to receive an answer by the next post.\"\n\nMozart lived and died a pious Catholic. Such might be gleaned from his\ncompositions, expressive as they are of that deep religious reverence,\nand sense of the sublime majesty of the holy faith, which he possessed\nin so marked a manner. He felt and fully appreciated the power of\ninspiration which Catholic life possesses to elevate the soul, and\nrealize in art, as in every form of the beautiful and the true, its\nnoblest aspirations. \"You know,\" he writes to his father, \"that there\nis nothing I desire more than a good appointment--good in\nreputation--good in money--no matter where, provided it be in a\nCatholic country.\" The piety of his ordinary life may be seen in the\nmanner in which he prepared for his marriage. \"Previous to our\nmarriage,\" he writes, \"we had for some time past attended mass\ntogether, as well as confessed and taken the holy communion: and I\nfound that I never prayed so fervently, nor confessed so piously, as\nby her side, and she felt the same.\"\n\nThere is throughout these letters a certain free, off-hand way of\ndealing with all sorts of subjects and persons which evinces a strong\nand independent spirit, and shows us that Mozart, though often obliged\nto dawdle at the heels of niggardly and exacting patrons, never lost\nhis own self-respect. He had too keen a sense of his own merits, and\nof the too frequent lack of any merit at all in his competitors, not\nto be pardonably vain. He sought praise, it is true, and revelled in\nit, and loved to repeat what had been said of him, yet with so much\nboyish simplicity as to banish from the mind of the reader all\njudgment of affectation. He gives an amusing account of an interview\nwith the composer Becke, of whom, it must be confessed, he was not a\nlittle jealous. \"At his request I tried his piano, which is very good.\nHe often said 'Bravo!' I extemporized, and also played the sonatas in\nB and D. In short, he was very polite, and I also polite, but grave.\nWe conversed on a variety of topics--among others, about Vienna, and\nmore particularly that the emperor was no great lover of music. He\nsaid, 'It is true he had some knowledge of composition, but of nothing\nelse. I can still recall (and here he rubbed his forehead) that when I\nwas to play before him I had no idea what to play, so I began with\nsome fugues and trifles of that sort, which in my own mind I only\nlaughed at.' I could scarcely resist saying, 'I can quite fancy your\nlaughing, but scarcely so loud as I must have done had I heard you.'\nHe further said (what is the fact) that the music in the emperor's\nprivate apartments is enough to frighten the crows. I replied, that\nwhenever I heard such music, if I did not quickly leave the room, it\ngave me a headache. 'Oh, no! it has no such effect on me; bad music\ndoes not affect my nerves, but fine music never fails to give me a\nheadache.' I thought to myself again, such a shallow head as yours is\nsure to suffer when listening to what is beyond its comprehension.\"\n\n{858}\n\nAltogether, it is a delightful book. It comes to us in a neat\nscholarly dress, creditable to the publishers, and as worthy of a wide\ncirculation among the lovers of art as it is certain to have a\ndistinguished entr\u00e9e into all literary circles.\n\n\nHISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES CAVALRY FROM THE FORMATION OF THE FEDERAL\nGOVERNMENT TO THE FIRST OF JUNE THE 1ST 1863.\nTo which is added a list of all the Cavalry Regiments, with Names of\ntheir Commanders, which have been in the United States service since\nthe breaking out of the Rebellion. By Albert G. Brackett, Major First\nU. S. Cavalry, Colonel Ninth Illinois Volunteer Cavalry, etc., etc.\n12mo., pp. 337. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1865.\n\nCol. Brackett has presented the history of the U. S. cavalry, brought\ndown to 1863, in a modest and soldierlike manner. It is the first\nattempt at a systematic literary record of an arm of the service, and\nwe hope it will be followed by others, in order to perpetuate\ntraditions most interesting to the people and honorable to the brave\nmen who have trodden the wilds of the forest and prairie, subdued the\nsavage, and performed gallant deeds from the Rio Grande to the\nColumbia, and from the James to the Colorado of the West.\n\nFew persons living in towns and cities can appreciate the\nintelligence, courage, and cheerful self-sacrifice which have been the\ncharacteristics of American soldiers, who have borne such an important\nbut unobtrusive part in the conquest of the natural obstacles to the\nsettlement of the continent, and been the pioneers on the great lines\nof emigration and improvement. The material subjugation of the\nwilderness has been no less heroic than their military triumphs. In\nall these great events the cavalry has acted a most conspicuous part.\n\nThis book will be welcomed at all the military posts, and become an\nauthority at every mess-table and camp-fire. Its personal\nreminiscences are, perhaps, its most pleasing and attractive feature.\nThey recall vividly men and scenes identified with our early life, now\npassed away for ever. Col. Brackett has done a graceful thing in\nincluding Dr. Joseph B. Brown, U.S. A., in his dedication; a purer man\nand better officer does not live than Dr. Brown.\n\nThe work concludes at a period when the volunteer cavalry was\nbeginning to be useful and efficient. The history will not be complete\ntill their splendid services under Wilson at the battle of Nashville\nare recorded. No one who saw them moving in long gleaming lines on the\nextreme right on the morning of the 15th of December, 1864, or heard\nthe ceaseless converging roll of the repeating carbines of the\ndismounted two thousand reverberating amidst the wood-crowned hills,\nwill ever forget the picture or the sound.\n\n\nTHOUGHTS ON THE FUTURE CIVIL POLICY OH AMERICA.\nBy John William Draper, M.D., LL.D. Crown 8vo., pp. 317. Harper &\nBrothers. Third Edition.\n\nThis is the title of a beautifully printed and bound volume, by Prof.\nDraper, who is well known for his scientific attainments and elegant\nscholarship.\n\nIt might be called a treatise on the psychology and physiology of\nnational life, especially applied to the American republic in its\npresent and possible character and destiny. It is written from a point\nof view directly opposed to Catholic theology and philosophy, and\nasserts the dominion of the natural in opposition to the supernatural.\nIt rejects the supernatural and substitutes irresponsible force for\nintelligent, benignant Providence. It recognizes only the plane of\nnatural reason, and denies by implication the transition from the\nnatural to the supernatural in the incarnation.\n\nDr. Draper is the best representative of the school of Guizot,\nCarlyle, and Buckle, inasmuch as he is more calm and dispassionate,\nand if he possess less erudition than they, he has more scientific\nknowledge and the discipline of practical teaching to chasten and\nmodify his forms of thought and expression. Dr. Draper, we do not\nquestion, desires conscientiously to promulgate the true doctrines of\nnational life and development. He announces many important truths, and\nhis analyses of historic periods in the domain of the material and\nintellectual are often clear, precise, and beautiful. There is a good\ndeal of orientalism in his thoughts, and it seems to us that his own\nimagination is profoundly affected by the gorgeous pictures passing\nbefore it in the process of {859} intellectual creation. The same\nobservation applies to his style and imagery, and his writings possess\nthe power, like Carlyle's, of stimulating the imagination of the\nleader to the highest degree, often to the detriment of the reason.\n\nHe chooses the close of his magnificent periods to dart a keen,\ncondensed, carefully studied, dogmatic assertion into the mind like an\narrow, while the faculties are for the moment blinded by the splendor\nof diction and the pomp of highly colored illustration.\n\nDr. Draper is exceedingly cautious and guarded as to his conclusions,\nand leaves the necessary inferences to be drawn by the reader. His\ninfluence has a tendency toward one of two directions, either an\noriental, sensuous, hopeless intellectual apathy, or a senseless,\nbecause objectless, material activity.\n\nDr. Draper does not deny the existence of God; but how he can assert\nit while attempting to demonstrate the omnipotence of natural law and\n_force_, we do not understand. His doctrines lead either to nihilism\nor pantheism. Dr. Draper is entitled to high respect as a philosopher\nof the natural order from Catholics, for the reason that he has always\nbeen generous in his statements of Catholicity in its natural and\nexterior aspects and relations. His tributes to the Church are among\nthe most cordial, appreciative, and eloquent that have been uttered in\nmodern times by non-Catholics. He has however done much in the present\nvolume to diminish this claim, established in some of his former\nwritings. He is the representative in this country, at least, of the\ngreat controversy between the Church and the natural life of man--\nbetween the two orders, natural and supernatural--between science and\nauthority.\n\nThere can be no antagonism between science and infallible authority;\nfor truth is a unit, comes from God, and returns to him, like light\nfrom the sun, its type and figure. Religion has nothing to fear from\nscience. The occasional apparent opposition has been personal and\ntemporary, not ex-cathedral and eternal. There can be no conflict\nbetween the spoken word of God and his actualized word, creation. The\ndispute is an old one. There is no change in the principles involved;\nbut the form is modified by experience, development, and scientific\nresearch. It must be reviewed in the retrospect of history, present\nknowledge, and the prevision of science. There can be no doubt but the\nillumination of the whole subject will illustrate (it cannot prove)\nthe truths of revelation, as practical science illustrates the\njudgments of common sense.\n\nDr. Draper is an able philosopher and doctor of material progress and\nthe natural order. His advice to the people of this country is sound\nand wise, and it will be well for our temporal prosperity if his\nsuggestions are heeded by those who have control of public affairs.\nHis work is in some sense complementary of Dr. Brownson's recent great\nwork, and there are some striking analogies between them.\n\nThe binding and execution of the book are in Harpers' best style, and\nleave little to be desired in this department of luxury.\n\n\nTHE CROPPY: A Tale of the Irish Rebellion of 1798. By the O'Hara\nFamily, with Introduction by Michael Banim, Esq., the survivor of the\nO'Hara Family. 12mo., pp. 464. Boston: Patrick Donahoe.\n\nThe scene of this story is laid principally in the county of Wexford,\nIreland, where \"the Rebellion of '98\" chiefly raged during the spring\nand summer of that memorable year. The narrative is highly\ninteresting, and contains about the best account of the battles of\n\"Vinegar Hill\" and \"New Ross,\" as well as of other skirmishes and\nbattles between the insurgents and the English troops. It also gives a\ncurious insight into the workings of the society of \"United Irishmen\"\nand, also, of the \"Orange-men\" of that period. There are many fine\npassages in this story, which was written by the present editor of the\nnew edition, Mr. Michael Banim.\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC'S VADE MECUM; A SELECT MANUAL OF PRAYERS FOR DAILY USE.\nCompiled from Approved Sources. pp. 415. Philadelphia: Eugene\nCummiskey.\n\nThis new prayer-book is published with the approbation of the Right\nRev. Dr. Wood, Bishop of Philadelphia, from the London edition of\n\"Vade Mecum.\" It is a useful compilation of prayers, and possesses one\nmerit highly recommendable--it is just the size to {860} carry in\none's pocket without any inconvenience, and contains all the prayers\nnecessary for ordinary occasions.\n\n\nRICHARD COBDEN, THE APOSTLE OF FREE TRADE:\nhis Political Career and Public Services. A Biography. By John\nMcGilchrist, author of \"Life of Lord Dundonald,\" \"Men who have Made\nThemselves,\" etc. 12mo., pp. 295. Harper & Brothers. 1865.\n\nThis neat little volume contains a well-written life of Richard\nCobden, and a succinct history of the Anti-Corn Law League and\nagitation, the great work of his life.\n\nMr. Cobden, although an islander and an Englishman, justly merited the\ntitle of \"the international man.\" He was a man of peace, because war\nis hostile to trade, and breaks up the lines of traffic, as well, no\ndoubt, from more humane and generous motives. He never sympathized\nwith the ignoble jealousy and enmity toward this country so common in\nEngland, and was throughout the friend and defender of the Union.\n\nHis rise from obscurity to wealth, position, and almost unbounded\ninfluence, is a remarkable event, and illustrates the tremendous power\nof trade and commerce. He rose on the tide which commenced with the\nadaptation of machinery and application of steam, which has wrought\nthe greatest revolution in the history of the world. He knew how to\ntake advantage of his great opportunities, and used the ability thus\nacquired to advance the interests of humanity and general well-being.\nHis life is an example to our present race of very rich men, and\npossibly may suggest to them objects more noble than mere accumulation\nand personal luxury.\n\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\nFrom B. Appleton & Co., New York: \"Life of the Most Rev. John Hughes,\nD.D., First Archbishop of New York. With selections from his private\ncorrespondence.\" By John R. G. Hassard. 1 vol. 8vo.\n\nWe regret not having received this handsome volume in time for a\nnotice in this number of The Catholic World. From a hasty glance\nthrough its pages we judge that Mr. Hassard has done his work\nfaithfully and well. The book is gotten up in Appleton's best style.\nWe shall give an extended notice of it in our next number.\n\n\nFrom G. & C. MERRIAM, Springfield, Mass.: \"An American Dictionary of\nthe English Language.\" By Noah Webster, LL.D. Thoroughly revised, and\ngreatly enlarged and improved, by Chauncey A. Goodrich, D.D., and Noah\nPorter, B.D. 1 vol. royal quarto, illustrated. Pp. 1,840.\n\n\nFrom D. & J. SADLIER & Co., New York. Numbers 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, and 13\nof the \"Lives of the Popes;\" Nos. 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 of Banim's Complete\nWorks. \"Christian Missions, their Agents and their Results.\" By T. W.\nMarshall. 2 vols. 8vo., pp. 1,200. \"The Peep o' Day, or John Doe;\"\n\"The Croppy: a tale of the Irish rebellion of 1798;\" and \"Croohore of\nthe Billhook,\" by the O'Hara Family. A new edition, with introduction\nand notes, by Michael Banim, the survivor of the O'Hara Family. 2\nvols. 12mo., pp. 412 and 435.\n\n\nFrom JOHN MURPHY & CO., Baltimore, Md.: \"Manual of the Apostleship of\nPrayer.\" By the Rev. H. Ramiere, S.J., Director of the Association.\nTranslated from the French. 32mo., pp. 168. \"The 'Catholic' Church and\nthe Roman Catholic Church: In a Friendly Correspondence between a\nCatholic Priest and an Episcopal Minister.\" Pamphlet, 16 pages.\n\n\nWe have received from Messrs. J. GURNEY & SON, 707 Broadway, New York,\nan excellent photographic likeness of the late Rev. J. W. Cummings,\nD.D.\n\n\nMR. PETER F. CUNNINGHAM, of Philadelphia, announces as in press \"The\nLife of Blessed John Bachman,\" with a fine steel portrait of the\nsaint; \"The Life of St. Cecilia,\" by Gueranger; and four new volumes\nof the \"Young Catholic's Library.\"\n\n\nLAWRENCE KEHOE has in press, and will publish early in April, a small\nvolume of poems by Aubrey de Vere, entitled, \"May Carols, and Hymns\nand Poems.\"\n\n\nThe MESSRS. SADLIER & CO., New York, have just issued the \"Catholic\nAlmanac and Ordo for the year of our Lord 1866.\" It contains the names\nof the rev. clergy; religious and literary institutions in nearly all\nthe dioceses in the United States and Canada; a list of the hierarchy\nin Ireland as well as other valuable information.","title":"The Catholic World, Vol. 02, October, 1865 to March, 1866: A Monthly Eclectic Magazine","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":560021}